She felt a whirling inside herself, too. Smiling sadly, she slipped her hand out of his. "I cannot marry you," she whispered. "There are too many differences between you and me. Marriage between us would not be the right thing if you are only trying to help me. I am bound by clan tradition to marry only ... under certain conditions. Please understand."
She waited, hoping wildly that he would suddenly tell her what she most needed to hear from him—that what he felt for her was extraordinary. He only frowned.
"I understand that I am being refused," he said quietly.
She pulled in a breath, began to speak—but she could not explain this to him. To be sure of that sort of love, she must hear it from his lips—but he had said nothing of the sort.
"I'll go find out if the rest of your things have been mended," she blurted, and turned away, tears stinging her eyes.
Chapter 23
B
ending over the silken pillow in her lap, frowning slightly, Kate switched the long, slender thread bobbins back and forth, back and forth, plaiting and twisting the threads to form a fine mesh for the strip of lace she was creating. When she finished a small section, she stopped to move the brass pins that held the fine net of threads in place. Her fingers moved so fast over the pillow, so deftly and without much thought on her part, that her mind was free to think.
And all she could think about was Alec. His marriage proposal last night had set her spinning, and her thoughts and feelings had not yet come to ground since then. What should she do? She had to know what was
right—for her, for him, for the clan that depended so on her making the right choice.
Click, click. The bobbins tapped lightly against one another as she switched the threads around, twisted the little spindles, wove the threads in and out, in and out. Click, click
The work was soothing, calming to her, the repetitive movements reliable, entrancing. She need only step aside, sometimes, and let her fingers take care of the work. She had learned lace making in the English convent in Bruges, where her sister Sophie had been educated. Click, click, clack. She could lose herself in the rhythms of her fingers and the long, slim bobbins as she wove them, switched them, plaiting and twisting the delicate white threads.
As she worked, she glanced at her sister Sophie, who sat at a large table perusing a rather large illustrated book. Sophie's advancing pregnancy made her favorite occupation, gardening, a little impractical, and so she had settled for another morning in the library studying about the plants she loved.
"I'd so much rather be mucking about in the garden just now than reading about it," Sophie said, flipping another page. "It's more enjoyable to learn about plants and flowers from Nature. But Connor has suggested that I study and read as much as I can about these things. He has a library full of them at Kinnoull House—he studied horticulture and farming, did you know?"
"Not the fine art of brigandry?" Kate murmured, and Sophie laughed.
"He's a master of that." she aereed. "At anv rate. I
will not be doing much kneeling in the garden, with this babe coming after the new year." She smoothed a hand over her rounded belly. Her sack dress, of pale blue brocade that reflected her remarkable light blue eyes, gave her growing figure plenty of room to expand. Kate watched her flaxen-haired sister and smiled. Sophie looked lush and blooming, as bright as one of her beloved flowers, which seemed to blossom almost magically wherever their mistress planted them.
Kate would never have imagined her sweet-tempered older sister holding her own with a rogue like Connor MacPherson, but she had done so, outwitting the man at his own game. Now Kate understood how her sister had fallen so totally in love with her handsome Highlander. Sophie had found genuine love, and her happiness had contributed to a peaceful atmosphere at Duncrieff, so welcome after the tragedies and unhappy events of the years that had gone before.
So there was something to the fairy legend, Kate thought. A loving marriage had brought more magic to the clan. Love makes its own magic, she thought, remembering the motto on the rim of Duncrieff's Fairy Cup. Sophie's experience gave her more hope for her own future.
"I love these Dutch tulips, the variegated sort, like red and yellow flames," Sophie mused, turning another page. "I wonder if Connor would let me send for more bulbs from the Netherlands."
"The man would let you do anything," Kate said as she plaited a group of delicate threads. Gradually she was creatine a pattern of linked acanthus leaves. "It
will take me years to finish this strip of lace," she muttered. "I've had hardly any time to work on it at all."
And if she went to prison, she thought grimly, she would never have a chance to complete it. She thought again of Alec—did he really expect her to ride off to Edinburgh with him and marry him on the chance that she might not have to go to prison? She could not trust the outcome of that—she was, after all, a spy. And he was a redcoat, she reminded herself.
"Oh, I like this one very much," Sophie said, leaning forward at the table to peruse a page she was studying. She flipped the page of a large book filled with illustrations and glanced up at Kate. "Look at this handsome red tulip. Quite wonderful. I do love the red ones."
"I do, too," Kate said, twisting threads. "And I do not know what to do."
"Katie?" Sophie asked. "What is it?"
"Oh! Nothing," Kate said, furiously flipping lace bobbins, tap-tap-tap.
"Is it the red soldier?" Sophie asked gently.
"Of course not." Tap-tap-tap-tap.
Sophie got up from her chair and came over to sit beside Kate on the brocaded sofa. "Are you sure? You know, I went to see him this morning. I thought I had best introduce myself."
"You did?" Kate looked up, feeling a curious hunger to know more. "What did he say? What do you think of him?"
"He was resting, so I did not stay," Sophie said. "We spoke only briefly. He seemed very tired, and I pulled the dranes shut and ureed him to eet more sleen—that
sort of injury takes a good deal from a man, though he is healing very fast. And I came close to say my greeting, just to get a better look at him," she confided, laughing a little. "He's very bonny, your Captain Fraser—a braw and beautiful man."
"I suppose," Kate said, ducking her head again to focus on the next patch of mesh.
"We said very little, but I liked him very much, instantly, and that sense never fails me with people. He seemed calm and strong. He is a good man." Sophie set her long, graceful fingers to the crystal hanging at her throat on a fine chain. "He's a very good man, Katie, despite being a red soldier. He said that you—"
"What?" Kate looked at her sister, feeling suddenly desperate, needy.
"He said you make him look at everything differently, as he's never seen it before," Sophie said. "He said he would never forget you, and he hopes you will forgive him someday." She tilted her head, watching Kate, who shrugged.
"Nothing to forgive. He was only doing his duty."
"I imagine so. He mentioned how much he appreciates our hospitality, but says he must leave soon and plans to do so today. He was not certain you would want to say farewell to him before he went."
Kate dropped the bobbins, put a hand to her mouth, and began to weep, while Sophie slipped an arm around her shoulder.
Alec walked through the hallways of Duncrieff alone, nassine one well-annointed room after another.
but he had no time to pause or explore. When Mary had arrived very early with a breakfast tray of coffee as well as hot chocolate drink, he was already dressed in plaid, waistcoat, and mended red coat, along with his officer's sash. He had assured Mary that he was fine, truly recovered, though she fussed over him before mentioning that Duncrieff had arrived home late the night before and now waited to speak with him in the drawing room, along with Kate and the others.
He was invited, she said, to join them at breakfast— but he thought he might decline that in favor of leaving altogether.
E
xpecting to meet her brother sometime today, he had dressed for the interview and now felt as if he walked toward his fate, even his doom. Although he did not want to leave Kate, he knew the time had come—he could neither force her to come with him nor force her to marry him if she refused. In Edinburgh, sooner or later, he would have to deliver her to court. As much as he wanted to protect her, he could not guarantee her safety after that.
With his arm in a sling and his jacket draped loosely, he walked along a corridor and down another flight of steps. The castle had been restored a century earlier, he had learned, to Jacobean grandeur. He passed one fine room after another: gleaming parquet floors, walls paneled in oak or painted in soothing colors. Scattered throughout were Turkey carpets, tapestried chairs, furnishings in older styles mixed with a few graceful French pieces; he saw crystal chandeliers and porcelain, mirrors and inlaid tables, naintines and bronzes—
and in every room, glass or China vases filled with flowers.
Though it was well into October, every room seemed to have fresh flowers in it—vases of marigolds, daisies, lavender fronds, pots of forced tulips, other flowers he did not recognize, all in bloom. Their fragrances freshened the air, and as Alec progressed through the halls, he began to relax a bit, to feel at home here, despite the early-morning appointment that awaited him.
Duncrieff had worked its own magic over him—he felt it everywhere, as if it were an enchanted palace, an elusive part of the Otherworld. Magic simply pervaded the air like light or music.
And he wondered if the magic was no more mysterious than just the peaceful atmosphere of a home filled with love. No wonder Kate had been desperate to return to Duncrieff. He would have done anything, were it his home, to come back.
He found the drawing room, following Mary's directions, and hesitated, hand on the doorknob. Then he drew a long breath, and opened it.
The room was empty, he saw that immediately, to his surprise, for he had expected to face an angry young chief and a phalanx of stern Highland warriors.
Filled with early-morning sunshine, the room was large and lovely, the walls painted in creamy tones, the polished wood floor covered in a long Aubusson carpet, the furnishings a mix of dark Jacobean and lighter French, with tapestried chairs and a narrow sofa, and a painted harpsichord in a corner. The back wall of the room was nierced with tall windows hune with velvet
draperies, framing a view of a stone veranda and gardens that swept out to the foothills and mountains far beyond.
He strolled across the room, drawn by the spectacular view. Beyond the veranda, he saw flower beds and rose arbors, a fountain apparently kept dormant in autumn, a corner hedge maze, and orchards of fruit trees. From that window, he could see miles of the heathered hills and snow-topped mountains that surrounded the long length of the glen. The honey sandstone walls of Duncrieff Castle sat above all of it like a benevolent queen watching over her own.
He glanced around the room, and his attention was drawn by a curious object on a heavy carved sideboard. Other than flowers in vases and silver candlesticks, the centerpiece on the cabinet was a glass bell jar over a silver plate swathed in red velvet. A golden goblet sat protected inside.
A beautiful thing of hammered gold banded in silver, its surface was etched with swirling knot designs, its rim set with small crystals. A few of those were missing, he noticed immediately, as he leaned forward to peer more closely.
"The Fairy Cup of Duncrieff," Kate said behind him.
"Ah," he said, turning, nonchalant though his heart pounded hard. "Of course. I've heard a little about the fairy legends of Duncrieff." He glanced at her.
She stood silhouetted in the door that led to the veranda and gardens, a fey creature with sunshine behind her all in a glow. Her fairy ancestry suddenly seemed verv real.
She walked toward him, ethereal in a gown of silver-blue damask, the snug bodice and elbow sleeves trimmed in falls of lace, the bodice and wide skirts split to reveal an embroidered floral underdress. Her hair was neatly tamed beneath a lace cap, her earlobes held tiny pearl drops. Elegant, lovely, she was every bit the beautiful creature of the king's court.
She joined him without glancing at him. In fact, she seemed to be avoiding his eyes. "The wife of the first laird of Duncrieff left this to her family. She was a Green Lady."
He tilted his head. "A ghost?"
"Not that sort of Green Lady," she said. "She was a princess of the tall and beautiful race of fairies who lived in the forests of Scotland a very long time ago ... in the time of the mists, or so they call it."
He nodded. "Did she use this cup?"
She shook her head. "She commissioned it from fairy goldsmiths, they say, of fairy gold from the hills of Glen Carran. Long before this castle was here, the princess came to Duncrieff with the MacCarran ancestor who rescued her when she fell in a river. He nursed her to health and fell in love with her, and she became his wife and the mother of his three sons." Still she did not look at him. "One day she went back into the forest, returning to her kind, and to the green places where she was born. Her need for freedom, in the way of the fairies, was so strong in the end that it overcame her love for her human family. She was compelled to leave."
"I see." he murmured. "Wild blood."
She nodded. "Leaving them broke her heart, they say, but her nature was fey and wild, and if she had remained, she would have withered away. But she left gifts with them."
"This cup?"
"More than that, she left fairy magic through her blood, which became part of each generation of the MacCarrans of Duncrieff. Her three sons each inherited a different ability, and those have been passed along. Now and then, not even in every generation, someone is born with one of the gifts of fairy, such as healing, or the Sight, or ... the glamourie. That's the gift of bedazzling, or charming, others."
"Aye," he murmured. "And what of this cup?"
"It holds magic for the family, or so tradition says. When one is born with a fairy talent, one of the crystals is removed from the rim and worn by that person. The stone will enhance the power, or so it is believed."
He glanced down at her. "Your sister wears a crystal necklace similar to yours. So she has this gift, too?"
She nodded. "Sophie's fairy talent is the one that encourages growth—it's related to the healing gift, I suppose. Much of the gardens here are Sophie's work—she has been restoring the garden here at Duncrieff, and at her husband's home, for months. And she's increasing, came by it very quickly, she said .. . and that is a gift of growth and healing, too." She smiled.
"Very much so. She's very like you, lovely, and charming. I see the magic ... in both of you." Strange, he thoueht. how readilv he was beeinnine to accent the
fairy element in the MacCarrans, though previously he would not have believed such things.
"She's much nicer than I am," Kate said wryly, "very patient and sweet-natured. We both have the Fairy's Gift, and the fairy's temper at times ... but she got more of the gift, and I got more of the temper." She twisted her mouth awry.
He smiled a little. God, how he loved her, and it turned inside him, aching, because he had not set it free.
"Give yourself your due, Marie Katherine. Your sister seems a gentle soul, and you may have a bit more fire, but you both have a dazzling charm. I have not met Connor MacPherson. When you see him, please give him my regards, and tell him I think he is a fortunate man." He inclined his head.
"You are truly leaving?" She glanced at him, frowning, and her quicksilver eyes took on the gray-blue of her gown.
He wished he could be as lucky as Connor, but Kate had refused his proposal. He would not ask again, would not beg. He glanced away, tensing a muscle in his cheek.
He had not wanted to be hurt again in love, had shielded himself from that for so long, and yet here he was, taking the blow and using his pride for a shield again.
"I came to say farewell," he said. "It is best if I go. You said so you
rself." He held her gaze and she glanced away first. "I was hoping to speak with your brother, as I must, and hoping to borrow a horse for the journey back."
"Of course," she said politely, Alec felt his heart sink even further—she did not protest his decision. "My brother and the others are outside on the veranda."
"Excellent." He stepped away.
"Alec, wait—" She paused, lifting a hand to her bodice.
"Aye?" He watched her over his shoulder, standing a safe distance from her, but he felt a strange pull in his belly, as if a cord tugged between them.
"So you truly are willing ... to go back without me?"
"Do you want me to drag you out of here shrieking, with a host of wild Highlanders on my tail?" He felt impatient suddenly, hurting and harsh when he should not be so with her. "I'll report my prisoner lost and take my chances. It's better for you that way, my love," he finished, his voice almost flat.
He turned and walked toward the outside door. Her footsteps sounded behind him, but he did not turn until he opened the door and waited in silence for her to pass through ahead of him.
Chapter 24
O
n the sunlit veranda, Kate picked up her skirts and hurried to keep up with Alec's long-legged, determined stride. Several yards away, Rob, Connor, and the others turned when they saw them approaching.
Rob came forward, somber and wary, a tall ash blond man with a scholarly look, not at all the hotheaded chief of his reputation; adoring her brother, Kate had always thought him to be a handsome, strongly masculine version of his sisters in appearance and coloring. Connor MacPherson of Kinnoull came behind Rob, looking much more the Highland brigand—her brother-in-law was a large and robust man, his dark-haired good looks striking, his green eyes intense; in his wranned nlaid he looked like a savaee warrior, desnite
his fine education. In the last few months, she had come to love him as a brother, appreciating his wry humor, his slow smile, his quiet wit.
Sarah Gabriel - Keeping Kate Page 21
