Blue Bonnets

by Marie Laval

  His eyes darkened and she wondered if he was thinking about his own mother.

  ‘Anyway,’ he started again, ‘some claim she still haunts Wrath Lodge.’

  ‘The Dark Lady,’ Rose said in a whisper.

  Was Noelie the lonely presence lurking in the shadows at Wrath Lodge, the shadow of the woman she’d spoken to and followed around the castle – and the one who’d left the sprig of pine she still carried in her pocket? After all, Noelie was French, and the woman did have a French accent.

  A shiver crept down her spine. By Old Ibrahim’s beard, she’d spoken to a ghost! She looked up. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’

  Lord McGunn turned his grey gaze towards the line of the horizon.

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just a story.’

  ‘Lord McGunn, you are a liar. You have seen her, many times probably. If she’s just a fabrication as you claim, then how do you explain this?’

  She slipped her hand into her dress pocket and pulled out the posy.

  He glanced at it and lifted his eyebrows. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’

  ‘A very old bouquet that she left in front of my door the very evening I arrived at Wrath Lodge.’

  He shrugged. ‘It must have fallen from someone’s pocket.’

  She tutted and put the posy back into her pocket. Insisting was pointless, he’d never admit she was right and he was wrong.

  ‘The music box belonged to her, didn’t it?’

  He gave a brief nod. ‘Fergus had it made in Paris as a wedding present – ‘My Fair Love’s Lament’ was Noelie’s favourite tune. It was my mother’s too. She used to play it to make me fall asleep at night, or so I was told. It’s been broken ever since she died.’

  ‘It’s not broken. I heard the music.’

  He glared at her. ‘You must have imagined it.’

  His voice was so sharp she didn’t dare argue this time.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on after a short silence. ‘It’s a damned shame Fergus didn’t pass on the secret of the rebel gold before he died.’

  ‘What gold?’

  ‘The gold King Louis of France despatched for Charles Stuart. After their ship ran aground, the Jacobites threw part of it in Lochan Hakel but a few rebels escaped to Balnakeil with the rest. I can’t tell you how long and hard I searched for it when I was a lad. I explored every cave, every derelict bothy and ruined caisteal I came across, but never found anything.’

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘I could certainly do with it right now. If McRae and his bankers don’t respond to my… ahem… arguments, I’ll have to put the fisheries and most of my land up for sale at auction to repay the loans my fool of grandfather had the bad judgement to contract.’

  She frowned. ‘I thought you said I was no use to you any longer since you don’t believe I am married.’

  ‘I still have the Sea Eagle. It’s a brand new clipper. I’m sure McRae won’t want anything to happen to it whilst it’s undergoing repairs at Wrath.’

  ‘You wouldn’t destroy the ship, would you?’

  The cold resolve in his eyes was the only answer she needed.

  ‘I’ll do anything in my power to save Wrath from McRae’s greedy clutches,’ he said. ‘Anything.’ He stared ahead and dug his heels into Shadow’s sides to urge him on the path.

  They didn’t speak again until they reached Porthaven. As she watched the landscape unfold – the bare, rocky cliff top to one side and the majestic, snow-covered mountains to the other – Rose couldn’t stop thinking about poor Noelie and Bonnie McGunn.

  Both women were linked not only by the way they’d died, but somehow by the music box too, that same music box which played for her even though it was supposed to be broken.

  There must be a simple explanation for it. The clock’s mechanism had probably got jammed and somehow Rose had unstuck it when she handled the clock that very first night at Wrath Lodge.

  Nothing, however, explained the woman in the black cloak – the Dark Lady. A shiver of unease ran along her spine. Like many natives of North Africa, she believed that djinoun inhabited the vast Saharan plains, rocky canyons or secret springs, and enjoyed stories about the antics of mischievous spirits like Old Ibrahim‘s haunted black beard. But to have spoken with a real ghost was altogether different. Was it Noelie who had whispered in her ear on the night of the Northern Lights and urged her to rescue Bruce from the cliff top, or had that been just a dream?

  The sunset was setting the sky and the sea on fire when they reached Porthaven at last. Lord McGunn slowed Shadow to a walking pace to negotiate their way through the hustle and bustle of the main street where market traders dismantled their stalls and piled carts high with tools, utensils and crates of food.

  Shadow skirted sideways as a red-cheeked woman threw a bucket of water nearby to wash off fish carcasses and Rose had to hide her face in the folds of her cloak to avoid gagging at the stench. Further down, poultry clucked in wicker cages, dogs barked, and children ran across the street holding scraps of food they’d snatched.

  McGunn stopped in front of an inn opposite the square.

  ‘We’re staying here tonight,’ he announced before climbing down.

  He held out his arms to help Rose to the ground, and once again her face heated up and her heart did that annoying thump and flip when his hands encircled her waist and she slid down along him. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice. Slinging the bags over his shoulder, he handed Shadow over to a stable boy and strode into the inn with her in tow.

  ‘You’re in luck, Lord McGunn,’ the innkeeper said after checking his ledger. ‘We do have two rooms left for tonight, which is unusual, it being a market day. What’s the young lady’s name?’

  ‘Rose Saintclair,’ McGunn answered.

  ‘You’ll be glad you chose my establishment,’ the innkeeper said, his face flushed with pride as he wrote their names inside his book. ‘The Nag’s Head is the most comfortable in town, that’s why the mail coach always stops here on the way to Thurso… although we didn’t see them this week.’

  ‘Really? Any idea why?’ McGunn asked in a casual voice.

  ‘Apparently the storm brought a tree down on the main road, they had to do a detour and skip Porthaven. At least that’s what Effie told us. She’s one of my serving women and the coach driver’s cousin… Anyhow, we’ll get you and the young lady settled right away. Supper is at six. Don’t be late down, it’ll be busy. It’s ceilidh night.’

  Rose glanced at McGunn, expecting him to tell the man about the mail guard’s and coach driver’s attempt at abduction, but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘Effie! Come here,’ the innkeeper called. He shook his head and let out a loud sigh. ‘That lass does nothing but look at herself in the mirror and gossip all day.’

  ‘About time, I had all but given up on you,’ he scolded when a pretty red-haired woman strolled into the lobby. He ordered her to have hot water and bath tubs brought to Lord McGunn’s and Rose’s rooms at once.

  ‘Please excuse me now, my Lord. I have deliveries to attend to but Effie will be able to help with anything you need.’ The innkeeper hurried away to a back room.

  ‘Let me know if you need any assistance for bathing, my laird,’ the maid said in a husky voice as soon as the landlord was out of earshot. ‘I am often complimented about my soft, capable hands.’

  She lay her fingers onto his forearm and gave a little squeeze.

  Rose fully expecting Lord McGunn to put the brazen girl back in her place with a gruff word or a stern look but all he did was smile.

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a moment. Yours are lovely hands indeed.’

  Rose had heard him so pleasant. Was he feverish?

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ The maid handed him the room keys. ‘I shall see you later then.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ He flashed her a smile, slid the keys into his pocket and picked up the bags. ‘For now, I need to take Miss Saintclair to her room.’

&nbs
p; Rose followed him, her back stiff, her lips pursed in an angry scowl and an odd and bitter sensation twisting her insides.

  ‘I don’t need you to carry my bag or take me to my room,’ she snapped as they started up the stairs. ‘Especially when it’s obvious you have more pressing things to do, like sweet-talking a serving girl. It’s funny how you’ve changed into Lord McGracious all of a sudden; I hardly recognise you.’

  What was wrong with her? Her voice sounded sour, her chest felt tight and painful, silly tears stung her eyes…

  He must be wondering the same thing because he turned towards her and arched his eyebrows. Furious with him, and even more furious with herself, she stared straight ahead and pressed her lips together.

  Once upstairs, he took a key out of his pocket and stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor. He slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

  ‘I believe this is your room. The landlord said it was the largest and the quietest.’

  He walked in and lifted her bag onto a chair. ‘It’s a little more comfortable than Sith Coille, isn’t it?’

  Walking to the door, he added. ‘By the way, I want you to stay in your room tonight. I’d rather not attract too much attention. I’ll ask the maid to bring up some food for you.’

  ‘Would that be before or after she scrubs your back with her lovely soft hands?’

  As soon as the words were out, her face heated up, her breath caught in her throat and she bit her lip, hard. Bedbugs! What had she said that for? She sounded like a shrew, mean, bitter and jealous.

  ‘Who scrubs my back is no business of yours, sweetheart.’ He cocked his head to one side and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. ‘Unless you volunteer your services, of course.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Shame constricted her chest and her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe.

  ‘Then I’ll see you in the morning.’ Still smiling, he let himself out.

  At last, Rose drew in a long breath. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Why did the man always bring out the worst in her, and make her look stupid and unreasonable? Anyone would think she was jealous when it was the honest truth she didn’t care a jolt if the maid jumped in McGunn’s bath and they both drowned in it together!

  She looked around the room, this time taking in the thick green curtains already drawn against the night but which she would open later, the fire burning high in the fireplace and thick woollen rugs on the floor which gave the room a cosy, welcoming feel. The furniture was sparse but the large bed was piled high with blankets, and the mattress so soft she all but sank in when she sat down.

  ‘By Old Ibrahim’s beard, now this is what I call a bed.’

  How nice it would feel to slip under the covers and lay her head on the fluffy white pillows instead of the grimy, scratchy straw mattress at Sith Coille or the cold, lumpy bed at Wrath Lodge.

  There was a knock on the door and three manservants came in, carrying a small bath tub they proceeded to fill with buckets of hot water. A proper bath, at last. It was weeks since she’d had one. Forgetting her bad mood for a moment, she laced the water with a good measure of her orange-flower cologne, slipped out of her filthy clothes and stepped into the hot, fragrant water.

  After scrubbing herself clean and washing her hair, she reclined against the tub and let out a sigh. If only she could erase the last few days and pretend they were nothing but a bad dream and return to the way she felt on the Sea Eagle, when all she was concerned about was to prove she wasn’t just a scatterbrain, make her mother and brother proud, and be the wife Cameron wanted.

  Now everything had changed. Her best friend had been murdered in the most horrific circumstances. She didn’t know what was real or not. She didn’t even know what she felt. Yes, she sighed. Everything had changed when the Sea Eagle was caught in a storm and she’d met Lord McGunn.

  She gripped the sides of the bath and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she forget about the man, even for five minutes? Just thinking about him – his eyes forever changing from storm clouds to sparkling silver, his mouth which tightened in a stern line or curled in a seductive smile in a heartbeat – was enough to make her pulse race and give her goose bumps. His mouth…

  Her eyes flicked open. She didn’t want to think about his mouth, or the way he’d kissed her that morning. She didn’t want to remember how his touch always set her senses ablaze. She didn’t want to think about him at all!

  She sat up, gathered her hair to one side and twisted it to wring the water out. One more day and she would be rid of his infuriating, overbearing presence. She would never have to listen to his lies about Cameron duping her into a fake marriage or trying to ruin him, or about him being responsible for all these poor people being evicted and made homeless.

  No, she would never have to see him again, and wasn’t she glad about that!

  One more day and she would be with Cameron…

  She tried to conjure an image of her husband’s bright blue eyes and easy smile, but all she seemed to be able to remember was the heated flush on his face as he ripped her nightdress open, the harshness in his voice as he ordered her to touch him… A lump grew in her throat, preventing her from breathing, an iron fist squeezed her stomach. It was as if her whole body contracted at the memory of his hands groping at her breasts and between her legs, pushing his fingers inside her until she implored him to stop. And then driving into her, relentless, despite her cries.

  She had to forget about that night. Cameron had drunk too much champagne, and her immature, frigid response had made him angry and impatient. The next time would be different, better, that’s what he’d said. She swallowed hard, pressed a hand to her heart. The next time…

  She took a few calming breaths. Everything would be fine. She was nervous about seeing Cameron again, that was all. It was only to be expected, especially since they hadn’t parted on good terms in Algiers.

  There was also the matter of Morven. Cameron might not believe her when she told him about the atrocities the man he considered a family friend was committing in his name. And, of course, she would meet Cameron’s formidable mother, Lady Patricia, and be formally introduced as Lady McRae at the ball. It was enough to make anyone anxious.

  She grabbed a bath sheet to wrap herself in and stepped out of the tub. She took her time drying in front of the fireplace. Soon the crackling and hissing of the burning logs, the repetitive movement of the brush through her hair soothed her. Enticing smells of roast meat, warm bread and soup now drifted into the room from the dining room below and made her stomach growl.

  Where was that silly maid who was supposed to bring her food? Too busy taking care of McGunn, probably. Never mind, she would get her supper herself. She picked her clothes from the floor and pulled a face when smells of damp and horse wafted from the stained, crumpled fabric. Her stockings and undergarments were in dire need of a wash too, and her blue dress was just as bad. The thought of putting any of them back on now she was clean was bad enough, but the idea of presenting herself the following day to Cameron and his mother wearing dirty, smelly clothes made her shudder.

  She would wash the whole lot right away. The undergarments were easy to deal with. She dipped them into the bath, washed them thoroughly and hung them to dry on the back of a chair near the fireplace. The dress was another matter. All she could do was to scrub the worst of the stains off and freshen it up.

  When she was finished, she had nothing to wear but her pantaloons, her white shirt and black bolero, and the purple slippers Lord McGunm had retrieved for her.

  She followed the sounds of laughter and conversation and soon found herself standing in the doorway of a tap room. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of hot food, ale and whisky. The noisy crowd was mostly male, with a few women’s dresses adding a touch of colour here and there. Rose tilted her head up and took a few tentative steps into the room.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ a black-haired giant of a man
bellowed in a thick, drunken voice. ‘Look who’s here. One of McRae’s harlots, just for me.’

  He let out a booming laugh and Rose froze as voices died down and she was faced with all heads turned towards her.

  The big man set his half-empty pint of ale on the counter and approached. She stepped back but he grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her inside the room.

  ‘Come and have a drink with me, my lovely. Then I’ll take you home and you’ll give me a private performance. I heard things about you and the way you make men wild.’

  Panic made her heart race. She pulled back as hard as she could but the man was too strong.

  ‘Leave me alone! You have no idea who I am, you have no idea…’

  He swirled round to stare at her, arched his bushy black eyebrows and grinned, uncovering several stumps of yellowed teeth.

  ‘Ooh, so you speak English, unlike your little friends. Come to think of it, you don’t look quite as exotic as them…’ He shrugged. ‘Never mind, I bet you’re just as good.’

  Still holding her wrist, he took his pint and brought the glass to her lips to force her to drink. Her teeth clattered on the glass and she coughed as beer swished down her throat. Around them several men cheered, although Rose also heard a few calls to release her and leave her alone.

  ‘Let the lady go.’

  Rose almost went limp with relief. Never had she been so happy to hear McGunn’s voice.

  The man put his pint down and turned to face him.

  ‘Lady?’ He laughed coarsely. ‘She’s no lady. She’s one of the hussies McRae keeps in his hunting lodge for his pleasure, well out of sight from his stuck-up fiancée.’

  ‘What fiancée?’ Rose let out a strangled cry.

  The man laughed. ‘That English bitch, Lady Sophia. The woman orders us around as if she already owns the place. The truth is, she’s as ugly as a rat’s arse, so it’s no wonder McRae spends his time chasing petticoats in all the villages on the estate or bedding his dancers.’