by Lisa Torquay
“Professor Hayley was in Cambridge these past weeks on an academic trip and one of his peers invited him,” Sam added innocently.
The father and his wife exchanged a look, a knowing look. Besides the suspicion in it, they also showed how attuned they were to each other.
A toddler burst into the room, followed by Roy. He was the very copy of his father, ringlets of black hair and green eyes, this must be Samuel’s youngest brother, Errol.
The child ran to Sam his oldest brother who promptly held him up on his lap. Errol babbled and smiled at his brother. “This is Errol,” he introduced proudly to Harriet. “Errol, meet my friend, Harriet.”
“Hello, Errol,” she greeted for lack of something else to say.
By the manner Samuel treated his brothers, it became clear he would be an exceptional father one day. An uncomfortable feeling squeezed her heart, and she preferred not to dwell on what it might be.
Aileen rested her empty cup on the table. “I’ll show you to your rooms, Harriet,” she said, “so that you can refresh for dinner.”
The lady showed her to a set of rooms triple the size she had at the Hayleys, and Harriet fought not to gape at the luxurious surroundings.
Feeling even more out of her depth, she twirled to Aileen. “I must be a half-wit not to have foreseen that my presence would cause discomfort,” she started, twisting her hands at her waist. “If you want, I can go back to Oxford at once.”
Lady McDougal caught her hands in hers. “I’m not denying that it came as a surprise,” she squeezed those hands. “But a friend of Sam’s is our friend, too.”
Harriet gave a grateful smile. “You’ll have to convince your husband of that.”
“That is a minor detail,” and winked at Harriet.
Harriet had to struggle not to laugh. Those two had an evidently strong bond. “It’s that…you know…Sam convinced me in a specific way.”
Aileen gave her a knowing glance. “Took after his father, then.” A mischievous smile drew her lips.
“We’re just…friends. Rest assured I’m not here…aiming high.” An embarrassed shrug moved her shoulder. “Besides, I’m older than he.”
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all. One and thirty.”
“I’m two and thirty,” she said, and Harriet wondered what this had to do with anything. “At first, Taran brought me here because he intended to match me with Sam.”
That made Harriet gape helplessly. “You?”
“Yes. I come from another powerful clan, The McKendricks,” she explained. The advantageous alliance clear.
“But he…?” her thoughts racing at the information.
“He preferred to meet the devil than to try a second marriage.”
“I see,” if what Samuel said was anything to go by, she did not blame his father.
“Then we…well...fell for each other,” the lady blushed and lowered her mahogany eyes.
Hard, by the looks of it. “It shows,” Harriet replied simply.
“So age means nothing in the circumstances,” she directed Harriet a meaningful look. “I’m leaving you to prepare for dinner,” she said and left.
The hours between then and dinner had Harriet’s thoughts whirling with the things she had learned.
“Did you want to talk to me?” Sam asked as he came into his father’s study and closed it.
The sight of it made a memory pop up in his mind. Of Aileen tearing the marriage contract between Sam and her in a thousand pieces right at his father’s nose. She had always defied his father’s overbearing posture, he remembered amused. Much for Sam’s good-fortune, for there could be no more mismatched match in the whole of Scotland.
His father looked daggers at him. “What were you thinking bringing a paramour to this house?” Legs braced, arms crossed, he made the picture of a displeased father.
Sam turned directly to him and met his green eyes head on, determined. “She is not my paramour, she’s the love of my life.”
“If you bed her, there’s no other name for it.” Sam’s skin tinted crimson.
Despite his reaction, he did not back down an inch. “I asked her to marry me,” he threw.
His father scowled. “You what?” And strode from behind the desk where he had been.
“You heard me.” And halted three feet from his son.
“What did she say?” He asked as if all was lost.
“Refused me.” Sam had no ability to hide his pain at that.
Taran’s nostrils expelled audible air. “At least one of you is thinking with the right head.”
“I’ve loved her for years,” Sam explained, thinking his happiness should mean something to his father.
Said father raked his hair in exasperation. “Look, Sam, I know that first times can leave a…mark in us.” The baritone voice had gone into an understanding tone.
If Sam had blushed before, now he became one big tomato. “This is none of your business,” he said anyway.
“I agree, but widows are…generous. They have the right means to…ease a man’s urges,” he started. “I should have talked about these things with you before,” he vented. “Such women hold a defined role in a man’s life.”
This got Sam so furious that, were Taran not his father, he would have had a physical reaction, an aggressive physical reaction.
“Take that back,” he clipped, barely able to speak with anger blocking him.
“Excuse me?” Taran asked, his brows crumpled.
“Take it back, or I’ll leave here now and you’ll not see me again.” He had a means of surviving as a lecturer. It would not be much, but he would not starve.
Two pairs of identical eyes battled, neither giving ground. Several minutes passed without either man moving.
When his father did not speak, Sam made to leave.
“Alright,” Taran raised his hands in a sign of peace. “Alright, I take it back.”
“Better,” Sam compromised.
“I warn you this won’t last. You’ll lose interest when the novelty wears off.”
“We’ll see,” Sam answered.
“And when it does, I want you to meet the McLeod chit.” The request made bile rise anew in Sam. Did the Laird learn nothing with his own arranged marriage? Did he not choose Aileen for himself and gain a happy union?
“I’ll not allow an arranged marriage to destroy my life,” he stated firmly and walked out of the study.
Needless to say that dinner was a disaster. Every attempt at civil conversation became a dead end. Food rolled around in the plates; no one could hold the stare of another for more than one second. The atmosphere thickened with tension and malaise.
Harriet wished she could keep to her chambers until it was over and done. She did not have an opportunity to talk to Samuel, but it was clear he and his father had words. And not good ones. If only she could help, say something, do something to cool the conflict. But she thought it better not to interfere.
Towards the end, Samuel turned his head to his father. “If you want, I can abdicate in favour of Roy.” It fell as a meteor on the table.
Taran snapped his eyes to him none too agreeable.
Aileen glared at father and son, braced her hands on the surface and stood up, fire spitting from her eyes. “You both leave the boys out of this!” she breathed hotly. “Sam is the heir to the McDougal, so deal with the situation!”
Any other mother would have rejoiced to realise her own son would inherit. How many queens did not struggle for this to happen? It seemed the Lady McDougal had standards of her own. Harriet admired her for it.
“Maybe I should retire,” Harriet said shyly. This was strictly clan’s affairs. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come.
Aileen looked at her, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry we’re proving to be such inconsiderate hosts.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she reass
ured her hostess.
“I suggest we all retire and sleep on it. Tomorrow we can resume in a cooler temper.” And extended her hand to her husband, who did not hesitate to take it, excuse himself and declare dinner finished.
In their chambers, Aileen turned to Taran. “What did you say to Sam?”
His gaze averted from hers. “Nothing much.” She realised he wanted to divert the subject.
“What, Taran?”
At that, her husband had no choice. “I tried to explain to him about widows.”
His wife rubbed a hand on her forehead. “Good gracious!”
“What was I supposed to do?” Hands on tapered waist, legs braced, she almost faltered at his power of attraction.
“Anything but calling her nothing short of a whore!”
“I did not do that,” he countered without so much certainty.
“Not in so many words, no.”
“He asked her to marry him. Luckily, she refused.”
She took a large gulp of air. Her husband was a good man, but rather…old-fashioned in these matters. “I talked to her, she’s a good woman.”
“I get that, but Sam has great responsibilities ahead of him.”
“Precisely.” She neared him and pierced his eyes with hers. “Has it occurred to you to give him support?”
“Of course I’ll support him, but not in this.” Stubborn was another of her husband’s ‘qualities’.
“He’s a grown man, Taran. He has the right to choose his own path.”
In the hallway, one door opened and closed hushed, then another opened and closed. She would bet the entire McKendrick and McDougal lands that Sam’s chambers were empty. She turned to her husband, crossed her arms and stared, as if saying, there you have it, he chose where he’s spending the night.
His green gaze darted in the direction of the hallway. “Bluidy hell!” he exclaimed in exasperation.
“Sam had such a difficult childhood,” she lamented. “Give him some breathing room.”
Her husband raked his gorgeous dark hair. “Fine! I won’t meddle, is that good enough for you?”
She opened a dazzling smile to him, glued her person to his and looked up his rugged face with adoration. “Perfectly so.” And pulled him for a kiss.
He smiled, love in his eyes. “You always get what you want, Buidseach.” Witch, his tender moniker to her. Hands on her shoulders, he pulled her to him.
“Only when I’m right,” she muttered.
That night the McDougal manor became a love nest.
June elapsed in uneventful ease. The McDougals participated in the summer festivals around the Highlands. Though people fizzled with curiosity, nobody dared ask who the woman with Sam might be. They got word that she was a widow from Oxford and it became the end of it.
Sam’s eyes were like jewels of happiness. He showed Harriet his old hothouse where he used to grow the plants he studied. Both took walks with Roy and Errol. The six of them sat for picnics in the loch where they talked a lot and got to know Harriet better as much as she did them. Nobody mentioned the future in a tacit agreement. And nobody interfered with Sam and Harriet, who continued to share the nights together. Discretely, that is, or as discretely as possible.
He wished this lasted forever. Harriet had expressed her appreciation for the Highlands on several occasions which made him proud of his homeland. And made him dream of her accepting him on a permanent basis.
But as July came in, they needed to plan for their return to Oxford since the trip took a week with good weather. It saddened him that this idyll would end so soon.
She loved him! Blasted soft heart she unfortunately had. Him, and the Highlands, and Roy and Errol. Many afternoons she sat in the garden and imagined what life with Samuel would be like if they stayed together. He made her so elated. So complete.
Naturally, this should be regarded as a situation of exception. Summer, free time for them, no worries, no work. Even so, his company complemented her. Everything she contemplated doing, she wondered if he would like to do it with her. In her view, they might live anywhere, with any income, she did not mind, she wished they could be together. She would not thwart his role as a leader of his clan though. His father was right, she was just a widow eager to make Samuel’s life less…constrained. Back at her position, they would not be able to meet in private so often, if ever. This was at an end, much to her chagrin. And it would be better if she accepted the end with stoic elegance. It had been precious, and she would store the memories as keepsakes.
With these thoughts in her mind, she headed to the study where Samuel asked her to meet him. At the entrance, she saw not only him, but also Laird and Lady McDougal. She froze.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Please, Mrs Stratham, don’t just stand there, come in and close the door.” The Laird ripped her out of her surprise.
They all sat around his massive desk, and the three of them looked at him. “It’s time we put this in the open,” he started with his authority dripping from every word. “My son says you did not accept his proposal,” his gaze bore into her. “Why was that? Don’t you love him?”
Harriet eyed him in astonishment. It seemed he conceived no woman in her right mind refused his son. Her mouth opened, no sound came; she breathed once, twice, and tried again. “It’s not that,” she blurted.
“So you love him,” he insisted.
Her eyes snapped to Samuel, then to Aileen, and to the Laird. Samuel sat there as if he had no hope left. “Well, yes.” At that, his green eyes clashed with hers with extreme amazement and exhilaration.
“What are you not telling us?” Taran pushed.
Her hands twisted on her lap as she lowered her head and blushed. “In five years of marriage, I never conceived.” She let the obvious conclusion hang in the air.
Aileen looked at her quizzically. “But we’ve seen widows conceive in their second marriages, which lead to the fact that men must also be liable in these cases.” The Lady McDougal had been trained by her mother to be a healer and she observed these contingences.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, “there’s no guarantee though.”
“If not for that, would you marry him?” the father asked.
Would she? Harriet mused. The arguments she gave Samuel when he proposed did not go away by themselves. She still was a penniless widow with no lineage or dowry unsure of her own fertility. Yet the unsurmountable problem here must be his family’s stand where she was concerned. What if they did not oppose the match? Would it be so bad if Samuel and her tried to be happy? Laird McDougal showed signs of flexibility no doubt by Lady Aileen’s influence. The clan’s interests and alliances were the pivotal issues here. Should the Laird decide to shift priorities, what did her heart wish? The answer stared her in the face. She wanted Samuel in her life with his tenderness, energy, intellect and the cosy home they could make together.
Why not own to her love for him?
The question made her look directly at the clan’s leader. “Yesterday, if possible.”
“Harriet!” Samuel exclaimed.
“Alright,” his father proceeded, “so here’s what. I have two spares so far,” and looked suggestively at his wife. “If no issue comes from Samuel, Roy can succeed him.” In the case of The McDougal, that was a compromise the size of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Scotland.
The four of them stood. Samuel came and took her in his arms. “My treasure! My Harriet, I love you so much!”
Her head tilted up to him, for he had the same height of his father, “I love you, too, Samuel.” She said rather shyly.
Aileen approached them and took one hand from each in hers. “Sam, you deserve to be happy more than anyone else,” she said with warm conviction.
“And I am,” he replied with a big smile. “I am the happiest man alive.” He kissed Harriet on the cheek.
“I’d dispute that, but I’m not spoiling the moment,” quipped his father as
he poured four glasses with amber liquid. “Have you ever tried the best whisky in the Highlands, Mrs Stratham?” he asked, as he and his brother-in-law, The McKendrick always jested when they met.
She smiled openly. “Yes, these past weeks.”
Satisfied with her answer, he raised his glass. “I have not a clue whether I’m doing the right thing here. But one fact I’m sure of, I wish you to be as happy as I am, son.” With that, he tossed the drink.
“Thank you, papa,” Samuel responded and all the glasses emptied.
When they had put their drinks down, Sam fished for something in his pocket to produce the leather pouch she had seen back in the inn. From it he took the ring he had bought in Gretna Green. Looking at it better now, Harriet saw it was a simple band in gold with a stylized flower on top of it.
He knelt before her, tousled slick hair, eyes shining behind the spectacles. “Harriet, will you do me the honour of being my wife?”
“Son, you need not give her such a simple ring, we have heirlooms scattered all over the place.” Taran interposed.
Harriet turned to him. “If you don’t mind, Laird McDougal. Samuel proposed with this ring in the sweetest way possible, I’d love to have it from him.”
Aileen eyed her surprised at her uncomplicated tastes.
As Harriet returned her gaze to her betrothed, he said, “I bought it because of the flower.”
She lowered her eyes as scarlet colour bloomed on her face. He had compared her intimate parts with a flower that first time. “Oh, Samuel!” she breathed between embarrassment and elation.
Her future husband put the ring on her finger and kissed her hand with heated adoration.
In the weeks that followed, a blur of activity dominated the manor. Sam and his bride would get married here before departing south.
They kept it simple, just the family and the household. The ceremony would take place in the old chapel in the manor.
Dressed in his full tartan—crisp white shirt, red and black tartan pinned to his shoulders, sporran, kilt hose and ghillie brogues—Sam stood in his full height at the altar, waiting for his bride. He remembered years ago sitting on the front pew with two of his kin, Fergus and Gracie, as witnesses to his father and Aileen’s wedding. Only there had been no wedding that day.
