The Sinful Scot (Saints & Scoundrels) Page 32

  Connie was dumbfounded. No wonder she’d seemed familiar; the woman had the exact same hair color and eyes as Lady Lorelie, even down to the fierce green gleam in them. But what had she been doing pretending to be dead and then masquerading as their housekeeper for more than a year?

  Connie couldn’t quite get her mind around it. Did Lady Lorelie even know her mother was alive? Was she entwined in this elaborate scheme with her? Oh God! Thoughts of having potentially sent Amelie into danger swam in her mind.

  “Ah, finally the penny has dropped.” The woman’s face lit up with joy. “And yes, it is me, back from the dead too, happily. ’Tis a miracle, is it not?” She laughed softly, but there was a hatred in her eyes that she couldn’t disguise as she stared at them both.

  “But…but why?” Fergus stammered.

  “The dead are invisible, and I needed to be invisible to enact my plan.”

  The woman truly was unhinged.

  Almost as if she could hear Connie’s thoughts, her gaze locked on her.

  “Are you shocked, dear Constance?” Her voice was so kind and caring, but Connie could see the steel beneath the surface. “You, of all people, shouldn’t be. You know all too well how people can disguise who they truly are on the inside, without even changing their appearance as I did. Duncan was a prime example of that, wasn’t he? But he’s finally dead now, thanks to me.”

  “Does your daughter know you’re alive?” Connie asked. She had to know if the woman she’d trusted Amelie into the care of was in league with her mother.

  “Lorelie?” For a minute, Lady MacKinnon seemed almost regretful. “No, of course not. My daughter is unfortunately far too principled for me to have ever considered her to be a part of all this. Originally, when I began speaking of revenge, it became apparent very early on that she would never be a party to my plans, and I would have to take drastic measures to do what had to be done without her assistance.”

  “But why pretend to be our housekeeper for so long?” Connie implored.

  “How else would I learn the inner workings of the household and truly see any justice done for my daughter? I had to take matters into my own hands to ensure that.”

  “But why kill my men?” Fergus cried, glancing helplessly out the window toward where the bodies lay. “They were innocent of any of this.”

  “Innocent?” There was absolute fury in her voice. “You dare to call them innocent, Lord Fergus, when they served you? They were tainted by your sins the minute they commenced doing your bidding, and now they have been punished for that.”

  Connie sat there speechless. The woman she’d thought had been her ally, who had nursed her back to health after Duncan’s repeated beatings, was instead a cold-blooded killer who had been living an elaborate charade and fooling them all. Connie didn’t know what to think or say.

  A deep hurt and sense of betrayal filled her.

  Footsteps sounded behind Lady MacKinnon, and Tom O’Shea, the gardener from the Inverness town house, came to stand next to the lady, a rifle in his hand.

  “They’ve all been dispatched, then?” Lady MacKinnon asked Tom, her eyes continuing to stare straight ahead at Connie and Fergus, unblinking in their intensity.

  “Aye, my lady,” Tom replied. “Meeting their maker in Hell, just as we’d planned.”

  “Mr. O’Shea?” Connie couldn’t believe it. “You’re involved in all of this?”

  The man shuffled from foot to foot and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Aye, I am.”

  “Oh, my word,” Connie gasped, “it was you who killed Seraphina, wasn’t it? You shot her in cold blood while she was sitting right next to me because she knew of your involvement in all this.” Connie’s eyes swiveled back to Lady MacKinnon’s. “Both of your involvement, and you had her killed, because you were worried she would tell us what she knew and expose you.”

  Beside her, Fergus bristled. “You killed Seraphina? She had nothing to do with any of this!”

  Lady MacKinnon started laughing. “Oh, you poor, pathetic fool. You really had no idea she was deceiving you, did you?”

  Fergus took a step forward, and Connie quickly put her hand out to stop him from going closer.

  “Fergus, don’t,” she whispered to him.

  He stilled and briefly nodded, his attention still on Lady MacKinnon. “What do you mean deceiving me?” There was frustration and confusion in his voice.

  “Lady Tarlington was masquerading just as I was,” Lady MacKinnon replied. “In the opposite way, though. While I went from being a countess to a housekeeper, she went from being a nobody to a lady. And Tom here was actually a baker before pretending to be your gardener. And we fooled you all, but you most especially.” She used her revolver like a pointer as she waved it at Fergus.

  “I don’t understand why any of you would be pretending.” Fergus said. “And Seraphina wasn’t masquerading…”

  “She was, Fergus,” Connie said, gently trying to pull him back. “Seraphina’s sister was one of Duncan’s mistresses. One of the missing ones, who I assumed he killed in one of his rages at his club, which you then helped to cover up.”

  “You did learn a lot in Inverness, didn’t you, your grace?” Lady Mackinnon tittered. “Very impressive. And yes, Seraphina’s sister was the third woman to be killed by the monster.” Her gaze turned accusingly upon Fergus. “You do remember all the women your brother killed in his rages, don’t you, Fergus? That you helped hide.”

  Shame filled Fergus’s face. “Aye, much to my everlasting regret, I do.”

  “Well, you see, all actions, or in your case, inactions, have consequences,” Lady MacKinnon pointed out. “And because you failed to do the right thing, and assisted your brother to escape any punishment, you will now be punished by me, for the murderer you are.”

  “I didn’t murder anyone,” Fergus cried.

  “Standing idly by and doing nothing is just as bad as if you were to land the killing blow yourself.”

  “I’m not a murderer,” he insisted.

  Fury stretched tightly across the woman’s face. “That is exactly what you are! Instead of stopping him, you were a coward.” She slowly walked over to where Connie and Fergus were standing. Gently, she brought the muzzle of the revolver up to Fergus’s neck. “Shame on you, Fergus Campbell. Shame. On. You.”

  There was a strangely compelling logic to the woman’s argument, but that didn’t excuse taking the matter into her own hands and killing others for revenge. Clearly, grief had driven the woman mad, and she had to be stopped. Perhaps Connie could try to disarm her? Because even though Fergus had much to answer to for his appalling actions of helping Duncan, she couldn’t stand by and see another person shot in front of her.

  “I-I didn’t mean to.” Fergus gulped.

  Slowly a grin replaced the rage that had been on her face. “No. I’m sure you didn’t. But you did nonetheless. Had you spoken up after the first woman he got carried away with and bludgeoned to death with his fist, instead of covering it up, the lives of so many would have been saved, including your own.”

  “I didn’t think he’d kill your daughter,” Fergus cried.

  “I care little what you thought,” she purred. “You were there the night my daughter was killed. The night your brother lured her up to the roof and then pushed her off. The night you yourself persuaded Dr. Howlett to rule her death an accident, instead of what it truly was, a murder.”

  “I was trying to protect Amelie,” he pleaded.

  “Don’t you dare say that!” In the blink of an eye her face twisted in rage again. “You were protecting yourself! Which is why I am here. You and Constance are the last two loose ends I must tie up, to finally avenge not only my darling daughter but all those who Duncan killed and you helped cover up. It is time to finally see justice done.”

  “Do you really think killing us will bring you justice?” Connie
spoke up. “Surely Duncan’s death was the justice you needed.”

  “Shut your mouth!” Lady MacKinnon all but screamed. “Don’t you dare talk to me about it. You were the reason my daughter was killed! And why you must be punished, too.”

  “Me?” Connie had no idea what the woman was talking about. “I hadn’t even met Duncan when she died.”

  “She was killed because of you.” Lady MacKinnon took a deep breath in, almost like she was trying to calm herself, before she stepped back from them both, until she was out of arm’s length. “You were the catalyst for her death. Duncan needed your dowry, as he’d already gone through my daughter’s like it was water. He needed to remarry another heiress and replenish his coffers. But he couldn’t do that while she was alive.”

  The woman was starting to become irrational, and irrational people were unpredictable. “And that was my fault?” Connie didn’t know if it was wise to potentially provoke her, but perhaps she could make her see reason.

  “I gave you many chances to redeem yourself!” Lady MacKinnon declared, waving the gun around. “But you never did! You stupid girl.”

  “What are you talking about?” Confusion rolled around in Connie’s head like a cannonball.

  “Don’t you remember the voices in your head some nights? Telling you to kill him, as you wished to do all along?”

  “The whispers in my dreams…” Connie could still hear the voices, over and over again, telling her to stab Duncan. To kill Duncan. To destroy Duncan. “That was you? But how? How is that even possible?”

  “Good Lord, you’re as dense as him.” Lady MacKinnon angled her chin over to Fergus, who appeared as dumbfounded as Connie felt. “A pinch of chloral hydrate in your tea, my dear. Not often, of course, but enough occasionally to ensure you were drifting in a state of semi-consciousness, thus potentially open to suggestions, but unable to recall a thing when you awoke. Though unfortunately my suggestions didn’t work. Not that I really expected them to—after all, to have the courage to kill someone, you must have the conviction, which you, my dear, have lacked greatly since you married.”

  “You drugged me on multiple occasions?” She had to really work hard to stop herself from lunging at the woman. “How dare you!”

  “I was trying to give you a chance to prove your worth and save yourself. Especially as it would have appeased Seraphina; she never did like the idea of you being killed. Which you were meant to be after Duncan was killed, and Fergus would have been framed for both your murders. But that God damn dagger got stuck in that bastard’s chest. It’s rather amusing, though, when you think about it. Duncan’s last act on this mortal plane was to save you.” She started to laugh. “Though unfortunately he can’t save you now.”

  Lady MacKinnon spoke of murder like it was a routine activity. “How long have you been planning all this?” Connie knew that the only possible chance to survive was to keep her talking, and hopefully some sort of opportunity to run or wrestle her would present itself. Anything was better than to simply do nothing and be killed.

  The woman shrugged. “Since my daughter’s death. Though the plan didn’t really start coming together until I realized the extent of Duncan’s depravity and how many other girls he’d actually killed. That was how I secured Mr. O’Shea’s assistance and Seraphina’s, too, until she spoke of betraying us. Each of them had lost a loved one to Duncan and were more than eager to assist in my plan. Especially after the police would do nothing.”

  “But why the elaborate charade?” Fergus asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier and a darn sight quicker to just kill my brother, when he was out riding or something of the like?”

  “You have no imagination, Fergus,” Lady MacKinnon derided him. “Do you think it was a coincidence that he died three years to the day my daughter did? In fact, you probably didn’t even realize that was the case, did you? Of course you didn’t. I have spent years waiting and watching, working out my plan to perfection, to be executed on the anniversary of her death. And this was the first year since then that I was actually in a position to kill him on her anniversary. And though I was furious when I couldn’t kill you after him”—Lady MacKinnon narrowed her eyes on Connie—“I actually think it’s turned out for the better. It’s given me the opportunity to tie up all my loose ends sooner rather than later. Firstly, to kill not only Seraphina, but Dr. Howlett and Mr. Middleton, too, and all the while placing the blame upon you, the poor deranged duchess. And now I have only three left to kill.”

  “Three?” Connie asked. Suddenly, the enormity of the lengths the woman was prepared to go to, to see her version of justice enacted, was simply chilling. She had no remorse at all.

  And they were weaponless, while Lady MacKinnon and Tom O’Shea had a revolver and a rifle between them. What were they going to do?

  “Yes, three,” Lady MacKinnon confirmed.

  Before Connie could even blink, the woman swiveled her arm and fired the gun.

  Mr. O’Shea dropped to the floor, a bullet hole between his eyes.

  Connie’s breath hitched in her throat, and beside her, Fergus stumbled back against the wall, his skin turning pale. Before she could think better of it, Connie ran across to the fallen man and crouched beside him.

  His eyes stared vacantly up at the ceiling, and there was no pulse beating at his throat. “You killed him,” she whispered.

  “I’ve become an excellent shot over the years.” The woman was actually proud of the achievement.

  “But why would you do that? He was helping you.” Clearly the man was as insane as Lady MacKinnon to do so, but he didn’t deserve to be murdered. None of them did. Connie felt like rushing at her then and there.

  Almost as if Lady MacKinnon could sense her intentions, she cocked her revolver and pointed it directly at Connie. “I can’t have any witnesses. How else am I meant to return to my rightful place in the world as Lady MacKinnon?”

  “But everyone thinks you’re dead; you can’t simply turn up.”

  “Oh, dear Constance, you are a simple soul, aren’t you.” The woman walked slowly across to where Constance was still crouched beside Mr. O’Shea’s body, and nudged him in the ribs. When there was no movement, Lady MacKinnon gave a nod of satisfaction. “In a few months I shall return home and explain that my grief had consumed me, and I simply couldn’t stand being in Scotland knowing the duke was alive. Hence, I have been traveling on the continent for the last few years since, until I received word he was dead and knew then I could finally return home.

  “And with no one able to contradict my story, nobody will suspect a thing. In any event, who would ever believe I’d been masquerading as a housekeeper for nearly two years? Besides, Amelie needs me. It is time she finally knew who her grandmother is, don’t you think?”

  The very idea of this woman having anything to do with Amelie both horrified and enraged Connie. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter what.

  “I hope that explains all your questions, because now it’s time to stop delaying the inevitable, my dear. It is time for you to go to Hell.” Lady MacKinnon raised the revolver and pointed it at Connie. “Be sure to tell that bastard husband of yours how much delight I took in killing him.”

  “Drop the weapon, Lady MacKinnon,” Alec’s deep voice growled from the back doorway.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Fear slammed in Alec’s chest as he took in the tableau in front of him. Connie crouched over a body and Fergus standing against a wall near the front door, while the woman he’d thought had been the Campbell housekeeper was in fact the supposedly dead Lady MacKinnon, who was very much alive and pointing a revolver directly at Connie.

  A sight he knew would live in his nightmares for many years to come, if they managed to survive.

  Very deliberately, Alec walked into the cottage, his weapon held steady, aimed upon Lady MacKinnon, while Iain followed him in, his rifle pointed at th
e woman, too.

  “It’s over, Lady MacKinnon,” Alec said. “Put down your weapon and no one has to get hurt.” After having overheard part of the woman’s conversation when he and Iain had been sneaking up to the cottage, Alec hoped the woman wasn’t too far gone in her mad obsession to at least listen to reason.

  But there was no reason in the woman’s gaze as she narrowed her eyes at him; instead there was a feverish insanity that Alec had seen many times before in patients who were mentally ill. And it never boded well, as those in its grip could rarely be reasoned with, and the slightest thing could set them off.

  Plus, this woman had a gun. He had to divert her focus over to himself and away from Connie.

  “It is not over,” Lady MacKinnon declared. “It will not be over until I properly avenge my daughter! And though I have no cause to kill you, Alec McGuiness, if you don’t leave right now, and take your brother with you, I will happily include you on my list of those to punish.”

  “I said drop your weapon,” Alec repeated.

  “Never,” Lady MacKinnon replied, jumping over the man’s body and hauling Connie to her feet, the muzzle of her gun pressed against Connie’s neck.

  Connie began to struggle against the woman, and Alec felt true fear.

  “Dammit, stop it, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you,” the woman warned Connie, digging the gun harder into the column of her neck.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Alec warned as Connie stopped struggling. “Lady MacKinnon, you can’t kill us all.”

  The woman looked wildly between Alec and Iain. “I can. Like I said, the authorities will think that the duchess has gone on a murderous rampage.”

  “No, they won’t.” In Alec’s dealings with those having mental illnesses, he’d always found it best to tell them the truth of the situation instead of simply what they wanted to hear. “If you let go of Connie, I give my word I will not try to stop you.”

  “You can’t let her flee,” Connie pleaded. “She’s killed too many people and will continue to do so.”