Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  With James’s promise ringing in her ears, she could almost believe he was happy with the bride who had been forced upon him. The fears she had been fighting since the night Olivia Ramsey had told her of the hardships of life in the Highlands slowly began to ease.

  The coming months would indeed be difficult, but problems were made to be solved. Tomorrow she would have to begin the arduous task of making this chill little building a home. Tonight she would surrender herself into her husband’s care, knowing, whether he said the words or not, that he sought only the best for her.

  It was a beginning.

  Chapter 12

  Glenmuir,

  August 1750

  The dawn had not yet broken when Thea awoke. Slowly, she opened her eyes, aware of a deep contentment that she could not have imagined in those difficult weeks after she had married James MacLonan. She stretched lazily, then curled sensuously against her husband’s side.

  He was, she thought, two people. One was the public man—cool, decisive, and fair. This was the James MacLonan others turned to when they needed advice, or in times of trouble. They relied on him and trusted him to lead them to a place where life was better and at least a little bit easier.

  But there was also the private man, the one Thea had come to know over the past five months. The man who had stolen her heart with his tender, thoughtful ways, whose eyes twinkled with amusement, and who smiled frequently, but didn’t laugh enough. She had given her heart to the private James MacLonan, but she respected his dedication to his clansmen, and she was immensely proud of the work he had done to heal the scars still remaining from the rebellion.

  Propping her head up on her hand, she looked at her husband. In repose, the tough inner strength in James MacLonan’s features remained, but Thea had seen them blurred by desire and softened by tenderness as he made love to her. The thought of that made her sigh softly. The bedclothes had fallen away as he slept, and one broad, bare shoulder was tantalizingly close to her fingertips.

  She reached over to stroke gently along his skin, enjoying the feeling of muscle and sinew beneath her hand. James made a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, then rolled onto his back. She waited for him to wake, but he slept on. Thea smiled faintly, a little disappointed, but she was happy just to watch him, to know that this was the private James MacLonan, her James, the man no one else ever saw. Alone with her, he relaxed completely, the only time he did so.

  The past months had been difficult ones, for both of them. Thea had been faced with the problem of trying to adapt to Scottish life and customs, of proving her worth as an individual, and of learning a new language. None of these were easy tasks, but she knew that her success or failure in solving them would only affect one person, Theadora MacLonan.

  James, on the other hand, had the onerous job of returning Glenmuir to its former prosperity and of leading his clansmen away from the bitterness that had consumed them since Culloden. As the son of the clan chief, in the absence of his father, he was also the source of law in this rugged Highland valley. He arbitrated disputes, dispensed justice, and directed the lives of his clansmen. The responsibilities were heavy ones, particularly for a conscientious man like James.

  She trailed a finger down his jaw, tracing the line of bone from ear to chin. James smiled, but he slept on. Tenderness added a glow to Thea’s features.

  From the evening they had arrived at Glenmuir, when he’d listened quietly to Gregor’s increasingly animated descriptions of the damage done to the Highlands since the battle of Culloden, he had weighed the information he was given, assessed it, then analyzed it. His responses, therefore, were based on information, not emotion. The people of Glenmuir, he’d said more than once, needed good sense and calm reasoning if they were to grow and prosper, not the heat of bitterness or fire of rebellion.

  There were some who resented his point of view. Old men who’d lost a son in the Rising, or women whose husbands were dead or deported, clung to their bitterness like a shield to ward off further hurt. As she listened to him counseling the disaffected, helping them to see that further resistance to England was not only futile, but could cause even more destruction and suffering, Thea realized that whatever his personal opinions might be, James MacLonan’s days as a rebel were over.

  Pausing in her absentminded caress, she turned her thoughts inward, away from James, back over her own experiences since their arrival at Glenmuir.

  She’d come here as an Englishwoman married to a Scot, but in a surprisingly short time she had begun to feel accepted in the valley. Now she saw herself as one of the people of Glenmuir, in the same way as the other MacLonans did. James, with the help of Eileen MacLonan and her daughter Morag, had taught Thea the customs of the Highlanders and what was expected of the clan leader’s wife, but it was the people who had completed her adjustment to her new life, by making her welcome amongst them. On this August morning, Thea could admit that she was satisfied with the progress she’d made, even though she knew she had far to go.

  There were those whose scars were deep and painful even now, and these were the most difficult for Thea to win over. People such as Maggie MacLonan of Ben Lonan. She lived on a plot of land some six miles from the village, beneath the looming mass of the tallest of the mountains that surrounded the valley. Once, according to James, her acreage had been prosperous. Ben Lonan Farm had boasted a dozen hardy Highland cattle, some sheep, and a rich harvest of foodstuffs. Then Maggie’s husband, Dougal, had been convicted of treason after Culloden and condemned to being transported to the colonies. The party of English soldiers that had ravaged Glenmuir, burning MacLonan Castle and other houses, stealing livestock, and trampling the crops, had also taken Dougal MacLonan, after burning his house and brutally raping Maggie. She had been left abandoned and bleeding in the ruins of her life.

  Thea felt deep compassion for Maggie MacLonan, for the woman had never recovered from her cruel treatment. Over the years, alone and despairing, Maggie hadn’t been capable of returning Ben Lonan Farm to its former prosperity, and she lived a sort of half-life, refusing all offers of assistance and brooding over her fate. No matter how hard Thea tried, she could never get close to the woman. Their backgrounds were a solid wall between them, impossible to surmount.

  Despite her lack of success with Maggie MacLonan and others like her, Thea’s life at Glenmuir was happy, and far from lonely. She enjoyed the clanspeople, whom she now called friends, the duties she’d gladly assumed, and the status that being James’s wife gave her in the small community.

  Edinburgh and her life there were blurring memories that she didn’t bother to keep fresh.

  Eileen MacLonan’s daughter, Morag, was now her assistant and housekeeper. Like her mother, Morag was shrewd, free-spoken, and a godsend for Thea. Morag knew who amongst the villagers was in need, whose respect was based on honest affection, and whose was just on the surface. Information like that was important for Thea to have. Due to the isolation of the region, Highland society was much more open than that of England or even of Edinburgh. The classes mixed readily together, and Thea had rapidly learned that a shrewd Highlander, of whatever rank, could be as good company as a wealthy and titled aristocrat.

  James stirred in his sleep, catching her hand, then holding it close. Thea smiled faintly, then settled down beside him, her head pillowed on his chest. The sound of his heart beating slowly and regularly soothed her. She closed her eyes. Her thoughts drifted.

  There would be much to do today. Mondays were always busy after the quiet of the Sabbath. After she and James had broken their fast, he was off to a meeting with his forester at the far end of the valley, while she met with Eileen and Morag for their weekly discussion on the status of the estate folk. Then she planned to work on the list of stores they would need for the winter months. After that, she’d wander over to see Isabel Graham, who’d been feeling poorly these last few days. At seventy years of age, Isabel had the right to her ailments, but she never complained. Thea found the old w
oman a font of wisdom and never begrudged the time she spent with her. Then she should…

  In the midst of her catalogue of activities, sleep claimed her once more.

  *

  By the time Thea and James sat down for dinner, shortly after midday, the sun had erased the morning coolness and the temperature had risen to nearly eighty degrees. Though the heat impaired Thea’s appetite, James tucked heartily into a selection of roast mutton, fresh trout, meat pie, salad, and buttered vegetables. A syllabub and cheeses made on the estate completed the meal.

  As they ate, Thea and James talked in a companionable way about their activities that morning. Since their first days at Glenmuir they had used the quiet of the dinner hour to exchange views, plan activities, and focus on the development of the estate. Thea was certain that James had begun the practice to draw her into the life of Glenmuir and to help her get to know the people and their problems, but over the months it had become an opportunity for Thea to contribute to the redevelopment of Glenmuir. It had also proved to be an effective way to draw her closer to James, for she was better able to understand his concerns as well as the demands on his emotions and on his time.

  On this beautiful August day, the major topic was the status of the reforestation project James had begun almost immediately after returning to Glenmuir.

  “What did Logan say about the dying seedlings?” Thea asked as she cut a slice of lamb.

  James shook his head gloomily. “He thinks some sort of vermin are eating the roots.”

  Thea frowned. The reforestation project was important to James. He was determined to heal the blackened scar of the once-beautiful woods that flanked Lonan Pass. He’d had the dead trees cleared away and had begun a program of replanting young, healthy trees in their place, speeding the process nature had already begun. The work had progressed well, but recently the forester had noted several of the transplanted seedlings dying for unexplained reasons, and he feared the rest might follow suit. “Vermin? What kind of vermin? Mice?” She shuddered delicately.

  James raised one eyebrow, but his blue eyes danced with laughter. “Nothing quite so large, but I am sure you would find them equally offensive, my lady wife. He thinks it is some sort of beetle.”

  “Ugh! You are quite right James, I would not enjoy having to deal with such creatures. What is to be done?”

  “Logan thinks he knows a way to get rid of them. For these trees, all we can do is apply his remedy and wait. We can also try replanting another type of tree, one that is better suited to the terrain and that doesn’t have roots that are so very tasty to those little beetles. That might do the trick.”

  Thea wrinkled her nose. “Waiting does seem to be part of life up here, does it not? I went down the valley to see Isabel Graham this morning. She is mending nicely, but it has been a long time since she took to her bed suffering from chest pains.”

  James took a mouthful of wine, then gazed reflectively into his goblet. “Isabel Graham is a tough, indestructible old woman. Always has been,” he said, then drank again.

  “Tough she may be, but Isabel’s pains were very real, James. You are not to mock them.”

  James looked at Thea over the top of his wine glass. This time the laughter in his eyes was mimicked by the twitching of his lips. “Yes, milady. As you say, milady.”

  Thea’s eyes widened with indignation, then she laughed, “Fie, was I being dreadfully bossy?”

  “Dreadfully,” he agreed with a grin.

  “Oh, dear. It is because I have come to respect Isabel, although I know not everyone can get along with her. Perhaps I have picked up some of her traits. Eileen warned me that she is considered to be a terribly managing female.”

  “But she never did have your beauty or your charm, my dear. I do not think you are in any danger of being classed as the same type of woman as Isabel Graham.”

  Thea blushed. She couldn’t help it. James’s voice had softened and deepened as he spoke, and her heart had begun to beat faster as her body responded. “James…”

  “Yes, Thea?” There was a small smile on his mouth while his eyes danced with wicked humor.

  Thea cleared an obstruction in her throat. “Do you have any plans for the afternoon?”

  There was a short, heavy silence during which their gazes locked, silently expressing more than their words ever would.

  Slowly, James said, “I was to meet with Ian MacLonan to check on the progress of the rebuilding of the Castle.”

  “Ah. Then I shall not suggest you stay,” Thea said lightly. Like the reforestation project, the rebuilding of the ruined Castle was part of James’s plan to turn the people of Glenmuir’s thoughts away from the bitterness of defeat and death and direct them instead to the future.

  Pride stirred within her as she smiled at her husband. They rarely spoke of his time on the Continent, an exile with no prospect of return, but she knew James still felt the pain of those years keenly. Nevertheless, he refused to pass any lingering bitterness along to his clansmen. Thea respected him for that, for she knew how difficult it was to keep strong emotions, such as regret and anger, from tarnishing a person’s outlook. She respected, too, his effort to ensure that he did not brand her with prejudices because of background.

  As a husband, James MacLonan was not perfect, but she found it remarkably difficult to determine what exactly his flaws were.

  *

  Though the afternoon was still hot, the sun no longer burned as fiercely as it had around midday. Thea had abandoned the quiet seat on the sofa where she had been resting, and was standing before a large mirror in the hall, adjusting a wide-brimmed hat. She thought, with some amusement, that her appearance had changed drastically over the summer. Her gown, though of a fine-quality cloth, was muslin; not silk or satin. No hoops widened the skirt as fashion in London and Edinburgh demanded. Hoops were impractical in the confines of the small cottage, and her life was too busy anyway to be bothered with them.

  Her fair complexion had taken on a soft glow from the hours she spent outdoors, either walking about the village or riding to outlying farms. Nevertheless, she had to be careful. Even though she’d acquired a light tan, her skin still tended to burn if she remained out in the sun too long without protection—especially her nose. That was why she was adjusting the hat at a saucy angle before she ventured out. Yesterday she hadn’t been so cautious, as her pink cheeks and nose testified.

  Outside the cottage she paused for a moment adjusting to the heat. A sound in the distance made her turn her head, her eyes searching for the cause. A rider was approaching, galloping hard. Thea frowned. As the horse drew closer, she was able to make out the color of the man’s coat. It was red, laced with white, and it looked remarkably like the livery her parents had used since she was a child.

  The rider slowed the horse as he neared Thea. She recognized him as one of her parents’ servants. As she waited impatiently for him to reach the house, she began to smile.

  When he identified her, he directed his horse toward her. When he reached her, he jumped down and bowed. “A letter for you, Miss Thea… er, Mrs. MacLonan. I am to wait for a reply.”

  Absently, Thea sent him off to stable his horse and then to get something to eat in the kitchen. She was looking at the writing on the letter he had given her. Not surprisingly, it was her father’s hand. She held it lightly, half afraid of the words it contained.

  She’d had letters from Edinburgh since coming up to Glenmuir, but none had come by the hand of a galloping courier. That made her wonder if the contents of this missive might be more ominous than pleasurable.

  She fingered the bold red seal embossed with her father’s crest, then with a sudden resolution, snapped it open and scanned the words inside. What was written there made her smile. Then she bit her lip in consternation, but in her usual determined way, focused on the more positive part of the message.

  Folding the paper, she looked toward the new “Castle,” as the people of Glenmuir liked to call the gracious ma
nor house James had designed. He was there now, overseeing the construction. With a smile that came from a growing excitement and a desire to share it, she hurried toward the building.

  The new Castle was located a little distance from the village and the burnt-out ruin it was replacing. When the site was being chosen, James had said forcefully that he didn’t want to look from the windows of his new home and be forever reminded of the past. Thea agreed with him. The gaunt ruins of the ancient Castle made her shiver each time she glanced in that direction; she knew she would never get used to the sight. The new manor was angled so the windows looked toward the tall mountains that dominated the far end of the valley and the busy village.

  Thea’s footsteps carried her along the now well-worn path from the village to the new mansion. As the building came into view, she studied it. Knowing the old Castle could not be recreated in its original form, James had worked with the architect to design a building that combined the best of both the prevailing European classicism and the ancient building style of the Highlands. Turrets, recalling the towers of the old ramparts, would flank a central doorway that in turn resembled the old gateway. Two wings, projecting to the rear, created a courtyard that would be filled with ornamental gardens. The whole design recalled the walls and forecourt of an ancient fortification, but now large windows would pit the walls to let the maximum amount of light into the interior.

  Once the new house was finished, there would still be much work needed to complete the final effect. New furniture, carpets, china, and paintings, all the accoutrements necessary to a gentleman’s style of living, would have to be bought in Edinburgh or London and transported here. When the Castle had been burned in ‘46, the destruction had been thorough. Furniture was reduced to firewood, priceless antiques wantonly destroyed, the fine bone china shattered to tiny shards, the gold and silver plate looted and carried off to points unknown as the profits of war. Everything would have to be replaced.