The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [125]
When she suddenly let out an exclamation of surprise, Gwynn paused beside her.
Bree pointed to the portrait she had first seen hanging in the parlor. “Why was this moved?”
“One of the housemaids just returned it to this spot.” Gwynn sighed. “Not that it will remain here for very long.”
Bree turned to her. “What do you mean?”
“This is a portrait of Laird James Kerr. Each time we hang it here where it belongs, it mysteriously disappears and is found hanging over the mantel in the parlor.” She frowned. “Our old staff refused to come near it. But the young lasses from the village are new to such things. In time, I suppose they’ll learn to let him be.”
Bree studied the portrait. “Tell me about him.”
“As far as I know, he was a once-noble warrior who was called Jamie the Fearless.” The housekeeper pointed to the dates listed in the little brass plaque beneath the ornate frame. “He died in 1611. From that time on, his name was changed to Jamie the Ruthless. Cast out by the clan for killing his poor wife and causing their wee orphaned bairn to be raised by kinsmen.” Her voice lowered. “What’s more, he did that terrible, evil deed from the grave.”
“What do you mean?”
“Word came to the household of his death in battle, sending his young wife, Flora, into labor. The servants assisting her heard his voice, like a roar of thunder, causing her to cry out just as she delivered a son. Moments later they heard his voice cursing her. Some said he lifted the wee bairn into the air, while others claimed he merely lifted the wee lad’s hand, as though linking his fingers with that of his son as he passed from this world. Within minutes of the birth, Flora was dead. Those who witnessed her death swore they saw Jamie hovering over the bed, as though to assure himself that his curse was carried out. What’s more, they found his best friend and man-at-arms, Ewen, lying dead in a field of battle with Jamie’s dirk through his heart.”
Bree swallowed before saying softly, “He’s the one.”
Mrs. Logan shot her a startled look. “You mean the one haunting the gatekeeper’s cottage, causing so much destruction all these years?”
Bree nodded, afraid to trust her voice.
“You’re certain?”
She swallowed. “I am.”
“I’ve suspected as much. You mustn’t stay there alone another night, Mrs. Kerr.” The housekeeper drew close to mutter, “I’ll have Duncan prepare her ladyship’s rooms for you.”
“No, Gwynn.” Bree stood a little taller, thinking about the passion she and Jamie had shared throughout the long night. In the light of day it seemed to be nothing more than some impossible figment of her imagination. And certainly nothing she could relate to this dear woman. But it was too real to dismiss lightly.
“If he intended to hurt me, he’d have done so by now. I truly believe that as long as his curse wasn’t directed toward me, I’m safe.”
The old woman huffed out a breath. “And what if you’re wrong?”
Throughout the day, that question continued to play through Bree’s mind. What sort of mysterious, dangerous creature had captured her heart?
She’d felt so happy and carefree again while in his arms. And wildly in love. But surely she was old enough, and wise enough, to know that such feelings can blind a person to the truth.
Had she been bewitched last night? Had Jamie Kerr planted that image in her mind, just so he could take advantage of her grief and insinuate himself into her life?
But what could he possibly hope to gain by it?
He’d cursed his wife into the grave. A wife who had just given birth to his son. Could there be a greater betrayal than that?
She would certainly know a thing or two about cruel betrayals.
As she followed Gwynn down the stairs, all the joy drained from her heart. And as she went through the motions of helping the women who worked and chatted happily, she felt weary and foolish beyond consolation.
What had she done?
How could she have been so careless, so love-starved, that she would once again put her trust in a charming man who was, in fact, heartless? A man who could use that trust