A Well Favored Gentleman

by Christina Dodd

  He was a scoundrel, he thought, as bad an opportunist as any in all of the Fairchild family. But he had to have Alanna. He’d flaunted himself in front of her, forcing her to accept him, and like a magic mirror, she reflected back a different image. A better image.

  This time he resolved to hold the mirror for her. To show her how she affected him, and why. With a shaking hand he stroked the curve of her hip and said, “If I loved someone, I could do more than just create a storm. I could make real magic.”

  Lightning flashed; thunder boomed as he lifted his hands. Electricity streaked along his nerves as he delicately smoothed her skin.

  She flung back her head with a moan. “Aye. Magic.”

  Driven by some internal need, he made the declaration he’d always kept in his heart. “If I loved someone, I’d make the full moon shine from a new-moon sky. I’d make the waves die down on a windy night. I’d make the ocean clear as glass.”

  “Somehow”—she tilted his head back with a tug at his hair—“I believe you could do it.”

  He took her hand and put it to his lips so she could feel the caress of his declaration. “If I loved anyone, it would be you.”

  Leslie stretched his legs out to the fire. They were swollen again. When he pressed on the skin over his ankles, it was like pressing on risen bread dough. His finger would leave an indent that slowly filled again. But he was going to get better now. He’d fixed things, and all he had to do was make his move—before time ran out. Feeling almost cocky, he said, “We’ll start looking for the lode of sea opals at once.”

  Edwin scarcely glanced up from Fionnaway’s accounting books. “We’ll have to import miners. These Fionnaway peasants wouldn’t know a lode if it bit them on the ass.”

  Leslie winced. That was exactly what this disease felt like. Like he was being nipped from behind by old, broken promises. “Doesn’t matter. When they hold a pickax in their hands, they’ll rip that shoreline to shreds.”

  “Maybe I don’t want it ripped to shreds.” A page rustled as Edwin turned it. “Maybe I want this done right.”

  Leslie’s head swiveled, and he stared malevolently. “You’ll do as I tell you.”

  “Why?” The MacLeod blue eyes, so like Alanna’s, gazed back at him unflinchingly. “With Alanna married and ousted, you’re not the guardian. You’re not in charge anymore.”

  This imbecile challenged him. He, who had set this all in motion! Leslie took a deep breath, trying to take in enough air to shout out a reply, but his lungs were too clogged. He settled for an infuriated whisper. “Is that how you repay me after all I’ve done for you?”

  “You told me your son is a bastard. This was the information I needed to get my hands on Fionnaway, and I appreciate that.” Edwin turned another page and frowned. “But looking at these figures, I’d say you’ve had your reward. You’ve wasted every cent Fionnaway has earned.”

  Leslie snorted. As if waste mattered. He was an English aristocrat. “You have the other two stones. Sell them!”

  “I intend to—so I can hire miners to do the job right.” Standing, Edwin closed the book. “I’m the lord of Fionnaway now, and if you have any sense, you’ll remember that.”

  Leslie laughed, ignoring the rattle deep in his chest. This young nobody thought to outfox Leslie Fairchild. Well, no man had ever done that, and only one woman. “If you had any sense, you’d do as I say.”

  Arrested by Leslie’s tone, Edwin turned. “Why?”

  “Because, little pigeon”—God, how Leslie relished this!—“I married Ian’s mother in a handfast. He’s not a bastard at all.”

  Like the coils of a snake, evil loops through the stream of life, distorting each reflection and consuming every hope. Evil feeds on itself, growing strong on fear and madness.

  Magic, too, permeates all existence. One can see it in the rainbow, hear it in a raven’s call, taste it in a simple stew. Yet like evil, magic can create havoc. Every time it is used, it acts like a stone dropped in a pond. Ripples spread out to touch every shore. It effects every life, makes changes the most far-seeing cannot envision.

  Evil destroys. Magic deceives.

  What power on God’s earth creates a balance for these mighty forces?

  Chapter 28

  Alanna slipped away from the hut, dressed and in her sturdiest boots, with her necklace clasped firmly around her neck. The wind still blew, but most of the clouds had dispersed, leaving only wispy rags that slid past the westering sun. She walked as quickly as she could, hoping the storm hadn’t created any crises that demanded Mr. Lewis’s attention. She needed him to be there in front of his church.

  As he was. He stood there as if he had been waiting for her, watching her walk toward him. “I thought ye’d be coming t’ me, m’lady,” he called, “when I heard ye’d been chased from the manor.”

  Stopping directly in front of him, she put her hands on her hips. “Then you know why I’ve come.”

  As usual, the minister wore his broad-brimmed hat, his long-sleeved shirt, his kilt of the MacLeod plaid. As usual, he was discreet. “Tell me.”

  “Leslie Fairchild declares his son is illegitimate. Yet Mr. Fairchild shows all the signs of a man dying because he broke his promise to a selkie.” Urgently she leaned close. “Is he lying, Mr. Lewis? Did he wed Ian’s mother?”

  “Come.” Mr. Lewis gestured. “Let us walk, and I’ll tell ye a tale.”

  He started to walk, but disappointment kept Alanna in place. “Oh, please, Mr. Lewis, I don’t want to hear a tale. I just want to know if they were married.”

  “Ye youngsters are too impatient.” He just kept walking. “If ye want the answers, ye have t’ wait for them t’ come.”

  “All right.” Alanna hurried to catch up with him. “But you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  “Selkies, ye know, have made their homes in this part o’ Scotland for as far back as anyone can remember, and just like humans, they have their good ones and their bad ones, their calm ones and their wild ones.”

  Selkies. He spoke about the selkies. “You are going to tell me,” Alanna said with satisfaction, and she stepped out with more eagerness. They were taking the trail that wound along the cliffs, alternating views of the still restless sea with the more tranquil groves of wind-sculpted oaks.

  She listened closely as Mr. Lewis said, “Ian’s mother, Muirne, was one o’ the wild ones, wanting always to see what was on the land. On her sixteenth birthday she transformed herself for the first time.”

  “How?” Alanna asked, waiting breathlessly for an answer. She’d always wanted to know, but her inquiries had been brushed aside.

  But Mr. Lewis knew. There could be no doubt about that now.

  “She’d come up on the rocks—see? Those right there, right against the shore.” He pointed, and Alanna saw the black stones worn almost flat by the wind and waves. She’d seen the seals there sunning themselves on the warm days; how many had been selkies?

  “Muirne struggled her way out o’ her tight-fitting skin. Her head slid out first, then one shoulder, than the other. Like a child from the womb, she slid free. An arduous birth, followed by a difficult adjustment. She stretched, wiggled her toes, tested her legs, wobbling like a child taking its first steps.”

  A vision rose in Alanna’s mind of the dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty as she staggered along the beach, gaining confidence with each step until she felt strong enough to climb the cliff walk toward the village. “Did she have clothing?”

  “What babe comes into this world with clothing?” Mr. Lewis asked. “But the girl had observed the humans and knew o’ their penchant for covering themselves. Without a qualm, she stole clothes from a drying line and went t’ walk among the mortals. The men fell in love with her, o’ course, she was that beautiful, and she taunted them.”

  Alanna winced. At one time she’d taunted Mr. Fairchild with his lack of power over her, and she’d been hurt by it.

  Mr. Lewis saw her reaction, for he said, “Aye, ye know the trouble
that causes. The men resented that, and one day a bunch o’ them caught her. They were harrying her, calling her a freak, preparing t’ do more, I fear, but Leslie Fairchild came upon them.”

  “That should have really frightened her,” Alanna said sourly.

  “Nay. He was visiting Fionnaway then, drinking and carousing with yer father, handsome as the devil and just as devious.”

  “The handsome is gone.”

  “So goes all earthly beauty.” Mr. Lewis flicked her cheek with his finger. “That’s why, Alanna, we all look for someone t’ love us. When ye’re shriveled and disgusting, like me, ye’ll be glad for Ian.”

  “He doesn’t love me.” She answered without a tremor, and she was proud of that.

  “The day isn’t over yet.” Mud slickened parts of the path. Leaves paved the rest. Mr. Lewis slipped, then said irritably, “Now, do ye want t’ hear this tale, or do ye want t’ chat?”

  Leaning down, she picked up a stout stick that had blown off one of the trees and passed it to Mr. Lewis. “I’m listening.”

  Halting, he examined the staff, then stuck it in the ground and leaned on it. “All the lasses were in love with Mr. Fairchild. He took his pleasure as he pleased, and I knew even then he was no good. But he rescued Muirne, and she thought he was wonderful. More, he loved her beyond anything.”

  “Oh, Mr. Lewis. That man never loved anything more than he loved himself.”

  “I didn’t say that. Only, I think, he loved her as much as that warped man has ever loved.” Mr. Lewis’s gaze roamed over the sea. “He haunted the shoreline all the summer, begging her t’ wed him, and at one time, I admit, I thought she would be the making o’ him.”

  “So they married?”

  He sighed deeply. “They did.”

  “I knew it. I knew it!” Alanna could scarcely contain her triumph. “Did you perform the ceremony?”

  “Aye. But I refused t’ wed them in anything but a handfast, because I didn’t trust him.”

  Surprised, Alanna said, “He’s English. Did he understand the handfast?”

  Mr. Lewis started walking again. “I explained very clearly they could live as man and wife for a year, and if they wished t’ remain together at the end o’ the year, and if the union had proved fertile, then they would be wed for eternity.”

  She grasped Mr. Lewis’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Did you explain the conditions of wedding a selkie?”

  “He knew very well the consequences o’ his actions. Muirne was responsible and told him. Let’s go there.” Mr. Lewis pointed the staff at the path that broke away and meandered down to the shore. “She loved him, but I dunna think she trusted him. It was a union destined t’ fail, and I knew it before the end o’ the first winter. He hated the Highlands when the storms raged and it was so cold a man’s ears tried t’ hide in his hair. Muirne was unhappy, too. She wanted t’ see her family, but they were gone from her until she returned t’ the sea. He wanted t’ go t’ London; she told him she couldn’t. She could never live anywhere else.”

  Alanna was incredulous. “Didn’t he know that?”

  “We told him. He just didn’t believe. But for all their unhappiness, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and before the spring, she was with child.”

  “Finalizing the handfast. They were married for all time.”

  “Aye, and when he knew that, he told her he would away t’ Fairchild Manor for a visit with his family before settling down here at the edge o’ forever.”

  Mr. Lewis didn’t say more. He didn’t have to. Alanna knew Mr. Fairchild had run like a rat, abandoning his pregnant wife in hopes he could break the spell. Imagining Muirne’s grief, Alanna asked, “Did she bear Ian alone?”

  “All alone.” Mr. Lewis’s sorrow echoed in his voice. “She and the child lived in a cottage on the cliffs overlooking the ocean na too far from here, and when the time came she had t’ go back t’ the sea, she went with Ian t’ Fairchild Manor. She delivered him into Leslie’s hands with the admonition the child be treated well. And she reminded Leslie he was t’ come here t’ her when Ian had grown t’ maturity.”

  They reached the head of the path where the rocky descent to the shore began. Alanna went first, and the incline and the narrowness interrupted the conversation. But the trail reached its end and became a sandy beach, bracketed behind and on each side by the cliffs, and there she waited for him. When he caught up, she said, “I cannot believe Mr. Fairchild foolishly came here as my guardian.”

  “Staying away wouldn’t have saved him.”

  She couldn’t argue that; Mr. Lewis knew the legends better than she did.

  “And anyway, the others, the people who live in a part o’ the British Isles where magic died long ago…they dunna really believe it’s possible. I think he came here assuring himself that years ago he’d had a bad dream. That Muirne was really just a woman, and he’d never have t’ pay the price for breaking his word.” A great, dry block of granite lay tumbled among its fellows at the base of the cliff, and Mr. Lewis seated himself on it. “He’s discovered differently, and he’s a desperate man now.”

  Alanna remembered the way Mr. Fairchild had looked when he demanded Ian excavate the shoreline. “I think he hopes if he destroys all of this”—the sweep of her arm included the granite cliffs, the shore, and the sea, all the way to the horizon—“the spell which brings prosperity and tranquillity to Fionnaway will be broken.”

  “Perhaps it will.” Mr. Lewis gazed at her, and she thought she saw lustrous tears wet his eyes. “That’s the danger, isn’t it?”

  She understood. This was her sacred trust, the place she’d been raised to preserve. “So I can’t wait to go get the marriage document, can I? I have to go right now.”

  She did have to go. This was Ian’s heritage. He wasn’t a bastard whom Leslie had fathered on some chance-met selkie on the rocks. He was legitimate, created by two people who loved, at least for a brief moment in time.

  And she knew, because she’d heard Ian’s determination, and beneath it his very real fear, that he would forbid her to go. No matter that he said he didn’t love her; he would forfeit his legitimacy out of apprehension for her. He would lose Fionnaway, his heart’s desire.

  “The tide is low,” Mr. Lewis said softly, “but it’ll be turning soon, and this storm has raised great swells.”

  He was right. Alanna wouldn’t have chosen this moment for a swim, and she stared at the distant overhang that hid the cave. The storm had died, but its effect on the ocean lingered. Breakers thundered so loudly Alanna and Mr. Lewis had to raise their voices to be heard. Froth whipped up by the storm capped every swell. Shards of driftwood and smashed bits of shell littered the beach. Some sea creatures hadn’t been lucky enough to escape the storm’s wrath. If Alanna was unlucky, she would end up like them.

  Then, for the first time in her memory, Mr. Lewis removed his hat. His short hair was coarse and slick as a seal’s, and the setting sun bit into the wrinkles on his face. He was an old man, she realized, a man made weary from tending his far-flung flock of parishioners and from guarding the integrity of the pact.

  “Would that I could go with ye, but I’d be a burden, na a help.” He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.

  “I can do it,” Alanna assured him. She had to do it. Quickly she removed her boots and her stockings and put them high on the boulder. The cold sand pressed against her bare feet as she tucked her necklace inside a boot. “I don’t have the oilskin to protect the marriage license.”

  Standing, Mr. Lewis fumbled in his sporran and brought out her oilskin pouch. “I thought we’d need this. And inside, I placed yer marriage license. Yers and Ian’s.”

  “Sure I would go, weren’t you?” She accepted it, grinning at him, then gestured for him to turn his back.

  He did. “I prayed t’ God ye would.”

  Taking off her sash, she used it to tie her skirt up between her legs. It wasn’t ladylike, but neither was her preferred meth
od of swimming—stripping.

  “I’ll pray t’ God ye get back safely, too,” Mr. Lewis added.

  “I’ll take that prayer, and add my own.” Lightly she touched his shoulder. “But you’ve always told me to pray as if all things depend on God, and work as if all things depend on me. So I’ll be back, Mr. Lewis. Don’t worry about that.”

  As she plunged into the surf, Mr. Lewis whispered, “Ah, lass, and now I’ll follow my own advice.”

  Chapter 29

  Ian strode through the woods toward the church. The storm had worn itself out as he slept. The westering sun shone on the branches and leaves littered the ground, and in the distance he could hear the sea calling his name like a long-lost parent.

  He ignored it, directing his thoughts to Alanna.

  When he’d woke to find her gone, he’d been grim and determined to locate his bride and bring her back. She was angry that he’d said he couldn’t love her, he supposed, and she’d run somewhere to lick her wounds. Or, worse, maybe she’d woken up to the fact that because of him, she’d lost her precious Fionnaway. God knew he would have been livid.

  Probably she’d run to the church, to talk to Mr. Lewis. Where else could she go? Not back to Fionnaway, obviously. No welcome awaited her there.

  She was young, and he forgave her, but she had to be made to understand that the matters between a husband and wife were not to be taken outside the marriage, not even to a minister she trusted. Ian would explain. Alanna would obey. They would go on to live their lives elsewhere…and he would do everything in his power to make up for the loss of Fionnaway.

  Make up for the loss of Fionnaway. He wanted to roar with anguish at the thought of it. How could he make up for such a deprivation? What could he give her that would take its place? His town house in London was cold and somber, a site he inhabited rather than lived. He had no pets, and he barely knew the servants.

  Not like at Fionnaway, where the people welcomed him as if they understood the torments of his soul. Not like at Fionnaway, where he recognized the very stones as his kin. Not like at Fionnaway, where a woman insisted she loved him, and with her words alone created an illusion of warmth and safety, just for him.