I smiled at the memory and tightened my fingers around Duncan’s. He peered sideways at me then squeezed my hand back.
Picking his way between the rocky outcrops, he guided me down a sharp incline to the glen below. The valley housed a number of crofters’ cottages in various states of disrepair. Deserted for years, the cottages were hard to tell apart from the surrounding landscape. Overgrown with vegetation, it hadn’t taken long for nature to reclaim the space. Now all that lay before us was crumbling shells and ruined remains.
Duncan came to a stop beside me and cleared his throat repeatedly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
I watch him, puzzled and asked, “What’s troublin’ ye, lad?” Was he still worrying about finding Da?
A flush crept up his neck and spread up his cheeks as he unclipped the sporran on his belt, reached into the leather pouch and took out a dark object. He studied it for a moment, brows drawn. I stole a quick peek and saw a small box.
His apprehension spread to me and like a butterfly trapped beneath glass, something fluttered inside my chest. My heart, suddenly loud, tapped away at my ears as I tried to read the expression on his face.
He swallowed again and when he finally spoke his words rushed together, “Meara, lass, will ye do me the honour of bein’ my wife?”
My sharp intake of breath spurred him on, “I want ye by my side, lass. I love ye! I need to protect ye and I canna do that with ye livin’ at Duntulm. I ken yer father wanted us to wait but now... well, now things are different and I canna wait any longer.”
Duncan had been studying the box as he spoke but his voice trailed away and he hesitantly peered into my eyes.
I opened and closed my mouth several times but my ability to speak seemed to have left me; words would not come.
“Well, my lady, I’m not too sure what it is yer tryin’ to spit out but I must say ye look like a fish out of water!” Duncan teased.
The crooked grin that spread across his sweet face broke my spell of silence and I leapt forward into his arms. I knocked him off balance and he stumbled back a few steps before sweeping me up.
“Aye, Duncan! Aye,” I whooped, “I’ll marry ye, my laddie, that I will!”
My voice echoed across the moor as his strong arms crushed me and he kissed me hard before we spun crazily about. This time he lost his footing and we tumbled to the ground, a heap of skirts and kilts and plaids. My giggles faded as we lay entangled atop a bed of moss, our lips hungry, uninhibited. Duncan’s ragged breaths echoed mine and too soon he dragged his mouth away and we sat up. Passion smouldered in his eyes as he ran a finger lightly across my lower lip. Then brushing his knuckles along my jaw, he turned and retrieved the little box.
With solemn care, he opened the delicate case. Taking a deep breath, he withdrew a ring. He held it up and the finely crafted pewter glowed in the sunlight. Knot work intertwined to form an intricate thistle in the centre.
“This was the ring my father gave my mother on their weddin’ day,” he said, his voice rough. “After Mother died, Father gave it to me. Mother kent even back then that you and I would be together and she made him promise to pass it on to ye, lass.” His voice thickened as he spoke of his beloved mother before he continued, “The knots mean eternal life with no beginnin’ and no end.”
I blinked as I thought of Duncan’s bonnie mother, her dazzling smile, her exuberant hugs and the ring swam before eyes.
“I had it engraved, lass.”
My head brushed his as together we peered at the tiny print lining the inside of the ring.
“Cirean ceab cinnidh. It’s Gaelic for hold fast,” Duncan translated. “It’s the motto of the Clan MacLeod.” His eyes burned into mine as he continued, “But I think it rightly describes you, lass, yer spirit and courage. It’s what I admire most about ye, Meara. I always have.”
With unsteady hands, he slid the ring onto my finger. Gazing into my eyes, he kissed my fingertips. “I promise to make ye happy, lass. I’ll take ye away from all of this heartache,” he said as he swept his hand back toward Duntulm.
I drank in the contours of his face, so strong, yet at the same time vulnerable. “I love ye, Duncan. I’ve always loved ye and I promise to make ye happy as well,” I smiled, “so long as ye don’t grow weary of my spirit and courage.”
“Never, Meara! Yer passionate and ye smart, lass. With ye by my side, life’ll never be borin’, wild mebbe but never borin’.”
Duncan’s arms circled me and he spoke over the top of my head, “Meara, I’d like to marry ye the now. Sir John Moore, the British commander, has ordered my regiment to Portugal. Britain has taken Portugal from Napoleon and he’s no happy about it. They need reinforcements. I’ve been promoted to Captain Lieutenant. Ranald and I sail with the 42nd within the week.”
I turned abruptly in his arms, my stomach sinking though he reassured, “Dinna fash now, I dinna expect to be gone for more than a month at most. We’ll just be overseein’ the evacuation of the French troops and then I’ll be home and we can be together. And ye ken wee Ranny’ll protect me,” he added with a grin.
A whole month! It stretched interminably and for a moment stole away my joy. My head wrestled with my heart. How could I feel sorry for myself when Duncan was going to be fighting for his life? “I’m proud of ye, lad. Yer men couldn’t be led by a better man,” I said steadily, then added with a grin, “though even a better man may have trouble keeping Ranny in line.”
“True lass, though yer the one that’s made me a better man, lass,” he said with a small smile, smoothing a finger over my brow. “Now, we can be married before I leave and I’ll come for ye when I return. I’d like to take ye home now but there’s just a few servants left and I feel better if ye have Rabbie and his family around ye. Soon we’ll move ye and wee Hannah into Dunvegan and Deirdre willna be able to touch ye agin. I’ll speak to my solicitor in Uig and see what we can do about getting Deirdre and Sloan removed from Duntulm. And then we’ll find yer father, lass.”
A tightening started inside my chest. “Oh, Duncan, I canna wait!” Then I sobered, “Duncan, I dinna care how long it takes. Just promise me ye’ll come back to me, lad.”
He pressed his nose to mine, peering deep into my eyes.
“Dinna fash my lassie, I’ll come back. Nothin’ can keep me from ye.” He turned and looked across the moor. “I’m just sorry that there’s no time for a cellidh.”
“Nay, lad, I dinna mind. I dinna care if we don’t have a big celebration. I just want to be with ye.”
His eyes thanked me, “Now I ken it’s no easy for ye to slip away but I’ve found a wee place where we can meet and I’ve arranged to have a priest marry us.”
He glanced down the slope toward the little cottages and pointed. I squinted against the sun and followed the line of his arm to what might have been a cottage. From where we sat, it seemed to be part of the rocky hillock against which it was nestled.
“Do ye see the thistle next to it there, lass? It’s surely more than eight feet! I dinna remember ever seein’ one that size.”
I picked out the purple head of the giant thistle. It stood alone, towering above the normal height of five feet, standing almost even with the roof of the wee house.
“That thistle will guide ye once ye’ve made it to this glen. Most of the houses are ruined here abouts but that one has weathered the years pretty weel. It’ll shelter us well enough and give us privacy. If ye can meet me there in two days time, just after breakfast, we’ll be married.”
“Aye, Duncan, I’ll be there,” I managed past the ache in my throat.
Glancing back at me, he shook his dark head, “It’s no how yer weddin’ day should be, Meara lass, the two of us sneakin’ about like a couple of thieves.”
Frustration shadowed his face. Slipping my arms around his neck, I gazed into the familiar eyes. “Duncan, she’s taken away so much already but she’ll no take ye away from me. I’ll be bloody well damned if I let her stop me havin’ a grand wed
din’ day. What more do I need but the braw lad I love with all my heart?”
He grinned then pulled me in close.
Birds whistled to one another across the moor as gaily-dressed butterflies flitted from flower to flower. The hum of hovering honeybees signalled to the butterflies that they had competition for the sweet treasure that lay hidden in the blossoms.
The world was good.
A loud whinny from Tormod told us he’d had enough of being ignored.
“I’d best be gettin’ ye back the now afore Deirdre comes for ye herself.” Releasing me from his embrace, he pulled me to my feet then cupped my chin, his lips crooked to one side. “Now, lassie, I believe we have a bargain?” He stood tall, muscular legs spread, hands on his hips, teeth white in his tanned face. “Payment is due in full afore I let ye mount my steed,” he growled arrogantly.
I grinned and tilted back my head. His lips took mine in a hungry kiss that stirred my blood and I kissed him back with equal fervour.
Pulling away, he grinned down at me. “Aye lass, that’ll do... that’ll do.”
As Duncan turned Tormod back toward Duntulm, I glanced over my shoulder. I felt a swell in my chest as I found the lone thistle in the heather, the guidepost that marked the beginning of happiness.
FOUR
Hope for Hannah
Duncan pulled up on Tormod’s reins as the MacDonald stables peeked through the network of trees. He turned me in the saddle and took my hand.
“Promise me ye’ll try and hold yer tongue around Deirdre, Meara. I ken it willna be easy for ye. It’s no in yer nature.” He grinned then continued, “But she’s saft enough to really hurt ye or mebbe even lock ye up if she’s a mind,” he said, golden flecks of sunlight dappling his worried eyes. “It’ll just be for a short time til I can come back for ye. Will ye promise me this, lass?”
I slipped my hand from his and reached up to smooth the spikes back his forehead then I nodded, “Aye, Duncan, yer right it willna be easy, but I do promise ye.”
Trapping my hand with his again, he lifted it to his mouth. His lips feathered my palm and I squirmed while his eyes warmed me. Then I slid from Tormod’s back and stepped up onto my toes. Duncan leaned from his saddle and brushed a kiss across my lips. He cupped the back of my head and gazed into my eyes. I felt my knees wobble as his thumb traced my jaw.
“Until Friday, remember I love ye, hiney.”
“Aye,” I breathed through my fingers.
With a click of his tongue, he turned Tormod toward Dunvegan.
I watched as they climbed to the summit of the hill. Then Tormod broke into a gallop, horse and rider leaning into the wind.
I smiled like a halfwit as I floated down the path, my feet cushioned by a whisper of pine needles. Rounding the corner of the stable, I swung my hands up in reflex to keep from running into Pearl’s formidable rump.
Rabbie, in the process of rubbing her down, looked up, startled, at my approach. Hoping the stable lad hadn’t noticed, I quickly rearranged the asinine expression on my face into what I hoped might look normal but I quickly forgot myself as Rabbie’s own wide-eyed innocence claimed my attention. Feigning innocence myself, I asked, “Och, Rabbie, what are ye doin’, laddie? Yer no readyin’ Pearl for some unfortunate soul to ride are ye?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes.
“Oh n-nay, m-miss,” Rabbie stuttered, his freckled cheeks reddening. “Master Sloan was out ridin’ Pearl on the morn and he had a bit of a mishap and... weel, Miss Meara, he ended up wi’ a face full o’ thorns. It’s a wee bit o’ bad luck he had, surely. I canna believe she’d throw him like that.” He jerked his head toward the now docile mare. “Pearl made her way back on her own.” His lips twitched then he broke into a devilish grin, his jubilant expression confirming he was indeed the culprit who’d saddled up Pearl.
I grinned and winked. “Well done, laddie!”
He beamed at me, goggle-eyed. As he turned back to the task, the scarlet stain crept farther up to tip his ears.
I dawdled back to the castle, my buoyant mood sinking as I thought of what I’d done to Deirdre. She would surely not let me away with twisting her arm and shoving her to the ground. I crept through the kitchen door, meaning to steal up to Hannah’s chambers without notice. Mary and Janet had undoubtedly been waiting for me. A shroud of tension shadowed the cinnamony air as they went about their work, brows knit.
Janet’s nine-month old daughter, Flossie, sat, strapped in her chair. She was intent upon pulling apart a jam-slathered scone. With her hands spread wide, she shoved large chunks into her mouth. Oblivious to the heavy atmosphere, she studied the jam that coated her dimpled fingers. Chubby toes wiggled about, mimicking the movement of her fingers. Then she dragged her fingers through the blonde fuzz that topped her head. With a wide yawn, she rubbed her eyes and smeared more jam across her nose, then stiffened her legs as her face crumpled. A screech, no doubt intended to gain her mother’s attention, ended mid-squeal as she spied me by the door and instead she clapped her hands together in delight.
“Me-me! Me-me!” Her garbled version of my name brought a smile to my lips but unfortunately revealed my presence to Mary and Janet. I turned from Mary’s scowl to the angelic face that beckoned me. Loosening the strap of her chair, I scooped Flossie into my arms. She straight away secured a lock of my hair in her small fist and nuzzled her face to the crook of my neck, her baby scent filling my nostrils. Swaying from one foot to the other, I kissed her cheek before reluctantly turning to face the mother and daughter duo who stood appraising me.
In a tight voice, Mary chastised me, “Where ha’ ye bin, Meara? Deirdre’s furious, lass! She sent Sloan out to find ye but it seems my young Rabbie saddled up Pearl for him and he took a nasty spill.” A quick smile faded the scowl as she mentioned her son’s actions, before she once again sobered. “Deirdre’s been haverin’ at all of us. She says she’ll take no more of yer pig-headedness.” Shaking her head, she clucked her tongue. “Lass, I ken ye were protectin’ wee Hannah, and Lord knows she needs protectin’ but ye’ve set yer stepmother’s temper to boilin’ this time. There’s no tellin’ what she’ll do the now.” She turned and picked up the cast iron fry pan and held it out to me with two hands. I obediently kissed the tips of my fingers then pressed them to the rim of the pan. Touching iron would ward off back luck and I needed all the help I could get now.
“Is Hannah all right?” I asked.
Mary nodded. “Aye she’ll be fine. It’s her nerves I worry about,” she said, her brows lowered over grim eyes. “I sent her up to her chambers wi’ wee Daisy.”
As Mary turned to set the pan down, Janet, who had been measuring the situation quietly, as was her custom, moved to my side and took hold of the hand I’d been using to pat Flossie’s back. The keen, tawny-coloured eyes studied the band that encircled my finger. Her gaze met mine and we shared a smile. Then she engulfed me in a tight embrace that set young Flossie to squealing once more.
“Oh forgive me for interruptin’ yer cuddle, my spoiled bairn,” Janet admonished, with a smile.
As I hugged Flossie close and resumed my rocking, Janet patted my arm, “Ah, lass, I’m so glad for ye. Ye deserve some happiness and Laird Duncan is the one that’ll surely give it to ye.”
Mary, suddenly grasping that she was missing something of interest, trundled back to my side and snatched my hand. She drew it to her eyes and squinted. Then her brow smoothed and a grin plucked at her lips. “This is his mother’s ring? I remember it well. Such a bonnie lass, she was. Young Duncan is the spittin’ image of her.” A shadow passed over Mary’s face as she continued, “The poor lad, losin’ his mother and wee sister on the same day. He adored her ye ken, felt responsible that he couldna save her.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “But now he has you, lassie.” She cocked an eyebrow at me, “Does the lad ken what he’s gettin’ himself into, lass?” she asked as she stepped up onto her toes and pressed a cinnamony kiss to my cheek.
Before I could respond to h
er teasing, a commotion erupted in the corridor. There was no mistaking Deirdre’s nasal voice as she pushed open the kitchen door, while still berating Sloan over her shoulder.
“I dinna care if the horse trampled yer sorry erse, ye shad ha’ kept lookin’ for her! Och, she’ll be out spreading lies about me, the nasty slag!”
So Sloan had kept his promise to Duncan. Deirdre had no idea. Balancing Flossie in one arm, I yanked the ring from my finger and shoved it deep into the pocket of my gown.
Deirdre’s glittering eyes fell on me and she advanced in three long strides. “Well, well, it’s nice of ye to finally grace us wi’ yer presence, Meara.” Without looking at her brother, she jerked her head in his direction. “Yer uncle was out frantically searchin’ for ye, ye ken, but I dinna expect ye to care,” she admonished.
Her mean eyes narrowed further still, almost disappearing in the cesspool of hatred that was her face. “I’ve had it wi’ yer insolence and disregard for rules, girl. Ye’ve had the run of this place for the last time. And to raise a hand to yer new mother, well surely ye didna think ye’d get away wi’ it? Wi’ yer father gone, it’s my duty to set ye straight.”
Before I could react to the fact that she had just called herself my mother, my head was jerked forward as Deirdre reached out and plucked Flossie, whose sticky fingers were still entangled in my hair, from my arms.
I was completely taken aback as I watched the transformation. Deirdre’s face softened and I could have sworn I saw a hint of a smile. She gazed intently at the child in her arms, unaware that Flossie still clutched my hair. Did Deirdre have a heart after all?
With awkward arms, she attempted to rock Flossie but the wee lass wanted no part and protested with a squawk. My head bobbed back and forth ridiculously as Flossie flailed her arms. I tried to loosen her grip but she tightened her fist. Deirdre’s eyes hardened and her lips slashed angrily. Then she dumped the squirming child into Janet’s outstretched arms. “Go to yer mama then, ye brat!”
Megan Denby Page 7
