by Joan Wolf
"You're sure none of them was in uniform?"
"Aye. One wore the trews and the other two were dressed like Sassenach gentlemen."
Van made up her mind. "How were they traveling? Where are they likely to be now?"
"They should be at the top of the loch by now, my lady. They had but two ponies."
Van took one of the guns she had been oiling and stuck it in her belt. She herself was wearing trews, as she had been out all morning. The other gun she handed to Donald MacIan, the man who had brought her the news. "I'll come with you," she said, "and see for myself."
Van, Donald, and Angus rowed most of the way up Loch Morar and then beached the boat and took to the hills. Van was as swift and as surefooted as the two men as they moved through the heather, coming ever closer to the route the strange trio was following. Finally they reached the point for which they were aiming, the pass where the rough mountain path came down to the shores of the loch. The three lay down in the heather and waited.
The day had been cold and overcast all morning but now a few rays of sun burned through the clouds. Van lay perfectly still, her eyes on the spot where the three men should appear.
They waited in silence for almost half an hour. "One of the Sassenach is old," Donald murmured in her ear. "They are going slowly."
Van nodded but her puzzlement only increased. What on earth would an elderly English civilian be doing in the mountains of Morar?
"Look!" Angus hissed, and there, at last, coming along the rocky mountain path, was the mysterious trio. The Highlander was in front, leading a pony. Behind him, also walking, came another man dressed in a brown riding coat, breeches, and high boots. He was leading a pony on which sat the third man of the party. The Englishman on foot looked very big in contrast to the Highland guide.
As they came out of the mountains and had their first view of the loch, the entire party paused in instinctive tribute to the stunning beauty of the lake in its mountain setting. Just then the sun came out, and the deep still waters of the loch sparkled and threw back the reflection of the mountains that towered around it on three sides.
The sun was warm on Van's back and as she watched, the big Englishman removed his hat to let the sun's rays beat directly on his head. His uncovered hair was as bright as the sun whose warmth he was enjoying, and Van's heart knew him even before he looked up and she saw his face.
All her apparatus for breathing seemed to shut down. Edward. Her lips moved but no sound came out. The blood suddenly surged in her ears. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Edward. Here in Morar. She stood up and her knees shook.
"Come," she said over her shoulder to Donald and Angus. "Follow me."
CHAPTER 23
He saw her coming through the knee-deep heather and he seemed to go very still. Van stopped when she was ten feet away from him; Angus and Donald halted behind her. She could feel her pulse beating in her head. She had never expected to see htm here.
His eyes were bluer than the cobalt sky.
Van spoke first, her voice hard with the feelings she was trying to suppress. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer at first, just stood there looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes. Then, calmly, almost conversationally, "How are you, Van?"
The deep tones of his voice shook her almost as profoundly as the sight of him had done. "As well as can be expected," she answered shortly. Her breathing was still not normal. She made a great effort to steady it. Then, "What are you doing here?" she asked again.
"I came to see you, of course." Pause. "I came to help."
"Help?" Her laugh was hard, ironic. "And how do you plan to do that, my lord?"
He stood there holding the pony's reins and regarding her almost thoughtfully. Her slender body was braced and taut; her eyes glittered with hostility. He had not expected their meeting to be easy, but he had not quite expected this hard opposition either.
He smiled at her, his most disarming smile, the one full of lazy sunshine, and said, "If you would be kind enough to conduct us to a place of shelter, I will tell you." He gestured toward the clansman. "Lady Vanessa, this is Colin MacDohald, who has been kind enough to serve as our guide." He turned a little to the man on the pony. "And this the Reverend Mr. Drummond." The blue eyes returned to Van's face. "Mr. Drummond is elderly and has found the trip to be a hardship," he added softly.
Van's eyes narrowed as she took in the figure of the man on the pony. He was white-haired and thin and he certainly did look extremely weary. She had no idea what he was doing traveling with Edward, but she supposed she would find out soon enough. "I have a boat not far from here, sir," she said in a softer voice than any she had yet used. "From there it is but a short row down the loch to my home. I'm sure my mother will make you welcome."
The old man gave her an extraordinarily sweet smile. "Thank you, Lady Vanessa." His accent was unmistakably Scots.
Van shot Edward a sharp, puzzled look before she said, in a clipped voice, "If you will follow me?"
He put his hat back on over his bright locks, raised the pony's reins a trifle, and replied composedly, "Certainly."
They walked in silence, Van and her two clansmen in the front, then Edward leading the minister's pony, then Colin MacDonald. The only sound was Van's occasional warning to Edward to watch out for an obstacle in the path.
At the first sight of the small boat, Edward said, "Van you and I and Mr. Drummond will go by boat. Colin can take the ponies if your two men will be good enough to show him the way."
Van gave him a hostile look. They were precisely the arrangements she had had in mind, but she did not like this easy assumption of command. "Very well, my lord," she said. The emphasis on his title was sarcastic and deliberate.
Edward made no move to touch her as she got nimbly into the boat, but he virtually lifted the elderly Mr. Drummond into his seat. Then Edward himself got in and picked up the oars. He pushed off expertly and began to row, smoothly and powerfully pulling the small boat through the shining waters of the loch.
"You told me that Morar was beautiful," he remarked easily to Van as his head lifted to look about him, "but one has to see it to truly comprehend."
"Yes," Van responded tersely. His knees were almost touching hers and she was angry at the effect his closeness was having on her. She turned to Mr. Drummond. "Did you come from Edinburgh, sir?"
"No, Lady Vanessa." The old man's eyes were a very light, very clear blue. "We came from Inverness."
Inverness! Van's eyes flew to Edward. "What were you doing in Inverness?" she asked breathlessly.
"I do not wish to discuss Inverness with you, Van, while I am rowing a boat." His voice was perfectly pleasant. "Let us wait until we reach Creag an Fhithich, shall we?"
There was a long, tense pause. Then, "All right," she agreed tightly.
"I have never been in this part of the Highlands before," Mr. Drummond remarked. "I am from Inverness, myself, Lady Vanessa."
"It is not an easy trip from Inverness to Morar, unless you go by sea," Van replied. She looked at Edward. "Did you walk the whole way?"
He shook his head. "I abandoned my horse at Loch Arkaig. He could not handle the rough terrain." He rested on his oars for a moment and looked at her. "I could not precisely see myself on a pony," he said humorously.
Her eyes fell. Her hands, hidden by the folds of her plaid, clenched. "No," she managed to say. "No, one cannot see you on a pony."
They came around a small promontory and saw the castle. Mr. Drummond gave an exclamation and Edward stopped rowing for a minute in order to look.
He could not imagine anything more different from Staplehurst. His home was the epitome of civilization: gracious, balanced, with stretching manicured lawns and artfully landscaped fountains and lakes and waterfalls. It was the result of a highly developed culture, created for living on the grand scale, full of elegance and harmony and comfort.
Creag an Fhithich was the product of a totally different kind of spirit.
It was stunningly beautiful, but utterly opposed to everything he had created at Staplehurst.
He and Alasdair MacIan, he realized, would not have had a thought in common.
He looked from the castle to the face of Alasdair's daughter. His plan for saving Morar and winning Van now seemed far more fraught with obstacles than he had previously anticipated. "It is magnificent," he said soberly.
"Aye," said Van. "You can beach the boat over there." She pointed, and following her instructions, he brought the boat to shore.
The front hall of the castle was a depressing room paneled in dark oak. Van spoke in Gaelic to a servant and then said, to the two men with her, "Mother is in the drawing room. Follow me." She led them up a set of narrow spiral stairs whose walls were covered with nails where once decorations had hung. Glancing around to see if Mr. Drummond were all right, Van caught Edward's eyes on the now-naked walls.
"The walls used to be hung with swords, claymores, broadswords, and dirks," she said flatly. Edward did not reply, but continued to follow her up the stairs, which curved upward in the traditional clockwise direction, he noticed. Stairs in old fortresses were always built thus so that a defender would have the benefit of the free right-handed swing of his sword arm against a mounting attacker.
At the top of the stairs was a set of large double doors. Van opened them and led the two men into a very large, very lovely room. A woman was seated at the far side of the room, near the largest fireplace Edward had ever seen. She put down her sewing as they entered, and Edward heard Van say, "Mother, may I introduce the Earl of Linton."
Edward smiled at Frances MacIan and saw her lovely face light with warmth at the sound of his name. "You look very like your father," she told him as he bent over her outstretched hand. Then, with a slight catch in her voice, "I am so very glad to see you, Edward!"
Much gladder than her daughter, Edward thought ruefully as he turned to present the Reverend Mr. Drummond.
"Mr. Drummond!" Frances cried, surprised. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"Do you know Mr. Drummond, Mother?" Van asked bewilderedly.
"Of course I know Mr. Drummond." Frances was on her feet. "My dear sir, you did not make that terrible journey on foot?"
"No, no, Lady Morar. His lordship was kind enough to lead my pony the whole way," the elderly man reassured Frances. He took her hands. "May I tell you how very sorry I am about your husband?"
"Thank you," Frances replied in a low voice. Then, with the genuine concern that was so large a part of her charm, "You look exhausted, Mr. Drummond. Would you like to be shown to your bedchamber to rest?"
The clergyman replied gratefully that he would, and Frances summoned Morag to perform this chore. "The blue bedroom, Morag. And then bring tea to the drawing room, please."
The door shut behind Morag and the three of them were alone. Frances smiled at Edward. "And how is your mother?" she asked.
"Very well, Lady Morar," he replied courteously. "But concerned about you."
"Dhé!" said Van, leaping to her feet. "This is not a London reception! For God's sake, Edward, what were you doing in Inverness?"
It was the first time she had said his name. He looked at her slender, vibrant figure outlined against the fire. The narrow stem of her waist and the slim lines of her hips and long legs were clearly visible in the close-fitting tartan trews. The long black braid that fell across her shoulder was as thick as his arm. She was looking at him as if he were an enemy.
"I went to see the Duke of Cumberland," he said calmly.
"Cumberland!" said Frances. Her voice trembled with loathing and fear:
Something flared in Van's eyes. "Were you bringing him messages from London?"
"No." She was still and taut as an animal at bay. "No," he went on, "I am no longer connected to the government, Van. I resigned my position after Culloden."
Her lips parted slightly but she did not reply.
It was Frances who spoke. "You are aware, then, Edward, of what has been happening in the Highlands?"
"Yes." He turned to the Earl of Morar's widow. "It is a policy that has been dictated from London, Lady Morar. I spoke against it, but no one would listen. England is going to make very sure that the Highlands never rise for a Stuart again."
"Disarm us, then!" Frances cried passionately. "That is fair, after what has happened. But to take vengeance on women and children! Did you know that women and children are being burned out of their homes and sent to roam the hills? In this weather! With no food and no shelter! My God, Edward, England has never made war on women and children."
He regarded her with compassion. "It was the invasion, Lady Morar. England was terrified. The king was ready to flee to Hanover." He looked back at Van. 'The measure of our vengeance," he said slowly, "is the measure of our fear."
"Niall was right then," Van said. "The retreat was a mistake. They should have gone on."
Morag brought the tea tray in and Frances began to pour. Edward accepted a cup from her hands, sipped it, and then put the cup down on a rosewood side table. He looked into the fire and said very quietly, "Where is Niall?"
He sensed rather than saw the look that passed between Frances and Van. They did not answer.
"He must be got away to France," Edward continued as if he had noticed nothing amiss. "I can arrange for a boat to take him out of Loch Morar if you wish."
There was dead silence. Then Frances spoke, her voice trembling. "Thank you, Edward. You are very good. But he is not in Morar at present."
Edward looked at her. "Can you get word to him?"
Frances shook her head. She looked unspeakably distressed. "He is somewhere in the Outer Isles," she said. "With the prince."
He heard the sharp sound of Van's indrawn breath. He turned his head to look at her. "Cumberland knows the prince is in the Outer Isles," he said slowly. "The hunt is up in earnest now. The seas around Skye and the Long Isle will soon be full of navy ships, if they are not there already."
"Oh, my God." It was Frances' low voice.
Van stared back at him, and her light eyes were full of challenge. "How would you get Niall away?" she said.
"I have a yacht." Her eyes widened slightly and he went on, "The Sea Queen was not ready to sail when I left London, but I left orders for it to be brought to Morar as soon as possible."
"The navy would stop and search it," Van said breathlessly.
"Not if I were aboard." His golden brows rose slightly. He had never looked more like a prince himself.
"Perhaps we could get word to Niall," Frances said suddenly.
"I can get him away for you," Edward replied. "But if he is taken there will be little I can do. He is a traitor under the law and the mood at court is not for leniency. I have some influence, but..."
"Yes," said Frances. She was very pale. "I understand." She drew a long, unsteady breath. Her hands were tightly clasped in her lap. They had met for the first time only minutes ago, but they spoke in the low, quiet tones of intimacy. They were both acutely conscious of Van's taut, silent figure, although neither of them looked at her. "Will the soldiers be coming to Morar?" Frances asked.
"Cumberland just sent three battalions to occupy Fort Augustus. They have orders to do to Locaber what has been done to Inverness. After Lochaber they will be in Morar."
"Dear God." Frances looked at him pleadingly. "Edward, if they drive off our cattle, the dan will starve."
In answer he looked from Frances to Van. "You asked before what I was doing in Inverness," he said to her.
Her light eyes were bright and wary. "Aye."
"I went to see Cumberland with a plan to save Morar."
The light eyes narrowed. "And what is that?"
"Marry me," he said simply. "Marry me and the duke will regard Morar as loyal to the crown. There will be no punishment exacted here. The clan will be safe."
Van's whole body seemed to quiver. Beside him he could hear the sharp intake of Frances' breath. "There will be an Act of Indemn
ity one day," Edward went on, "and when it comes, Niall can resume the title. Until then, Morar will be safe under my protection."
"And Cumberland agreed to this?" It was Frances' voice.
"Yes." He still looked at Van, who had said nothing. "Van?" he asked. His voice was very soft, very deep. Van looked at her mother.
Frances rose to her feet. "This is something for you two to discuss privately," she said. Then, to Van, "I'll be in my sitting room, darling, if you should want me." She moved soundlessly across the Persian carpet to the big double doors. They closed behind her with audible finality.
Edward and Van were alone.
CHAPTER 24
They stood facing each other, separated by only six feet of space. Once he had been all the world to her, Van thought. Once all she had wanted out of life was to marry him. But that was before.
"Sweetheart." His voice was deep, caressing. "Don't look at me like that. We are not enemies, you and I."
Dhé. How she remembered that voice. Her nostrils flared and she straightened her already straight shoulders. "Perhaps not," she replied. "But too much blood lies between us, Edward. Too much has happened for us ever to be to each other what once we were."
His eyes kindled. "I don't believe that."
"It is true." Her voice was steady but he could hear the effort it was for her to keep it so. "My father died at Culloden. Do you know that?"
"I know that. And I am deeply sorry, sweetheart. But he knew what he risked when he went into this rebellion."
Color flushed into her face. "It is not Culloden!" she cried passionately. "You are right. That was a battle and they all knew what they risked. Father and Niall killed English soldiers, I know that well enough. It was after the battle, Edward." For the first time the still, frozen look had lifted from her face. It was aflame now with anger and contempt. "Did you know that Cumberland would not let anyone go on the field to help the wounded or claim the dead? He posted guards, Edward, to keep us away! That is not war. That is something else altogether. We always gave medical aid to our wounded prisoners."
