Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘I’d better see about rooms for your guests, my lord,’ she said to Brice. ‘Shall I put them near you?’

  He nodded, his brow lifting. ‘Yes, please. And send for some refreshment. I’m sure you’re all parched, am I right?’ This last was addressed to Ramsay, who nodded.

  ‘Something to drink would be very welcome, thank you, and perhaps a biscuit or something for Ida.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll see to it right away.’ She hesitated. ‘Er, would you like the child to sleep in your room or an adjoining one?’

  ‘What?’ Brice’s eyebrows shot up, then he started laughing. ‘No, no, young Ida is Ramsay’s daughter, not mine.’ He shook his head at her and added sarcastically, ‘You really do have a high opinion of me, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, I …’ Marsaili looked from him to the little girl and then to Ramsay, who was smiling at her mistake too. The knot inside her loosened up. Why it should matter that the child was Ramsay’s and not Brice’s, she didn’t know and she shied away from analysing this feeling too closely.

  ‘Her mother was blonde,’ Ramsay explained, ‘and my mother and sister are too. Lucky for Ida she didn’t inherit my looks.’ He nodded towards the girl outside the door. ‘Ida will be fine sleeping with Kristina, her maid, if you have a room for them, otherwise with me. Thank you.’

  As Marsaili escaped from the book room, her thoughts were in a whirl, but she refused to allow herself time to dwell on them. She had a job to do and that was her only function here at Rosyth. Brice and his family were nothing to do with her.

  ‘He’s giving her how much?’ Seton felt his eyes almost stand out on stalks as he made his son repeat the alleged sum of Kirsty’s dowry. ‘Is he mad?’

  Iain shook his head with a smile. ‘No, just rich, I would guess. Or his father is, at any rate. The laird says the money has to come from Sweden, so we’ll only receive a part of it for now.’

  ‘But that’s much more than the original …’ Seton

  stopped himself, but even so, Iain threw him a look of suspicion.

  ‘The original what?’

  ‘The sum I’d originally thought she’d be receiving before I found out she had nothing.’

  ‘Oh, yes, well, you can have no objection to the match now, surely?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Seton was barely listening. His brain was busy calculating how much he would now have left over after he’d bought back Bailliebroch. It would be more than enough to restore the house to its former glory, despite the terrible state the Redcoats had left it in. The thought filled him with joy and for the first time in weeks, he felt at ease with the world.

  ‘Father?’

  He realised Iain had been speaking to him and shook himself mentally. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I said, can I go ahead and speak to the minister now then? Do we have your consent?’

  ‘Yes, yes, by all means. The sooner the better.’ He waved a hand to shoo Iain towards the door. ‘Women are fickle things. Don’t, whatever you do, let such a prize slip through your fingers. Go, go, what are you waiting for?’

  ‘All right, I’m going. And then I’d best see about having a house built for Kirsty and myself. With all that money, we can have one as big as this, can’t we? No expense spared, with stone walls and everything.’

  Seton scowled at his son. ‘Don’t be daft, boy. You won’t need to live in a hovel, we’ll use the dowry to do up Bailliebroch of course. That’s where you and your wife belong.’

  ‘For the love of … haven’t you given up on that notion yet, Father? We won’t get it back, so there’s no point saving the money for it.’

  ‘Oh, yes there is. Just you wait and see. Now go!’

  As Iain hurried out of the door, Seton sat down, deep in thought. He’d go to his secret hiding place as soon as he could safely sneak away without anyone noticing. He had a sudden urge to count the stash of coins he’d already amassed, just to make doubly sure. Not that he thought it was necessary now, but for the sheer joy of contemplating the fact that he had almost reached his goal. He was so close. At last!

  He couldn’t stop a grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth and soon after, when he made his way over to the big house, he even said a cheerful ‘good morning’ to young Archie, who normally annoyed him no end. The boy seemed besotted by the new laird and Seton couldn’t abide watching the boy’s hero worship of a man he himself loathed. Today, however, it no longer mattered.

  Soon, he’d never have to see either of them again.

  ‘So you didn’t mind coming to Scotland then?’

  Brice was walking down by the loch with young Alex Adair, who was looking around him with shining eyes. No wonder, Brice thought. It was a crisp autumn day, with veils of mist hanging just above the still water and draping

  the summits of the nearby hills. The purple and lilac hues

  of the heather, interspersed with yellow gorse and the

  starkly pewter-coloured rocks, made a spectacular backdrop to the towers of Rosyth nearby. It was almost a magical setting.

  ‘No, absolutely not, it’s wonderful here!’ Alex enthused. ‘My father has told me so many tales of his homeland, I’ve wanted to come for ages, but he wouldn’t let me go.’ The youth grinned. ‘But when your request arrived, he couldn’t say no, especially since I was going with Mr Fergusson.’

  Brice smiled back. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘But why me? I mean, Mr Fergusson’ll be more use to you with running an estate and so on. Me, I’m being trained for trading.’ Alex made a face. ‘Not that I mind very much, but I’d rather be on the open seas without having to learn all those numbers and things first.’

  ‘I know you’re to be a merchant, but as I recall, you have certain other, shall we say, “special skills” I might be in need of. That is, unless you’ve turned into a saint recently?’

  Alex’s grin widened. ‘Not bloody likely. I’m as good as ever I was and I still practise now and then when no one’s looking.’

  A look of mutual understanding passed between them. The skills Brice was referring to were illegal and probably shouldn’t be encouraged, but he’d learned from his father that sometimes unorthodox methods were necessary. Alex’s father had at one time been a pickpocket and a thief, before Killian rescued him from a life of poverty and crime. Despite now being an upstanding member of Gothenburg’s community, the older Adair had taught his son all the tricks of his former trade.

  ‘You never know when it might come in handy,’ he’d apparently said. ‘So long as you only use it in extreme circumstances and never for your own gain. If you do, I’ll tan your hide but good!’

  Brice had found out about Alex’s extraordinary skills when he’d caught the boy practising on one of his mother’s locked chests. At first he refused to believe the youngster wasn’t stealing anything, but when both Alex’s father and Killian backed him up, he realised it was the truth.

  ‘I don’t know how much you’ve been told,’ he said now, ‘but there’s a man here, the factor Colin Seton, who I suspect has been stealing from the estate. He’s very canny, so I very much doubt he’d keep any ill-gotten gains hidden in his own home, but just in case, I’d like you to sneak in and have a look around. Would you mind?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘Sure, as long as you keep him occupied elsewhere.’

  ‘I will. He keeps his door secured, but the lock is old and shouldn’t prove too difficult for you. However, if there’s nothing there, I’d be grateful if you could keep him under observation to see if he’ll lead you to his cache. And perhaps try and sound other people out in case he’s acted strange at any time. Any clues as to where he’s hiding the money would be great.’

  ‘No problem. Just point him out to me and I’ll get started.’

  ‘Thank you. I owe you a debt for this.’

  ‘Not till I’ve found something,’ Alex laughed. ‘Then you can give me a percentage. I’ve just been learning about those.’

&nbs
p; Brice pretended to cuff the youth. ‘Cheeky beggar,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, let’s go and see where Mr Seton is. I find I need him to look at the stable roof with me.’

  Ailsa and Flora came down for the midday meal and Marsaili noticed they greeted the newcomers as warmly as Brice had done.

  ‘Why, Ramsay, how you’ve grown,’ Ailsa said. ‘You were tall last time I saw you, but now you’ve filled out nicely too.’

  Ramsay smiled and kissed the older woman’s cheek. ‘Not too much, I hope? My sister will insist on feeding me, as if that’s the cure for everything.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s only concerned for you. Do I take it you’re staying with her and Killian at the moment then?’

  ‘Yes, we thought it best for Ida.’ He sent his daughter an adoring glance, but the little girl was busy talking to Flora and Kirsty and didn’t notice.

  Marsaili had been watching this scene and jumped when Brice whispered behind her, ‘Ramsay was widowed two years ago. His wife died in childbirth and the babe also.’

  She looked up at him. ‘How sad,’ she whispered back. ‘He seems to have come to terms with it though.’

  Brice nodded. ‘Yes, Ramsay’s not the sort to mope around. And he still has Ida.’ His gaze softened as it rested on the little one. ‘I envy him.’

  Marsaili raised her eyebrows at him. ‘You’d like children of your own?’ He didn’t strike her as the marrying kind, so this surprised her. Although, to be fair, he did have a way with both children and animals.

  ‘Yes, as many as possible, especially daughters.’

  ‘Now you’re bamming me.’ In Marsaili’s experience men always wanted sons, as witness her own father’s behaviour.

  ‘Not at all. I told you, I have four sisters, and I’ve observed how they all adore our father unreservedly. I think sons are much more critical. My father certainly hasn’t had an easy time of it with my brother and myself.’ He laughed.

  ‘Hmm, well, I wouldn’t know about such things.’

  Brice sent her swift look of consternation. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘It’s all right, I don’t mind. Honestly, from what I’ve heard, I was better off without my father. He definitely wished only for sons, so he wouldn’t have wanted me around.’

  ‘Sadly, that’s probably true.’

  Marsaili was recalled to her duties by one of the maids asking her where she should put a pot of beef broth and Brice went to take his seat at the head of the table. Marsaili moved down so Ramsay could sit next to Flora, with little Ida in between them. She didn’t mind and it had the added advantage of her not being opposite Seton, although for some reason he looked like the cat that got the cream today. Marsaili bit her lip. This couldn’t bode well.

  As soon as everyone had sat down, Brice stood up again and banged his spoon against his ale tankard. ‘May I have your attention for a moment please. I have a very important announcement to make.’ He smiled at Kirsty and Iain, seated side by side as usual. ‘Today a date has been set for the marriage of this couple and I am happy to tell you that Iain will make Kirsty his wife not this coming Sunday, but the next – they’ve waited long enough already. A toast to them, if you please – Kirsty and Iain!’

  Everyone joined in and Marsaili noticed Seton was beaming. That didn’t seem right, since he’d been so against the marriage from the very beginning. She couldn’t help but wonder what had changed his mind, but soon avoided his gaze. He kept throwing her meaningful glances as if to say it would be their turn next.

  Over my dead body, she thought.

  Ida was chattering away to Flora and it soon became clear they were getting on like a house on fire. Ramsay turned to Marsaili with a smile and nodded over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, there’s no stopping the little madam when she has an attentive audience. Poor Flora will want her sitting elsewhere tomorrow.’

  Marsaili smiled back. ‘I doubt it, she loves children. It’s a shame she doesn’t have any of her own.’ Since this wasn’t really a subject she ought to discuss with a virtual stranger, however, she changed topic. ‘So, uhm, are you really Brice’s uncle? You don’t look old enough, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ She guessed him to be in his late twenties or early thirties at most.

  ‘It’s a bit complicated, but my mother had me very late and with her second husband, so Brice’s mother is only my half-sister. I’m five years older than him, we’ve always been more like brothers really.’

  ‘I see.’ It was clear the two enjoyed a good relationship, which made Marsaili wonder about the other brother. ‘And Jamie? Do you get on with him and all the sisters as well?’

  Ramsay nodded. ‘Yes, I do, but …’ He hesitated, a questioning look in his eyes. ‘I don’t know how much Brice has told everyone here, but he and Jamie aren’t on very good terms at the moment. It makes it difficult for me, of course, stuck in the middle as it were.’ He shrugged. ‘I can see both sides and don’t want to fall out with either.’

  ‘I can understand that. I’d feel the same if Flora and Kirsty were to argue.’

  ‘Precisely, but hopefully they’ll come to some sort of understanding with time.’

  Marsaili didn’t want to press him further about the estrangement. It was private and if Brice had wanted anyone to know, he would have told them. She did wonder what it could be though, because Brice didn’t seem the type of man to either stay angry for long or become annoyed at trifles. Whatever Jamie had done, it must be serious.

  Later that evening, Brice shut himself in the book room and retrieved the letters Ramsay had brought. He quickly read the ones from his parents and sisters, smiling at each one in turn. There was no momentous news, but they were all full of chatty anecdotes of everyday life which made him slightly homesick. It was good to know they were all well though and missing him as much as he missed them.

  At the bottom of the pile, however, were the two letters from Elisabet and Jamie. Ramsay had insisted on handing them back after Marsaili had left the room that morning.

  ‘Don’t be an ass, Brice, at least see what they have to say,’ he’d advised. ‘You owe them that much.’

  Brice wasn’t at all convinced, but he’d taken them without a word. He hadn’t wanted to argue with Ramsay when he’d only just arrived. Now the urge to throw the letters straight onto the small peat fire that was burning in the grate was still strong. He’d been thinking about the whole débâcle less and less these last few weeks and reading these messages would just rake up all the hurt again. What’s the point? he wondered.

  Then again, the memories and pain had come flooding back just by seeing their handwriting. And he had to admit to a morbid curiosity as to how they would justify what they’d done. He’d refused to listen to their explanations in Sweden. If he read what they had to say, then that would be the end of it and he could put them out of his mind once and for all.

  ‘Damn them,’ he muttered. He stared at the letters for a moment longer before making up his mind. ‘Oh, what the hell …’ He slit open the one from Elisabet first and

  started to read, scanning the lines of text with mounting incredulity.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but some sort of apology certainly. Instead, what she’d written was more or less a litany of accusations, claiming his ‘neglect’ of her had driven her into the arms of his brother. His ‘cruelty’ in leaving her for years on end instead of being there when she needed him and his ‘obvious indifference’ since he hadn’t cared enough to stay in the same country as her until she was old enough to marry.

  Brice shook his head, laughed and crumpled the letter into a ball which he threw with unerring accuracy at the smouldering fire in the tiny fireplace near the desk. ‘Good old Elisabet,’ he murmured, ‘I should have known I could count on you to twist everything to your advantage. Father was right – I do pity Jamie.’ Not that it excused his brother’s perfidy, however. That was another matter altogether.

  At least her letter confirmed what he’d
suspected for some weeks now, that she wasn’t the girl he thought he’d loved. What a relief!

  Taking a deep breath, he opened Jamie’s letter, wondering if he too would try to justify his actions by blaming Brice. He hadn’t. Brice found only a few sentences and gritted his teeth as he read them.

  Dear Brice,

  I know you think I have forfeited the right to call you brother, but I just wanted to tell you whatever happens, that is how I will always view you – as my brother, my best friend, the person I’ve always looked up to most in the world. I cannot adequately express how sorry I am about what has happened. However, there is no going back and I have to live with the consequences. I know you probably can’t forgive me, and I don’t expect you to, but if you should ever find it in your heart to do so, please believe I’d do anything to make things right between us again. Just say the word.

  Jamie

  No explanation, no excuses. Brice closed his eyes, overcome with emotion. Anger, sadness and regret warred inside him, but the wound was too raw and fury won. He couldn’t forgive Jamie yet and perhaps he never would.

  With a savage curse, he flung the second letter into the fire as well, then stared into the flames as they devoured the paper and quickly turned Jamie’s words into ash. He wished he could do the same with his thoughts, so he could have peace of mind, but as yet, they wouldn’t give him any respite.

  Forgive and forget? Maybe one day, but not any time soon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The marriage of Kirsty and Iain took place ten days later, with Brice giving the bride away and yet another feast afterwards. The dancing and singing went on long into the night. Even the groom’s father seemed pleased with the proceedings, although Brice noticed he wasn’t too happy when Brice declared he’d keep hold of the dowry for now just to be on the safe side. He reckoned it would only be a matter of days before Iain was sent to ask for at least some of it with one excuse or another as to why it was needed.