So In Love

by Karen Ranney

  She had been given a new chance. She and her daughter had both been resurrected from the dead, a gift more precious than any she could imagine had been given to her.

  “There,” he said pointing with his right hand to a sight in front and slightly above them. “That’s Gilmuir.”

  She straightened and stared up at the structure, feeling as if her heart had clenched tight in her chest and then resounded with a beat so fierce that her ribs trembled with it.

  “It looks like Vallans,” she said and then realized that the resemblance was fleeting. The brick was the same color as her home, and the shape of the fortress was the same as the chateau. The four turrets were similar, also. But Gilmuir was so much larger and so much more impressive in comparison.

  Vallans had not been used as a fortress for centuries, but she could easily imagine Gilmuir remaining a defensive structure for as long as a MacRae would wish it. Built at the end of a promontory, it seemed to sit on its haunches like a great wild beast.

  “No wonder Margaret loves it here,” she said. “What a glorious place.”

  “You know that?”

  She nodded. “Gilmuir is one of her favorite topics of conversation. That, and Cameron, of course.”

  “Who is Cameron?”

  She glanced at him, noting that he didn’t look the least pleased. “I think perhaps it’s better if Margaret told you,” she said, smiling.

  Ahead of them, in the firth, was a large building jutting out over the water.

  When she pointed to it, Douglas explained. “It’s part of Alisdair’s shipbuilding company. There are a few other buildings sprinkled around the glen where they treat the wood and build parts of the ship. But the final construction is done there, while the hulls are tested in the cove. I’ll show it to you one day, as well as the secret staircase.”

  “A secret staircase?”

  “You sound as excited as Margaret,” he teased. “Wait until you see Ionis’s Cave.”

  “Who is Ionis?”

  “Hundreds of years ago a man was isolated to this promontory. Below, in a cave we’ve named after him, are the works of his lifetime, portraits of a woman he adored.”

  “What became of him?”

  “He was made a saint because of his years of penitence,” Douglas said. “And the promontory became a place of pilgrimage, at least until the first MacRae claimed it.”

  She studied him, wondering if that first MacRae was anything like his descendant. Douglas had the temperament and the courage of a man who would found a dynasty and create a place like Gilmuir to protect it.

  They slowed their progress into the firth and navigated the last curve. There, sitting on the water like a magnificent swan at rest, was the Ian MacRae, Hamish’s ship.

  Jeanne felt herself beginning to tremble and held herself tight as they weighed anchor.

  “Meggie is there,” he said gently.

  She nodded, hoping that he wouldn’t ask her to stay behind. But he said nothing of the sort, and when the rope ladder was strung over the side, he turned to her. “I’ll go down first and steady the ladder.”

  As he put one leg over the side, she held out one hand to stay him. He halted, looking at her in puzzlement.

  She reached his side in a few steps, leaned over, and tenderly kissed him. “Be careful,” she whispered against his cheek. “I don’t know what I would do if anything ever happened to you.”

  “I do,” he said. “You would survive. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

  He reached out and grabbed her hand and placed a kiss on the center of her palm. “You are as precious to me, Jeanne,” he said, his words replicated in his gaze. Regardless of the presence of the sailors around them, she kissed him again.

  A minute later, he swung his other leg over the side and disappeared. She leaned over the edge and watched him. He made the descent look so easy. A feat that wasn’t as simple to replicate, she discovered when she used the rope ladder herself a few minutes later. She couldn’t seem to find the rungs with her feet, and twice she lost her grip with one hand. Every so often she couldn’t help but give a little squeal when the ladder began to sway from side to side.

  She was very grateful to make it halfway down. Douglas reached up, grabbed her around the waist, and helped her down the rest of the way.

  “We have to do it again,” he said in a muffled voice. “At Hamish’s ship.”

  Only then did she realize he was laughing.

  She turned, wound her arms around his neck, and shifted her weight from one leg to another, sending the boat careening from side to side.

  He only grabbed her tighter around the waist and smiled down into her face. “Are you trying to send us into the firth, Jeanne?”

  “I think you deserve it, for laughing at me.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps I do. Forgive me?” He lowered his head, their foreheads touching. “Forgive me, love?”

  They kissed again, and she could feel his smile.

  A few moments later they sat and he removed his jacket, tossing it to her. She folded it and put it on her lap, her hands stroking the material as he reached out to take the oars and began to row.

  The closer they came to the Ian MacRae, the larger the ship appeared. When she said as much, Douglas smiled. “It’s built for the China trade. It’s the largest vessel in the MacRae fleet, and it’s a good thing. It’s Hamish’s and Mary’s home.”

  Douglas ascended the rope ladder first, leaving her to make the journey upward with even less grace than her first attempt. But he didn’t say anything as he helped her over the side, and if he thought her amusing, there wasn’t a ghost of a smile in evidence.

  A woman stood a few feet away, attired in a dark green dress that seemed to accentuate the red highlights in her brown hair. Her dark brown eyes appeared kind, and her smile was equally pleasant. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, giving Jeanne the impression that she had infinite patience.

  They approached her, but she spoke first. “I’m Mary MacRae,” she said softly. “You must be Miss du Marchand.”

  Her smile grew brighter as Douglas extended one arm around Jeanne’s shoulders.

  “Is Margaret here?” Jeanne asked, her voice tremulous.

  Reaching out, Mary took Jeanne’s hand in hers. “I think it would be better to let Douglas talk to her first,” she advised. “I have some wonderfully relaxing tea in my cabin. Would you care to join me?”

  The very last thing she wanted at this moment was tea, but it seemed as if she didn’t have a choice. Mary grabbed her hand and led her across the deck. Jeanne sent a last, helpless look at Douglas but he only smiled, turned, and walked in the other direction. Only then did she see the small figure at the bow of the ship staring relentlessly out to sea.

  Douglas didn’t know what to do first, hug Margaret or scold her. He settled for the first, picking her up bodily and extending his arms around her. She didn’t hug him in return but remained stiff and unrelenting.

  Meggie, angry, was a formidable sight.

  Lowering her to the deck again, he stood and stared down at her.

  “Mireille Margaret MacRae,” he said sternly, “what have you got to say for yourself?

  She looked mutinous, her bottom lip pushed out into a stubborn pout that he’d rarely seen from her.

  “I’m a thief, Papa. I took the money from the strongbox, and borrowed a horse to take me to Leith. Henry didn’t want to, but I told him that if he didn’t bring me to Gilmuir, I would simply find another way.”

  “Where is he now?” Douglas asked, thinking that he needed to have a very long talk with his employee. On the one hand, he applauded the man’s loyalty to his daughter.

  But on the other, he thought that Henry might have found another way to remedy the situation other than bringing her to Gilmuir.

  “I sent him back to Edinburgh,” she said. “He didn’t want to go but I promised him that nothing would happen to him.”

  “You did, did you?” he asked
wryly.

  She glanced at him. “I gave him my word, Papa, and you always said that a person’s word is his promise.”

  “What do you think I would have done?”

  “Fire him,” she said with a small sigh. “But he truly loves his job, Papa. In addition, his wife isn’t well, you know.”

  He concentrated on something other than Henry’s fate. “Do you know all the bad things that could happen to you by traveling in the middle of the night, Margaret?”

  “That’s exactly what Henry said,” she said, sighing again. “He was angry with me.” She looked up at him, blue eyes wide. “I’m sorry, Papa. I know it was a bad thing to do. But I was so very vexed with you.”

  “But you aren’t now?” he asked, folding his arms and staring down at her. He tapped his foot against the deck and waited to hear this newest revelation.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, evidently considering the matter. “I’m not entirely certain. Aunt Mary told me how much you loved my mother, so I can only think that you lied to me for my best benefit, even though you have often said that a lie benefits no one.”

  It was a disconcerting experience, having his words thrown back in his face, especially by his own child.

  “There was a reason for my lie, Meggie.”

  She looked doubtful, but she didn’t argue with him. Instead, she sighed again and reached out to take his hand. Douglas had the discomfiting feeling that he was being reprimanded without a word spoken.

  Chapter 35

  J eanne sat at the table in the captain’s cabin of the Ian MacRae, her elbows placed on the wooden surface, the palms of her hands pressed against her eyes. Not because they hurt, but because she didn’t want to see the woman in front of her. Or envision the sights she so calmly described.

  It was her own fault. She’d asked Mary to tell her about those early days when Margaret had been found. Although Jeanne didn’t want to hear of the abuse her daughter had suffered, of the terrible sores on her body, of the months of careful nursing that it had taken to save her life, she didn’t halt Mary’s soft words. She was grateful for one thing—that her father was now enduring a celestial judgment.

  “Douglas spent the first three years of Margaret’s life hovering over her,” Mary said, smiling at the memory. “I finally told him that he was going to give Margaret an exaggerated view of her own importance. Or make the child fearful, which was just as bad. At first he wouldn’t let her go anywhere without him. I’ve never seen anyone so miserable the first time she remained at Gilmuir without him.”

  She poured more tea and pushed the cup across the table to Jeanne.

  “Margaret was six and having the time of her life, but Douglas imagined every single horror that could happen. Colds, lightning strikes, influenza.” She gently laughed. “He’s much better lately. The years have proven to him that Margaret is a survivor.”

  She smiled again and Jeanne was struck by how beautiful the expression was on Mary’s face. It lit up her eyes and imparted a sense of profound joy.

  “It’s your turn now,” Mary said. “Tell me what happened to you.”

  She told Mary the entire story, from the moment she’d been called into her father’s library until the day before when they’d despaired of finding Margaret. Certain details, such as sharing Douglas’s bed, were omitted, but Jeanne didn’t doubt that Mary could piece together that part of the tale as well.

  Jeanne stood and walked to the rear of the cabin. A row of windows stretching the width of the space revealed the firth and, beyond, the fortress of Gilmuir. “I’ve never loved anyone but Douglas,” Jeanne said softly. “I can’t imagine ever loving anyone else.”

  “And you paid dearly for that emotion.”

  Jeanne nodded only once.

  A moment later she felt Mary’s hand on her shoulder and glanced at the older woman. “You cannot erase those years, my dear, but you can build on them. Incorporate the good memories into the person you’ve become. Learn something from those experiences and then put the bad memories away.”

  “I have so much to thank you for,” Jeanne said, turning and holding both of Mary’s hands in her own. “Thank you for saving my daughter.”

  Mary only smiled and led Jeanne to another window.

  There, standing at the bow of the ship, was Douglas, and beside him, Margaret.

  A buoyancy began in Jeanne’s toes and swept upward to settle in the middle of her stomach. Everything that she ever wanted in her entire life, every sort of happiness, was encapsulated in the two people in front of her.

  “It’s time,” Mary said.

  Jeanne nodded, leaving the comfort of the captain’s cabin and making her way to the front of the ship. Each footfall made a smart tapping noise against the solid wooden deck. Two sailors, as if sensing a confrontation, glanced at her and then picked up their buckets and left, tipping their hats to her in an almost salute.

  Before Jeanne reached them, Margaret turned, releasing her father’s hand.

  She stared intently up at Jeanne. “Papa used to tell me a story about my mother. Was it true?”

  Jeanne glanced at Douglas, uncertain.

  “It’s mostly true,” he answered.

  “Are you my mother, Miss du Marchand?”

  Jeanne nodded, overwhelmed. Words wouldn’t come, but they must. How did she explain to Margaret what had happened?

  “Yes, I am.” It was the first time, she realized with shock, that she acknowledged it publicly.

  “And you’re not an angel,” Margaret said.

  That acerbic comment surprised a smile from Jeanne.

  “I can guarantee you that I’m not.”

  “Then where have you been?”

  Jeanne suddenly knew what she had to say.

  She turned and walked some distance away and sat on a ledge next to the railing. She didn’t beckon Margaret closer, only waited. The child stared at her solemnly for several moments before walking slowly toward Jeanne.

  Before her daughter could speak, Jeanne began. “I’ve already told you that my mother died when I was young.”

  Margaret nodded cautiously.

  “I’ve always cherished the one thing that she left for me.” Jeanne withdrew the locket from around her neck. Douglas had had it repaired and had given it to her before they had boarded the Ian MacRae. “It’s not a very pretty necklace,” she said. “But it held a secret in our family, the Somerville ruby.” She opened it now and showed Margaret the stone.

  “My life would have been easier if she’d told me about the secret,” Jeanne said. “But perhaps she had her reasons.”

  “Just like you and Papa?” Margaret asked.

  Jeanne nodded, wondering how Margaret had developed her perceptiveness.

  “We didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said. “Do you believe that?” Before Margaret could answer, she draped the locket over the little girl’s head.

  She bent her head and studied it intently. “Is it mine?”

  Jeanne nodded. “I can’t explain everything, Margaret. All I can tell you is that I’ve always loved you.”

  “You have?” She fingered the locket, seemed to consider the matter, and asked one more question. “Is the ruby mine, too?”

  Jeanne smiled. “Yes, it’s yours.”

  Margaret sighed heavily. “It’s a very nice present, Miss du Marchand, but I like getting a mother better.” She narrowed her eyes and stared at her. “Are you very certain you are?”

  Jeanne nodded.

  “Do I have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Not yet,” Douglas said, coming to her side.

  Jeanne glanced up at him and he returned her look solemnly. Margaret surprised her, however, by reaching out and hugging her. This time Jeanne didn’t try to hide her tears.

  “You mustn’t cry,” Margaret said, drawing back concerned.

  “I’m just happy.”

  Margaret looked doubtful about that answer and glanced at her father, who smiled down at her. “Why don’t y
ou go tell Aunt Mary that I need to send a message to Gilmuir?”

  The little girl didn’t look the least pleased to be sent on an errand but, after studying her father’s face, evidently decided against rebellion.

  Before she left them, though, she asked another question of her mother. “Will you continue to be my governess, then?” she asked, frowning. “It doesn’t seem entirely proper.”

  “Margaret.” Douglas shook his head at her.

  She sighed and reluctantly made her way to the captain’s cabin, leaving Jeanne alone with Douglas.

  He turned and faced the firth, arms crossed in front of him, affecting an intense scrutiny of the water and the far horizon where the sea met the sky. She waited for him to speak, and when he did, it was softly.

  “It took an instant to find you, an hour to love you, a week to know that I couldn’t live without you. It took ten years to realize that I’d never be able to forget you.” He faced her. “Will it take a lifetime to convince you that I love you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I love you with all my heart,” he said. “With my soul, quite possibly. You occupy too much of my mind. My present is indelibly woven around you, as was my past.”

  His hands fell to his sides. Jeanne had the strangest feeling that he stood there unguarded waiting for her to repudiate him. But he was Douglas, her youthful lover and forever friend, the man who occupied her thoughts, and the father of her child. Her love.

  “Marry me, Jeanne. Be part of my future.”

  She studied him, grateful for this instant in time. She would never forget his look at this moment, just as she had never forgotten the memories of Paris. Now those recollections were forever freed of their sadness, of their tinge of grief.

  Did she have the courage of that girl? She smiled, thinking that she did, and more. She’d been tested and strengthened by what had happened to her. She could survive without Douglas, but life with him would be so much richer and more complete. In the end, it wasn’t courage that made her stand and go to him, but a feeling that doing so was simply right.

  Winding her arms around his neck, she stood on tiptoe to brush a soft kiss against his lips. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I love you, Douglas. I always have, sometimes to my detriment, mostly to my blessing. Do you think that’s how love is?”