by Megan McCoy
Ian put his arm around her, removing a piece of heather from her hair and held her to his chest. “Alec came to the house to see if you’d made it home safely. We didn’t know where you were or where you had gone. With the snow so thick and the squall coming over us, it was white out conditions. There was a light in the sky coming from over the island and I knew that is where you had gone. Ailsa, with the storm, it was a miracle I saw it. What are you doing here, lass?”
“I followed a light into the clearing. I thought it was a person at first, but it disappeared.” She looked over to where it had been, into darkness.
“No darling, why did you come to the island during a storm?”
“I’m trying to make things right. For everyone. I’m so sorry, Ian. Can I win your trust back?”
“Christ, Ailsa, this is not your fault. I should have dealt with this a long time ago. I’m sorry I was cross with you.”
“You were right. I should have left it alone. You can’t give up your title.”
“It’s not mine, lass. It never was. Just like it wasn’t my father’s.”
“Cora didn’t believe that. She would have never agreed to the lie if she didn’t know it belonged to your father.”
“And how do you know what she would have believed?”
“I just do. I know it in my heart. She loved Malcolm.”
He ran his finger down her cheek. “I’m afraid this is a bit more complicated than love, darling. Why come here though?”
“I wanted to return the box.” She pulled it out of her bag. “If I can’t make it right for you, at least I can for her.”
She opened it up and placed the half coin on the bottom.
“Here,” Ian said, taking the small black velvet pouch from his sporran.
Ailsa looked at him confused. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Open it.”
She untied the string on top and stepped back when she saw what was inside. “It’s the other half of the coin. You’ve had it all along?”
“Aye.”
She turned it over. Carved into the back was Malcolm’s name. “Where did you find it?”
“In Cora’s box, with his letters. I kept it with me. I don’t know, maybe as some kind of reminder of who I truly was. I grew up thinking Donald was my grandfather. When I found out the truth it made me question everything, not just the title.”
Ailsa joined the two halves together, completing the coin, and placed it in the box. “United again, no longer absent from each other,” she said softly, standing up. She set the box in the hole and Ian covered it back up with dirt, stamping it down. “Maybe now they can rest in peace.”
“Aye, lass. Eighty years is a long time to be parted from your true love.”
The thought pricked something at the back of her mind for the briefest of seconds before fading, she tried to hold onto it, but it was gone.
He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I was cross with you. I know you were just trying to help.”
“You had every right to be upset.”
“Come,” Ian said taking her hand. “We need to get back.” They left the shelter of the trees, thick and dense with overhanging branches, back to the small patch of beach. The storm had passed, the night sky was now clear and bright, shining brightly with stars, glistening off the snow-covered ground.
“It’s beautiful,” Ailsa exclaimed, taken aback by the beauty. “What happened to the storm?”
“The gale blew through. We were on the back edge of it,” he said, untying the boat he’d arrived in, from a tree. He helped her in, then pushed them off, jumping in himself at the last second. This boat had a small outboard engine and he started it, steering them toward shore.
“I still wonder who dug up the box,” she said more to herself, the shaking had stopped and now she was just cold.
“I guess we’ll never know. But the truth is out there and we’ll have to deal with the consequences.”
“I know it wasn’t Andrew or Alec, they both respected Cora too much and Prune can’t see a foot in front of her. No one else knows about it.”
“Some things aren’t meant to be explained, lass.”
“That’s it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight. “I knew there was something bothering me that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The chest, why was it empty except for the coin?”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked. The waters had calmed and the boat glided smoothly toward the mainland.
“You told me you found Malcolm’s half of the coin in Cora’s box along with the letters he wrote. Right?”
“Aye.”
“Well, where were the letters Cora wrote Malcolm or the other things in his chest? Andrew said when the soldier returned with it after the war, it sat unopened in the sitting room for a week until Janet insisted it be opened. I think it was going to be too painful for Cora to see his belongings, that is why she gave it to Andrew, Prune and Alec to bury.”
“And you think someone removed them?” he said, catching on.
“Exactly, and I think I know where we can find them. Who’s with Robbie?”
“I left him with Mrs. Innes and Alec,” Ian said, pulling up to the dock and getting out.
“He should be all right for a little bit longer,” she said as he helped her up. “Do you mind making a short stop before we go home?”
“No, but Ailsa, this is not going to change the outcome, darling. Arthur is still the rightful duke and Glen Torridon belongs to him.”
“Will you trust me, Ian?” She looked up at him sincerely. “I have a feeling this happened for a reason.”
Chapter 12
They pulled up in front of the croft; a faint light came from the windows, casting shadows against the stone walls. The storm had left the air crisp and brisk, Ailsa got out of the Land Rover, her damp boots crunching on the icy snow, and headed to the door, knocking.
Ian put his arm around her as they waited for an answer.
A tiny gray head popped out the door and a bony hand pushed the large glasses up on her nose as she squinted at them. “Your Grace,” a startled voice squealed out.
“Mrs. Campbell,” Ian said. “May we come in?”
The door opened wide and a gush of heat hit them. “Of course. Get yourselves out of the cold.”
Ailsa, thankful for the warmth, made her way into the small kitchen. “Not in here,” Prune balked. “I won’t have Himself freezing. Get by the fire.”
Ailsa smiled, looking at Ian, who had turned a deep red. Prune led him into the sitting room and practically pushed him into what must have been her favorite chair by the fire. Ailsa found a seat on an old dining chair. “Would you like a wee dram, Your Grace, to warm you up?” the old woman asked, already pulling out a bottle and three glasses.
“Mrs. Campbell, I’ve told you before to please call me Ian.”
It was Prune’s turn to blush as she looked at him sheepishly. “Ian, then.” She handed him a glass that contained more than a dram and sat down in a chair next to him with her own drink. Ailsa, seemingly forgotten, got up and took the last glass, the smooth, malty smell making her stomach growl.
“Mrs. Campbell,” Ailsa asked from her spot along the wall. “You’ll remember me bringing up Ian’s grandmother Cora yesterday?”
Prune looked over at her, almost annoyed at her presence. “Oh, aye, I remember. I hadn’t thought of her for years.”
“I was wondering if you remember a small chest that she gave you, Andrew and Alec to bury on the island in the loch. It would have been the Christmas after the war ended.”
Prune’s jaw clenched as she took a gulp of her whiskey. She shook her head.
Ailsa raised her eyebrows, looking to Ian for help.
He set his own drink down and reached out, taking Prune’s hand in his own. “We only ask because we think there were papers inside, letters, and I thought perhaps you might have taken them out back then, for safe keeping.”
She sighed and took her glasses off, ru
bbing her eyes. “You’re so like him. The spitting image really. So handsome.” She stared off, lost in the past and her love for the young marquis, before putting her glasses back on and continuing. “She was never right for Malcolm. Nothing more than a Sassenach commoner. Janet knew Cora took the box before it was to be opened on Christmas Day and asked if I would take out anything that was in it before it was buried. So, I did. I had no loyalty to the English lass. I went to the Big House on Christmas day and showed her the contents. After looking through the items, she told me to burn them.”
“Do you remember what was in there?” Ailsa blurted out, knocking an embroidered pillow off the chair in her excitement.
Prune ignored her. Getting up, she poured more whiskey in both her and Ian’s glass.
He shot Ailsa a quick glance, then stood up and took the bottle from Prune. Setting it down, he helped her back in her chair. “I suppose we’ll never know now. Though it is a mystery for sure,” he said curiously, adding more peat to the fire.
Prune stood and went over to the china cabinet taking out a soup tureen painted with purple thistles. She came over and handed it to Ian. “I never burned them. I couldn’t bring myself to, I might not have had loyalty to Cora, but Malcolm was a different story.” She shrugged, sitting back down.
Ailsa watched as Ian took the lid off, a shiver ran up her spine. This was the rest of the story. Ian took the contents out, setting them in his lap: a stack of letters tied in twine, a book of French love poems, a tattered copy of Treasure Island, several snapshots, an envelope and the Royal Scots badge from his regimental bonnet. He looked over at her, astonished, before going through it all. He shuffled quickly through the letters, Ailsa assumed they would be from Cora and his parents and set them aside, along with the books. She got up and stood behind his shoulder as he paused, taking in each of the photographs. There were a couple of Cora: one up close of just her face, and the other of her laying in the sand on the beach in a swimsuit, smiling. A family picture of his parents and Donald and the last one of his regiment. All of them now ghosts of the past. Ian opened the envelop, but not before Ailsa’s eye caught the return address, General Register Office, Somerset House, Strand, London. Her breath caught in her throat. He pulled out the paper, unfolding it. The top read Certificate of Marriage. Lieutenant Malcolm Robert McLennan, Marquis of Torridon and Cora Eleanor James were married on the 6th of April, 1940. The paper fell from Ian’s hand as the color drained from his face.
“They were married,” Ailsa whispered. “Cora was telling the truth.”
“Aye, she was telling the truth,” Prune said regretfully.
“Why would Janet keep this secret? It legitimized my father’s birth. There was no need for all the lies.” Ian stood up with his back to them, putting his hands on the mantel, his kilt swinging over his strong thighs. “Eighty years of lies and betrayal.”
“She felt it was too late. The cover-up had already taken place, to expose the truth would have caused more scandal, and I think she knew she could control Cora as long as she had this to hold over her head. Besides, Donald was married to Cora and they had their children, Flora and Arthur.”
“Cora, poor Cora tried to tell them. Why didn’t she get them proof?” Ailsa asked.
“The registry had been bombed in October during the Blitz. Records were lost. She never knew Malcolm had a copy.” Prune shook her head.
Ian shook his head. “You could have said something.”
“Lies, over time, have a way of becoming the truth. At that point, I was married myself and went away to Glasgow until my husband passed away. When I came back, everyone seemed so settled. There was no reason to bring it up and I forgot about it.”
“Lies never become the truth. Instead, they eat away at those involved, obscuring the true beauty of life.”
Ailsa suddenly felt bad for Prune. She was no more than a pawn in this too. Janet had used her, playing on her affection for young Malcolm. “Ian, we should get going,” she said gathering up the letters and books.
“Aye, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed with difficulty. The shock of the news still upsetting.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Prune said quietly, trailing after them as they headed toward the door.
Ailsa patted her on the shoulder. They were almost out the door when she had a thought. “Would you come for Christmas dinner tomorrow?”
Ian looked over at her sharply.
“You would have me? After everything I’ve done?” the old woman asked surprised.
“That was a long time ago, Mrs. Campbell. It’s in the past and I think you helped to right a great wrong tonight. That took courage. Now is a time for new beginnings, and if we’re going to move forward, we need to do it together.”
“I wouldn’t come without Ian’s blessing.” She looked over at him through lowered lids.
Maybe it was the use of his name, or the fact that the pained expression in Prune’s eyes was magnified two times the size by her thick glasses, but Ailsa saw his wall begin to come down.
“Of course, you’re welcome. We would love to have you.”
Tears ran down her face, fogging up her glasses. Ailsa gave her a hug. “We’ll send Alec to pick you up around three.”
“Thank you, Duchess,” Prune said, trying to regain her composure.
“Don’t thank me, Mrs. Campbell. I think we can thank Cora.”
Chapter 13
Ian sat in the back of the church with Ailsa as she held Robbie. Usually he sat here so he could escape quickly before anyone could talk with him. Now he sat here, this Christmas, looking upon the people with a new outlook. This was his village and his tenants and for the first time he really felt like he belonged.
Father Carlin was ending the service. “I would like to say something before we adjourn.”
Ian took Ailsa’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze as they listened.
“This is the time of year we often talk about Christmas miracles. Sometimes they come to us in the form of a wee babe.” He looked over at Ian and Ailsa. “Other times as a star in the night sky. We try to explain them away as coincidences, or unexplained events, but maybe they need no explanation, maybe they are just miracles founded out of trust, and faith and undeniable love. Go out tonight and love each other, forgive each other and believe in the power of a miracle.”
Ian looked down at his wife and baby. He knew he had his Christmas miracle, and right now, she looked up at him and gave him a smile.
Ian stood outside the chapel door greeting people and wishing them a Merry Christmas. Andrew Brown came toward them. “Will you join us for Christmas dinner, Andrew?” he asked.
“At the Big Hoose?”
Ian nodded. “Aye.”
A smile erupted through the wrinkles on the old man’s face. “It would be my honor.”
In the car on the way home, Ian looked over at Ailsa. “I feel like I have this huge weight off my shoulders. This secret killed my father, and I thought when that box washed up on the shore it would kill me too.”
“Ian,” she started to say.
“Wait, hear me out. It was never about the title. The title never mattered as long as I had you and Robbie. But when the box was found, I was so afraid you would leave me if you found out the truth.”
“Ian, I love you, not some silly title. Just like Cora loved Malcolm. When are you going to realize we’re family? Robbie and I aren’t going anywhere.”
“I was so worried if Arthur took over Glen Torridon, he would squander it away. All I ever wanted was to take care of our village and tenants.”
“I know that.”
“I love you, my darling.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Merry Christmas.”
“I love you too, Ian.”
Standing by the fireplace, Ailsa looked across the room as the snow fell softly outside. She was surrounded by her loved ones. Izzy and Tom sat on the couch with their heads together deep in conversation. Andrew Brown was holding Robbie as he slept peacefully in
his arms. Mrs. Innes and her sister were busy carrying trays of food into the dining room. Alec had just pulled his bagpipe from its case and Ian was dancing with Prune Campbell to a Christmas song playing on the record player. She was happy. This is what Christmas was about. She caught Ian’s eye, blowing him a kiss as he pretended to catch it in his hand. The light of the fire glinted off the star on top of the tree, its tiny crystals a timeless source of hope, illuminating what was right and good in the world. Ailsa had found a kindred spirit in Cora; her strength and courage were reminders she, too, was ready to take up her role as duchess. Cora was free now, no longer burdened by secrets and no longer absent from her true love.
The End
Finley Brown
Finley Brown’s love for Scotland comes from her mother, who was born and raised in the small town of Saltcoats, Scotland. In her free time Finley enjoys cooking, wine, and working out. She works as a holistic health coach and studied at The Institute for Integrative Nutrition. She lives in Texas with her husband, three children and her two British Shorthair cats.
You can contact her at: [email protected]
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Finley Brown and Blushing Books!
The Glen Torridon Series
The Laird’s Command
The Laird’s Contract
The Laird’s Chamber
The Laird’s Christmas - Novella
Scottish Submission Series
His Sweet Curse
His Little Spy
His Star Princess
Anthologies
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020
Iver & Illayda
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020 - Book 3
Mira Brooks
Published by Eclipse Press
