by Tracy Fobes
He caught her hand and kissed it tenderly. “Save a dance for me.”
17
C olin wrapped his tartan more tightly around his shoulders, for the nights in the Highlands still got cold, despite late summer’s heat. Sighing, he settled his arse into the dew-moistened heather and focused upon the ruins of Kildrummie Castle. The moon cast a pale glow over walls that, battered both by the weather and by local farmers seeking to build rock walls defining their property, had crumbled years ago. Only the three high, arched windows that Sarah had seen in her vision remained standing above waist height.
He’d been gone from Inveraray for almost three weeks now. The journey to Inverness he’d accomplished without difficulty, but the road from Inverness to Kildrummie Castle was ill-used and had nearly disappeared into the moors at times. He’d navigated the road until, exhausted and questioning his own sanity, he’d stopped at an inn some five miles away from the ruins.
Colin hadn’t lasted long at the inn. As the days had passed, and he’d had no luck finding her, he’d decided that he couldn’t afford to spend any time away from the ruins. What if the unicorn wasn’t trapped anymore but hiding somewhere, and only came out of her lair infrequently? He knew he needed to be at the ruins all the time, or possibly risk missing sight of her. So he’d bought some simple provisions and made camp near the old castle. Daily he wandered the local countryside, looking for signs of the female unicorn, who was proving as wayward as all females, regardless of species.
Sionnach had kept him company through it all. The little fox’s coat had gradually regained its luster during their journey, and at this point, Colin was damned glad to have him along. The fox had proven his hunting skills several times over, and now they were both living off his kill. Sionnach hunted, and Colin cooked.
The days of active searching, and the nights of lying wet-arsed in the heather and scanning the countryside for her, had given him plenty of time to think. For the first time in many years he discovered he actually felt good about himself, really good. He was doing something that mattered, for someone else, and the knowledge filled him with hope.
He didn’t care that he was eating cooked hare and sleeping with only a tartan to cover him. He didn’t miss his bath, his shave, or clean clothes. The moon shone brightly over his head, and the stars glittered, and the smell of a wood fire got into his nose and oddly enough, peace came to him. With every passing hour, layers of civilization were falling from him, leaving him more alive than he’d ever felt before. In fact, he’d come to realize that his senses, which he had so cultivated over the last decade, had become dulled by society.
But time was running short. He had only a week left and wanted — no, needed — to get back to Inveraray before Sarah debuted, so he might be there to support her, and win her love. This time alone with Sionnach had convinced him that he didn’t need society and all its enticements. Society would never bring him the contentment he craved. Hadn’t he spent the last several years wondering why he felt so empty?
No, he didn’t need society. He needed only Sarah and the love she would bring him. He didn’t give a good god damn what the duke did to him, he was going to win Sarah back and marry her. If he never set foot in Edinburgh or London again, then so be it.
Scratching his jawline, which had become thick with a beard, he silently willed the unicorn to make an appearance. While he couldn’t understand Sionnach like Sarah did, he nevertheless sensed the fox’s excitement growing in the way he moved and sniffed the ground. Lately, Sionnach had kept drawing him back to a field riddled with cairns that held the bones of ancient Celts. Colin had the distinct impression that Sionnach had caught the female unicorn’s scent and was closing in on her.
A cloud passed over the moon, throwing the moors into darkness. Tensing, Colin heard the bushes to his left moving. Without warning, Sionnach appeared, his red coat nearly black in the night. His eyes shining, he yipped, then turned on his heels and ran onto the moors. At about ten feet away, he stopped, spun around, and yipped again.
Colin needed no further encouragement. He grabbed a lantern and started after Sionnach. Quickly he discovered the fox was leading him back to the field with the cairns. Trying not to twist an ankle in the occasional hole, or trip over a clump of heather, he followed Sionnach to one of the small cairns on the far end of the field and climbed into it, the hard-packed earth beneath his feet crumbling in a small landslide.
Sionnach raced to the opposite side of the cairn and began scratching furiously on one of the walls, throwing up clods of dirt. Brow furrowed, Colin stood hunchbacked within the cairn, for its ceiling was only about shoulder height, and lifted the lantern high.
Hard dirt walls interspersed with rocks surrounded the ten-foot space in which he and Sionnach stood. If the walls had been decorated, the decorations had long since washed away, leaving the tomb unremarkable. Nevertheless, Colin felt a chill at the thought that the people who were buried here had likely lived thousands of years before.
An earthy smell invaded the air as Sionnach dug.
“What are you doing, my little friend?” he murmured. “We’ve explored this one in daylight. There’s nothing here.”
The fox kept digging.
Shrugging, Colin began to dig as well, using both a stick and his cupped hands as a digging tool. He’d spent enough time with Sionnach to have learned to trust the fox’s instincts. Obviously something of interest was buried here. A secret chamber, perhaps?
For several minutes, Colin scooped out great handfuls of earth and pushed it behind him. He noticed the dirt felt silky and desert dry. Just as he began to think he was going to bury the passageway out, the dirt wall they’d been digging began to crumble.
Sionnach dug faster. Wonder building in his gut, Colin dug faster, too. Once they’d created a hole big enough to see through, Colin angled the lantern to shine light through the hole, and peered inside a cavern. A gasp escaped him.
“How did you know where to find her?” he breathed.
Obviously proud of himself — and deservedly so, Colin thought — the fox yipped, then nearly turned a backflip.
There, in the middle of the cavern, a skeleton lounged upon a marble slab. Earthenware pots surrounded the marble slab, which bore intricate carvings. The skeleton wore a golden breastplate and helmet, and a silver cross lay on top of the breastplate. Near the top of the marble slab, by the skeleton’s head, loomed a marble effigy of a massive warrior; and there, at the effigy’s feet, crouched a white creature, its coat touched with silver, its eyes closed, and its chest utterly still.
The morning of Sarah’s debut dawned clear and warm. Mrs. Fitzbottom declared the good weather an omen for a fabulous debut and busied herself with preparing Sarah’s gown, the white creation edged in gold ribbon. Lounging in a bath of scented water, in preparation for the evening’s festivities, Sarah couldn’t agree with the housekeeper.
Colin should have returned to Inveraray by now. Indeed, she’d done nothing this past month but worry about him. Where was he? Why hadn’t he sent word? Was Sionnach all right? Had they found the female unicorn? These questions plagued her both day and night until she nearly screamed with the frustration of not knowing.
Despite Colin’s absence, the month leading up to her debut had passed quickly. Phineas continued to drill her on etiquette, and the duke took over for Colin, teaching her dances and songs she feared had gone out of style decades earlier. Lord Nicholson assiduously pressed his suit with her, earning her annoyance and nothing more. Lady Helmsgate, for her part, had chosen to loll about Inveraray and henpeck all of the servants until Mrs. Fitzbottom declared her the spawn of the devil.
Judging by the frequent scowls the duke threw Lady Helmsgate’s way, even he regretted his decision to allow her to stay, despite Sarah’s pleading otherwise. He’d also been intrigued regarding the difficulties between her and Colin, but she’d deflected his questions. If she didn’t know where she and Colin stood, then how could she discuss it with the du
ke?
Still, the duke speculated. The letter that Colin had left him, explaining his absence, had stirred up his curiosity even more. Colin, he’d insisted, had no business in Inverness that could have taken him away for an entire month.
“Come on, lass, let’s have you out of that bath before you’re wrinkled,” the housekeeper admonished, now that she’d finished fluffing out Sarah’s gown to smooth out a few tiny wrinkles visible only to her.
Sarah stepped out of the water and allowed the housekeeper to enfold her in a soft white towel. “Am I to stay in my bedchamber all day?”
“Aye. We’ve guests arriving already. You won’t see any of them until you make your grand entrance at your debut. Occupy yourself with reading and embroidery. I’ll bring up a tray of hot chocolate for you. Before you know it, night will be upon us and I’ll be up here preparing you for your entrance.”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long.” Sighing, wrapped only in a robe, she trailed over to her window and looked out across the grounds. “I wish he would return.”
The housekeeper didn’t bother to ask who she was referring to. Rather, she placed gentle hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “Did he say he would return in time for your debut?”
“He did.”
“Then trust him. You’ll see him tonight.”
Sarah frowned, thinking she should have trusted him weeks ago, when he’d insisted he had no feelings for Lady Helmsgate. She’d had plenty of time to reflect on everything he’d said, and all that she’d learned from others who knew him, and had come to the conclusion that she’d been too hasty in her condemnation of him.
She had no direct evidence that he’d ever toyed with Lady Helmsgate once he’d come to Inveraray. Lady Helmsgate had striven to give that impression, but Colin had denied it to the end and now she wished she had believed him. He’d always been brutally honest with her. She may not have agreed with him, but she knew she could trust his word.
The thought that the poetry he’d written about her, Sarah, also represented his true sentiments made her feel warm and wonderfully soft inside. He loved her, he’d declared it in writing, and now she wanted to give him a chance to declare it to her face-to-face.
She knew his past was full of women and might come back to haunt her more than once, but she couldn’t blame him or chide him over that. Indeed, his appreciation for the feminine gender was part of his charm for her, and he wouldn’t be the man she’d fallen in love with without it. Like Sionnach, who was both cunning and counsel, Colin was both sensuality and masculine strength.
Come back to me, she silently begged, her plea falling unheard on a soft summer breeze. Together they would overcome any difficulties they might face.
She spun away from the window. “My nerves are in shreds.”
The housekeeper clucked in sympathy. “There, lass, I know this is an important day for you. Just sit down in that chair over there, and I’ll bring you hot chocolate.”
Sighing, Sarah went to the chair and sat. She drank Mrs. Fitzbottom’s chocolate and had a few pieces of dry bread to absorb the nervousness fluttering in her stomach. She paged through a book, and then fixed her attention on her embroidery before drifting back to the window again. The sun had moved far to the west by now, and carriages continued their steady parade up the drive to Inveraray’s front door. Sarah could hear unfamiliar voices raised in laughter and loud conversation both inside the castle. Shivering, her mouth dry, she sipped more of Mrs. Fitzbottom’s hot chocolate.
“It’s time, lass,” the housekeeper finally announced, entering Sarah’s room just as Sarah picked up her embroidery hoop again. “All of the guests who’ve had to travel a distance have arrived, and the rest of them will arrive in about an hour. We need to start dressing you.”
“Did Colin return yet?”
The older woman frowned. “No, not yet. Have faith in him. He’ll come.”
Chewing her lower lip, Sarah allowed Mrs. Fitzbottom to dress her in the lightest cotton chemise possible and a gauze petticoat, in deference to late summer’s heat. The housekeeper also insisted Sarah wear a whalebone corset, which extended downward to cover her hips. Padded, cup-shaped supports protected her breasts from the corset’s stiff bodice, which pushed her breasts upward relentlessly.
Thus dressed, Sarah moved to the dressing table, where the housekeeper began the laborious task of curling Sarah’s thick hair into corkscrews, which she then fastened atop Sarah’s head with a gold ribbon. By now, Sarah’s cheeks had become quite flushed and her breathing heavy, in part from the corset, in part from the heat, but mostly from the knowledge that in less than an hour she would have to descend into the great hall and play the part of the duke’s daughter, something she knew she wasn’t.
At last Mrs. Fitzbottom finished, though for once Sarah found herself wishing the older woman would never finish and spare her the task of debuting. Downstairs, the strings of a small orchestral ensemble shivered through the air and the sound of conversation had grown very loud.
“Is everyone here?” she asked the housekeeper.
“All are here, lass.”
“How many people are down there?”
“At least two hundred. I expect word of your discovery has teased the ton for months now, and they came to have their curiosity satisfied. They came to see you, lass.”
A peculiar giddiness grabbed hold of her. She clutched Mrs. Fitzbottom’s hand. “I can’t do it. I can’t go down there. I’m not . . .”
“You’re not what?”
Swallowing, Sarah squeezed Mrs. Fitzbottom’s hand tighter. She’d almost told the housekeeper that she wasn’t the duke’s daughter. Still, the time for such revelations had passed. For now, she had to go down there and play the role she’d prepared for.
“I’m not ready,” she clarified.
“Oh, lass, you’re ready. You look beautiful, and your manners are as polished as glass. The duke will be so proud to claim you as his daughter.” Mrs. Fitzbottom urged her toward the door. “Come on, now. It’s time to go.”
“Where is Colin?” she muttered, dragging her feet as they walked to her bedchamber door.
“Maybe he’s down there now, waiting for you to descend the staircase. Go and see.”
The housekeeper opened her bedchamber door and gently pushed Sarah into the hallway. Her heart thundering in her chest, Sarah paused. The laughter, music, and conversation had swelled to unbelievable proportions. She imagined a sea of faces, all of them turned to study her.
“Go ahead, lass,” Mrs. Fitzbottom hissed.
Squaring her shoulders, Sarah started down the hallway. She felt as though she were walking to the gallows. When the top of the staircase came into view, her stomach clenched with fear, and when she saw the tops of some coiffed, bejeweled heads, she slowed down to a snail’s pace. Somehow she found the strength to keep going until she reached the top of the stairs, when the entire vista became visible and stunned her with its grandeur.
The great hall had been cleared of all furniture for dancing. People in every corner laughed and conversed, glasses of champagne and ratafia in hand. Candles blazed in chandeliers and sconces, throwing their light upon the womens’ bejeweled necks and their pastel silk gowns. The men, for their part, were more richly dressed than Sarah had ever imagined they could be, their shoes, jackets, and waistcoats all bearing gold and satiny accents.
The orchestral ensemble, hidden in the corner, strummed gently on their instruments, as if waiting for some hidden cue. Hardly able to breathe, Sarah scanned the crowd for a familiar face. The duke, she saw, stood near the bottom of the stairs talking to a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman. As though he sensed her scrutiny, he looked up and smiled encouragingly. Then he waved to the orchestra, which struck up an attention-getting flourish.
The partygoers all quieted down. The duke moved to the bottom of the stairs and faced them all. “I thank each and every one of you for coming to Inveraray, and celebrating this splendid occasion with me. As you
know, I recently recovered my daughter, and today I present her to you, and to society, as the future Duchess of Argyll.” He swiveled around to face Sarah and held his hand out to her. “Come down, my dearest daughter, and meet my friends.”
The music began to play again, this time a stately processional melody that made Sarah want to sink instantly into a curtsy. Somehow, she remained standing and began to walk down those stone steps. Time froze for her, and her vision focused entirely on the duke. The satin of her gown brushed against her gauze petticoats with a soft sighing noise, and her heels clicked against stone, and her heart pounded so loudly she felt certain the entire assemblage could hear it.
Smiling tremulously, she finished the walk down the staircase and took the duke’s hand. His skin startled her with its warmth. Her own hand must have been ice cold, she thought inanely.
Applause broke out through the great hall. Men and women alike surged forward to greet her.
“This is Lord and Lady Jersey,” the duke murmured as a brilliantly dressed woman and her dour-looking husband pressed forward for an introduction. “And this is the Duke of Bedford.”
Her throat tight, Sarah exchanged a few pleasantries with them, and then they moved on.
The duke leaned close to her ear. “How are you doing, my dear?”
“Fine,” she managed, her voice shaking.
“Good. Here are the Marquesses of Ely and Downshire, and their lovely wives,” the duke continued, in what would prove to be an endless parade of aristocrats eager to meet her.
Her face aching from smiling, she chatted with all of them and allowed the gentlemen to fill up her dance card as they wished. Lady Helmsgate hovered nearby, her demeanor growing more sour as time went on, until Sarah felt as though a poisonous miasma had spread from the other woman to surround her.
When, at last, a curious expression transformed Lady Helmsgate’s face and she walked toward the study, Sarah nearly sighed aloud with relief. She didn’t care what had attracted Lady Helmsgate’s attention; she was just happy to be free of her noisome presence.
