Legacy of the Highlands

  LEGACY OF THE HIGHLANDS

  by

  HARRIET SCHULTZ

  LEGACY OF THE HIGHLANDS

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2011 by Harriet Schultz

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To Ed, for always believing

  With Thanks

  With thanks to Martha Ives, Judith S. Hellenbrand, Marlene Bloom, Sandra Curcio, Sukey Rosenbaum and Maxine Durst for their advice and constant support.

  I’m also grateful to several participants on Scotland’s Grampian Life forum, who provided invaluable assistance in the early stages of the book.

  Chapter 1

  Should he tell her? Maybe, but Will Cameron knew that his wife would worry and that was the last thing he wanted. She looked so comfortable, curled up in an overstuffed chair near the fireplace, as she paged through a prestigious gallery’s auction catalog in the fading light of the late winter afternoon.

  Will watched her for a few minutes, then forced his attention back to the stack of architectural plans he’d been scrutinizing as he lay sprawled on the living room’s hardwood floor, but it was no use. How was he supposed to concentrate when his mind was consumed by an ill-defined uneasiness? Besides, he was probably imagining that someone was tailing him. Yet if that were so, why was he suddenly unable to sleep through the night? And why was he on edge every time he left the house? Will knew that he had to tell Alexandra the reason for his anxiety, but it could wait another day.

  For now, he’d blame his mood on work. He shoved the pile of blueprints aside with a muttered curse. “Something’s wrong with the specifications for Diego’s zillion dollar project, but I can’t figure out what it is and it’s driving me nuts. I’m tempted to run these through the shredder,” Will grumbled as he flipped onto his back. “I shouldn’t care if that arrogant S.O.B. loses a few million, but I do.” He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his shaggy, dark brown hair.

  “Diego will understand if you need another day or two,” Alex said as she turned toward him. “You may not be friends anymore, but he trusts your expertise, especially if you tell him you have some doubts about this.” She was worried about him. He’d seemed so stressed recently, and work couldn’t be the only cause. But she knew this man well enough to accept that he wouldn’t tell her what was really bothering him until he was good and ready.

  “Why don’t you take a break? I’ll start dinner, we can have some wine, and you can look at the plans again later,” Alex suggested.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Will yawned as he eased his strapping body into the down-stuffed cushion of his favorite chair, the mate to the one Alex had just vacated. Food, followed by sex, was just the distraction he needed. “I am kind of hungry,” he said with a grin.

  “Me too,” Alex whispered. She hadn’t missed the twinkle in her husband’s eyes and guessed that his hunger didn’t only involve food. She paused beside him and ran the tip of her tongue up the side of his neck until he shivered. When he reached for her she darted away, but the smile and raised brows she directed at him spoke volumes.

  He followed her to the kitchen, pressed his body against her back, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned her head against his solid chest and sighed. “We’re not having dinner now, are we?”

  “No, we’re not,” he assured her.

  Alex sighed as Will nudged her hair out of the way so that his lips could find the curve between her neck and her shoulder, while his fingers slid under her sweater. His stroke was gentle, but insistent, and when his palms reached her nipples, they were already hard under the bit of lace still covering her skin. With one smooth motion he flicked the obstacle’s clasp open and she raised her arms to help him tug the sweater over her head. Alex wanted to feel his warm skin against hers and reached back to strip off his sweatshirt, but his firm grip held her where she was. She understood then that he was intent on taking the lead this time. She closed her eyes and willingly surrendered, eager for the journey.

  Will dipped his fingers into the glass Alex had set on the counter. She flinched as he slowly ran a bitingly cold piece of ice around the center of each breast until he turned her toward him and lowered his mouth. The change in temperature as his tongue licked the moisture from her reddened nipples made her gasp, and her hands dug into his hair to keep him precisely where she wanted him to be. When he pulled away, she watched his eyes shimmer with lust as his gaze lingered on her body, now only covered by low-slung jeans. She reached for her zipper, but he quickly covered her hand with his. “No. This is way sexier than being totally naked. Stay like this, at least for a while,” he murmured. She reached for his crotch, but he took a step back. “We’ll get to that, but for now I want to look at you.” Will’s voice was hoarse with passion.

  “You’re torturing me. Let me touch you,” she moaned.

  “Not yet,” he whispered as a lascivious grin lit his flushed face.

  “Okay, if you’d rather be a voyeur…” she challenged as her hands rose to her breasts and she caressed herself. Her light green eyes never left his and a minute later his self-control shattered. He scooped her into his arms and headed for their bedroom.

  Hours later, completely sated, they napped. They woke around 11 p.m. craving something sweet and decadent and zeroed in on their favorite ice cream’s sticky sweet mix of chocolate, marshmallow and caramel. “Neither of us is going to be able to sleep if we don’t have a Ben & Jerry’s fix,” Will said. “You stay warm in our bed and I’ll go to the store. Don’t worry about me freezing my ass off in the middle of the night.”

  “I feel no guilt, mon amour. You’re the best husband ever. What would I do without you?”

  “You’d have to get your own freakin’ ice cream,” he tossed back and winked. Their lovemaking had relaxed him so well that he’d stopped thinking about the sense of dread that had become his companion.

  Alex leaned against the pillows and watched her husband stumble naked around a room that reeked of sex as he tried to find where he’d carelessly tossed his threadbare jeans. She lazily admired the body that she never tired of — broad shoulders, firm butt, long, muscular legs, and a chest sprinkled with silky dark curls that she loved to run her fingers through. Thick lashes framed gold-flecked eyes tinged with blue and green. Those eyes, those eyes. From the moment they met, she knew she’d want to stay lost forever in those eyes.

  Alex groaned as the sound of the doorbell yanked her out of the depths of sleep. When it rang again and again, she forced one eye open to squint at the green glow of the bedside clock. It was 3:00 a.m. Will had to have heard the maddening sound too so why didn’t he wake up and send whoever it was away? She rolled toward her husband’s side of the bed, but instead of the expected warmth of his slumbering body, there was emptiness. “What the…” she mumbled. Her heart began to race in confusion as she sat up and grabbed a robe to cover her nakedness.

  She shouted her husband’s name as she flicked on lights on her way to the door. Where could he be? Of course! She smiled as she remembered that Will had gallantly offered to walk the few short blocks to
their neighborhood’s all-night market to satisfy their post-sex craving for ice cream. But he’d left around eleven. He should have been back hours ago. Where the hell was he? Her thoughts were muddled as she raced barefoot across the living room’s cold hardwood. Will must have forgotten his key. That had to be it.

  His name was on her lips as she opened the door, but her eyes widened when instead of her 6 foot 4 inch husband, she found a uniformed cop who looked about sixteen and a paunchy older man in a dark suit.

  “Mrs. Cameron?” the suit asked.

  Her mouth refused to form words so she just nodded. She put a hand on the door to steady herself as fear took hold and her stomach did a flip-flop.

  “Your husband is William Cameron?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, then pulled the short silk robe more tightly around her body when she noticed the younger cop checking her out. Something must have happened to Will if the police were there at three in the morning. Her mind raced to come up with an explanation, while she tried to convince herself that she was in the midst of a particularly vivid and terrifying dream.

  The older man flashed a badge. “I’m Pete O’Shea, a homicide detective with the Boston Police and this young man is Officer Jim Warren. Is it all right if we come in?”

  “My husband isn’t here…I’m not sure,” Alex mumbled, but O’Shea hadn’t really been asking her permission, and she stepped back as the two men strode into the apartment. The detective grasped her arm and steered her into a chair.

  “Find a blanket and a glass of water,” he growled at his young partner, then added in a voice that was barely audible, “whiskey would be better.”

  Alex pulled her body as far as possible into the gray cushions of Will’s favorite chair and drew her legs under her. Her heart was pounding and she couldn’t expand her lungs to take the deep breath she desperately needed. She lowered her eyes and waited until she could make her voice work. Then her words tumbled out. “Where is Will? Is he hurt? Is that what you came to tell me? What’s happened to my husband?”

  O’Shea recognized the woman’s imminent hysteria and knew it was best to keep this kind of news short and simple. “I’m very sorry to have to say this Mrs. Cameron, but your husband is dead. He was murdered tonight.”

  “What? What did you say?” Alex’s brain couldn’t immediately decipher the detective’s words and she stared at his deeply lined face. It was a kind face, yet this man with the warm brown eyes had just allowed his mouth to say something monstrous. Her lips parted as she attempted to speak, to question, but her tongue seemed to have been ripped from its roots and she remained silent until a shudder wracked her body and she began to wail, “noooooooo, nooooooo.”

  “Please go away,” she begged as tears streamed down a face that was deathly pale. “He went out for ice cream. I’m sure he’ll be home soon. You need to leave.”

  “I wish that was the case Mrs. Cameron, but I’ve seen the body,” the detective said. The young cop handed O’Shea the plaid blanket he’d found in the bedroom and the older man threw it over Alex’s bare legs, then wrapped her quivering shoulders in a navy blue throw that he’d grabbed from a nearby chair, but she continued to tremble uncontrollably. She tried to take a sip from the glass of water that the rookie put into her hand, but she couldn’t swallow. Was she paralyzed like in a dream when you can’t run from danger?

  “You’re lying! Why are you lying?” she shrieked as she pounded the arm of the chair with her fist. She grasped O’Shea’s hand and raised her pleading eyes to his weary face, then recoiled as she saw the detective’s own sorrow there. “I want Will. I want him to come home.” Her words were barely audible.

  “Ma’am? Mrs. Cameron? I need to ask you some questions,” the detective said after giving her a few minutes to compose herself, but Alex was incapable of acknowledging him. Through the fog that surrounded her brain, she heard him say that Will had been killed just one street away from their luxurious condo in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood. A young couple out walking their dogs discovered his body in an alley when the animals began to howl in alarm.

  Police really do say, “Is there someone we should call, ma’am?” after delivering a life-shattering coupe de grâce. The only person Alex wanted at that moment was Will, but she whispered her best friend Francie’s phone number instead.

  Alex was oblivious to the routine questions O’Shea continued to ask. He’d just begun another attempt when Francie pushed past the young cop who’d answered the door and burst into the living room. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt turned inside out. There were slippers on her feet instead of shoes, her dark, curly hair was sleep rumpled and she was panting. “I need a minute to catch my breath. I ran here.”

  A moment later the diminutive whirlwind known as Francesca Sandburg glared at the detective as she wrapped her arms around Alex and uttered soothing sounds in her friend’s ear. “Don’t you have a heart? Leave her alone! Stop badgering her!”

  “You want whoever did this to be caught, right?” the frustrated detective argued as he paced from one end of the large room to the other. “The first twenty-four hours after a crime are critical and Mrs. Cameron might provide us with the lead that we need to catch the bas…the person who did this.”

  “Besides, we need to bring her to Mass General. That’s where they took Mr. Cameron. Next of kin must identify the body, ma’am, and then we can connect her with people who are trained to deal with this sort of thing,” the young cop added.

  “Don’t the two of you dare gang up on me,” Francie warned. “You won’t win. You obviously know who ‘the body’ is or you wouldn’t have come here in the middle of the night to tell Alex that Will is…is…” Francie’s face flushed and her gray eyes filled with tears. She ignored the tissue O’Shea offered and swiped at the wetness with the back of her hand. “You said that you found Will’s driver’s license in his wallet. His picture is on it. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No, ma’am. We know this isn’t easy, but regulations require a formal identification.”

  “Fuck the regulations,” Francie muttered. “Give me a minute to think, all right?” she snapped knowing the cop was just trying to do his job. She took a breath in an attempt to calm down. “How about this? My husband is Will’s lawyer. He can identity him. Or Will’s parents can do it. They live near here on Beacon Hill, right on Louisburg Square. Call Anne and John Cameron. You need to notify them about this anyway, right?”

  “No!” Alex shrieked, finally connecting to the conversation around her. “If I go with them I can prove that they’ve made a mistake. The man they found can’t be Will. Someone must have stolen his wallet and then that person was murdered. That’s why they think it’s Will. I know it’s not true. I won’t let it be.”

  O’Shea took Francie aside. “Look, I know this is rough, but I’ve been through this enough times to know that it will help your friend come to grips with the reality of what happened if she sees her husband’s body.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Get her into some warm clothes. The morgue’s kept at about 40 degrees.”

  “All right, all right,” Francie conceded and clutched Alex’s hand as she led her to the bedroom where she helped her dazed friend change into jeans and two heavy sweaters for the ride to the hospital in O’Shea‘s unmarked car.

  Alex and Francie had their arms around each other as the detective guided them through the hospital’s chaotic emergency department to the deathly hush of the morgue. At his signal, an unsmiling attendant wheeled a gurney toward them. The shape that rested on it was covered in a sheet so white that it gleamed like fresh snow under the room’s harsh lights.

  “There’s no blood on it. I thought there’d be blood,” Alex whispered. The smell of disinfectant and other unidentifiable substances made Francie clutch her stomach. The two women tightened their hold on each other, then Francie nodded and the attendant gently lifted a corner of the sheet to reveal Will’s expressionless face, his skin devoid of its usual ruddy color.

&nbs
p; “Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, God — no,” Alex begged and gripped the table as her knees gave way. The hand that reached toward her dead husband trembled as if she’d had one cup of coffee too many. Will’s body had always responded to her touch and she hoped that maybe, just like in a fairy tale, she’d miraculously be able to wake him from his slumber. She brushed a strand of silky dark hair off his forehead and began to stroke his face as she whispered his name over and over, while a stream of tears ran silently down hers.

  “He’s not going to wake up, is he?” she finally murmured.

  “No sweetie, he’s not. Maybe we should go,” Francie said, but Alex ignored her. “This is all my fault. I told him about a shortcut through that alley. I wanted him to get home faster so we could, we could…it must have been so dark. He should never have gone out for ice cream in the middle of the night. If only he’d stayed in bed…oh, Francie,” she sobbed, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Shhh, shhh. You didn’t force Will to do anything he didn’t want to do. Terrible things just happen sometimes, that’s all.” Francie wasn’t sure that Alex had even heard her.

  “His face is so pale and he’s cold. Where are his clothes?” She scanned the room without moving, and when she didn’t see Will’s clothes she told Francie that they had to find a blanket for him. Her friend just nodded. Alex’s hand glided from his face to a muscular shoulder and then to his chest. “His heart’s not beating! I can’t feel his heart!” Her own began to pound as a part of her slowly began to accept what she was seeing. “It’s because he’s really dead, isn’t it?” She wondered how skin that had been blazing hot when they’d made love just hours ago could now be as icy as a statue. Was that even possible? “This is Will’s body, but it isn’t him. It can’t be true Francie, can it?”