“Are you ready?” Mother Faa poked a hard finger into my ribs and I looked toward Willie Kemp, standing with the wind tousling his hair and his cloak battered and mud stained, and I wondered anew if I should swap the life to which I belonged for a man of whose love I was doubtful.
Opening my mouth to say no, I said “of course” as soon as I saw the smile in Mr Kemp's eyes, and after that it was too late to object.
“Hold hands, then,” Mother Faa said. Although she was the oldest of any of us by some years, she seemed completely at ease up on that windy cairn, and gave her orders as if by right.
Mr Kemp held out his hand at once, and I took hold. His grip was warm and strong and, I was glad to note, completely devoid of grease or oil. Presumably he had washed especially for the ceremony.
“Do you both swear to be loyal and faithful to each other, from this day until this a year and a day from now?”
Mother Faa's words sounded archaic, as if they had been created many centuries ago. I wondered how many couples had heard them, and how many had bound themselves by the same promise.
“I do,” Mr Kemp said, strongly.
“I do,” I repeated, surprised that my voice was firm, unlike the erratic thunder of my heart.
“So now.” Mother Faa nodded to Ebeneezer. “Tie fast their hands.”
To judge by his foolish grin, Ebeneezer had been waiting for just this minute. Hauling a length of twine from his pocket, he lumbered forward and wrapped it around both our wrists, tying us together with a neat bowline.
“There you are now,” Mother Faa sounded satisfied. “That is you both handfasted. Now you can do anything that man and wife can do, and nobody can separate you save yourselves.”
“Excellent,” Dipping into his pocket, Mr Kemp produced a knife and sliced through the twine. “We no longer need the symbolism, Miss Lamont. We are now together. How do you feel?”
I considered the question as I made my way down to shelter in the lee of the cairn. “I have never felt happier”
I looked across to him and gave a hesitant smile. The entire ceremony had taken only a few minutes, yet it had changed my life completely. I was unsure whether to cry that I could never go back to my old world, or laugh that I had captured Willie Kemp for a year. As you know, my dears, at the age of 18, a year is a long time and I was quite unable to see any further.
Willie Kemp stood on the top of the cairn, looking for the entire world like a Greek God with his broad shoulders and dark hair. Behind him, clouds gathered their forces above the hills, foretelling of the storm to come.
He looked so tall and distant that all my fears returned; we were from different worlds, him and me. While I knew about balls and fashion, music and embroidery and household accounts, he was a man of his hands. While I spoke with gentlemen and ladies and knew how to conduct myself in the great houses of the country, Mr Kemp knew the servant's quarters and gypsy encampments. What had we in common to make even a handfasted marriage work?
He turned slightly and I saw him in profile. Still as handsome as Hercules, but with new lines on his face, and I realised that he too was unsure. He was not quite the confident man I thought.
“Mr Kemp,” I tried to sound reassuring. “It will be all right.”
“Will it indeed, Miss Lamont?” He looked down upon me once more with his eyes as sombre as a hanging judge. “I just wish that you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.”
“I have handfasted the man that I love,” I said, for at the age of eighteen, everything seems to be so simple. “And the man I also intend to marry.”
“And you do not care for our differences?” He was not smiling, indeed he looked so serious that I doubted he realised what he had just done.
“Not a whit,” I said, truthfully. “And no more should you. But you should say that I have made you the happiest man in the world.”
“So you think I should be the happiest man?” Mr Kemp began to smile again, that same slow smile that I knew signified reassurance. “My dear Miss Lamont, I wish I had your ability to see everything in black and white.”
“You can have,” I told him, “if you just have trust.”
“Well, perhaps you could be right.” Mr Kemp descended from his position at the top of his cairn and clattered to my side. His arm slid around my shoulders. “Shall we get back to our cottage?”
Mr Kemp's use of that single word 'our' told me he had indeed realised what he had just done. It was not his cottage or my cottage but our cottage, and that casual assumption of shared possession marked possibly the most significant statement that Willie Kemp made that afternoon.
“Yes,” I said, pushing against his hard body. “We should get back to our cottage.”
I did not see when Ebeneezer and Mother Faa left us, or where they went, and I did not care, for I was lost within our own world. That afternoon I finally felt that I had come closer to Willie Kemp.
Unfortunately, I did not know the man at all, damn his scheming ways. Now dears, it has been said that you never truly get to know another person, for they always have a hidden side, and that was certainly true of Willie Kemp. He was the first love of my life, as I hope I have made plain, but even that day when we handfasted on top of that windy cairn I could not even have guessed at the depths of his trickery.
But I did not know that yet. He held me close on that carefree walk from Harper Hill to our cottage, and I savoured every single step. If I close my eyes I can still feel the roughness of his cloak on my face and listen to the regular crunch of snow beneath his feet. I can honestly say that I was happier than I had ever been in my life, but the walk was only the beginning.
While we were busy on Harper Hill, one or more of Mr Kemp's friends had visited our cottage. When I left that morning the room had been drab and dismal, festooned with wet clothing and with the peat barely smouldering in the grate. Now it was bright with holly wreaths and red berries, with tall flames leaping in the fireplace and a table laden with food.
“Your titled friends may go on a honeymoon,” Mr Kemp said, “but we poor people must make do with what we can.” He was smiling as he closed the door behind us and lit the two wax candles that had appeared on the table. Until then I had made do with tallow, the stinking butcher's candles scorned by my peers.
“I think that you are rich in friends, Mr Kemp,” I said. The mention of a honeymoon reminded me that, in a way, this was my wedding night, with all that entailed.
“At present,” he indicated the laden table, “at least we are rich in food. You will be hungry”
I was. I had eaten sparsely for the past week, and I am a woman who enjoys her food. People who eat alone seldom eat as much as those who relish company, and I was always a gregarious girl. Perhaps that comes from having a large family, but I find solitariness does not come easy, and I was happy to have Mr Kemp back in our cottage.
I doubt that I stopped talking once during the next hour, except when I was chewing of course, for there is nothing less romantic than talking and eating simultaneously. I have no idea what I said, but I probably gave Mr Kemp a blow-by-blow account of everything that had happened that past week, every step I had taken and every piece of peat I had placed on the fire.
He listened with that patience that seemed natural to him, either smiling whimsically or looking solemn and supporting, whichever he thought most appropriate to my words at the time.
Every so often I stopped to ask him a question, but permitted him only a couple of words before I was off again, rattling my adventures off until the poor man must have been bored to tears. Don't ever bore your men, my dears, for that is a sure way of ensuring they search for something more interesting than your embroidery or Alicia somebody-or-other said to Mrs thingamajig or what Mrs MacDonald's servants were doing with the duck.
It was only when I realised how much I was dominating the conversation that I began to slow down. Mr Kemp was watching me, his back to the fire and his eyes quizzical; as if he were trying to co
mprehend this new handfasted wife of his, and only then did I understand that this was my wedding night.
The fear came suddenly, and, looking back, I can blame nobody but myself. It had been my choice to leave my home, my choice to ask Willie Kemp for help and my choice to agree to the handfasting. Now I was alone in a lonely cottage with this large and rough man. I looked up suddenly, and inadvertently stepped back.
“It is all right,” Mr Kemp must have read my fears. He was smiling at me in a manner I had not seen before. He motioned to the chair, “sit down, Miss Lamont, and relax. You are in absolutely no danger from me, but we have a great deal to discuss.”
“In no danger, sir?” I was unsure whether to be relieved, annoyed or disappointed. Was Willie Kemp turning me down? Was I not good enough for him? Or perhaps I was not desirable enough? Maybe Mr Kemp preferred thin women … I could lose weight…
“No.” Mr Kemp shook his head. “You may sleep sound and secure tonight, Miss Lamont.”
“But we are handfasted. We are as good as married!” If Mr Kemp had said I was safe, then I knew that I was indeed safe, which meant that I could shout at him. It is always best to know these things about your men, my dears, before you start an argument. “Mr Kemp, are you not in the slightest bit interested in me?” I tried to recollect his expression when he had walked in on me that morning. Had he been shocked, or disgusted?
“We are handfasted,” he agreed, “legally and before witnesses. Nobody can take that from us.”
“Mr Kemp,” I said, severely. “What are your intentions?”
He did not reply for a second, so I could distinctly hear the fizz of the fire and smell the sweet perfume of the peat.
“Please tell me.” That was more of a plea than a demand, but you see, I was not nearly as certain as I thought. Although I did love this man dearly, I was not secure enough in myself to expect him to love me back. It was more of a hope than anything else.
At last Mr Kemp sighed and stepped away from the fire. “Miss Lamont,” he spoke more slowly than ever, with a serious, lowering expression on his face that I thought betokened trouble. “We have a journey to make.”
“What sort of journey, pray?” I looked around the now-friendly cottage where I had expected to spend the first night of my handfasted marriage. Although I was afraid of tonight, I also knew that it would be special, something that I would always remember. After all, Louise had instructed me in the generalities; I knew what went where, at least roughly; I only wanted the particulars, and the love of Willie Kemp. “Are you sure, sir?”
He sighed again. “I am very sure, Miss Lamont. We must leave our cottage.”
“No!” I refused. There had been so much change in my life that I could not countenance any more.
“One walk,” Mr Kemp promised, “and we will be together.”
“We are together now,” I wailed, nearly crying, and on my wedding night too.
“One walk,” he said, smiling solemnly, “and then I think you will be … more content.”
Of course I followed him. We left our cottage within ten minutes, with Mr Kemp calm as he ever was and me huffing and sulking, as I was entitled to, I believe.
Strangely, there were two horses tethered outside, and I looked at Mr Kemp as he helped me mount and slid on his beast as to the manner born.
“Where did these horses come from Mr Kemp, and where are we going?”
“Not far,” he told me, and smiled again. “Do you trust me?”
“I do,” I said, fool that I was ever to trust that man.
The night was brisk and sharp, with the hills hard edged against the stars and our breath steaming not unpleasantly around our faces. We rode slowly, and Mr Kemp looked over at me continually, as if to ensure that I had not strayed. As if I would. I had no idea what was about to happen, but I trusted Mr Kemp. I know that you will find that hard to believe after all that I had already endured, and given the situation in which I am now, but women do trust the men they love.
Damn him and his trickery.
Chapter Eleven
“I know this place!”
Mr Kemp had stopped on a slight ridge that overlooked a broad valley. There was a dry stone dyke stretching forever in either direction, powdered with frozen snow and with the occasional gate marked by tall stone posts. In front of us, and nestling comfortably in a hollow sheltered by mature trees, was the big house in which I had seen Louise dance only a few nights before.
The house was long and low, only three stories high and built in the most modern neo-classical style, with severe Doric pillars flanking a front door to which a dozen steps made a sweeping entrance. Yellow light gleamed from a score of tall windows, and all around was the aura of wealth and comfort.
“This is Cairnsmuir House,” Mr Kemp told me. “And we are going inside.”
“But Mr Kemp; I do not want to go inside!” Instinctively I glanced down at myself. My clothes had been respectable once, but a week's hard wear in the Pentland Hills had reduced them to something less than beggarly. “I cannot go like this!”
Mr Kemp, the blackguard, did not wait for my excuses. He was through the gate and riding on, with me trailing behind him, asking questions to which he gave not a single syllable in answer.
“Mr Kemp! I demand that you tell me what is happening! Mr Kemp, where are you taking me, and why, and can I please get changed first?”
Of course, I realised that we would be going to the servant's quarters as we had at Bonaly so there was no real need for respectability, but a gentlewoman does like to look her best. Unfortunately, Mr Kemp seemed to have lost his way so we rode direct to the front door.
“Leave the horses,” Mr Kemp ordered, and walked up the steps.
For an instant I cringed at the thought that he would demand entrance, but instead he slipped in a side door that I had not seen, turned, and beckoned for me to join him.
A week in the wilds had altered me.
“I cannot go in there!” The idea shocked me. In all but birth and upbringing and blood, I was a mechanic's wife; I no longer belonged in such a place.
Smiling, Mr Kemp gently pulled me behind him and closed the door. Now, girls, I had spent my life in and around the houses of the gentry, mainly in Badenoch but also, as you know, in Edinburgh, but I had never seen such an establishment as Cairnsmuir House. I have already indicated that it was not particularly large, but everything in it was absolutely modern. The style was classical, the furniture could have come from the most fashionably salon on Paris and the taste was immaculate. I had thought that Aunt Elspeth was a model for perfection, but Mrs Cairnsmuir outshone her in every department.
I felt like an intruder in such a place, a gaberlunzie encroaching on a grand duchess, a pauper within a palace. I found that I was literally walking on tip toes as I followed Willie Kemp. We passed through an outer entrance hall, where statues of naked Greek Gods flaunted themselves quite unashamedly and great Corinthian pillars supported a ceiling absolutely covered in Adam's ornate plasterwork, when I protested again.
“Mr Kemp! Where are we going?”
I never did find out, for pandemonium struck us just then.
There was a scream, followed by raised voices, both male and female, and a succession of bangs as doors opened and closed all around. First one servant appeared, and then another, stared at us and ran hither and thither as though Lucifer himself had ascended from his Pit to lay claim to this earthly paradise that was Cairnsmuir.
“What the devil?” Even calm Willie Kemp joined in the general agitation, grabbing at scurrying servants in his efforts to find out what was happening. “I say there, what's all the commotion?”
At length Mrs Cairnsmuir appeared, with my Aunt Elspeth at her side. Both were in a state of flux that I had never imagined possible, and I presumed that they had just caught sight of me in my beggar's rags, and had heard that I was handfasted to a mechanic.
But not a bit of it; the only concern they had was for that lion-hunting minx of
a cousin of mine. The name of Louise was on everybody's lips while they barely spared me a glance. I was most put out, as you can imagine, but all my pouting and postulating was in vain. They did not care for the predicament of their relative from Badenoch.
“It's Louise Ballantyne!” Mrs Cairnsmuir seemed to accept Willie Kemp's presence without a qualm. Indeed, everybody always seemed to accept Willie Kemp. Perhaps, I thought, there is something to be said for eccentricity; nobody expects you to conform, so after a while nobody cares how you look or when you appear. There must be a lesson in that, somewhere, but at that moment I was far more concerned with their complete disregard for me.
At eighteen, you see, I thought that the entire world revolved around me.
“What about Louise Ballantyne?” Mr Kemp did not even bother to introduce me, his handfasted wife, to the assembled and very agitated company.
“She's run off!” Mrs Cairnsmuir grabbed hold of Mr Kemp's shoulders. “She has eloped with that Frenchman!”
The words shocked me to the core. Of course I had always known that Louise lacked judgement; that was taken as normal, but to abscond with a Frenchman was going a bit too far. I mean, the French were all republicans that season, and quite beyond the pale of fashionable society. It was all very well for Lady Elspeth or even Mrs Cairnsmuir to invite a few to a dance now and then, for their positions were secure, but for an unattached gentlewoman to run with one. Well, it made my mis-match seem quite trivial. Trust Louise to steal all the limelight.
“My goodness,” I thought, happily, “she will be in trouble when she gets home.”
And then I realised that she might not get home. She might run to France, and we would never see her sulky face again.
I saw John Forres in the crowd behind my aunt, looking quite alarmed as he pressed snuff into his left nostril and sneezed most delicately. And then Mrs Cairnsmuir was speaking again.
“Willie Kemp.” Her hands were firm on his shoulders. “You must chase after them. They have been gone less than an hour, so you may catch them yet.”
“Tell me more,” Mr Kemp asked. He seemed the calmest person there, for I was all a-flutter at the excitement, the servants were screaming and chattering like a cage load of monkeys and Aunt Elspeth looked fit to swoon.
The Handfasters Page 13
