by Tracy Fobes
Thankfully the duke had bought them clothes, food, and farming equipment, rather than give Mr. Murphy more money for whiskey. Obligation now demanded she stay by the duke’s side and travel to Inveraray as he’d requested, even though the prospect of being thrust into the duke’s alien world terrified her.
“You must tell me again what you remember of the accident,” the duke said, seated on the driver’s bench with her.
In fact, they were all squeezed onto the bench — she, Graham, the duke, and his driver. Only Sionnach, who had graciously agreed to join her on this trip to the duke’s home, remained inside the carriage, his body curled into a little red ball. He apparently didn’t mind having his nose clogged with dust while boiling alive.
Sarah closed her eyes. Beside her, the duke suddenly became very quiet, as though he dared not even breathe. She could almost feel his gaze on her face. Not for the first time, she cast her thoughts backward over the years, reaching for her earliest recollections.
The first thing that came to mind was, as always, the white beast, its gleaming coat shining in the darkness. She was atop its back, riding through the Highlands and feeling safe.
Then she remembered sheep. Mr. Murphy’s flock, surrounding her. And a keening wind that seemed to bemoan her fate. Of the white beast, she now saw nothing. It had deserted her. A faint dread invaded her body, making her shiver. “I remember being very cold, and the sky dark. Nighttime frightened me. I heard things.”
She hesitated, unwilling to tell the rest of her tale. She’d told it before. No one had ever believed her. She might have questioned the memory herself, if not for the animals’ occasional sightings of the white beast. And yet, perhaps here, at Inveraray, the white beast was a common animal. The duke might even keep a few white beasts in his stables.
She decided to mention the beast. “Near dawn, a . . . white beast came. I rode on its back to the Murphy grazing lands.”
His eyebrows drew together. “A white beast?”
Sarah shrugged. “Something similar to a horse.”
“A white horse brought you to the grazing lands?”
“Aye.”
“You must have been delirious,” the duke pronounced. “Or perhaps you mistook a sheep for a horse. You were found in a herd of sheep, no? A sheep would look very big to a four-year-old.”
“It could have been a sheep,” she admitted, discouraged. Apparently the white beast was no more common here than in the village of Beannach. She wouldn’t belabor the point and appear irrational. Nevertheless, in her gut, she felt certain that a beautiful white beast with a flowing mane had taken her to safety. “I do recall the herd of sheep, engulfing me like a sea of ivory. That sea brought warmth. It protected me from the biting uplands wind. I slept. I canna remember another thing, until I awoke on the Murphy farm several days later.”
The duke rubbed his chin with two fingers. “And you remember nothing of your mother, or the carriage accident?”
“Nay.”
“I pray my wife didn’t suffer too much in the accident.” The duke’s shoulder slumped and he frowned, as though the memory pained him still. He stared out at hills clothed in purple heather. “The duchess and my daughter, escorted by Mr. Graham, were traveling in a carriage bound for Dunrobin Castle and the Countess of Sutherland. You may have heard that the Countess of Sutherland has been clearing her lands for years of Sutherland clansmen in favor of sheep. Well, several displaced Sutherland tenants banded together and ambushed my wife’s carriage as it approached the castle along the cliffs. The horses panicked and sent the carriage hurtling over the cliffs. Mr. Graham managed to jump off before the carriage went over.”
Sarah’s frown grew deeper. The duke’s words evoked a peculiar feeling of loss.
“We found the carriage the next day,” he continued, “in pieces along the shoreline. Apparently it had washed out to sea, then come back in on the tide. We discovered my wife’s body on the beach almost a mile away. My daughter’s was never found. Naturally we assumed . . .” The duke broke off and swallowed, his throat working.
“Ye assumed the sea had taken them,” Sarah stated baldly.
His faded blue eyes watery, the duke glanced at his man of business. “Phineas, repeat what you saw moments after the accident.”
Mr. Graham took a deep breath. “I was fading in and out of consciousness, you understand, and didn’t trust my eyes, but I thought I saw a little head moving within the carriage after it had gone over the cliff.”
The duke took up the tale. “Although Phineas insisted his brain probably had been fevered when he’d seen movement within the broken carriage, I nevertheless spent days searching the Highlands and the sea for my daughter. Eventually I stopped the search and faced the worst possible truth: that my daughter had died along with my wife and washed out to sea.
“For many years I lived with unimaginable grief. I had no one left. Consequently, it was with great excitement that I received the Earl of Cawdor in my salon one day and examined the ring he’d bought for me from a jeweler. The heart-shaped emerald is a one-of-a-kind piece and cannot be mistaken; I knew it to be my wife’s ring, for I had commissioned it myself, and Cawdor had remembered it, too. I immediately sent Mr. Graham to trace the origins of the ring, and he returned with a strange story. We left for the Highlands on the very next day.”
Phineas shot a glance at the duke, then studied for a moment, rousing her curiosity. When he spoke, his voice was low. “There were two others in the carriage who were traveling with the duchess: a maidservant and her daughter.”
The duke turned a baleful eye on Phineas. “Must you mention this, Phineas? I thought we had already agreed that Sarah is my daughter, my own flesh and blood.”
“Don’t you think my lady should know all details of her past?” Phineas didn’t appear the least perturbed by the duke’s obvious displeasure.
“Aye, my lady needs tae know all details,” Sarah interjected. “How old was the maidservant’s daughter?”
“About your age,” Phineas replied.
She faced the duke squarely. “So two girls supposedly died in the carriage accident, not just one.”
“Aye.”
“What if I’m not yer daughter, but the maidservant’s daughter instead?”
“God help me, you are my daughter,” the duke cried out. “I pray for the moment when you accept this. You had the ring, did you not?”
“Perhaps I found the ring on the moors,” she suggested. “Or maybe your true daughter gave me the ring, as a token of friendship.”
“While you might persuade me that my wife had allowed my Sarah to wear the ring for a time, I cannot believe she would give the ring to a maidservant’s daughter to play with, or allow my daughter to give the ring away. And the chances of a four-year-old finding a ring among the heather are slim to none.”
“Do I look like yer wife?” She cast a critical gaze over his gray hair, touched with red in places. “I don’t look like ye. We haven’t even the same hair color.”
“My wife had black hair like yours. You also bear a passing resemblance to my grandmother, God rest her soul. I’ll show you her portrait when we reach Inveraray.”
“Then I must be yer daughter,” Sarah admitted, though something inside her refused to believe it. She just didn’t feel like a member of the nobility, and wished there was some way to know for sure, one way or the other.
The duke grew very still at her words. Without speaking, he laid his hand over hers. She felt his fingers trembling. Instead of softening her, however, this time his rush of emotion made her angry.
She yanked her hand away from his. “Evidence suggests I’m yer daughter. But ye’re missing one important point. I was raised tae tend animals, not prance through drawing rooms. I dinna like fancy dresses, or soft beds, and I have little patience for those who do. I dinna even speak as ye do!” She paused to take a gasping breath, and dash away the tears that had moistened her eyes. “I’ll never fit intae yer world, Yer Grace, an
d by insisting I try, ye’ll destroy us both.”
Her outburst silenced them all for a moment. The duke’s driver coughed discreetly and slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps, no doubt wishing he sat anywhere but upon that bench.
Finally, the duke said, “Your blood is blue, Sarah. Breeding always wins out. You will learn what you need to, and when the time comes, you’ll step into the role of duchess as your birthright demands.”
“I want tae return tae Beannach. My croft stands empty and I have several ill patients who need my attention,” she told him. “Let me return home. People know me there. I willna starve. Please dinna ask me tae become something I’m not.”
“I won’t keep you here against your will,” the duke said softly. “Still, I insist you give your new life a try.”
Thinking of the money that the duke had spent on her behalf, she frowned. “God help me, I’ll stay, at least until ye realize how wrong ye are.”
The duke took her hand again. “I will help you. So will Phineas. I’ve also called upon the Earl of Cawdor. The three of us will complete your transformation.”
“The Earl of Cawdor? The man who originally found the ring?”
“Aye. He’s a distant cousin and well versed in the ways of society. He’ll meet us at Inveraray.”
“And after I’ve ‘become’ yer daughter? What then?”
“In the beginning of September, I plan to hold a ball at Inveraray in your honor, to present you to London society. The season will have ended and your presentation will provide a finale few will forget. Afterward, we’ll remain at Inveraray until the season begins again next spring, in London. Eventually you will marry.”
“I have three and a half months tae become an aristocrat?”
He patted her hand. “Everything will turn out all right, Sarah. You’ll see.”
Her movement more gentle this time, she pulled her hand from his. Seeing nothing, she stared out at the hills and meadows passing beside them. Her last hope lay in convincing the duke that he couldn’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. Only then might he release her from her obligation to him, and allow her to return to the place where she truly belonged.
She pulled her panflute out of a pocket in her skirt and began to play. The tune she chose was a mournful one, and she poured her soul into it, her fingers flying across the holes as a melody only partially audible to human ears drifted away on the breeze. Sometimes her playing brought her solace, but on this day, it only reminded her of what she had lost: endless peace among the pinks and browns of the moors, the carefully given friendship of other Highlanders like her, the simplicity and dignity with which she’d lived.
Beneath her, in the carriage, she heard a series of small yips. And yet, she simply couldn’t acknowledge Sionnach’s counsel: have patience. Rather, her playing became more mournful with each passing mile.
“Look ahead, at that deer,” the driver suddenly barked, wonder in his voice.
Sarah stopped playing and glanced at the magnificent stag poised only a few feet from the edge of the road. It didn’t move, despite their approach. When they grew close enough, Sarah read the concern in its deep brown eyes, along with a simple sort of trust that she’d often found in wild animals who’d heard her song.
The driver slowed the carriage until they were nearly walking. At this pace they passed the deer. “By God, I could grab its antlers and haul it onto the bench, if I’d a mind to,” he whispered.
“It must be ill,” Phineas offered.
“Drive on,” the duke commanded. “I’ve grown weary of traveling. You may hunt deer at another time.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” the driver agreed, and spurred the horses to greater speed.
Sarah lifted her panflute and quickly played a warning, telling the stag to beware the driver, who planned to return and hunt him down.
Comprehension in its fathomless eyes, the stag turned and disappeared into the woods.
Even though the stag had gone, its concern for her had raised her spirits a bit. It had risked great danger to comfort her, and in doing so reminded her that these woods around Inveraray would be teeming with wildlife she could make friends with. She would not be completely alone.
Perhaps these animals might even have some new information about the white beast. If anyone could tell her who she really was — a member of the serving class or a daughter of a duke — the white beast could. She’d always known on some primal level that it was an animal of truth. Its purity and selflessness, untarnished by the greed of humanity, continued to call to her. Though she recognized the notion as a childish one, she couldn’t help but believe that finding the white beast would set everything aright.
She raised the panflute to her lips again, and this time her song was full of questions:
Have you seen a white horse with a long flowing mane?
It is kind, and gentle of spirit.
And graceful, and sure of foot.
One of the horses pulling their carriage twitched its tail, whinnied loud and long, and sent one foot backward in a disdainful kick.
Their driver grunted in surprise and slapped the reins against the horse’s rump, evidently misreading the gesture as one of high spirits. Sarah, however, understood what the horse had told her: a white horse like the one she’d described was surely useless, and she shouldn’t waste her time looking for it.
Other animals heard her as well. She sensed their presence rather than saw them, and heard the confusion in their answers from deep within the forest. Sionnach uttered another small yip from with the carriage, urging her to forget the white beast.
Moments later, a mockingbird flew overhead, chirping excitedly and repeatedly diving for their hair.
Phineas Graham swatted at it. The look he gave the bird was beyond annoyance. “We must be near its nest.”
“Aye.” Excitement made her voice tremble. She heard what the others could not. This bird, this delightful, wonderful, and smart bird, had seen the white beast. But according to the mockingbird, the beast was hurt.
Some of her excitement turning to worry, she played a little melody that asked the bird if it was quite certain. The bird tumbled in a little circle, expressing outrage at her doubt. Her fingers flying over the holes of the panflute, she demanded that the bird come for her at Inveraray, and then take her to the white beast, so she might heal it.
The bird cawed like a crow in response, talking about its nest. And with that, it flew away.
Her music begged the bird to come back.
But it was gone.
“What is all this panflute playing, my lady?” Phineas asked suddenly. “It seems to have driven off that bird, at least.”
Frustrated, Sarah laid the panflute in her lap. “I play because it relaxes me.”
Thankfully, Phineas didn’t ask any more questions.
Near dusk, they passed over an arched bridge and pulled onto the road leading to Inveraray Castle. A magnificent avenue of beeches led them past a pond before ascending a considerable hill. Sarah noticed the bushes along the edge of the forest stirring. Word traveled fast among the animals. Apparently they’d already heard of her arrival. A glimpse of a black tail with a white stripe down the middle, and a set of antlers, told her they might consent to come out later and meet her.
“We’re home.” The duke pointed off into the distance.
Sarah gazed in the direction he’d indicated and suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about talking to animals anymore. Nor was she thinking about befriending them. The castle filled her vision, a blue-gray edifice surrounded by trees ready to burst with life. Pointed turrets and crenellated towers spoke of knights and jousts and centuries of warfare. Beyond the castle, a fabulous garden of tulips edged a lawn where each blade of grass looked chopped to the exact same height.
Everything about it was a study in sheer perfection.
She glanced behind her. Far below, the little town of Inveraray spread out in neat squares along the bay. A chord of recognition vibrate
d within her.
The duke sighed. “Ah, a fine sight for these sore eyes.”
She said nothing more as they continued on up the carriageway, and pulled around a half circle to stop at the towering front doors. Despite the castle’s familiarity, the feeling that she didn’t belong here swept over her and urged her to run, to hide in the woods with the creatures who understood her. When the carriage stopped, several footmen rushed forward to help them from the bench. She felt their gazes upon her face and person and shivered. The knowledge that they clearly had more sophistication in their little fingers than she had in her entire body made her wish the ground would open and swallow her up whole.
Sionnach yipped from inside the carriage. He’d grown tired of being jostled around. Concern for his well-being thawed her momentarily. She hurried around to the door and motioned to a footman. “Please, sir, open the door, I must retrieve my pet.”
The duke stepped between her and the footman. “Sarah, these men are your servants to command as you wish. You do not need to address them as sir, or even by their first names. Nor do you need to provide explanations. Simply tell them what you want.”
Her cheeks flooding with warmth, she focused on the footman again. “Open the door, please.”
His expression bland, the footman stepped forward and turned the latch on the door. And while he moved quickly enough, Sarah nevertheless sensed his contempt for her, in the way his lips curled ever so slightly and his gaze held hers a moment too long.
The second the door opened, Sionnach hopped from the carriage and into her arms. He placed a paw on her shoulder, trying to calm her. Even so, she had the sinking feeling that this time, she was on her own.
His attention on the carriages that had stopped before the castle, Colin absently took a sip of claret. He’d arrived at Inveraray Castle only yesterday and had spent most of this afternoon in the study, reviewing the estate workings. Reminded of the days when he’d lived at Inveraray, he’d spent an uncomfortable few minutes thinking about his defection to London. What had he really done with his life over the last decade?
