by Fiona Monroe
"No!" she burst out, afraid and hardly knowing why.
"What now? More contrariness?"
Catriona tried to force herself to speak calmly. "Sir Duncan, I have already written to Mr. Carmichael, releasing him from the engagement. I posted the letter the day after you left Lochlannan."
He glared at her. "Damn your eyes, girl. You listened to me after all?"
"I listened... I listened to my own feelings. I thought seriously about what you said, and I realised that I did not truly love him."
She held her breath as he gave her a long, appraising, unfriendly look. She hoped he might touch her or kiss her again, but he made no move towards her.
After a few moments more he said roughly, "Good to know you have some sense in your head," and turned on his heel to stalk out of the room.
After breakfast, the guests started arriving at the castle in droves. As the halls filled with kin close and distant, and neighbours from near and far, the atmosphere changed and relaxed. There was less aping of polite Edinburgh manners, and more of what Catriona imagined was the ancient Highland way of behaving together. Even before the meal was served and the ceilidh officially got underway, a fiddler appeared from somewhere to play rowdy Scotch jigs, ale and whisky was being passed around, and a few young people started a spontaneous reel in one corner of the great hall. Not all the shouts of greeting and bellowed exchanges were in English, either.
More strongly than ever, as she hovered at the edge of the hall sipping wine from a silver goblet, Catriona felt that she was deep in a foreign land, with foreign manners and customs and speech; and yet it ought to have been her own, for by birth she was no Lowlander. Her mother's family had been chieftains in the Western Isles, her father had been the son of a Perthshire tacksman. She ought to have been at home here, yet she could not even speak the language.
She retreated to her room to get ready for the banquet earlier than she might have done, had she been able to join in the Highland dances or understand the Gaelic. She had not seen Sir Duncan since breakfast, where he had been silent and surly. She would have expected him to have been at the heart of the gathering in the hall, but he had not been around to welcome the arriving guests; Lady Buccleuch and Caroline had done that office, and nobody had commented on his absence.
There was no sign of her maid, either, and at first she was glad of it, fully intending to dress by herself. Then she had a sudden irrational notion that the girl and Sir Duncan were together somewhere, so she instructed a passing housemaid to find Mackenzie and order her attendance.
The girl appeared promptly, looking unperturbed.
"What were you doing?" Catriona demanded. "What is the point of you being my maid if you are not around to dress me when I need you?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am." She did not look as if she had just dressed herself hastily, though her face was flushed. "I was helping in the kitchen, there's so much food to prepare."
"That is not where you duties lie. You are not a kitchen maid."
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry," said Mackenzie quietly, and began to lay out undergarments.
Immediately Catriona felt bad, and angry with herself and with Sir Duncan. This girl had probably been up since five, dragooned into kneading bread or shelling peas for hours as the kitchen staff struggled to put together a feast for two hundred. And now she was being chided for it, and she could not raise her voice in protest. She just had to endure the unfair reproach meekly.
Was that how it was with her master? She would have no choice in the matter, she would have to let him do whatever he demanded of her. It was a despicable thing for a man to do, she thought suddenly, to have relations with a servant.
She wished it were possible to ask Mackenzie outright whether Sir Duncan really visited her bed, but of course she could not. She stood pensively while the girl pulled the fine gown down over her head and began to arrange its skirts to drape neatly to the floor.
Mackenzie was down there, kneeling at her hems, when there was a peremptory rap at the door. She got up unbidden and went to open it.
Lounging against the stone wall outside on the tiny landing was Sir Duncan, who was dressed quite inappropriately for the party in stained and muddy hunting gear. "Ah, Mackenzie," he said smoothly. "Got something for your mistress here. It's on loan from Mrs. Ross." He handed her a small box.
Catriona immediately recognised the casket which contained Caroline's diamond necklace.
"Ross has given Caroline some family necklace with a ruby on it the size of a duck's egg, which seems to have sent her into ecstasies, so she doesn't need that tonight. I didn't think you would have much in the way of jewellery."
She had none at all. Her mother's had all been sold long ago, and she remembered her tears when she had been forced to part with her last gold chain. She did appreciate the kindness of the loan, although she thought it odd that Sir Duncan had delivered it in person
That was until Sir Duncan said to Mackenzie, "Leave us. I need to speak to Miss Dunbar."
Mackenzie dropped a curtsy and was gone in a moment.
Sir Duncan stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Catriona was nonplussed. She had often observed his disregard for decorum, but coming into a lady's bedchamber — and shutting the door on them — that was going too far, even for him. If anyone came and found them like this, it would look very odd. She was suddenly in a compromising situation, in fact, and there was not much she could do about it. She was too proud to protest, and have him laugh at her.
To cover her confusion, she opened the jewel casket and admired the diamonds glittering within. "This is a kind thought, sir. I have never worn anything like this before."
"I have spent the morning in Scourie."
Catriona lifted her gaze from the jewels and looked at him properly, alerted by an ominous tone in his voice. He was staring at her as if challenging her, his brows drawn together. "Yes, Sir Duncan?" she said coolly.
"God damn it, Catriona. I've had it with you. Are you a damned liar or are you not?"
"I... would like to hope not, sir."
"You told me that you had written to this indigent sawbone's apprentice and given him his marching orders a fortnight ago."
"And so I did, sir."
"Then what the blazes is he doing, skulking about in Scourie?"
She was sure the astonishment she felt was plainly visible in her face, but he still glared at her suspiciously. "In... Scourie, sir? Mr. Carmichael is here?"
"I went to sort out accommodation for some of the guests with families in the village. I was told that a stranger, a young man, had not long arrived from Edinburgh and was asking how to send a message to the castle. I thought it would be some acquaintance of mine from town, I issued a pretty general invitation when I was there, so I asked to meet the fellow. Picture my astonishment when I was presented with a ragamuffin beanpole whom I'd never seen in my life before, but who had the damned impertinence to turn tail and run as soon as he clapped eyes on me. Acted like he'd seen a ghost."
"How... do you know it was Mr. Carmichael?"
"Because," said Sir Duncan, through gritted teeth, "Tam the farrier introduced him as such."
She sat on the edge of the bed, a little dizzy with alarm. "He must have... Sir Duncan, I do not know why you think I should lie to you. I swear on anything you care to name — on — on my mother's grave, that I wrote to Mr. Carmichael two weeks ago, explicitly dissolving our engagement. I have received no reply, but there has certainly been time for the letter to have reached him in Edinburgh. I can only think that he must have decided to make the journey to see me, instead of responding by letter. Perhaps... he means to persuade me to change my mind." Her heart sank at the thought.
"You've received no message from him?"
"No. None. That he should be in the area is a matter of the greatest astonishment to me."
The bedsprings depressed as she felt him sit down beside her, and then he lifted a hand from her lap and pressed it
between both of his. "You must not see him," he said, in a far softer voice.
"I do not mean to."
"I'll tell the lodge-keepers and the outdoor men to be on the lookout in case he tries to come up here. And if he isn't gone by tomorrow, I'll send some men to Scourie to take care of him."
"Take care of him? Sir Duncan, you will not hurt him?"
He gave a short laugh. "I would hurt him with great pleasure, but never fear, I won't be there. McDonald and Garvie can send him packing."
"He has come such a distance, and I know he has no money. Perhaps I should at least meet with him, and hear what he has to say."
"Why, so he can bully and cajole you into accepting him again? Is that what you want, Catriona?"
"No," she said firmly. "I do not." Her hand was warm between his, and his fingers started to caress her palm. She responded with her eyes.
"Then you are not to meet with him," he said with gentle firmness. "And if he tries to send word to you, tell me and I will deal with it."
She nodded, and wondered if he would kiss her.
Instead, he let go her hand and jumped off the bed with sudden energy. "Time for us both to beautify ourselves for the company. I'll send Mackenzie back up to you, unless she's listening at the keyhole, of course."
And he opened the door with a mock flourish, as if he really expected to see the girl crouching there.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Catriona scarcely noticed Mackenzie's ministrations, sunk in thought as she was. The news that Mr. Carmichael was scarce two miles away, instead of safely distant in another world, disturbed her exceedingly; as did the reflection that he had actually been introduced to Sir Duncan, and had so far forgotten himself as to run away from him. She could make nothing of that, other than a fear that he had somehow come to suspect that Sir Duncan was the rival who had supplanted him in her affections. But it suggested a wild, desperate state of mind, as indeed did the fact that he was here at all. Had he not said in his letter that he could not afford the expense of a journey to his home in Blair Atholl? Lochlannan was a good many miles further from Edinburgh.
The more she thought about it as Mackenzie tweaked and teased her hair into curls around her face, the more strongly she began to feel that it was cowardice to refuse to meet him. Her conscience was troubled. She had dealt him a great disappointment, and while she did not for a moment waver in her conviction that she no longer wanted to marry him, she felt that she owed him a personal explanation.
"Shall I put on the diamonds now, ma'am?"
Catriona nodded her assent, and felt the cold, heavy gems lying against her bare neck. Mackenzie held the hand mirror up in front of her, and she caught a confused flash of her own reflection, sparkling and curled and bright-eyed.
Far up as she was in the tower room, she could hear music and laughter echoing up from the hall below.
There was a knock at the door again, and once more it proved to be Sir Duncan without. He was now bedecked in all his clan finery, swathed in red and black drapes of chequered plaid and once more wearing the tantalising kilt. She could see his knees, bare above the short woollen stockings. A cap was perched on top of his black curls, adding height to his moderate frame. He held out his hand to her, and smiled.
He smiled so rarely that, when he did, the effect was startling. It transformed his sharp-featured, sallow face from almost plain, to heart-stoppingly handsome.
"You are a sight to behold, Miss Dunbar," he said in a low voice, and it did not even sound mocking.
She let him take her hand, and they walked down the winding stairs together.
There were two hundred people crowded into the great hall now, making an uproar such as Catriona could never have imagined. Sir Duncan had to shout and bang on a brass plate to have any hope of calling the company to attention.
Three extra-long tables had been crammed alongside the dining table that always dominated the hall, including one at the far end which was set across the width of the room. Sir Duncan actually stood up on this table to make his short speech above the heads of the crowd.
"It's good to see you all here to celebrate Ross of Sgeir Dubh and my sister Caroline finally tying the knot. We can all wish them long life, happiness and plenty of offspring to perpetuate the ancient Ross lineage. And I'm sure you'll all agree that the best way to mark the occasion is to eat 'til we burst, drink 'til we fall over and dance until we drop."
Rowdy cheers rang out. It was obvious that for many of the guests, drinking was well underway already.
"There will be a feast to sink a man o' war on these tables in about an hour. Until then, let's all make our way to the drawing room, where the band awaits." He concluded with some words of Gaelic, which raised more cheers and hoots of coarse laughter.
Then he leapt down from the table, took Catriona firmly by the arm and led the procession from the hall to the drawing room.
The modern and elegant room, where Catriona had by now spent so many sedate hours after dinner, had been almost entirely emptied of furniture to make way for dancing. A band of fiddlers and pipers were already playing a lively air as the company poured through the double doors.
Sir Duncan left her side and disappeared into the crowd towards the players. The music tailed away, and there was an expectant hush for a few moments as everyone shuffled to the edges of the room.
Then Mr. Ross led Caroline onto the empty carpet in the middle of the long room. He was grinning broadly, she was positively glowing with happiness. At some signal the band struck up a spirited wail and, after bowing once hand in hand towards the company, the pair of them flew up and down the floor in a complicated, twirling reel. There was applause, and calls of encouragement, and inarticulate hoots from the onlookers.
"Our turn."
Catriona found Sir Duncan back at her elbow, steering her towards the floor.
"Sir," she said urgently. "I did not tell you. I have never learned these Highland dances."
"Oh, wheest. Follow your feet."
He grabbed her by both hands and spun her onto the floor.
Catriona staggered to one of the chairs that had been pushed up against the wall of the drawing room, and signalled to a hovering footman to bring her a drink. She could not heave breath enough to call to him, or to specify what exactly she wanted. Fortunately the footman seemed to understand her well enough, and brought her a mug filled with something strong and yeasty. Ale, she supposed, from the estate brewery. She never usually drank ale, but it was wet and plentiful and she gulped it down like water.
"You have more than two left feet," said Sir Duncan's voice above her, pleasantly. He sounded entirely unwinded. "Remarkable."
"I have... never... as I told you... learned Highland dance."
"I would have thought a music master's daughter would have more of a sense of rhythm."
She did not dignify that with a reply.
"You can hold your ale, at any rate. Let me fill it up for you again."
"I would prefer punch, sir."
"Punch! This is a proper Highland ceilidh, not an Edinburgh assembly." He took the cup from her. "I'll see what Cruikshank can summon up from the cellars."
She smiled, grateful for his solicitude, and watched him making his way through the throng towards the butler. The dance had been equal parts mortification and delight. She had stumbled helplessly in full view of the whole room, desperately trying to follow and imitate the unfamiliar steps; but Sir Duncan had clasped her hands and arms tight, and thrown her around fast and furious until her body sang with exhilaration. She was not ready to do it again, but she would not have missed it for worlds.
"Miss Dunbar?"
The voice was tentative, reedy, and it had repeated her name a couple of times before she heard it over the clamour, although the speaker was right at her elbow. An undersized boy with a pinched face and a pageboy's livery was standing anxiously by her, twisting his hands.
She looked at him expectantly. She did not recognise him, thou
gh he was wearing the household colours.
"Beg your pardon, ma'am, but there's a message for you." His voice was still a boy's.
"Well?"
"Beg your pardon, ma'am, but I was told I had to give it to you when you were alone."
Catriona glanced about. She had hardly ever been less alone. "Don't be ridiculous, boy. Give me the message, or be away with you."
With a further nervous twist of his fingers, the boy pushed a crumpled paper towards her.
Already with a fair idea of what this might portend, and with a sick feeling at her heart, Catriona glanced surreptitiously about to ascertain that nobody was paying any attention to her before she unfolded the note.
Dear Catriona
Do not be alarmed. This is sent by a trusted messenger. I am close by, though I will not say where for fear this note might be intercepted despite my precautions. When I got your letter I set out almost within the hour. I was not fooled, I knew at once that you must have written it under duress. Can you forgive me, dearest Catriona, for sending to you live with these people? If I could take you away, God knows I would, but you know the impossibility of that. Damn money, always money!
But I have to see you and know with my own eyes that you are unharmed, and reassure you that I understand completely that you are in the laird's power and had to make a show of dissolving our engagement. However did he discover it? Well, that matters not now. What matters is that we get this straight between us. Take heart! It will not be forever. Once you are of age, you can leave this dreadful place and we will be married at last.
By an atrocious stroke of ill fortune, Sir Duncan Buccleuch has seen me and knows I am in the vicinity, so we do not have much time. If we must meet in the dead of night, so be it — only make it this very night. Send me word urgently by the messenger and tell me where and when we may safely meet.
