The Chieftain Without a Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  It seemed discourteous, but the Duke suspected that by custom only he and The Kilcraig as head of thire Clans could sit in this traditional place.

  Then he had no time to think of anything for the Chiefs came forward one after another to kneel on one knee in front of him and The Kilcraig and swear their allegiance.

  Clola had taken the oath in English, the Clansmen spoke in Gaelic.

  The Duke was not aware that Clola after watching and listening to the Clansmen for some time had been taken back to The Castle by Mr. Dunblane.

  “You must be tired, Your Grace,” he said as he drew her away and they walked side by side over the grass towards the front door.

  “I am a little,” Clola admitted. “I think it is because I found it difficult to sleep last night and we rose very early to reach here.”

  “I did not need to tell you,” Mr. Dunblane said, “that you are the most beautiful bride anyone could hope to see, whatever their Clan might be.”

  “I am more afraid of the criticism of the McNarns than the admiration of the Kilcraigs,” Clola laughed.

  “I don’t think you need be afraid of anything,” Mr. Dunblane replied.

  He had in fact been astounded by Clola’s beauty as she came into the Chief’s Room on the arm of her father. Then he thought perhaps when her veil was raised there would be flaws in the face beneath it. but instead he knew watching her in the banqueting hall that she was in fact the loveliest woman he had ever seen.

  ‘How could The Kilcraig have bred anything so exquisite and have kept it a secret?’ he wondered to himself.

  He was curious but delighted in a manner he had never expected – for here was the answer to the question of whether the Duke would stay in Scotland.

  Only Mr. Dunblane was aware of how important to the McNarns their Chieftain was for the life of the Clan.

  He had thought when the old Duke died that it would be impossible for anyone to take his place or to keep up the high standard of behaviour that had been shown by the McNarns during his lifetime.

  And yet when he saw the new Duke he had known that here was another man in whom the Clansmen would be able to put their trust.

  Mr. Dunblane was very intelligent and he was a Scot who loved his country with a passion that made it agonising for him to know how Clans bereft of their Chieftain deteriorated and to learn the tragedy of what was happening in Sutherland.

  But while he was a patriot, he was also an extremely practical man.

  He had friends who had told him a great deal about the activities of the Marquis of Narn.

  He knew about his sporting achievements, his friendship with the King, his position of leader amongst the courtiers and those who were admitted to the Royal circle.

  This was the life in which the new Duke had won for himself the most distinguished place, but there was another one waiting for him – one in which if he liked he could be King, not courtier – first, not second.

  Mr. Dunblane looked at Clola now and thought that she embodied all the legends sung or recited of snow maidens and wild nymphs and wondered if the Duke would think the same.

  They reached The Castle and he took her up the staircase and into a very elegant drawing room where the walls were of blue brocade, the furniture French, and there were huge vases of flowers on many of the polished tables.

  “This is always known as the Duchess’s Room,” Mr. Dunblane explained, “and I thought perhaps you would wish to say goodbye to your family here before they return home.”

  “Perhaps you would tell my sister-in-law where I am and then she could join me,” Clola suggested.

  “I will do that,” Mr. Dunblane said, “but I thought first I would show you your bedroom which is on this floor.”

  He led Clola down a long corridor and she could see the walls were of great thickness and that this part of The Castle had been built for impregnability as a stronghold against the enemy.

  Mr. Dunblane opened a door and Clola followed him into a room that looked out on the other side of The Castle.

  Here was a more magnificent view than she had expected over the moorlands to where there was a great loch fringed by high hills.

  The room had a painted ceiling of Gods and Goddesses rioting with cupids and a huge four-poster bed hung with satin curtains. The furniture was French as was the carpet.

  “I never expected to find anything so lovely!” Clola exclaimed.

  “This has been the Duchess’s bedroom for centuries, because it is in the old part of The Castle,” Mr. Dunblane explained, “but was redecorated by the late Duke as was the Chieftain’s Room next door.”

  A faint flush came to Clola’s cheeks and Mr. Dunblane said quickly,

  “I will find your sister-in-law and bring her to the Duchess’s Room.”

  “Thank you, you have been very kind,” Clola said. “When I watched you behind the curtains of the window arriving at my home, I did hope that one day I would meet you.”

  “I pray, Duchess, that we shall be friends and that I can help you if you need help.”

  “I am quite sure that I shall need not only help but also a friend,” Clola replied.

  She held out her hand as she spoke and Mr. Dunblane took it in his, then raised it to his lips.

  “It is difficult for me to find words,” he sighed, “in which to tell you how glad I am that you are here.”

  There was a ring of sincerity in his voice that warmed Clola and, when she was alone, she stood for a moment looking at the door through which he had passed, then at the furnishings of the bedroom.

  “There is so much to see,” she murmured to herself.

  She would have liked to take off her wedding veil, but she did not know if she would be required to appear again in which case it would be a great mistake to change her appearance.

  Perhaps she and the Duke would have to walk amongst the Clansmen and talk to their wives. She did not know and she wished that she had asked Mr. Dunblane before he left her.

  Interested in everything she saw, she moved back to the Duchess’s Room to give a little exclamation of delight as she found that on one wall there was a built-in bookcase containing many books which she knew she would enjoy reading.

  She was joined, as Mr. Dunblane had promised, very shortly by her sister-in-law and her children.

  One small boy was about the same age as Jamie and almost as soon as they were brought into the room they disappeared as Jamie said he had something to show his new friend.

  “This is certainly far grander than I expected,” Mrs. Andrew Kilcraig said looking round with an air that told Clola she would like to find fault.

  Clola did not answer and after a moment she went on,

  “I suppose you realise how lucky you are? You may have been forced into marrying a McNarn, but after all he is very presentable and apparently has plenty of money!”

  “I have been told little about my husband,” Clola replied in her soft voice.

  “I expect you will learn all you have to soon enough,” her sister-in-law said tartly. “Well, I have only come to say goodbye. As it is we shall be back long after the children’s bedtime, and they will be as cross as two sticks, if I know anything about them!”

  Clola was not sorry to see her go and the only delay was that they could not find Jamie or Andrew’s son and the servants hunted all over The Castle before finally they were discovered on the roof.

  “We had a wonderful view, Mama,” the young Kilcraig enthused.

  “View or no view, you had no right to disappear!” his mother snapped. “I shall tell your grandfather how badly you have behaved when we get home!”

  Clola thought with a smile that this was the ultimate threat at Kilcraig Castle, but when her sister-in-law and the children had driven off she felt lonely.

  Although she was a bride and this was her wedding day it seemed that no one wanted her and she wondered how soon it would be before she and the Duke were alone.

  There was in fact no chance of that befo
re dinnertime.

  Mr. Dunblane came to tell Clola that the oaths of allegiance were taking far longer than they had anticipated.

  “I could not have believed that so many Clansmen would reach here in such a short time,” he said, “and I suppose it is my fault for underestimating the number. Anyway, I will take the blame.”

  “So what is to happen?” Clola asked.

  “I have arranged for dinner at seven o’clock and your father will eat with you before he starts on the journey home.”

  “He will be very late.”

  “It will not be dark,” Mr Dunblane replied.

  “No, not really dark,” Clola agreed.

  “Your brothers, of course, will dine at the same time,” Mr. Dunblane went on. “I expect you would like to bathe and to change your gown. Your luggage should all have been unpacked for you by now.”

  “That sounds delightful!” Clola exclaimed with a smile.

  “I have arranged for Mrs. Forse, who is quite intelligent, to look after you,” Mr. Dunblane said. “Later, of course, we will find you a personal lady’s maid – perhaps a woman from Edinburgh. But Mrs. Forse will, I am sure, be able to do all that you require of her for the moment.”

  “I am sure she will,” Clola answered, “and thank you for all the arrangements you have made for me.”

  “Let me assure you that it is a very great pleasure!” Mr. Dunblane smiled.

  Clola put down the book she had been reading.

  “I can find my own way to my bedroom,” she said. “I know how busy you must be.”

  “Then we will meet at dinner,” Mr. Dunblane said, “and I will arrange for everyone to gather here, so that it will not seem so formal as in the Chief’s Room.”

  “Thank you,” Clola said again.

  She felt quite light-hearted as she walked towards her bedroom. After all, with Mr. Dunblane at The Castle it did not seem so frightening as it had been at first.

  She walked into her room.

  A middle-aged woman was arranging her brushes on the dressing table.

  She turned as Clola entered and dropped a curtsy.

  “You must be Mrs. Forse,” Clola said moving towards her and holding out her hand.

  To her surprise the woman ignored it.

  “That’s ma name, Your Grace.”

  “Mr. Dunblane tells me that you will look after me until I can obtain a personal maid.”

  “Them are ma orders, Your Grace.”

  She spoke in a quiet restrained voice, which somehow sounded unnatural.

  Then, when she raised her eyes, Clola knew why, for she saw an expression of such hatred that she recoiled from it almost as if she had found a serpent in her path.

  Quite unaccountably she found her heart beating in a manner that told her she was afraid,

  ‘I am being stupid. It is just because I am overtired,’ she thought and aloud she said,

  “Force is an unusual name. Do you come from this part of the world?”

  “I’m a McNarn,” the woman replied fiercely. “A McNarn, Your Grace, born and bred.”

  Clola did not say anything, but, as if she felt she must give an explanation, Mrs. Forse went on,

  “Me husband were called Forse. He came from Caithness and a great mistake I made in marryin’ out of the Clan. He left me with a child to bring up on ma own, so I cannae go back to ma ain people.”

  “I am sorry,” Clola said.

  She felt the woman spoke in a manner that made her sound as though she was slightly unhinged.

  It seemed as if, having spoken, Mrs. Forse had nothing more to say,

  Almost in silence, except when she had to question Clola as to her choice of dress, she assisted her to undress, poured water into the bath that was arranged in a small room off the bedroom and buttoned Clola into her evening gown.

  She had chosen one of pale pink which her grandmother had bought for her at the same time as the one she had worn for her wedding.

  It was very expensive and her grandmother had envisaged her wearing it with the addition of a train at the ‘Drawing Room’ that was to be held in Holyrood Palace when the King would meet the most distinguished ladies of Scotland.

  ‘It is far more important that I should look attractive tonight,’ Clola thought to herself, ‘when it is not the King I have to please, but my husband.’

  She knew, because it would have been foolish to pretend otherwise, that she was looking her best and, as certainly those who had admired her in Edinburgh would have said, her most beautiful, as she left her bedroom to go to the Duchess’s Room.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Forse,” she said as the Scotswoman opened the door for her.

  Mrs. Forse did not reply. She only looked at Clola with that expression in her eyes which made her shiver.

  Dinner was a delicious meal, with dishes that were cooked with a delicacy that had not been apparent at the wedding breakfast.

  Clola realised that everyone was very tired including her father and the Duke.

  It had been a long day and, although The Kilcraig talked of what they had achieved, it was obvious that he was in a hurry to start on his journey home.

  She was aware that Lord Hinchley was looking at her in a bemused fashion, but she found it hard to keep her own eyes from the Duke’s face.

  She felt he was no longer angry as he had been at the Marriage Ceremony and yet she was not sure.

  She only knew that she felt shy and now the fears that had beset her last night and this morning were back.

  When dinner was over there were farewells to take of her own family and, as she saw them off, Clola was aware of the noise corning from the Clansmen.

  She had a suspicion that a great number of them were getting drunk, which was not surprising, as she had realised there had been plenty of ale provided by the Duke with which they could celebrate.

  There was the smell of roasting oxen, lamb and stag and in the dusk there was the light of fires being kindled over the moorlands opposite The Castle and in the valley beneath them.

  There was also the skirl of the bagpipes, the cries of those dancing reels, of voices singing and sudden bursts of somewhat intoxicated laughter.

  “They are certainly enjoying themselves!” Lord Hinchley commented as The Kilcraig rode away and they turned to enter The Castle.

  Clola had noticed that Torquil ran for a little while beside Hamish’s pony, obviously unwilling to break off a conversation they were having.

  Then he joined them as they all walked up the stairs together.

  “That was a jolly good wedding, Uncle Taran!” he said and the Duke turned to look at him.

  “I wish to speak to you, Torquil!”

  There was an ominous note in his tone and Clola longed to cry out,

  ‘Not tonight! Do not say it tonight, on top of all the other things that have happened today.’

  She looked at Torquil’s paling face, then almost pleadingly at Lord Hinchley.

  He did not seem to understand that she was appealing to him, but said to the Duke,

  “Shall the Duchess and I wait for you in the sitting room?”

  “No!” the Duke replied unexpectedly. “I want her to come with me.”

  He walked ahead to the Chieftain’s Room and Clola and Torquil followed him.

  When the door was shut the Duke said,

  “Your family took my nephew prisoner, and doubtless they will ask you what punishment I have given him for his behaviour that has resulted in several unforeseen consequences.”

  Clola winced as she knew he was referring to their marriage.

  Looking at Torquil the Duke declared,

  “It is your behaviour that brought me here from the South and because of it I have married a Kilcraig. What may be the result of that is a question that only the future can decide. But now I have to say this – ”

  He paused for a moment and Clola saw Torquil brace himself as if for a blow.

  “As you are aware,” the Duke went on, “I am forced to lea
ve for Edinburgh within the next day or so to meet the King when he arrives, and to lead the Clan at a review which has been commanded by His Majesty.”

  Torquil nodded as if he was aware of that and the Duke continued,

  “While I am in Edinburgh, I intend to arrange for you to go to school there for a year. After that time, if you have learnt enough – and that will certainly mean a great deal of hard work, I will send you to Oxford.”

  Torquil’s eyes widened for a moment in astonishment, then he stammered almost beneath his breath,

  “O-Oxford?”

  “I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did and, when you are South, you will doubtless have the opportunity of going abroad and visiting, France, Italy and perhaps Greece.”

  Clola could see that Torquil was absolutely stunned, but, when he did not speak, the Duke continued,

  “Those are the plans I have made for you and which Mr. Dunblane agrees would be in your best interests, but I must also give you a warning.”

  Now the Duke’s voice changed and he said sternly,

  “If, before the beginning of the school term you get into mischief of any sort, if you behave with stupidity and a lack of responsibility, then I shall send you to a school in Glasgow which I understand caters for boys who need restraint and discipline. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You do indeed, Uncle Taran,” Torquil cried. “I never thought I had a hope of going to Oxford! Thank you, thank you, sir!”

  “You had better go and thank Mr. Dunblane,” the Duke said. “Perhaps we had both better go – there are quite a lot of things I imagine he will want to tell you about your future.”

  The Duke walked towards the door, but Torquil reached it before him and held it open and they both waited for Clola. She smiled at the Duke a little shyly as she passed him.

  Then because she thought it was expected of her she went to the Duchess’s Room.

  Lord Hinchley, who was looking at a newspaper, rose to his feet.

  “You are still in one piece?” he asked. “I thought Taran sounded rather like my schoolmaster when he was going to beat me!”

  “He has been very kind to his nephew,” Clola replied, “and Torquil is thrilled at the idea of going to Oxford.”