Beloved Lies, Book 2

by Marti Talbott

  ON A NARROW PATHWAY between two of the older cottages, Cullen MacGreagor drew Annella MacGreagor into his arms. Tall and handsome, his jaw was square, his shoulder length hair more gold than brown, and the yellow and orange sunset enhanced the blue in his eyes. She, on the other hand, had delicate features, hair more red than brown and eyes that never seemed to lose their sparkle no matter the source of light.

  “I best go in,” she whispered. Yet when his lips met hers once more, she welcomed the passion in his kiss.

  At length, he drew back and looked into her eyes. “I give you my pledge, Annella MacGreagor – someday soon I shall make you my wife.”

  A full foot shorter than him, she smiled up at him and went back into his arms. “And I shall make you my husband – someday soon.”

  He drew back a second time. “Are you not going to give me your pledge?”

  “I cannae,” she said with a serious expression on her face.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, I hear once a lass has given her pledge to a lad, he becomes lax in his affections.”

  Cullen wrinkled his brow. “Where have you heard that?”

  “I hear it from every married lass I know. ‘Tis a constant complaint.”

  Cullen tried to pull her closer but she resisted. “I would not...” he tried.

  “So say them all. Meanwhile, their wives are forced to see the stars and the moon at night without them.”

  “Perhaps their husbands are tired and in need of sleep.”

  “There, you see, it begins already.” Pretending to be upset, she wiggled out of his arms and started to leave.

  Just in time, he caught her hand and pulled her back. “Have you any other requirements before you give me your pledge?”

  She shifted her brown eyes to the left and then to the right before she answered, “I am uncertain. I require more time to consider it.”

  Cullen put his hand on the back of her long, loose hair, looked longingly into her eyes, and gently pulled her to him again. “I love you so. There is nothin’ I would not do to please you.”

  “Save give up sleep to walk with me in the moonlight?”

  His shoulders slumped, “Be reasonable. I...” Before he could kiss her again, she began to laugh, slipped out of his arms, and disappeared around the corner of a cottage.

  Her laughter made him smile just as it always did. It was true – he loved her with all his heart and could not imagine a world without her. She was beyond handsome, and even if she was not the most handsome woman in the glen, the deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiled captured the attention of every man who looked at her. Sometimes, Cullen found the reaction of other men more than a little annoying, but she was always careful to assure him of her affection. It was also true that he fully intended to marry her. Yet he had not managed to build a cottage for her, nor found a way of making an adequate living.

  Born several years after his brother, Laird Donnan MacGreagor, Cullen had no desire whatsoever to become laird. Being the son of a laird had its disadvantages, for a father with no trade other than the duties of a laird could hardly teach a son how to make shoes or grow crops. There were other men willing to teach him and Cullen dabbled in leather goods for a year and in woodworking a year beyond that, but he found both unsatisfactory. A lover of nature, leather meant killing animals and woodwork meant cutting down trees. Candle making appealed to him for a time, but there were already an abundance of people capable of making candles, none of whom made a fortune at it.

  At the age of fourteen, he took particular interest in the fact that so many trees had been felled, the graveyard lacked shade on a hot summer day. Therefore, he found a man who could give instruction and began planting new trees. Unfortunately, the work paid no wages at all. His only compensation was watching the trees grow and coaxing an occasional deer into eating out of his hand. Now, at eighteen, he was still growing trees and trying to decide how to make his fortune.

  CULLEN, LAIRD DONNAN MacGreagor, and his family lived in Glenartair castle, which was beginning to show the poor quality of the mortar used to build it. The clan’s greatest fear was that one iron cannon ball would bring the whole thing down, and disaster would befall those caught inside. Fortunately, the English were too busy fighting the French and each other to be much of a threat, and not all clans had cannons, for the expense was considerable. The MacGreagors would not have spent the funds, had the English not gotten close enough to destroy Edinburgh. Now, the cannon sat idle and faced away from the castle – at the ready to assail any enemy brave enough to attack from the far end of the glen.

  That they only had three cannon balls was a well-kept secret.

  Glenartair Castle was a large and grand affair in which many a wedding and celebration regularly took place. Two three-story towers stood on each end and offered a view of the surrounding area for miles around.

  The Great Hall stretched all the way from the front to the back wall on the southern side, and it was there most of the clan’s business was conducted. On the wall hung an array of ancient weapons, and on a small table specifically crafted for it, sat an hourglass, a lot box, and the few items made of gold and silver the clan still possessed. Beyond the Great Hall lay a foyer, a spacious dining room, a kitchen, a sitting room, two staircases, and various closets used for storing food and supplies. One staircase led to the floors above, while a little used staircase in the back led to the top of the outer wall where pots of hot oil could be dumped on an approaching enemy.

  The laird’s family lived on the second floor while Cullen kept his residence on the third, where he had lived since he was old enough to choose a room. There was no better place to be, in his opinion, for come early morning the sight was magnificent. From his window, Cullen could see into the inner courtyard, view most of the outer courtyard, the village, and the long, wide glen. What he could no longer see were the many vegetable gardens that once took up a great deal of space in the glen, for they had been moved to make room for the daily futeball games. A lane yet ran down the middle, separating the tall grass and wild flowers on the side used for warrior practice, from the side void of any hint of vegetation which was lately used as a futeball field.

  Beyond the village and to the north lay a loch, rolling hills and pastures where the clan’s sheep, cattle, and horses grazed – and now, several vegetable gardens, fenced in to keep the livestock out. What he could not see from his window was a normally pleasant river behind the castle that occasionally raged after a heavy rain and the bridge across it that had been built years before.

  YOUNG JAMIE MACGREAGOR was tall and thin for his age. He was the second of four children born to Isabell and Laird Donnan MacGreagor, and the only son. By the time he reached the age of seven, he had his own bedchamber, but that did not keep his bothersome older sister, Kayleigh, from constantly telling him what to do. As far as he was concerned, the only thing she was good for was tying his drawstring belt when his long pants started to fall down. The day he finally learned to do that himself would be a grand day indeed. Each morning he practiced and although he was good at making a knot, he never quite managed to pull the drawstring tight enough around his waist. Learning how would come, his father often assured him.

  Jamie spent most of his days outside playing warrior with the other boys – that is, when he was not hiding under the massive table in his father’s Great Hall. More often than not, he had no idea what the men were talking about, but he knew this much – when his father issued a command, the entire clan obeyed.

  It was not until the council had been dismissed and his father discovered the boy, that Jamie got the shock of his life. “I shall be the next laird?” he asked.

  “Aye,” said Donnan.

  Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

  “Aye you. You are not to take the honor lightly, for you must keep yourself fit, and above all, honest.”

  Jamie was so enamored with his new status that he neglected to listen to the last of his father’s instru
ctions. Instead, he excitedly raced out of the Great Hall, let the door slam shut behind him, and scurried across the foyer. He struggled, as he always did, to yank open one of the heavy double doors, and then ran the length of the inner courtyard. When he reached the outer door, he opened it, skipped down the three steps, and then stopped in the middle of the outer courtyard.

  The sun, he believed, was shining just for him and he paused to turn his face upward, close his eyes, and thoroughly enjoy the marvel of it all. Just then, his little body was scooped up and tossed into the air. “Uncle, I command you to put me down,” he shouted.

  Cullen MacGreagor laughed and tossed the boy even higher. “You command it, do you?”

  If Jamie knew anything at all, it was that his uncle always did exactly what he wanted to, no matter the boy’s protests. The only way to win was to go limp and play dead. He did just that, and as he hoped, Cullen put him down. As soon as he had his footing, Jamie ran as fast as he could to the nearest cottage and disappeared behind it.

  “You command me?” Cullen scoffed as he turned around and headed into the castle.

  RMS MAURETANIA

  When Blair woke up, the book still lay face down across her stomach and someone was knocking on the door. “Come in.” She barely had time to close the book and set it aside, before the door opened and Robin strolled in. Behind her, Lucy paused to give a slight curtsy, and then went to the closet.

  “Get up,” Robin insisted. “I have the most delicious news.”

  “What news?” Blair asked, struggling to sit up in bed.

  “His name is Lord Ashton Hartsford and he is a Viscount something or other in search of a Viscountess. Never have I seen a man as handsome as he.”

  Blair lifted the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and straightened her sleeping gown. “You have been introduced to him already?”

  “Well, no. He was coming down the hallway as I was going up, you see.”

  “Did he dare speak to you?”

  “Of course not, he was quite the gentleman, but he did smile and nod. It was Lucy who told me who he was. It seems several young ladies, and old ladies alike I dare say, are talking of him.”

  When Lucy pulled a burgundy, high-waisted day frock with a pink silk sash out of the closet and held it up, Blair nodded. “How much do you know about him, Lucy?”

  “Not much yet, but I shall try to find out if you wish,” Lucy answered.

  Blair stretched and stood up. “What time is it?”

  “Past time for breakfast,” Robin said. “I fear you shall have to settle for a snack in the Veranda café on deck.”

  “I am not that hungry anyway,” said Blair. “Did you happen to see the Whitfields?”

  “Well, Mrs. Whitfield decided to take a long bath and Mr. Whitfield is on the promenade somewhere. Shall I go find him?” Robin asked.

  Blair answered, “Nay, wait and I shall go with you.”

  “It is a bit chilly out this morning,” said Lucy. “You shall need a jacket.” She went back to the closet and looked for the jacket that matched the frock.

  “Father says a title does not mean a lad has wealth,” Blair said.

  “Well, he must have some money,” Robin answered, “or he would not be in first-class.”

  “That is true, I suppose.” Blair let Lucy help her dress and then sat at the dressing table to see about her hair. It only needed a tuck or two before it could be nicely hidden under a hat. “If we are wise, we shall not fall in love too easily.”

  “Yet,” said Robin whimsically, “I know of a woman who met her husband on a voyage, fell in love, and was married in only four days. I find the prospect quite divine.”

  “And give up being presented?” Blair asked.

  Robin sighed. “You are right. Mother would kill me, and my step-father would disown me. I must be very, very vigilant before I fall in love and get married in only four days.”

  Blair giggled, “Indeed you must.”

  “If only I looked like you,” Robin sighed.

  Blair gave her friend a long hard look. Although stiff looking waves were all the rage for the older women, Robin’s long brown hair was pulled away from her face with four ringlets down the back. She wore a wide-brimmed pink hat, and a floral pink dress that did little to enhance her thin figure. Even so, Blair supposed there was little they could do about that. Her new friend’s shoes were the usual buttoned up affair with a one inch heal that made her look taller, and she held the chain to a small handbag in which to carry a kerchief should she need one.

  “I think you look perfect,” Blair lied. Perhaps later they could think of a more flattering hairstyle. Finished piling her own hair on top of her head, she chose a small hat from the two Lucy offered her, and let the maid pin it on.

  Having again attacked the candy dish, Robin got up. “That did not take long at all. Ready? I thought we might take a stroll on the deck before lunch.”

  “First, we must find Mr. Whitfield,” Blair said.

  “Of course.” Robin opened the door, and disappeared.

  Behind her, Blair grabbed the book off the bed and smiled at Lucy. “I believe we are in for a very entertaining voyage.”

  Soon, she was gone too, leaving the maid to make the bed, put Blair’s nightgown away and refill the candy dish. “More entertaining than you know,” Lucy muttered.

  JUST AS THEY HOPED, Claymore was standing on the deck just across from the door when they came out. His back was to her, when Blair went to one side of him and slipped her arm around his, while Robin did the same on the other side.

  Claymore looked at one and then at the other. “What have I done to have the pleasure of standing with two such lovelies this fine morning?”

  “Well,” Blair said, “we have suddenly realized we need you more than you need us on this voyage.”

  “Indeed you do. I have already been approached twice and I’ve not been here very long.”

  Blair admired the way the RMS Mauretania seemed to glide effortlessly across the glistening water, and the ship’s wake looked even wider than it had the afternoon before. “Robin already has her eye out for Lord Ashton Hartsford.”

  “Viscount, we call him,” Robin added.

  “You wish an introduction?” Claymore asked.

  Robin took her arm away from his and put both hands on the railing. “He will likely want to meet Blair at some point anyway, and I see no reason to wait, do you?”

  Blair giggled. “She is hoping to be swept off her feet afore she has a chance to think.”

  “I see. I suppose I cannot put off the introductions forever.” Claymore leaned a little closer to Robin. “Kindly point him out to me.”

  She looked all around and then shrugged. “I do not see him at the moment.”

  “Well, I was about to sit on the bench behind us and read the latest newspapers, which I have not had the opportunity of doing for days.”

  “Where is Mrs. Whitfield?” Robin asked.

  “Still bathing, I assume. She shall meet us for lunch directly,” he answered.

  A jingling sound caught Blair’s attention making her look to see what was causing it. She did not have to look far. A man standing at the railing just a few feet away appeared to be jingling the change in his pocket. He was, however, ignoring her and she did not mean to, but she looked at him a little too long. When he finally noticed, he smiled and tipped his hat. She quickly looked away, but not before she noticed what a pleasing looking young man he was. He had dark curly hair, and had his Norfolk jacket unbuttoned with both hands in his pockets. The jingling stopped, and when she glanced his direction again, he had walked away.

  “Shall we not sit down?” Claymore asked. He waited until his charges were seated, sat beside Blair, found a newspaper on a nearby table, and then pulled a pair of glasses out of his inside jacket pocket.

  Comfortably seated, Blair opened her cherished book and began to read.

  “What is that you are reading?” Robin asked.

&
nbsp; “The family history book I told you about last night.”

  “Oh. Should I go get a book, do you think?” Robin asked.

  “What sort of book would you like?” a man asked. He stood just outside the door and nodded to her when Robin looked up at him. “I shall gladly choose one for you.”

  Lord Ashton Hartsford was indeed a handsome man, and when Claymore began to object to the intrusion, Blair elbowed him. “That one?” Claymore whispered. Blair slightly nodded.

  Awestruck that he would speak to her at all, Robin began to stutter, “I...I...”

  “A mystery,” Blair answered for her.

  “A mystery it is,” he said as he glanced at Blair. Unlike others, he did not stare at her. Instead, he turned, opened the door, and disappeared back inside the ship.

  “Thank you,” Robin breathed.

  “You might not be so thankful when he returns with a book you have already read forty times.” Blair’s reading had already been interrupted and would again when he came back, so she turned to Claymore. “About what glorious new invention are you reading?”

  “You shall not believe this one,” Claymore answered. “A man by the name of Albert Berry used something called a parachute to break his fall and jumped out of an airplane.”

  “Nooo,” Blair panted. “Did he die?”

  “He did not.”

  She looked up at the sky and wrinkled her brow. “Do you mean lads shall soon be falling from above?”

  “Handsome ones, I hope,” Robin said.

  Claymore chuckled. “In your case, I shall insist it rain only the handsomest of men.”

  Robin leaned forward to look Claymore in the eye. “Thank you. I shall count myself most fortunate to have made your acquaintance.”