Athol had his fists clenched together so tightly that Davina thought he was going to break the skin with his nails. He was pacing up and down the courtyard breathing like an enraged bull, and Davina had to pull hard on his arm to stop him.

"Athol, calm down." She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. They were full of tears, but not of sorrow. Athol was crying tears of pure rage. She wiped them away with her handkerchief, then kissed him. Immediately, she heard him sigh with relief and when she looked at him again he was smiling.

"How do you do that?" he asked tenderly.

"Do what?" Davina smiled.

"Make me feel better just with one kiss."

"I am a witch," she whispered, laughing, then she was somber again. "Athol, Maura was the woman who murdered my father. Maybe it has not sunk in yet, but I feel that I should be… angrier."

"Let us go and take the horses out," he suggested. "Davina, my dear, I am angry enough for both of us. I suggest we do not go to the funeral."

"Of course not!" Davina was outraged by the mere suggestion.

"Instead we can stay in bed."

She laughed, then asked thoughtfully, "I might have known you'd say that. Athol, is this the right time to be laughing?"

"Davina, I cannot think of a better one." He smiled, then his face grew somber again. "But remember, we still have to deal with her lover.

They mounted Daisy and Jock then slowly ambled along the cliff path, each lost in their own thoughts. Presently, they got off the horses and Davina stood on the rock she had been standing on just before she met Athol. She felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"She's gone, my love. She's finally gone. I know I should not be happy about someone's death but her evil has been smothering us." Davina closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky.

"I am still afraid," Athol said, sighing.

"Of what?" Davina asked, frowning as she mounted Daisy again.

"That what happened to Maura will happen to you." He turned away from her for a moment, looking out to sea, then he looked back, and his face was anguished. "I would rather die myself than have anything harm you."

"Athol, we can't have guarantees like that," she sighed. "I wish we could. We will have to make the most of the time we have, be it long or short."   

"I love you," he told her, "I cannot imagine the old vain Athol even saying that much less feeling it."

"I love you too," Davina said, reaching out for his hand. She watched as his big hand enveloped her little one, and smiled.

Father Anthony was still there when they got back. "Father, we thought you would have gone to see your other parishioners," Athol said, frowning.

"I thought Grant had more need of me," Father Anthony's voice had a strong note of censure in it. "He has just lost his wife."

"Father," Davina said in a menacing tone, "do you know what that wife did to my family?"

"Aye," Father Anthony replied calmly, "I do. Grant told me. I understand why you are angry, but he is not to blame and he needs your support. He is a broken man, Davina. Help him and I think that you will find you are helping yourself."

"Have you ever had a loved one taken from you, Father?" Davina spat. "Do you know how it feels to have your heart torn out?"

The priest looked at her with a great depth of sadness in his eyes. "Yes, Davina, I do," he replied. "I was going to be married once, you see, but the Black Death struck my Maggie down. I could not even go to her bedside to say goodbye. So, I do understand Grant's pain." He looked at her with a sad, steady gaze and she immediately felt ashamed.

"I am sorry Father," she said humbly, "I had no idea."

"Of course, you didn't," he said and smiled, then put a hand on her shoulder. "Be kind to him, Davina, Athol. He needs kindness now." They nodded and he made a sign of the cross over them. "God bless you both," he said, then turned and walked away.

They went to find Grant, who was sitting in Maura's room again. Her body had been composed, with both hands crossed over her chest, and her forehead and lips had been anointed with holy oil. Maura looked pale, serene, and lovely. Grant had stopped crying and was gazing at her as if he would never be able to look away again. When they opened the door he, gave no acknowledgement that he had seen them other than a fleeting glance in their direction.

"Grant," Davina said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Grant shook it off angrily.

"Go away, please, and leave me to mourn my wife in peace."

"Leave me with him," Davina whispered in Athol's ear. "I'll get some whiskey," he murmured and went out.

When Athol was gone Davina sat down beside Grant. "You must understand how I feel, Grant." Her voice was very gentle. "She killed my father, hurt my mother, then plotted against Athol and me."

"I know," he sighed. "But now everyone is going to say she is evil. They are going to ask how I did not know, and when they find out that I did, why I did nothing about it. And the worst is that I have no answer to those questions other than that I loved her."

"I am sorry I did not stay, for moral support," Davina said regretfully. "Make no mistake, I hated her, Grant, but I do not hate you. But why did you say nothing about the blackmail?"

"I pretended it was not happening. It was the only way I could cope, and I am so ashamed." He hung his head. "I am so sorry." His voice sank to a whisper. He looked at Maura's still face. "How can so much beauty contain so much evil?"

Davina said nothing, but she held Grant's hand, feeling ashamed of herself. She had known what Maura was, but she was rejoicing - actually rejoicing - in someone's death.

In dying, Maura had left an evil legacy. Just then, Athol came back with three glasses of whiskey on a tray. Grant refused his.

"I promised myself I would never drink it again." He pushed the tray away.

Athol and Davina exchanged glances.

"Fine, Grant," Davina said. "We will wait with you for a while."

"No," he replied. "This is the last time I will be alone with her. Go away, please."

They needed no second bidding, and Davina let go of a thankful sigh as soon as the door shut. "Thank God!" She put her arm around Athol's waist and they went downstairs.

Una saw Mungo at once. He was sitting on top of a spirited black stallion, leaning over and whispering in his ear. The horse was listening, visibly calming down, and at last, he was able to dismount.

He started when he saw her, then smiled broadly. "I didnae knaw ye were comin' the day." He looked surprised but very pleased.

"We had a death at the house this morning," she informed him, her voice as bitter as bile. "Maura McKay Anderson, and no loss to the world. She is the one who killed my Ruaridh."

Mungo could find no words to say. He folded her in his arms and took her inside their little love nest. "But I have decided to make this a good day." She took a deep breath. "Mungo McLean, do you want to make love to me or not?"

"Aye!" he growled and a moment later they were joined together in the roughest, most passionate coupling they had ever had. They would both remember it for the rest of their lives. He pinned her down with the whole weight of his body until she could not move, then she scratched him on his arms, his legs, and his chest.

He gasped at the sensation that was so painful yet so pleasurable at the same time. Then they struggled as if they were wrestlers till passion overcame them and they reached a peak of ecstasy before coming down to earth again. Then they lay together, spent and laughing, but Una was thinking.

"This is the last time that we make love here." She declared firmly.

---

"So we arenae gaun' tae see each other ony mair?" Mungo felt his stomach plummet downwards, his heart began to race, and instinctively he held her closer to himself.

"Of course we are… In my bedroom!" Una was jubilant and thought that Mungo would be too.

He looked horrified. "Una - we cannae dae that!" he cried.

"Why not?" She kissed him and took his face in her hands. "We can do whatever we want, Mungo."

"We've talked aboot this, lass." He pulled her into his arms. "God knows, I love ye, an' I wish we could tell everybody, but we cannae. Yer faimly, yer friends, even yer servants wid be shocked. They wid think ye had lost yer mind."

"But Mungo, I don't care what they think."

"But I dae," he sighed, "Una, yer friends will despise ye, yer faimly an' a'. Even yer servants will no' want tae knaw ye. I hae seen it afore. I love ye an' I dinnae wish that fer ye."

"But that's wrong!" Una protested. "Mungo, you are a man and I am a woman. And we are in love. Why can we not be lovers or even married?"

"Because there are rules that make things run, hen," he said sadly. "Everybody has their ain rung on the ladder. Yours is at the tap, mine is at the bottom. That is the way it is an' the way it will aye be. I'm sorry."

"Rules are made to be broken!" she snapped. "You will not live with me because you do not want to."

"I wish I could, my sweet. I love ye wi' a' my heart, Una, an' I dinnae want tae ruin yer life," he answered. "Can we no' go on as we are?"

She looked into his bright blue eyes, and her own filled with tears. "Oh, Mungo," she whispered, "I could not stop even if I wanted to." Then she lay back on the mattress and welcomed him into her arms again.