“Mr. Ballantine, a pleasure tae see ye again,” he greeted the man.
Ballantine was dressed almost as garishly as he had been on the night of the performance. His coat was a beautiful–and expensive– blue velvet that came almost to his knees. However, when Jeames got closer, he noticed that the coat was frayed at the hems and cuffs, slightly faded at the elbows. Standing as he was by one of the large windows, which made the room so excellent for reading, Ballantine himself looked slightly tired and worn too.
“Ah, Mr. Abernathy, is it?” he enquired. His voice, though he was not yelling in any way, was powerful. It hinted at the man who could happily bellow and boom at an audience for three hours every night.
“That is I, Mr. Ballantine.”
“You are the Laird?”
“Nay, sir, that would be me faither, though I believe he is absent on business somewhere at present.”
“I see. Well, I know that you’ll be aware of why I am here. I must confess, though, that I am surprised at having you meet me here. How is my dear Beatrice? And why is it that she does not come and see me herself?”
Jeames gestured to a couple of chairs that sat nearby and both men seated themselves. Jeames poured a dram of whisky from a tray that stood on a table at his elbow for Ballantine and handed it over to him.
“As for Beatrice not comin’ down herself, I am afraid that I might have had somethin’ tae dae with that,” he said.
Ballantine knocked back his drink with relish and set the cup aside.
“Speak on, my good man!” he said, settling himself comfortably back in his chair and crossing his long legs.
“Now, obviously ye saw what happened that night at the circus?” Jeames said.
“Of course. I scarce believe it happened, though I saw it with my own eyes. Fifteen years, or there abouts, that girl has been part of my family. Twelve of those years she has spent riding in the manner that you saw the other evening.”
Ballantine leaned forward and said, in a whisper, “And never, in all those years, have I seen Beatrice fall.”
Jeames found himself instinctively liking William Ballantine. The man brought something theatrical with him, almost as if this conversation was a performance of sorts.
Maybe livin’ all yer days under the canvas of a circus tent turns a man’s life into one grand performance.
“Aye,” Jeames said. “It was quite a fall right enough. So, ye’ll nae be surprised tae learn that me physician ascertained that the lass’s ankle and wrist were sorely hurt.”
“Broken?” the ringmaster asked, and his face was wrung with worry.
“Nay, nae broken, but badly sprained and bruised, ye ken.”
Ballantine looked relieved. He knew, better than most, that broken bones had ended the careers of many a circus performer before.
“So, where is Beatrice, then?” the circus owner asked.
“She’s upstairs resting.”
“Well, lead the way, my good man! Let me go and see her. I must tell you that I consider her much more than mere employee. I have looked after her like a father.”
Jeames nodded. “Aye, so she tells me. And I don’t doubt that she’d be more than willin’ tae see ye, if it had nae been for an incident that took place yesterday.”
“Incident?” Ballantine said, one bushy eyebrow raising quizzically.
And so Jeames told him of the events of the preceding day.
“So, ye see, she wasnae even fit tae ride before the storm came,” Jeames said. He poured Ballantine another whisky. “I should have seen it, o’ course, but…”
The whisky was halfway to Ballantine’s mouth when it stopped dead.
“But what?” he asked.
“Well,” Jeames said. “She’s a mighty interestin’ lass, ye ken. I see now that I was more interested in impressin’ her with the sights of this country than I was worryin’ about how she was healin’.”
Slowly, never taking his eyes from Jeames’s, Ballantine tipped back the dram of whisky and swallowed it. He smacked his lips thoughtfully, still not removing his gaze from the face of the Scotsman.
Those are some mighty shrewd eyes that man has there. There is a lot goin’ on behind that face o’ his that doesnae come out in his speech.
“So, you’re enjoying Beatrice’s company, Mr. Abernathy?” Ballantine asked.
“Oh, aye, like I say, she’s a facinatin’ lass. What a life she’s led! And what a talent she has wi’ the nags.”
Ballantine nodded again. It looked to Jeames as if the man was coming to some sort of decision.
Abruptly, the ringmaster flowed gracefully to his feet.
“Mr. Abernathy, I’d like to thank you kindly for the libations,” he said, indicating his empty whisky cup. “It grieves me to hear that Beatrice is still hurt, but please know that I don’t hold you completely responsible. She is a free spirit, wild at heart. It’s why she gets on so well with the horses, I believe.”
Jeames rose to his feet too. He held out his hand to Ballantine. Ballantine shook it. His grip was firm and dry.
The honest grip of a man who kens himself well.
“I shall look in periodically to check on Beatrice,” he said. He smiled and gestured around the beautifully and tastefully appointed library. “And may I say, what a wonderful home you have here.”
Jeames bowed his head. “Thank ye kindly, Mr. Ballantine.”
The two men moved to the door.
“I don’t suppose you know when the physician thinks that she will be recovered, do you?” Ballantine asked. Standing in the doorframe, Jeames realized how tall the man was. All wiry sinew and pent up energy.
“Nay, I cannae say, I’m afraid. I daenae think I did her any favors, gettin’ us caught in a downpour as I did.”
Ballantine looked curiously down at Jeames. Then he smiled. “Quite,” he said.
“Is that goin’ tae be a problem fer ye, Mr. Ballantine?” Jeames asked the other man. “From what I gather from Beatrice, yer circus is used to movin’ from place to place, often and regular.”
“That we are, sir, that we are,” Ballantine replied.
His eyes swept the plush reading room again. It may have been only a trick of the changing light, as the rainclouds rolled in up the valleys to swallow the sun, but Jeames rather thought that he caught an avaricious glint in the other man’s eyes.
“It’s well that chance should see it that she was helped by one of such substantial means as yourself. The one time she falls, and she falls in front of the son of a great Scottish Laird.”
“As I say, sir,” Jeames replied, “it’s nae bother tae us havin’ the lass here. So long as it doesnae interfere wi’ any plans ye might have.”
“It’s not a problem, Mr. Abernathy,” Ballantine said. “We’ll stay as long as we need. Beatrice is one of us–one of my own. The circus is in her blood now. She needs us. Just as much as we need her.”
13
When Jeames returned to her rooms, having seen off William Ballantine, Beatrice knew that some explanation would be required.
Once the Scotsman had stepped in through the door and seated himself back in front of the backgammon board, Beatrice was sure that the first thing he’d ask was why she had not wanted to see William.
“So,” Jeames said, after he had taken a sip of his cider. “Whose turn is it?”
“Sorry?” Beatrice said, momentarily nonplussed.
“Our backgammon game. Whose turn is it?” the Highlander replied.
“Oh, um, it’s yours.”
Jeames made his move. Reached out and took another sip of his drink.
“Do you not want to know?” Beatrice said.
“What?”
“Why I asked you to see William out.”
Jeames looked keenly at her and then shrugged. “If ye want tae tell me then yer more than welcome tae. But if ye’ve somethin’ that ye’d rather nae explain tae me, then that’s fine also, Beatrice.”
Beatrice was quite taken a back at thi
s. It was decent and, well, tactful.
“Did he not mind not seeing me?” she asked, after she had taken her go.
“Oh, I think he minded,” Jeames said. “But he strikes me as a savvy man. A man who kens his fellow man. I think he read in me more than I let on, if ye ken what I mean.”
Beatrice was intrigued at this. She well knew that William was an astute judge of character.
What did he read in this burly Highlander?
“He was worried about ye, o’ course. But, and I ken this might sound a touch on the conceited side, when he saw the place where ye were bein’ cared fer, I think he stopped worryin’ so much.”
Beatrice’s smile congealed on her face. “What, um, what did he say?” she asked, keeping her tone level.
“Just mentioned how fortunate it was that it was the son of a Laird who happened to be on hand tae help ye, the first time that ye ever fell.”
Beatrice nodded her head absently.
Jeames leaned forward and moved a few of his pieces around the backgammon board.
“Beatrice, is everythin’ alright?” he asked.
Beatrice looked sharply at the young Scot, but he was busy studying the move he had just made.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, everything is fine.” She thought quickly, her brain zipping through explanations that might explain her attitude. “It’s just–just that, well, I imagine I shan’t have much more time like this…here, I mean.”
Jeames looked up at her then. Something akin to sadness stirred in the depths of his brown eyes.
“What d’ye mean?” he asked.
Beatrice moved some counters around the board without really paying attention to what she was doing.
“I just mean that, once I’m fully mended, I shall be gone. Out of your hair, so that you’re free to continue your courting of Miss Brùn.”
Jeames said nothing, but he made his next move on the backgammon board with something very much like annoyance.
“I think, if it’s agreeable with you, that I would like to prolong this time away from the circus as much as I can. I’ve never really lived outside of it, you know.”
At these words Jeames looked up, the slight scowl on his face clearing.
“Ye’re in nay rush tae leave?”
Beatrice felt a wry grin steal over her face. “Oh, yes, I do get so bored of convalescing in beautiful Highland castles! Take me away, please do!”
Jeames laughed aloud at these words. “Well, would ye believe that, as a wee lad, I wouldnae have been able tae think of anythin’ more jolly than escapin’ these walls and runnin’ off tae join the circus?”
Beatrice grinned at that. She could just imagine the little boy that this impressive-looking youth must have been. No doubt he would always have been getting into trouble, getting into places he shouldn’t have been, running from tutors and his minders.
“And now?” she asked.
“What about now?” Jeames asked. He moved some of his black counters and sat back in a smug way.
“Well, are you happy now? Are you happy here? You don’t still harbor a secret desire to run off and join Ballantine’s company?”
Beatrice watched the Highlander. The grin on his face remained but softened into a smile of a different kind. A secret, enigmatic smile.
She considered the board in front of her. Saw that she had lost the game. She threw him a pouty look from across the table.
“Am I happy? Now? Here?” Jeames mused. He still held her eye, though his smile widened when he saw that she had been defeated. “Aye, I think I could say that right at this moment, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been here.”
He marked a win for him on the little scrap of parchment on which they had been keeping score.
“As fer the circus,” he said. “Why would I need tae run away tae join it when the star attraction has run away tae me?”
* * *
The days after William Ballantine’s first visit passed sedately for Beatrice. Initially, she had felt a nagging guilt that she was taking up so much of Jeames’s time, when Margery Brùn, his betrothed, lay sick in another room of the castle.
When Jeames came to her a few mornings later with a book of equestrian lore that he thought that she might like, Beatrice asked him, in her matter-of-fact way, what Lady Brùn thought of him spending so much time with her.
“As fer that,” Jeames said, and Beatrice got the distinct impression that he was trying not to appear too happy, “Lady Brùn left tae head back tae her family estate this mornin’. Her illness would nae abate, and the good lady believed that it was somethin’ about this castle or these lands that was tae blame.”
“You don’t seem very upset about this outcome,” Beatrice probed.
“Nay, well, tis nae me place tae question a woman’s desires, ye ken,” Jeames said diplomatically. “She would have been more than welcome tae stay.”
Beatrice only tried a little bit to hide her smile. “So, I am your only charge?” she asked, disinterestedly, whilst watching Jeames like a hawk from the corner of her eye.
“Aye, Miss Turner, so it would appear,” replied the Scotsman. “I can turn me full attention towards gettin’ ye whole and well again.”
Beatrice did her best to retain some sort of composure at these words. The thought that she was now the sole guest of the handsome Highland Laird’s son in his castle, was one that she couldn’t help but tinge with just a touch of romance.
“So, no desperate horse rides through the pouring rain, then?” she asked.
Jeames made a show of pondering her words deeply. He tapped his chin, frowned and then said, “Nay, I daenae think that Mr. Ballantine would appreciate that sort o’ recuperation. Not when it comes tae the star of his circus.”
Beatrice shrugged the comment away. She found herself not wanting to dwell on any of it: not her recovery, not William, and not her return to a life spent on the road.
For the moment, at least, it is pleasant to live inside of a fiction.
“Well then,” she asked, making her best effort to pull a smile onto her face. “Whatever less severe activities do you have planned then, Mr. Abernathy?”
Jeames grinned and nodded towards the window. Beatrice turned her head. The blue sky had dissolved into a misty gray, as if the world had been quietly swallowed by a rain cloud whilst they had talked in this cozy room.
“I told ye, did I nae? The weather would set in around noon.”
Beatrice got up from her seat, limped over to the window and looked out. It seemed, to her eye, that all the color had been leached from the world. From her view, up here in the tower, the Highland country surrounding MacKenzie Castle was now a landscape of ghostly grays and whites. Mist and rain veiled the banks of beautiful, prickly, yellow gorse.
“Yes, your prediction certainly does seem to have come true,” she admitted.
“Ye sound surprised,” Jeames replied from behind her.
“Well, after yesterday, can you really blame a girl?” she said, wryly.
Jeames chuckled.
Beatrice turned back to the window, smiling a very secret smile. Something about this haunting Scottish landscape called to her.
“It can be so desolate,” she said, gaze roving over the undulating hills that were cloaked in mist. The land reminded her of a great body wrapped in a shroud. Features hidden, only its shape visible through the blanket of roiling fog and rain.
“Aye,” Jeames said.
Beatrice’s breath caught in her chest. She had not heard the Highlander get up from his chair; she would not have believed that a man of his size could move so quietly. He was stood close behind her now. Looking out over the top of Beatrice’s head she imagined.
“Aye, it can be desolate, nay doubt about that,” he said, quietly. “But nay the less beautiful fer it.”
“Yes,” said Beatrice, watching the rain blow through the valleys in great sweeping sheets. “Yes, it is beautiful. Beautiful and sad. Poetic, somehow.”
“Aye, ti
s a land o’ contrasts, the Highlands. Me faither has always said it’s so. He would tell me, when I was a young lad, that life, like the Highlands, is full o’ things that come hand in hand with others.”
Beatrice turned from the window. She tilted her chin so that she looked up into the handsome face above her. She was acutely conscious of Jeames’s breath–slow, deep and steady–and she could even see the pulse beating in his throat.
Awakening His Highland Soul (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 12
