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Disclaimer is in part 1 and a Thank you to the two ladies that gave this a read through . . . .feedback is appreciated. . . Please archive with other parts. . . .
The Truth Hurts
Part 10
by Michele
Donal paced, hands clasped behind his back. He felt terribly tired. Rubbing a hand over his face, as he stopped in front of the small table outside the parlor; the one that held the pictures of those that Violet loved. He examined all of the smiling faces of the people that were affected by knowing Voilet. Too many, he thought.
His hand sought out the silver-gilt frame that housed a picture of Jarod and Miss Parker and his five year old grandson, Ian, taken just under two months ago at Violet's 75th birthday. Their eyes said it all, and now the lass' eyes were devoid of that look, she had seen to that. The mistress of the Caer. He set the picture back in its spot on the table. He then picked up the decanter and crystal tumbler that sat next to the pictures and brought the level of spirits up to the halfway point. Taking a gulp, he savored the burning sensation as it slid down his throat.
"Grannie always said a dram of whiskey is good for what ails you, but if Geile catches you," Jarod said, watching Donal shoot him a sudden, sharp look, then smiled, a little wryly.
"Aye. I'd offer ye a drink but . . ." Donal said, before swallowing the remaining whiskey then set the glass on the table. " Violet?"
"Marley came for Parker, seems that Grannie was asking to see her," Jarod said softly, turning his head toward the stairs, then followed Donal into the parlor.
"The lass dinna remember the accident?" Donal turned his head toward the fire in the hearth, his eyes closing tightly as he listened to Jarod's response. Everything inside of him screamed to face the young man that was standing there and tell him the truth. That the owner of the Caer was threatening his young grandson, Ian. That he really didn't want to see the lass hurt in anyway, but Ian was their only connection to his son, Niall, gone these last three years. Donal sighed and his shoulders sagged as horrible images invaded his mind. Images of his grandson suffering at the hands of Margaret. After experiencing first hand her ruthlessness, Donal realized just what she was capable of doing, so he resigned himself to trying to protect Ian and his wife, Geilie.
"Donal?"
The older man jumped slightly when he felt the pressure of a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He knew if he turned around, it would be to see Jarod standing there behind him, with that damned look of concern written on his features.
"I figur'd that Grannie out live all of Inverness, lad." Donal took a seat in the overstuffed chair that was located in front of the fireplace, extending his hand for Jarod to do the same.
"I would love to stay, Donal, but Marley asked if I'd go and escort Father MacMurty back."
"Then the end be close, aye. If ye be fetching Father."
Jarod nodded and then retreated out the front door and headed into the village on foot. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket, his fingers encountering a lump of cold metal. Parker's keys, the constable had given them to him at the hospital. He had hidden her passport and gun at the office, but had forgotten all about the keys. After he completed the tasks at hand, he would put these with Parker's things, as well. His first stop was MacLeod's to place a call to Sydney; the second would be to fulfill Marley's request of escorting Father MacMurty to Violet's bedside. His thoughts traveled back to the inn and a certain bedroom on the second floor and the meeting that would be taking place between Parker and Violet.
****
Parker stood in front of the bedroom door, her hand hovering above the knob, a myriad of emotions running through her body.
"Go ahead," urged the person next to her, giving Parker a little push, "she be awaitin'."
Parker slipped into the bedroom, the door closing silently behind her. Her eyes adjusting quickly to the dim light, and she immediately turned her gaze upon the small, frail figure that was being supported by numerous pillows in the enormous oak bed.
The small, bony shoulders drooped, and dark smudges showed beneath the woman's eyes. Parker ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, as she tried to recall meeting this woman. Her fingers jammed against the bruised area of her temple.
"Violet?" Parker's blue eyes were clouded with apprehension, as she settled into the chair next to the bed.
"Lass," the voice was weak, but her eyes rested unwaveringly on Parker's. "I needna ask, it be written on ye face. Ye dinna remember me."
She then reached out and placed one hand gently over the purple knot on Parker's temple. There was a brief flicker in Parker's face, and Violet thought that Parker was about to say something, instead she leaned into Violet's touch, her eyes closing. A voice, faintly whispering, nonsensically, echoed in her head, along with the sound of her heartbeat.
Opening her eyes, Parker shook herself and pulled away, her expression turning into a frown.
"No!" Parker muttered, the frown returning quickly," I'm still trying to figure everything out. . . " Parker stood up from the chair, her knees a trifle wobbly, that she sank back down and brought her hands up to rub at her temple.
"Ye need to listen, ye canna block it out."
***
Jarod reached the bridge over the river Ness and headed into the village, the boards echoed hollowly underfoot as he trudged toward Macleod's pub. He shook his head as he thought about the past three weeks. He told Parker only part of the truth, skimming over their fledging relationship, even though Voilet had urged him not to do so. The lights of the pub loomed in front of him, and Jarod reached for the brass doorknob and pushed. The twinkling of the brass bell, alerted the patrons to a newcomer. The men of the town turned, most grinned and raised their tankards to him but his eyes sought out only one person in the dark and smoky room.
"Connor," he called out as he weaved his way toward the back of the room.
"Jarod," the older man, set his towel down upon the bar and motioned for Jarod to follow him into the small room at the back of the pub. " How be the lass?"
"I'm afraid that your trip to Tahiti will have to be postponed for a while, Connor," Jarod smiled, but worry still hovered in the back of his mind.
"Ye shouldna be here, ye should be with your lass, Jarod."
"She's with Violet. I need to use your telephone, Connor, and I didn't want to do it in front of Parker. I didn't want to upset her."
"Aye! Ye be a good man, lad. Ye know it be in back, but it'll cost ye, dearly too."
"It always does, Connor, it always does," Jarod smiled and then made his way to the small office in the back of the pub. Jarod settled himself into the wooden chair and reached for the receiver. He dialed as quickly as possible on the old rotary and then placed the receiver to his ear, waiting.
"This is Sydney!" The familiar response caused Jarod to exhaled sharply and play with Parker's keys.
"Sydney, is it possible that guilt could overwhelm a person. So much so that they forget all the goodness that's occurred in their life."
"What's happened, Jarod?" Sydney asked, concern ringing in his voice.
***
Parker made her way up the stairs, holding on to the railing, fearing that her knees would give out on her before she reached her room. She felt weak and nauseated, anxiously aware of the bitter tea she'd drank earlier. Upon reaching the bedroom, Parker immediately lowered her body into the overstuffed chair located by the door, her hands coming to rest on her abdomen. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the weariness. She dreamed of long sequences of images, flashes and fragments, restless flickers in the dark and quiet whispers.
***
Margaret closed the journal, and laid the pen across the top, her hand reaching for the shrilling object located next to her left elbow.
"Yes?"
"Madam!" The voice belonged to her trustworthy butler in Penwith, England.
"This better be important, Nigel," Margaret said, coolly.
"I believe that it is, Madam. The journals arrived. . . "
"Good. You made sure that they are in order," Margaret replied dryly.
"That's the problem, Madam," Nigel hesitated, then resumed quickly," The key to the safety deposit box is missing, so I thought that perhaps you decided to keep it with you."
Margaret stared down at the journal, and felt herself go cold. She had made an error. The enormity of this knowledge weighed upon her like a giant boulder. She had underestimated Miss Parker. Now such a mistake could cost her everything, and how ignominious would that be. She had made a dangerous assumption and now she had to try and rectify it.
"Madam?"
" It's all right, Nigel. I know where the key is."
"Very good, madam. I'll lock the journals in the safe as instructed."
"Is there anything else that I need to know, Nigel?" Margaret shook her head and squared her shoulders.
"Inquiries have been made about Lachlan Abbott," Nigel said.
"The photographer!" Margaret asked, anger creeping into her voice," Who?"
"The inquiry came from Downing Street, Madam." Nigel heard the sharp hiss of breath from the other end of the phone line.
"Thank you, Nigel. I'll handle it." Margaret slammed the receiver of the phone down upon the desk, her ire fueled by rage caused by careless mistakes.
There was no two ways about it-Catherine's key had to be located, and quickly. She'd have Fergus sweep the room in which the journals were originally located, perhaps Miss Parker hid it, hoping to return for it later. Not that that was possible, not now.
The Truth Hurts
Part 10
by Michele
Donal paced, hands clasped behind his back. He felt terribly tired. Rubbing a hand over his face, as he stopped in front of the small table outside the parlor; the one that held the pictures of those that Violet loved. He examined all of the smiling faces of the people that were affected by knowing Voilet. Too many, he thought.
His hand sought out the silver-gilt frame that housed a picture of Jarod and Miss Parker and his five year old grandson, Ian, taken just under two months ago at Violet's 75th birthday. Their eyes said it all, and now the lass' eyes were devoid of that look, she had seen to that. The mistress of the Caer. He set the picture back in its spot on the table. He then picked up the decanter and crystal tumbler that sat next to the pictures and brought the level of spirits up to the halfway point. Taking a gulp, he savored the burning sensation as it slid down his throat.
"Grannie always said a dram of whiskey is good for what ails you, but if Geile catches you," Jarod said, watching Donal shoot him a sudden, sharp look, then smiled, a little wryly.
"Aye. I'd offer ye a drink but . . ." Donal said, before swallowing the remaining whiskey then set the glass on the table. " Violet?"
"Marley came for Parker, seems that Grannie was asking to see her," Jarod said softly, turning his head toward the stairs, then followed Donal into the parlor.
"The lass dinna remember the accident?" Donal turned his head toward the fire in the hearth, his eyes closing tightly as he listened to Jarod's response. Everything inside of him screamed to face the young man that was standing there and tell him the truth. That the owner of the Caer was threatening his young grandson, Ian. That he really didn't want to see the lass hurt in anyway, but Ian was their only connection to his son, Niall, gone these last three years. Donal sighed and his shoulders sagged as horrible images invaded his mind. Images of his grandson suffering at the hands of Margaret. After experiencing first hand her ruthlessness, Donal realized just what she was capable of doing, so he resigned himself to trying to protect Ian and his wife, Geilie.
"Donal?"
The older man jumped slightly when he felt the pressure of a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He knew if he turned around, it would be to see Jarod standing there behind him, with that damned look of concern written on his features.
"I figur'd that Grannie out live all of Inverness, lad." Donal took a seat in the overstuffed chair that was located in front of the fireplace, extending his hand for Jarod to do the same.
"I would love to stay, Donal, but Marley asked if I'd go and escort Father MacMurty back."
"Then the end be close, aye. If ye be fetching Father."
Jarod nodded and then retreated out the front door and headed into the village on foot. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket, his fingers encountering a lump of cold metal. Parker's keys, the constable had given them to him at the hospital. He had hidden her passport and gun at the office, but had forgotten all about the keys. After he completed the tasks at hand, he would put these with Parker's things, as well. His first stop was MacLeod's to place a call to Sydney; the second would be to fulfill Marley's request of escorting Father MacMurty to Violet's bedside. His thoughts traveled back to the inn and a certain bedroom on the second floor and the meeting that would be taking place between Parker and Violet.
****
Parker stood in front of the bedroom door, her hand hovering above the knob, a myriad of emotions running through her body.
"Go ahead," urged the person next to her, giving Parker a little push, "she be awaitin'."
Parker slipped into the bedroom, the door closing silently behind her. Her eyes adjusting quickly to the dim light, and she immediately turned her gaze upon the small, frail figure that was being supported by numerous pillows in the enormous oak bed.
The small, bony shoulders drooped, and dark smudges showed beneath the woman's eyes. Parker ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, as she tried to recall meeting this woman. Her fingers jammed against the bruised area of her temple.
"Violet?" Parker's blue eyes were clouded with apprehension, as she settled into the chair next to the bed.
"Lass," the voice was weak, but her eyes rested unwaveringly on Parker's. "I needna ask, it be written on ye face. Ye dinna remember me."
She then reached out and placed one hand gently over the purple knot on Parker's temple. There was a brief flicker in Parker's face, and Violet thought that Parker was about to say something, instead she leaned into Violet's touch, her eyes closing. A voice, faintly whispering, nonsensically, echoed in her head, along with the sound of her heartbeat.
Opening her eyes, Parker shook herself and pulled away, her expression turning into a frown.
"No!" Parker muttered, the frown returning quickly," I'm still trying to figure everything out. . . " Parker stood up from the chair, her knees a trifle wobbly, that she sank back down and brought her hands up to rub at her temple.
"Ye need to listen, ye canna block it out."
***
Jarod reached the bridge over the river Ness and headed into the village, the boards echoed hollowly underfoot as he trudged toward Macleod's pub. He shook his head as he thought about the past three weeks. He told Parker only part of the truth, skimming over their fledging relationship, even though Voilet had urged him not to do so. The lights of the pub loomed in front of him, and Jarod reached for the brass doorknob and pushed. The twinkling of the brass bell, alerted the patrons to a newcomer. The men of the town turned, most grinned and raised their tankards to him but his eyes sought out only one person in the dark and smoky room.
"Connor," he called out as he weaved his way toward the back of the room.
"Jarod," the older man, set his towel down upon the bar and motioned for Jarod to follow him into the small room at the back of the pub. " How be the lass?"
"I'm afraid that your trip to Tahiti will have to be postponed for a while, Connor," Jarod smiled, but worry still hovered in the back of his mind.
"Ye shouldna be here, ye should be with your lass, Jarod."
"She's with Violet. I need to use your telephone, Connor, and I didn't want to do it in front of Parker. I didn't want to upset her."
"Aye! Ye be a good man, lad. Ye know it be in back, but it'll cost ye, dearly too."
"It always does, Connor, it always does," Jarod smiled and then made his way to the small office in the back of the pub. Jarod settled himself into the wooden chair and reached for the receiver. He dialed as quickly as possible on the old rotary and then placed the receiver to his ear, waiting.
"This is Sydney!" The familiar response caused Jarod to exhaled sharply and play with Parker's keys.
"Sydney, is it possible that guilt could overwhelm a person. So much so that they forget all the goodness that's occurred in their life."
"What's happened, Jarod?" Sydney asked, concern ringing in his voice.
***
Parker made her way up the stairs, holding on to the railing, fearing that her knees would give out on her before she reached her room. She felt weak and nauseated, anxiously aware of the bitter tea she'd drank earlier. Upon reaching the bedroom, Parker immediately lowered her body into the overstuffed chair located by the door, her hands coming to rest on her abdomen. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the weariness. She dreamed of long sequences of images, flashes and fragments, restless flickers in the dark and quiet whispers.
***
Margaret closed the journal, and laid the pen across the top, her hand reaching for the shrilling object located next to her left elbow.
"Yes?"
"Madam!" The voice belonged to her trustworthy butler in Penwith, England.
"This better be important, Nigel," Margaret said, coolly.
"I believe that it is, Madam. The journals arrived. . . "
"Good. You made sure that they are in order," Margaret replied dryly.
"That's the problem, Madam," Nigel hesitated, then resumed quickly," The key to the safety deposit box is missing, so I thought that perhaps you decided to keep it with you."
Margaret stared down at the journal, and felt herself go cold. She had made an error. The enormity of this knowledge weighed upon her like a giant boulder. She had underestimated Miss Parker. Now such a mistake could cost her everything, and how ignominious would that be. She had made a dangerous assumption and now she had to try and rectify it.
"Madam?"
" It's all right, Nigel. I know where the key is."
"Very good, madam. I'll lock the journals in the safe as instructed."
"Is there anything else that I need to know, Nigel?" Margaret shook her head and squared her shoulders.
"Inquiries have been made about Lachlan Abbott," Nigel said.
"The photographer!" Margaret asked, anger creeping into her voice," Who?"
"The inquiry came from Downing Street, Madam." Nigel heard the sharp hiss of breath from the other end of the phone line.
"Thank you, Nigel. I'll handle it." Margaret slammed the receiver of the phone down upon the desk, her ire fueled by rage caused by careless mistakes.
There was no two ways about it-Catherine's key had to be located, and quickly. She'd have Fergus sweep the room in which the journals were originally located, perhaps Miss Parker hid it, hoping to return for it later. Not that that was possible, not now.
