Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  Frowning, James asked, “Who was the letter from, Gregor?”

  “A Mrs. Ramsey. Said she was,”—he paused—“writing on the request of your lady wife.”

  “That’s not true!” Thea declared.

  Gregor continued. “We’d set about putting yon cottage in order for your arrival, but this Mrs. Ramsey sounded very sure of herself, so we halted work.”

  “What is the state of the cottage now?” James demanded.

  He didn’t look at Thea. She could hear the annoyance in his voice, but she was too tired and too dazed to try to do anything about it.

  Choosing his words carefully, Gregor answered James’s question. “You will have a roof over your head and a bed, sir, but little more, I fear.”

  It was fortunate Gregor was holding Firefly’s bridle. The reins slipped through Thea’s nerveless fingers as she listened to his damning words. All she could think of was that their cool welcome was the result of her conversation with Olivia Ramsey and so, in a way, her fault.

  James glanced at her and, seeing something in her expression, said abruptly, “That can be put to rights later. Thea!” His harsh tone pulled her up, forcing her to put aside the bitter recriminations that were gnawing at her. “Can you continue? Or would you prefer Gregor lead the horse?”

  “I can manage, James!” she snapped, goaded by his rough tone.

  “Good.” Did she imagine it, or was there the faintest suggestion of satisfaction in his tone?

  They began to move, Gregor striding beside the slowly walking chestnut. “You must know you are much needed here, sir.” Gregor moved his head to indicate the surrounding area. “We still haven’t recovered from the devastation which followed the Rising.”

  “How bad is it, Gregor?”

  The man stroked his bearded chin. “You knew that many of the young men didn’t come back? Well, we’ve lost many of the older ones, and the women, to sickness, hunger, and the pillaging of the accursed—” He glanced toward Thea, then quickly away. “There’s a whole crop of light-haired bairns as well.”

  “What happened to the money my father sent? It should have helped alleviate some of the worst distress.”

  Gregor glanced at Thea again before he said carefully, “It did, sir, but it isn’t wise to show too much prosperity these days. There are always those who demand to know where it came from and who won’t believe a truthful answer.”

  James cast the steward a hard glance. “‘We’ll talk more of this later,” he said curtly.

  “Aye, Master James,” Gregor replied easily. Evidently his evasive answer had not been shaped because he feared an accounting by the Master of Glenmuir. Thea was sure he had framed his response to avoid offending her. Unwittingly, his courtesy had reminded her once again that she was English and therefore someone to be wary of. With a lonely flash of insight, she guessed that this was the way her husband had felt during his years of exile: an outsider in a foreign land, acknowledged, but never accepted.

  As they rode through the village, she was further discomfited by the stares of the people who emerged from their small, neat houses. The people of Glenmuir took a moment to recognize their chief’s son, come so unexpectedly among them, but when they did there were welcoming smiles and joyful greetings. They looked curiously at Thea, sizing her up without hostility, but also without warmth. She told herself that this reaction was typical of any small, isolated community with a stranger in its midst, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that had she been Scots-born, her greeting would have been very different.

  Gregor led them to a square cottage, built of stone plundered from the derelict castle. The harsh gray exterior looked solid, but unforgiving. Thea could only wish that the men of the MacLonan clan had chosen some other material from which to build the master’s new dwelling.

  The bearded Gregor opened the plain front door. “I beg your pardon for the size of the house, sir. We put it up quick when Mr. MacLonan informed us you had been pardoned. There were no rooms fit for occupation at the Castle. The English made sure of that!”

  Thea knew that she had not been responsible for the devastation following the Rising. She had not burned Glenmuir Castle, or the woodlands that gave the long valley its name. But she could not shake the feeling that she personally was being blamed by the people of the MacLonan clan for the destruction that had changed their lives.

  Refusing to acknowledge the veiled hostility around her, she swung her leg free of the saddle, then kicked her foot from the stirrup and slid to the ground unaided. Throwing the reins to Gregor with a haughty toss of her head, she ignored his last statement as she strode into the house.

  Little light filtered through the small windows. “Is there a candle?” she called as she entered the main room.

  Gregor replied, “Aye, lady. On the stairs.”

  She found a tinderbox beside the candle. After a few moments, flame flickered into life. She held the candle high as she strode from room to room, her emotions tightening until an impotent fury held her securely in its grasp. As she returned to the doorway, she saw that James had dismounted and was about to hand his reins to Gregor.

  “Well, James,” she said tightly. “Mr. MacLonan did not jest when he informed you all work had been stopped on the house. There is no furniture on the ground floor, the hearths are bare, and the place is as cold as a tomb!” Her voice quivered with emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She closed her mouth tightly. If she said anything more, she would surely regret her words. Abruptly, she turned back inside.

  James shot Gregor a sharp look. “The horses need to be stabled for the night. Also, a cart bearing our luggage and household goods comes behind us. My coachman knows the way, but in the dusk he might need assistance. Send a man to watch for him at the pass, will you, Gregor?”

  While James gave his directions to the steward, Thea had lifted her voluminous riding skirt and climbed up the solid staircase to the upper floor. Unconsciously she noticed the staircase was graceful and well built, the boards of a light wood she couldn’t identify, possibly a local pine. The elegance of the stairs made her realize that the people of Glenmuir had taken some care in the building of their master’s house. Somehow the thought didn’t give her any comfort. It was James they were honoring, not her.

  Upstairs there were five good-sized rooms, the largest one being for the master, with a smaller room adjoining it. All were set around a square landing, and even in the dim light Thea was easily able to find her way around.

  She had just entered the largest bedchamber when she heard James’s steps on the floor below.

  “Thea?” he called.

  “Upstairs, James. In the largest bedchamber, on your right.”

  While he ran lightly up the stairs, she moved deeper into the room. Placing the candleholder on the mantel over the fieldstone fireplace, she waited for him. While she waited she surveyed the single piece of furniture in the house—the bed.

  *

  When James entered the doorway, she was standing by the hearth, her arms crossed over her breasts. Her face was impassive as she stared at the crude bed, the frame square and solid, but without the least adornment. He guessed that she was close to breaking down.

  “Well, Gregor MacLonan is definitely a man of his word. This is the only piece of furniture in the house!” Her voice broke. “James, what are we going to do?”

  “Tomorrow I’ll arrange for some furniture to be built. What can’t be constructed here can be ordered from Edinburgh.”

  “We just came from Edinburgh!” Her voice choked on a sob of exhaustion and disappointment. She went over to the bed, flopping down on the only available seat in the house. “Arrah!” she shrieked, jumping up. “The mattress is straw!” Leaning down, she disgustedly raised it to inspect the supports beneath. “Slats! ‘Ods blood, James! Do you expect me to sleep on straw and slats for the rest of my life?”

  “Thea,” he growled warningly.

  “No! I will not stop! Since we began this
journey you have driven me mercilessly, James MacLonan, without a shred of consideration! Through the most appalling weather, on roads little better than quagmires, I didn’t complain. I accepted, because you are my husband! When you insisted we must come to Glenmuir, I accepted! It is your right to decide where we will live and my duty to make a home for you wherever that might be. You have hardly spoken to me since we left the inn, and then only to criticize or condemn! Driving me onward when I felt I could go no further!”

  He crossed the room in three strides. Grasping her shoulders, he said roughly, “Do you think I enjoyed watching you shiver in the saddle, exhaustion etched in every line of you? I organized our journey, Thea, so that you could rest each night in some comfort, in houses with feather beds and warm hearths and private guest rooms. Would you have preferred to take the journey in easy stages and spend your nights in the crofts you despise so much? Or out in the open, with no protection and the wet ground as your bed?”

  “No.” A sob caught in her throat. “James, did you really do that for me?”

  Her eyes were huge and tears glittered in their depths. James sighed and pressed her head gently against his chest.

  “Yes. I knew the journey would be arduous, Thea. If the weather had been better, the going wouldn’t have been so difficult and the stages I planned wouldn’t have seemed so long or exhausting. I do not mean to harm you, Thea, or bring you pain. But…”

  She laughed thickly and sniffed. “I misunderstood. I was so sunk in my own fears I could not see the truth.”

  “Fears?”

  “Since we left Edinburgh everything seemed to verify what Olivia Ramsey said. The people in the croft who spoke only Gaelic, the cool response I’ve had from everyone I meet. The desolation of the countryside. It all seems to fit.”

  James sighed again. “I was afraid of that.” He squeezed her gently and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go downstairs and I’ll see to lighting a fire. Then we can talk.”

  She sniffed again and nodded. Then she said hesitantly, “James? I’m sorry for being such a fool about this…”

  “Hush.” Putting a finger over her lips, he smiled, then lightly kissed her. “Come downstairs.”

  Smiling tremulously, she accepted the hand he held and allowed him to lead her down the stairs.

  *

  They were in a compact room in the back of the house, searching without success for fuel to build a fire, when they heard a woman’s voice calling. James strode to the front, and there saw a round female figure carrying a large iron kettle and what appeared to be a loaf of bread. He immediately stepped forward to relieve her of the heavy pot. She sighed, dropped a small curtsy, and said, “Thank you, sir. I used to be able to carry a load such as that easily, but I’m getting old, I am. Now, sir, I’m Eileen MacLonan, Gregor’s wife, do you remember me? When Gregor told me of your arrival I thought you might be hungry, so I’ve brought a stew, which only needs to be warmed.”

  As she spoke, Eileen peered past James into the gloomy interior of the house, obviously searching for something—or someone. James’s expression relaxed into a smile. “That is very kind of you, Mrs. MacLonan, and yes, I do remember you, particularly the scones you used to bake for Neil and me when we snuck away from our tutor. My wife is in the room in the rear of the house. The kitchen, I think? Come along and meet her.”

  Eileen beamed. “I’d be proud to, sir.”

  Thea was standing awkwardly in the center of the room. She’d heard the conversation between Eileen and James, and the thought of meeting one of the cool people who had watched her earlier filled her with irrational panic. Drawing on every bit of self-confidence she possessed, she smiled as Eileen MacLonan entered the room behind James. “Hello, Mrs. MacLonan,” she said carefully. “I heard you introduce yourself to my husband. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. You have no idea how long it seems since we last ate!”

  “Aye, I can guess,” replied Eileen, shrewdly sizing up her new mistress. In the dim light shed by the candle, Thea’s features were strained with weariness, but in her dark eyes sparkled courage and pride. Eileen nodded to herself, apparently satisfied.

  James watched with amusement as the two women assessed each other. When Eileen nodded, he knew Thea had made another conquest in the MacLonan clan. That pleased him. As his wife, she would always be given courteous treatment by his clansmen, but if they didn’t respect her for herself, she would never be more than an outsider, suffered for her position. He didn’t want that fate for Thea. He’d spent enough years as an exile to know the bitterness of never being accepted.

  Eileen MacLonan’s approval would ease Thea’s adjustment to Highland life and speed her acceptance amongst the clansmen. A worry he’d refused to acknowledge eased from James’s shoulders.

  “If you’ll tell me where the wood or peat has been stored, I’ll make a fire, Mrs. MacLonan, to heat up the stew,” he said.

  Eileen put the loaf of bread she carried onto the hearth beside the pot of stew, which James had placed there. “Gregor will be bringing some in a moment.” Her pale eyes flicked from lord to lady, a faint smile in their depths. “He’s seen to the horses and sent young Donald to look out for the cart.”

  She gazed around the barren room, then said directly to Thea, woman to woman, “Men! If they aren’t the most terrible creatures for giving up on things! When that last letter came, they up and stopped all work on the house. There was to be a table and chairs in this room, you know, and at least a bench and stools for the front room. I told them they’d best be prepared, and managed to get them to make yon bed. A sorry thing, is it not?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “We have a right fine carpenter in the village who was more than willing to make a proper bed for your homecoming. But when that letter came, why, the men canceled it quick. A crying shame, I say. It was a fine, handsome bed he was planning to build.”

  Shaking her head, she placed her hands on her hips. “I told my Gregor he’d best put some kind of bed in here, for if you did come you’d be wanting that first off. Give him his due, he listened to me, and there’s not many men who will listen to a woman’s good sense.”

  Thea blinked with amazement as this torrent of words washed over her. When Eileen had finished, she glanced at James, expecting him to be annoyed by the forthright speech. He was over by the fireplace, looking up the chimney to see if the damper was open or closed. Astounded, Thea realized that his lips were twitching with suppressed amusement. Dimly she began to realize that her own free-speaking ways must seem perfectly natural to a man raised in the same village with Eileen MacLonan.

  Eileen’s gaze had followed Thea’s. Seeing her lord apparently concerned about the lack of a fire in the hearth, she shook her head with annoyance. “Where is the man! You need to rest before a warm fire, lady, after a journey like this. I’d best go see what is keeping him.”

  After she had left through the kitchen door, Thea crossed to the fireplace. James emerged from his contemplation of the chimney, chuckling softly.

  “Is she always like that?” she asked.

  “Always,” he agreed, amusement still in his voice.

  The scent of the still-warm stew tickled Thea’s senses, and she raised the lid to sniff deeply. “I’m so hungry I could eat this from the pot!”

  James laughed. Taking the lid from her hand, he replaced it firmly. “Do that and you would forever wound Eileen MacLonan’s sensibilities. Come away from the hearth before we both sink into temptation.”

  They settled against the adjacent wall, seated informally on the wooden floor, Thea cuddled warmly against James. She said apologetically, “It was very bad of Mrs. Ramsey to interfere the way she did. I hope you don’t think she sent the letter at my suggestion?”

  “Leave it, wife,” he said gently. “Do you think I blame you?”

  “I don’t know, James! I do know I need to explain what happened in Edinburgh.” She looked around the empty room. “We will need to be honest with each other if we ar
e to cope with the coming days. Can we not begin now?”

  He looked down into her serious features and agreed with a nod.

  “Olivia told me that life in the Highlands would be too difficult, and before I knew it she had decided that if you wanted country living, we should stay at her house outside of Edinburgh. I did not think you would want that, but I did not want to offend her either, so I mumbled something polite about discussing the idea with you. She must have assumed you would agree and written her letter that very night. And so we arrived here without the comfortable surroundings we might have had.”

  “Speculating will change nothing. We’re here now and must make the best of it.” He hesitated, then added, “Thea, I was as disconcerted by our lack of welcome as you were. I wanted a warm house, filled with the smells of cooking and lit by dozens of candles, to be waiting for you when you arrived, but it was not to be. You have to admit that Eileen MacLonan makes up in human warmth what is lacking in physical comfort.”

  Thea laughed. “I have never met a woman who talks so quickly and without pause as Mrs. MacLonan. She’s charming.”

  James grinned and said lazily, “She approved of you as well. Listen to her, Thea. She’ll help you find your feet here at Glenmuir.”

  Thea glanced warily up at him. “I sensed an atmosphere of hostility toward me when we rode in, James. I am afraid I’ll need more than Eileen’s aid to win your people over.”

  Shifting so that his wife was seated in his lap, James said softly, “I know the bitterness that comes of being a stranger in a distant land. I will help you to learn Highland customs, and if you like I’ll teach you a little Gaelic so you will never be excluded from a conversation.”

  Her lips parted temptingly and her eyes shone with gratitude. “James, I—”

  Bending his head, he kissed her. “First lesson.” He whispered a musical phrase against her lips. Giving herself over to the pleasure of his embrace, Thea decided he must be speaking Gaelic love words, hardly useful in her position as lady of the manor, but delightful while she lay in her husband’s arms.