excerpt from

A BEWITCHING BRIDE

Elizabeth Thornton
Publisher: Berkley Publishing
Pub. date: November 2, 2010

March 1886: The Highlands of Scotland
Gavin Hepburn stood at the edge of the dance floor and took a small sip of champagne as he watched, in some amusement, the rowdy antics of the wedding guests who were going through the motions of a Scottish reel. They were celebrating the marriage of Juliet Cardno to Henry Steele, the man who had been courting her for the last six months. Henry was the proprietor of the hotel on the outskirts of Ballater in the Highlands of Scotland where the reception was being held. Most of the guests were from Aberdeen or Edinburgh, and some from as far afield as London. Not all the rooms were taken, but one guest had been assigned a cottage some way from the hotel, on the edge of the moor, to accommodate his inseparable companion, his dog, Macduff. Dogs were not allowed inside the hotel. Gavin was the guest who owned the dog.

It was late in the evening, and fiddlers were sawing their instruments as if they were foresters felling trees in a race against time. The dancers on the ballroom floor—most of the gentlemen in kilts and the ladies with tartan sashes—were twirling their partners in a wild dervish, and letting out ear-piercing shrieks as the spirit moved them.

The shrieks put Gavin in mind of Macduff, who could howl like a banshee when the spirit moved him. It was just as well that they’d been banished to an estate cottage. It was no hardship. The cottage was primitive but not uncomfortable, and was within easy walking distance of the main building. Besides, he needed a rest from the rigors of the social whirl. That was another reason he’d returned to the Highlands and, in particular, to this stretch on the river Dee. When the queen was not residing in her castle in Balmoral, Deeside became a quiet backwater, as it had been before the royal family made it famous. It was also the land of his birth.

Here, he hoped to do a little introspection as he tramped over the wind-swept moors and climbed the lower ranges. But something else was at work in him. He possessed the gift of second sight, and though he could not see the future clearly, he knew that in this moment in time, he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He was about to embark on something that was extremely dangerous. He didn’t know what, but he knew that before long, he would be given a sign.

His gaze traveled that vast interior, formerly the great hall of a hunting lodge that had once belonged to the Dukes of Fife. It was massive in comparison to his own comfortable lodge that nestled on the other side of the river, but built in the same mold. Antlers and stag heads abounded, as did paintings of hunting scenes. He wondered how long it would take Juliet to change everything to suit her own taste.

He considered himself a lucky man. It might have been he who had drifted into marriage with Juliet. It would have been the wrong thing to do. She deserved better than a man who could not offer her his whole heart. Besides, he had no desire to be made over, and he was sure that in another twelve months, the happy groom would hardly know himself.

His gaze shifted to take in the guests, but he ignored the lures that many a lass cast in his direction. He knew better than to trifle with the daughters of the local gentry. Should he be so unwise, their fathers or brothers might well lead him to the altar with a gun in his back.

One young woman caught his eye, not because she was a beauty or had presence, but because she seemed to be the odd one out in this crush of guests. “Arresting” was the word that came to mind. He didn’t recognize the lady, but he recognized the cut of her gown. Only a first class designer could have fashioned such an exquisite work of art. It was simplicity itself, a gray silk with a white lacy bodice. The House of Worth, he thought, or perhaps a competitor. He’d paid for many such gowns in his time.

As though she felt his gaze, the girl turned her head and looked directly into his eyes. He felt a buzz pass through his brain. For a moment or two, he was completely disoriented. Words formed inside his head, Are you the one? Is this what had brought him back to the Highlands? Was this slip of a girl the key to his visions? Are you the one? he silently demanded. After a moment, she seemed to come to herself and dragged her eyes away.

“Will,” Gavin said, addressing the gentleman standing beside him, “who is that young woman in the gray dress, the one standing just inside the entrance doors?” Will Rankin looked in the direction Gavin had indicated. “That’s Kate Cameron, Iain Cameron’s daughter and Juliet’s friend. She and Juliet went to school together.” He shook his head. “They’re an odd lot the Camerons, unconventional is what I mean. Kate is the youngest, but you’d never know it when they’re all together. She’s the sensible one.”

“You seem to know the family well.”

“No, not really, apart from Kate. She and some other girls did volunteer work at the Aberdeen clinic as part of a school project, but she is the only one who has kept up with my clinic since she left school. She has a way with outcasts and misfits, so I’m always happy to see her.” He raised his voice. “I can hardly hear myself think for the din. Let’s find a quiet nook where we can converse like civilized people.”

They wandered into the hallway and found a nook beneath—what else?—a magnificent mounted head of a stag. A roving waiter was at their table before they had settled into their leather chairs. They relinquished their champagne glasses and ordered whiskey, but only if it was single malt and had been distilled on Speyside. It had. This was, after all, a first class hotel.

Gavin could not tear his mind from the girl in the gray dress. Was she the one? The words flowed and ebbed inside his head. He needed more than one look from those intense brown eyes before he was convinced.

Will clapped Gavin on the shoulder. “I think,” Will said, “that Kate Cameron has made quite an impression on you. Do you know what I think, Gavin?”

“No, and I don’t want to know.”

Will laughed. “I think it’s time you came out of mourning and began to live again. I will say this. You put on a good show. But Alice has been gone five years now. You can’t live in the past.” The smile left his face. “But leave Kate alone. She’s not for the likes of you. I’m telling you this for your own good. She has cousins who would break your arms and legs if you were to hurt their little chick. Then there’s Dalziel.”

Gavin avoided the reference to Alice and picked up on the reference to Dalziel. “Your man of business? Does he have a proprietary interest in Miss Cameron as well?”

“He doesn’t confide in me, but I know that his intentions are honorable—not like some I could name.”
Gavin was amused. “Good God, Will! You make me sound like an out-and-out Lothario. I’m not a hunter, just the opposite. It’s women who lay traps and snares to catch me.”

“Just remember her cousins should you ever be tempted to let her catch you.”

Gavin lounged in his chair, stretched out his legs and studied his friend. Will Rankin was a big man, easily above six feet, and built like a Highlander who was in training for the Braemar Games. Ruddy cheeks, red hair and his ease in wearing the kilt reinforced that impression. Nothing seemed to disturb Will’s zest for life, though he’d seen his share of tragedy. He was the director of a clinic in Aberdeen that ministered to paupers and misfits, and owned another clinic in Braemar for long term patients. However, Will wasn’t interested only in healing sick bodies. He was also interested in healing minds, and was one of those new doctors called “psychiaters.” His patients loved him but he was scorned by the rank and file in his own profession.

Gavin did not scorn his friend’s obsession for probing the minds of those afflicted with mental illness. There were times in his own life, such as now, when he wondered whether he was a little touched in the brain. If he was, it was his granny’s doing. Lady Valeria McEcheran had been a fully fledged witch who, on her deathbed, had passed her formidable gifts to her three grandsons, but Gavin had never been a true believer. There were episodes he could not explain but nothing like the visions that had plagued his dreams in the last month.

Like a true connoisseur, Will swilled a mouthful of whiskey before swallowing it. “I was hoping,” he said, “that you and Juliet would make a match of it. What went wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong.” Gavin gave a careless shrug. “I’m fond of Juliet, more than fond, but we’ve known each other forever. I look upon her as a sister.”

Will grunted and was silent.

A moment went by, then another. Finally, Gavin said, “I’m sure that you didn’t invite me out here just to pass the time of day. What is it, Will? What’s troubling you?”

Will looked away. “It’s probably nothing at all. I don’t want to open a Pandora’s box when all I have are suspicions but no solid evidence.”

Gavin straightened in his chair. “Evidence of what?”

Will began to look uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to draw attention to my clinic or have my patients’ names splashed in all the papers. They have suffered enough.”

When Will was silent, Gavin said, “You can’t stop there. At least tell me what kind of crime we’re talking about.”

“Murder,” replied Will bluntly and he exhaled a long breath. “Three people connected to my clinic have died in mysterious circumstances in the last month. If it was murder, I think I may know who the killer is. I’ll be on the train tomorrow for Aberdeen. There’s someone there I want to speak to before I go any further with this.”

When Gavin tried to speak, Will cut across his words. “That’s all I’m prepared to tell you for the moment. Gavin, I can’t make unfounded accusations.”

Impatience gave Gavin’s voice a sharp edge. “Then why drag me out here then refuse to confide in me?”
Will gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Damned if I know, except that I feel better, knowing that you are aware that I’m afraid for the welfare of my patients. Look,” he went on, interrupting Gavin yet again, “I’ll know more in a day or two, and when I do, I’ll tell you everything. All right?”

And more than that he would not say.

* * * *

The clock on the mantel struck the hour, startling Kate from her reveries. It was time to keep her appointment with Dr. Rankin. There had been too much noise and too many interruptions earlier that evening when she’d tried to speak to him, so they had arranged to meet later, when the staff doused the lamps and guests were forced to retire for the night. All was quiet. The house seemed to have settled into its nightly mode.

He’d particularly asked her to bring the note. After folding it and thrusting it into her pocket, she scooped up a tartan shawl and slipped soundlessly from the room, then locked the door behind her. There was no need for her to carry a candle. The hotel was not in complete darkness. On every floor, a lamp was lit, but there were enough shadows to conceal her from the porters who patrolled the corridors.

Her steps slowed when she entered the diningroom. There were no lamps lit here but it hardly mattered. In the dark, she could see as well as a cat, and she moved soundlessly to the little hothouse without bumping into a single chair. “Dr. Rankin?” she whispered. There was no response, but she smelled the faint odor of tobacco smoke. Then she felt it—a draft of cold air from the French door that opened to the outside. Evidently, the doctor had gone outside to enjoy his smoke.

Her hand curled around the note in her pocket and she slowly withdrew it. She would be glad to give it into Dr. Rankin’s keeping. It made her ill to think that some warped mind could hate her so much.

She pushed through the door and hesitated. “Dr. Rankin?” she quavered. The fear she felt was natural, she told herself. It had nothing to do with her sixth sense. Then why didn’t Dr. Rankin answer her? Something else filled her nostrils . . . the smell of strong spirits? Whiskey?

When the door behind her clicked shut, her whole body contracted. The door could not be opened from the outside.

Easy, she told herself. Easy. Maybe a servant had come out to smoke, or one of the guests. Maybe Dr. Rankin had been delayed. She heard a soft tread at her back and she whipped around with a moan bordering on panic.

“Dr. Rankin?”

A shadow emerged form the dark.

This time, her voice quavered. “Dr. Rankin?”

Still no response.

Every cell in her body warned her of approaching doom. Her nerve broke. Picking up her skirts, she dashed through the shrubbery toward the moor.