"That is when I found out you were still alive," Cat said with a bitter smile. "I was lying in the bottom of the wagon, wrapped in furs, waiting impatiently for the captain to arrive, and a young man came along. He asked my guard if any ships had sunk in that storm a little more than three weeks back. My guard asked why he was asking, and he said he'd heard that a mast had been found floating about and thought perhaps a ship sank. My guard assured him he had not heard of anything of the like, and the young man went away."
"It was not long after that when the captain finally deigned to show himself. The guard told him what had transpired. They wondered if it was not their mast, and thought it must be, but decided you obviously had not been still on it or would have been mentioned. But I knew," she said with satisfaction. "I just felt it in my bones that that young man or someone connected to him had found you and you were still alive."
"But how did you know where I was?" Jetta asked at once.
"My guard recognized the man who had questioned him as one of the Buchanans. He told the captain they all look alike, but he thought it was the youngest one. Alick."
Jetta closed her eyes on a sigh, but then stilled as it suddenly occurred to her that Cateline had known all along that she hadn't bribed the captain, or escaped the ship. Cat knew the mast had ripped away, taking her with it. It seemed she needed to blame her for her woes in whatever way she could find.
"The captain delivered me home that evening," Cat continued. "Father pretended to be glad to see me alive and well. He claimed he had 'just known' I would come out all right. I smiled and nodded and suggested we celebrate my return."
Cateline offered her a smile that was all teeth. "He tried to say nay at first, but I insisted. We had to toast to my survival, after all. Eventually he agreed and I had the whiskey brought out. We toasted to my survival, and then I insisted we toast to your sad passing, and then Mother's, and so on. I did not drink my own whiskey, but made sure he drank his." Pausing, she glanced upward as if trying to remember and said thoughtfully, "I think it was probably the seventh or eighth whiskey that I put the poison in, and then I insisted on one final toast to his health and watched him die."
Jetta's head jerked up as if a string had been yanked. "You killed our father?"
"With pleasure," Cat growled.
"Why?" Jetta asked with amazement. Her father had given Cat everything she had ever wanted, including shipping Jetta off in Cat's place to marry the marquis at Cat's urging.
"I was very angry with him," Cat growled, her fury flashing briefly, and then it was gone again and she added mildly, "Besides, he was not drinking himself to death as I expected once you were gone. In fact, he was hardly drinking at all anymore. Where Mother's death made him drink, news of your so-called death seemed to sober him up. He stopped drinking altogether except for a stein of ale at the sup." Her mouth tightened, but her tone was still light when she said, "Until the night he died."
Jetta bowed her head. Her sister was more than insane. Killing the marquis was one thing, but their father was quite another. He had been her comrade at arms in the effort to ship Jetta off in place of Cat.
"Of course, the healer said it was the drink, and congratulated himself for being right when he had warned Father that drink would be the death of him. I just tried to look sad and nodded." Grinning, she added, "And suddenly I owned everything! I am the Lady at Fitton. Mistress of all."
"The king will appoint a guardian until a new marriage is arranged for you," Jetta predicted quietly.
"He already has--Father's brother, Uncle Albert."
Jetta gaped at her. "But Uncle Albert is--"
"Mad? Suffering woodness?" Cat suggested with a smile. "Aye, he is. Which works to my advantage. He is always off with his books, trying to prove that the devil exists, which leaves me to do as I wish." She shrugged. "So I am in control. He allows me my way in all things. In fact, he probably has not noticed that I am not at Fitton at present. That is the amount of freedom I now have. He cares not how I spend coin or what I do with my time."
"Then why are you here?" Jetta asked, suspecting she knew the answer, but seriously hoping she was wrong. "Why are you not at Fitton enjoying your new freedom?"
"Because there is still you," she said. "You are as much at fault for what I suffered as Father. If you had not escaped your fate and forced me to take your place I would not have suffered the marquis's abuse and depravities."
"It was not my fate. I--"
"So I decided I would come find and kill you too," Cateline continued. "The first morning I arrived I saw who I thought was you frolicking in the woods with whom I presumed was the laird here. She had the same hair as us, and very similar features too. I can only think Father made his way up here at some point fifteen or sixteen years ago and got some maid with child. The lass looked a lot like us. At least, she did from a distance. By the time I got close enough to see her, they were on horseback and riding for the castle. I followed and shot her just ere they went through the gate."
Jetta swallowed. Cateline had always been an excellent shot with the bow and arrow. "You shot a maid named Katie, not me."
"Aye, I found out later," she admitted dryly and grimaced. "Shortly after I shot who I thought was you, a soldier came charging out of the gates. I knew it had to have something to do with my arrow, so I followed him. I was trying to think of a way to find out what had happened . . . if you were dead or not. I had just decided that I would wait until he stopped for the night and make him tell me at knifepoint, when he arrived at the lodge. An old woman was coming out and he talked to her, told her the maid Katie was shot while riding with Geordie, and Rory was needed.
"I was sore disappointed," she admitted on a sigh. "But then the old woman said Rory and the master were down breaking their fast at the beach with 'the young English lass.'" Cateline clucked her tongue. "I had a feeling again, the same one I had when I heard young Alick asking around about any ships that sank. So I followed the messenger to the beach and there you were!"
Shaking her head, she said, "You were terribly thin. Skeletal. And you were wearing the most ridiculous outfit, too. But you wer
e laughing, and there was color in your cheeks and you looked like you were having a grand time." Smile dying, she added angrily, "Like you had been having a grand time the whole time I was suffering."
"I was unconscious for weeks, Cat. I had only woken up less than two weeks before that, probably about the same time you were delivered home. And that day at the beach was the first time I'd left the room since I woke up in. I had no memories. I thought Aulay my husband."
"Hmm," she said dubiously and shrugged. "At any rate, the messenger and Rory left at once, but you two packed up and headed back to the lodge. Only Aulay left right away to follow Rory. After he left, I slipped inside while you and the old maid were still above stairs. There was a pot of stew boiling over the fire and I dumped some poison in, hoping that would do the trick. After giving it a good stir, I slipped back outside and went and found a nearby spot to camp and rest a bit while I waited for you to eat the stew. I returned later that night, expecting to find you and the old woman dead. Instead, there were men everywhere and the only thing dead was a dog," she said with disgust.
Jetta didn't explain that the stew had charred over the fire and been tossed out. Why bother?
"Of course, with Acair and the men there I did not dare stick around. I could hardly blend in with soldiers, so I retreated to my camp to try to decide what to do. And it was there I recalled the plaid you had dropped."
"The plaid?" Jetta echoed with confusion,
"Aye, ye dropped it on the beach ere leaving when the storm struck after yer picnic."
"Oh," Jetta murmured, recalling now. Aulay was actually the one who had dropped the plaid, and she'd almost thought he'd rush back for it when he realized, but the rain was coming down so heavy . . . She'd been relieved when he left it and they'd headed back to the lodge. Jetta had assumed he'd fetch it later, but then he'd left for Buchanan and she hadn't given it another thought. Now she asked, "What use was the plaid to you?"
"Well, I could hardly slip into Buchanan in my expensive gown, could I?" she asked dryly. "That plaid is how I managed to slip in without notice. I made an arisaidh of it, gathered some rushes, lavender and other plants on my way back to Buchanan, and then left my horse tethered in the woods and simply walked into Buchanan with my weeds as if I belonged there. No one gave me a second glance, not even the men on the wall. And why would they? I was just an innocent young lass."