An American in Scotland

by Karen Ranney

  She looked up at him and he was startled to see tears in her eyes.

  “I want to marry you because I love you,” she said. “I love you more than I thought it was possible to love. I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want to ask how your day was, and if it was bad, to make it better. I want to laugh with you or just sit and hold hands. I want to forget everything that happened in the last two years and begin my life again.”

  He grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

  “We’ll marry as soon as we can,” he said. The sooner the better, in a surprise he had planned.

  She gave him a kiss, a habit they were getting into and one with which he heartily approved.

  Before they left he would finish his final errand at Glengarden and see the last of this accursed place.

  He couldn’t wait.

  DUNCAN INSISTED that Rose remain on the Raven to recuperate. To his relief, she didn’t argue with him.

  He took two firemen with him this time, men who were well-­muscled from months of stoking the coal burning engine of the Raven. He’d already acquainted them with some of the events at Glengarden, and they marched off the gangplank behind him with resolve on their faces.

  An angry Scot was a fine intimidation.

  He found Maisie in the kitchen garden on her hands and knees, weeding the mint. The turban on her head was made from a brightly colored orange and yellow scarf, unlike the black one he’d seen her wear in the past.

  “Are you celebrating?” he asked, pointing to the turban. “Rose’s rescue or me hitting Bruce?”

  Her bright white smile made him smile in return.

  “It’s a day of celebration,” she said. “And here you are again. You need to leave, Mr. Duncan.”

  “I firmly agree,” he said, “but we needed to talk with you first.”

  He moved closer so he couldn’t be heard by the firemen.

  She stood as he approached her, wiping her hands on her apron.

  He gave her the pouch he’d carried from the Raven.

  “This is the payment for the seven hundred bales of cotton still stored in Charleston,” he said.

  To his surprise, she wouldn’t take it, even when he tried to hand it to her.

  “Nobody ever gave me any cash money.”

  “It’s gold, Maisie, and Rose and I decided you’re the perfect person to have it.”

  “Me?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I don’t trust Bruce to do anything to help anyone. He’s eaten up by hatred, Maisie. I don’t know if it’s the loss of his leg or if he was that way before the war.”

  “He’s been that way since he was old enough to walk,” she said. “Dogs wouldn’t have nothing to do with him and he abused every horse he ever had.”

  He wasn’t surprised.

  “Claire is too much like Bruce,” he said.

  She only nodded.

  “I don’t know Old Betsy,” he said, “but I doubt she’ll outlive the war. Benny doesn’t have his wits about him. I’ve only seen Susanna once, but because she’s Bruce’s mother I don’t trust her, either. She’ll end up giving the gold to Bruce.”

  “Poor thing doesn’t have her wits about her, either. Half the time she thinks the boys are little and wants to go looking for them by the river. I’ve had to set Benny to watching her.”

  “That leaves you. You seem to have some common sense, not to mention loyalty. You saved Rose’s life even when you’ll probably be punished for it.”

  “That won’t happen, Duncan.”

  She met his eyes and he saw secrets there.

  “I think you’ll see that they all get through the war fine.”

  She finally reached out and took the pouch.

  “There’s a lot of money there, Maisie, enough to make it through several years. Bury most of it. Somewhere safe. Then, when things get bad, take a little out and tell them that I gave it to you before I left. They won’t think to look for more.”

  She nodded.

  “I never thought . . .” she began.

  “That you might be the one to save Glengarden?”

  “This place should not be saved,” she said.

  “Not the way it is. Or the way it was. But maybe you can make it different. Something better.”

  “I thought Miss Rose was an angel,” she said, her voice halting and filled with emotion. “But I think you are as well.”

  “I’m not the least like an angel, Maisie, but I agree about Rose.”

  “You’ll be happy, the two of you.”

  “Yes,” he said, “we will.”

  He turned and left, then stopped himself, retraced his steps and hugged her. She stiffened, and he wondered when was the last time anyone had shown Maisie any kindness.

  When he pulled back, he bent and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Be safe, Maisie.”

  It was as much a blessing as he could give her.

  THE PILOT carefully steered the Raven away from the riverbank and the barge.

  Duncan stood at the rail with Rose beside him. They’d return to Charleston first, then run the damn blockade again.

  They’d been in danger for so long that it felt almost commonplace. Did you ever get used to continually being cautious?

  What would it be like to reach Glasgow again? He began to smile at the thought. By the time they got home, they’d be married. He wasn’t taking any chances on Rose changing her mind or deciding she wasn’t good enough for him.

  How foolish.

  He understood why she’d done everything she had. It had taken more than courage; it had taken a certain optimism, a fierce belief that everything would be fine in the end. Sometimes it wasn’t; he knew that well enough.

  This situation worked out better than anyone could expect. With any luck, he’d get his cotton. The ­people of Glengarden had financial protection. And the most important result of all was that Rose O’Sullivan was in his life.

  He glanced down at her.

  He had watched her so intently for so long that he noted the look in her eyes and recognized it as regret.

  “You can’t change her, Rose. You can’t make her more like you.”

  She surprised him by smiling. “I know. I figured that out. I guess I don’t understand how you can love someone who is obviously a horrible person.”

  “To Claire, he isn’t. To Claire, Bruce is merely a product of his upbringing.”

  She frowned at him.

  “Is there anything in your life that’s going to disturb me?” she said. “You don’t impress mill workers, do you? You don’t employ children?”

  He smiled at her and wondered what cause she would champion in Glasgow. He had a feeling she and his mother would have a wonderful time occupied with helping the poor.

  “No, no, and no. My only grievous sin, which has been repeated to me often enough, is that I haven’t taken time to find a wife.”

  “Is that why you want to marry me?”

  “Of course,” he said dryly. “I crossed an ocean, nearly dying in the attempt, I might add. Was nearly captured in Nassau, ran the blockade, and endured being at Glengarden only so that ­people wouldn’t badger me any further about being a bachelor.”

  “You can’t blame me for the storm,” she said, smiling. “Or Nassau.”

  He laughed and bent to kiss her, grateful that Glengarden was no longer in sight.

  MAISIE WALKED slowly to the old oak.

  She stood there for a few moments, watching as the mighty steamer made its way down the river, dwarfing everything in its path. It was only fitting that Mr. Duncan had come to Glengarden in such a magnificent ship.

  When she was certain the Raven had gone far enough down the river and there was no one else who could see her, she knelt over her daughter
’s grave. She carved out a hole with her hands, deep enough that the pouch of gold couldn’t be seen but not so deep that it would be hard to get to when she needed it.

  Bad times were coming, she knew that. Bad times not like before, but different. She didn’t know what would happen, but because of Duncan and Rose, they were going to be fine.

  Maybe they’d grow cotton again. Or maybe they’d become like lowland planters and raise rice. For now, she’d take a little of the gold and buy enough seed for vegetables. Things to grow in the kitchen garden. Maybe a pig or two so Benny didn’t have to be a thief.

  Patting the soil down hard, she moved to the indentation on the other side of the oak where Phibba had often sat.

  She took the key to the cold house lock from her pocket and threw it as far as she could into the river. It landed a fair distance from shore, making a splash as it sank to the river bottom.

  Bad times were coming, but maybe good times were as well.

  Maybe she’d wake in the morning not wanting to cry but thinking ahead to all that needed to be done. And maybe God wasn’t all that mad at her for what she’d done to Bruce.

  After all, he’d sent her not one, but two angels.

  Aboard the Raven

  Nassau, Bahamas

  ROSE MARIE O’Sullivan, spinster, of New York City, and Duncan Alexander MacIain, of Glasgow, Scotland, were married by Captain Angus McDougal aboard the blockade runner the Raven, just outside the harbor of Nassau, the Bahamas, in international waters.

  The ceremony, witnessed by every member of the crew except for two firemen, was a raucous one. Rose had the feeling they were also celebrating the successful run into Charleston and out again, not to mention having seven hundred bales of cotton in the hold.

  She didn’t mind and had a few glasses of whiskey herself, just to toast the occasion and their success. The outbound journey had been similar to her first one, less fear and fewer Union ships.

  They’d refuel here before making the journey across the Atlantic. The honeymoon was to be held in the Viceroy, in the finest suite they possessed, arrangements made by Duncan by a seaman sent on ahead.

  Once they came into Nassau, the Exeter was nowhere to be seen, but neither Captain McDougal nor Duncan trusted the seemingly innocent ships in the harbor. They hired guards for the Raven in addition to continuing to employ the extra crew.

  Would they like to see Scotland? It seemed that most of them would.

  Duncan said that he wondered how many of them would settle in Glasgow, because just like a seamen considered himself a citizen of the world, there was a time and place to settle down. Glasgow was the perfect place for a man of the sea.

  As far as she was concerned, anyplace Duncan was would be home.

  As they left the Raven, she and Duncan smiled at each other. They were off to another grand adventure. Not running the blockade or loading cotton.

  No, their great adventure would be life itself: Glasgow, family, and a future together.

  Chapter 29

  Glasgow, Scotland

  December, 1863

  “We might call this the dinner of the blind,” William Cameron said.

  “William!” Eleanor frowned at him, which was a wasted expression since the man would never regain his sight.

  Dalton MacIain, the Earl of Rathsmere, seated on the other side of the table, smiled. He wore an eye patch, which made him look dashing and a little dangerous. But there was a twinkle in his good eye, one that warned Rose not to take him too seriously.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “I’ve begun to see in my left eye. Quite well, as a matter of fact. Well enough to tell you that my son is a worthy descendent of my Scottish heritage. He squalls when he isn’t happy, is quite pleased to go around naked, and I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he painted himself blue.”

  His wife, Minerva, only laughed, which gave Rose the impression that the heir to the English MacIains might be as incorrigible as the earl stated.

  “Do get some sleep, my dear,” Minerva said to Glynis. “You will need it. Babies never seem to sleep.”

  Glynis, who looked to deliver any second, had to sit with her chair some distance back from the table.

  The occasion of this dinner, which was being held at Hillshead because of her condition, was to introduce the English branch of the family to Rose.

  Dalton sat on the opposite side of the table with Minerva, whose smile was contagious. Rose found herself smiling along with her and laughing at the stories she told of excavating and exploring around the castle she’d inherited. She was an archaeologist, although she demurred at the title.

  “I haven’t the formal training,” she said. “Not like my male counterparts. I like to think of myself as an explorer. Someone with curiosity.”

  “We might as well call ourselves Scots,” Dalton said with a smile at his wife. “We’ve been living here more than in London.”

  “With a name like MacIain,” Minerva said, “you belong in Scotland. London has never quite appreciated your Scottishness.”

  “My Scottishness?”

  Rose suspected, from the glint in Dalton’s eyes, that the conversation was one the ­couple had often.

  Glynis looked gloriously happy and very maternal. Lennox wasn’t faring quite so well. She’d never seen any man as nervous as he was. He was constantly asking if Glynis was tired, did she want something different to eat, if there was anything he could get her.

  Didn’t he realize that women gave birth every day? Or that women were stronger than most men gave them credit for? Women had kept their homes going when their husbands, brothers, and fathers had gone off to war. They hadn’t crumbled to pieces when adversity struck. If the South lost the war, she suspected it would be southern women who helped it survive, the same women who once pretended to be helpless.

  “I can also see well enough to tell my Scottish cousin that his wife is a redhead and quite beautiful,” Dalton said. “I would even venture to say that she’s more beautiful than you deserve.”

  “Nonsense,” William said. “He ran a blockade for her.”

  “Did you?” the earl asked Duncan with a smile. “I thought you went for cotton?”

  “The cotton was only secondary.”

  Rose felt her face warm. She really should be modest enough to tell Duncan that his constant praise of her was unnecessary. So, too, the compliments. But, oh, his kisses. His mother had gotten used to finding them engaged in torrid kisses in all parts of the house, and it had become a source of laughter for Mabel and Lily.

  But she adored him for it, and it was quite pleasant to be so singularly adored in return.

  As for the mill, it was running along at a higher capacity than it had in years. In addition, Duncan had won a contract for wicking, something she’d never considered before. Plus, he was going into specialty weaving, creating intricate patterns for the dressmaking trade.

  The future looked bright, joyful, and glorious.

  “I understand you were a prisoner of war,” Rose said, leaning close to Minerva’s brother so no one could hear her comment.

  Neville Todd turned and looked at her, his expression one of surprise.

  “I’m being terribly rude, aren’t I? I am so sorry.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re not. It’s just that you’re the first person to come out and say something. Everyone else pretends it didn’t happen.”

  She frowned at him. “How can they do that? Were you not missing for nearly a year?”

  “Ten months,” he said, nodding. “How did you know?”

  She glanced over at Glynis. “My sister-­in-­law was married before, to a member of the British Legation. She was the one who let Dalton know where you were.”

  “A providential bit of knowledge, as it turned out,” he said. “I understand they’ve stopped trading prisoners, but I wa
s able to be ransomed.”

  For a good deal of money, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  Even if she hadn’t known of Neville Todd’s travails, she would have suspected that something terrible had happened to him. His face was lean, the cheekbones pronounced. There was a haunted look in his eyes, almost as if he saw horrible sights invisible to anyone else.

  She wondered if she sometimes wore the same expression.

  She knew that he’d been released from a Confederate prison camp and arrived in London barely alive.

  “Was it very bad?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She placed her hand on his arm, feeling it flex at her touch.

  He turned and studied her.

  “I understand you lived in the South,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

  Did he think she was a Confederate?

  “Yes, I did. Those two years will probably remain indelibly etched in my mind, unfortunately.” She forced a smile to her face so that Duncan wouldn’t notice her sudden somber mood. “But I’m from New York originally.”

  “Some memories shouldn’t be wiped clean,” Neville said, surprising her. “I think they should remain in the back of your mind to help you remember. Not only of what you survived, but most of all, to remind you to be grateful for what you have now.”

  “You’re a very wise man, Neville Todd.”

  “I believe you’re the first person to say that to me as well.”

  They smiled at each other, and she couldn’t help but feel they’d been on a similar journey. With luck, the memories for each of them would fade until they were only a tiny postscript in their lives.

  “You’re next, Duncan,” Glynis said, her eyes bright with mischief. “A little girl, don’t you think, Rose?”

  No one at the table said a word. For once, it was nice to know someone who occasionally spoke out of turn. Or to have ­people glance at each other at the table as if to say, Can you believe she said that? But she couldn’t leave Glynis out there alone. She knew how that felt only too well.

  “Twins, I think,” she said, just to see Duncan’s eyes widen. “They run in my family, I was told.”

  “Not only beautiful, but sassy,” William said.