The Chieftain Without a Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  He looked into the Duchess’s Room, but to his surprise there was no one there. He thought perhaps Clola was out in the garden or lying down and went further along the corridor.

  It was then he heard music and it was not music he had ever expected to hear in The Castle.

  The Duke was a genuine music lover.

  It was fashionable in London to patronise the opera. But for most of the Beau Monde it was an excuse for the ladies to be seen in their diamonds and for the gentlemen to ‘quiz’ the opera dancers from whose ranks their mistresses were usually chosen.

  However, the King liked classical music and so did the Duke, and they both attended performances given by the Royal Philharmonic Society and gave concerts in their own homes to which only their more musical friends were invited.

  The Duke had been largely responsible for persuading the fine violinist Louis Spohr to accept the Philharmonic Society’s invitation to visit England and considered him the equal as a musician of Mozart and Beethoven.

  Now for a moment the Duke could not place the instrument he heard being played.

  It had a clear, liquid and melodious sound and he knew the player was gifted as whatever instrument it was vibrating in his or her hands.

  He realised the sound came from the red drawing room, which was sometimes called the music room. It was a room that had hardly ever been used in his father’s time, but which contained an ancient harpsichord, a viola and a harp.

  The Duke smiled to himself.

  He had solved the problem of what he was hearing.

  It was the harp being played and he could not remember ever before hearing the one that stood in the red drawing room.

  Quietly he opened the door.

  Just as he had expected, Clola was sitting beside the huge golden harp and her long fingers were plucking from it a melody that the Duke recognised as having been composed by one of the great Masters.

  She made a picture which his artistic instincts appreciated. Wearing a gown of yellow silk, her head was silhouetted against one of the windows and the light from it seemed to envelop her almost as if it came from the Heavens themselves.

  Her small chin was lifted, her eyes looked ahead and the Duke thought that she was seeing sights that were not visible to him, while the curve of her lips showed she was happy in a fantasy world of her own.

  Then, as he told himself he was being imaginative, Clola turned her head and saw him standing there.

  As if he had taken her by surprise, her fingers faltered then fell into silence.

  The Duke walked across the room towards her.

  “I had no idea you were a musician,” he said. “I don’t recall ever hearing that harp played before.”

  “It needs tuning,” she said, “and one or two of its strings need – replacing, but it is a very – fine one.”

  She spoke shyly in a way that told the Duke she was nervous in his presence.

  “We must see if we can find you something more modern than these instruments,” he said with a gesture towards the harpsichord.

  “That would be – delightful.”

  She looked up at him, then glanced away, her long curved eyelashes hiding her eyes,

  “What were you playing?” he asked.

  She hesitated a second or so before she replied,

  “It was – something I – composed myself – but I admit it was inspired by Mozart.”

  “Can you play a pianoforte?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we had better buy one of the new ones made by John Broadwood.”

  Clola clasped her hands together and he saw the light in her eyes.

  He did not know how much she had missed the pianoforte at Kilcraig Castle that she had played at her grandmother’s house in Edinburgh.

  They were both silent and somehow words were not necessary.

  Then, as if she was compelled to break some strange spell which rendered them speechless, Clola asked,

  “Did you have a good shoot?”

  “Very good!” the Duke replied in an absent-minded way as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “I am – glad.”

  “I hope that you have not found it lonely today?”

  “Jamie was kind enough to show me round The Castle. I found it very – interesting.”

  It suddenly struck the Duke that it was something he would have liked to do himself. Then he thought that perhaps Jamie knew more about it than he did.

  “I hope you were impressed,” he enquired lightly.

  “How could I – fail to – be?” Clola answered. “It is so – magnificent, and larger than I – expected.”

  “My grandfather, as you must realise, was extremely extravagant.”

  “You should be grateful that he was. Now you have a – treasure house in the Highlands of which anyone would be – proud.”

  “I am not certain where I am concerned that proud is the right word,” the Duke queried. “I expect you know that I ran away to forget not only The Castle and everyone in it but also Scotland?”

  He spoke as if he was being deliberately provocative.

  Clola looked at him with her strange eyes and said quietly,

  “I have thought of how you must have – suffered. That is why Torquil and Jamie must – never feel the – same.”

  There was a note in her voice that told the Duke she really minded about his nephews and it surprised him.

  “I can see you are always ready to champion the underdog,” he said with a smile.

  They exchanged a few more words before the Duke went to his own room and Clola went to hers.

  As she changed for dinner, she found herself thinking so intently about the tall handsome man who was her husband that she was able to ignore the baleful looks given her by Mrs. Forse.

  They were sitting at the dining table when there was the first sound of thunder in the distance and a sudden gust of wind came through the open windows to stir the curtains.

  “I thought that would happen,” Mr. Dunblane remarked.

  “A thunderstorm?” the Duke enquired.

  “It was far too hot today for the weather not to break,” Mr. Dunblane replied.

  “It was certainly hot,” Lord Hinchley interjected. “I don’t think I have ever before felt such intense heat when I was shooting.”

  “It will be cool enough in a short while,” Mr. Dunblane said and signalled to one of the servants to close the windows.

  “I suppose it is going to rain,” Lord Hinchley remarked. “A good thing this did not happen last night!”

  Clola was thinking the same thing.

  She knew that when there was a thunderstorm over the mountains it would gradually move to cover the whole countryside and after the thunder and lightning there would come torrential rain that would put the burns in spate and swell the rivers,

  She hoped that all her Clansmen were home by now and she wondered too if Torquil was back in The Castle.

  She had not seen him since breakfast time and she was not surprised, as he had said he was going riding, that he did not appear for luncheon.

  Last night he had not been at dinner and she supposed the Duke had thought him still too young to dine with the grown-ups.

  Her brothers when they were past fifteen always dined with their father and she thought it was a mistake that Torquil was not being treated as an adult.

  As soon as she had any say in what took place in what was now her home, she decided that this was one of the things she would change.

  It was hard to think that this enormous magnificent building was ‘home’, but because she was practical in many ways Clola was determined to assume her rightful responsibility as soon as everyone became used to her presence.

  She was well aware that a ‘new broom that swept clean’ was never popular.

  ‘I must not make suggestions or alterations until they have accepted me,’ she told herself.

  She was sure that where Mrs. Forse was concerned that would never happen and she had
yet to find out how many other servants there were who would feel the same.

  The Duke and Lord Hinchley were telling Mr. Dunblane of the large shoots they had attended in the South, the number of partridges and pheasants they had bagged and obviously they did not expect her to join in the conversation.

  She therefore watched the Duke as he sat at the head of the table, looking she thought more handsome than any man she had ever met before.

  His air of authority and command was, she was sure, exactly what a Chieftain should have and doubtless impressed not only his own followers but also the Kilcraigs.

  She would like to have an opportunity, she thought, to talk to him alone and hoped that it would be possible tomorrow when Lord Hinchley had left or perhaps later tonight.

  At the thought of that, there was a faint flush on her cheeks and the Duke looking at her suddenly wondered what it was that was making her look shy.

  At the same time, as Lord Hinchley noticed, there was a mysterious expression in her eyes.

  When dinner was over and the pipes had been played round the table, they retired to the library because Mr. Dunblane had mentioned that there were some sporting prints in one of the books there that would interest the Duke and Lord Hinchley.

  Clola took the opportunity of looking around and found a number of books she wished to read.

  Then, because she knew it would be expected of her to make the first move, she said goodnight.

  “I shall doubtless leave before you are up in the morning,” Lord Hinchley said. “I have to hurry to reach Edinburgh before His Majesty arrives on the 14th, and may I say how much I shall be looking forward to meeting you again.”

  “Thank you,” Clola smiled.

  Lord Hinchley did not release her hand, but went on,

  “I want too to wish you and Taran every happiness together. You know he is my closest friend and I am delighted that he should have such a beautiful wife,”

  “Thank – you,” Clola said again.

  Lard Hinchley kissed her hand as she curtseyed.

  As she rose, she looked a little uncertainly at the Duke, wondering if he too would kiss her hand.

  Then, realising that he had not said goodnight, she thought it was intentional. She felt the blood rise in her cheeks and withdrawing she hurried to her own room only to find, as she had feared, that Mrs. Forse was there waiting for her.

  Tonight, because she was determined not to be upset again, Clola did not speak, but allowed the woman to undress her in silence.

  Only when she was nearly ready for bed, did she say,

  “That will be all, thank you, Mrs. Forse!”

  Without speaking the woman left the room and Clola gave a little sigh of relief.

  It was then that a violent clap of thunder made the windows rattle and she climbed into bed, thinking again of the Clansmen, knowing that some at any rate would be drenched to the skin and they might have to spend the night in the open.

  The clap of thunder was followed by another and yet another.

  Now the thunderstorm that had been drawing nearer all the evening appeared to be directly overhead and Clola thought that if the curtains were drawn the lightning would be like streaks of fire.

  She got into bed leaving two candles burning beside her and she had hardly done so when the door opened.

  She turned her head expecting, though it seemed too soon, that it would be the Duke, but instead Jamie stood there looking very small and lost in his long flannel nightgown.

  “I’m alone,” he wailed forlornly.

  Clola knew only too well from the sound of his voice that he was frightened and, because she had brothers, she said quickly

  “I am so glad you have come to see me. It’s a horrible thunderstorm! I would like you to keep me company.”

  Jamie came into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “Would you really?” he asked tremulously.

  “Yes, I would,” Clola answered.

  As she spoke, there was another explosion overhead. With a movement like a small scared animal Jamie clambered onto her bed and slipped in beside her.

  She put her arms round him and found that he was trembling.

  “Are you – frightened?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Not now you are with me,” Clola answered.

  “Jeannie says the giants on the mountains are – angry,” Jamie told her with a quiver in his voice.

  “It is not giants who make the thunderstorms,” Clola replied. “It’s the naughty angels in the sky who push the clouds around until they run into each other! That is what makes the noise. It’s only a game, but you know that if we bang two stones together we can see sparks and when the clouds do it they make lightning.”

  “That must be rather fun!”

  “I would rather like to push clouds around too,” Clola smiled.

  The idea excited Jamie’s imagination and they talked about it for a little while until the small boy’s voice became slower and slower and she knew that he was falling asleep.

  He was very soft and warm and smelt of soap and the lavender in which his nightshirts had obviously been kept.

  The thunder moved further away, but Clola could hear the rain pouring down in torrents as she had expected.

  She was listening to it thinking that there was music even in its violence when the communicating door between her bedroom and the Duke’s opened and he came in.

  He had undressed and was wearing a long green velvet robe, which nearly touched the floor and the white frill of his nightshirt showed against his throat.

  He did not speak, but walked quietly towards her.

  Only when he reached the bed did he see she was not alone.

  He stood there staring at her, seeing in the light from the candles her long dark hair falling over her shoulders and her arms round Jamie with his red head against her breast.

  She looked up at him and after a moment said very softly in a whisper,

  “He was – frightened.”

  The Duke’s eyes were on her face. For a moment he did not answer, then he said with a twist of his lips as if he was amused,

  “I suppose it would be a mistake to wake him?”

  “He is very young. I am – honoured that he should come to me.”

  “Then – goodnight.”

  He was still speaking in a whisper so that they should not disturb the sleeping child.

  “Goodnight,” Clola answered.

  The Duke lingered for a moment and Clola had the feeling that he was looking for something in her eyes, but she was not certain what it was.

  Then abruptly he turned and went back to the door through which he had entered and she thought that her heart beneath the heaviness of Jamie’s head was beating in a strange manner.

  *

  It must have been two hours later that Clola awoke to hear a knock on the door.

  In his sleep Jamie had moved away from her, turning over to sleep on the other side of the bed with his back towards her.

  She herself had not fallen asleep at once but bad lain awake thinking about the Duke and wondering what they would have said to each other or what might have happened if the little boy had not been with her.

  She felt that he was not hating her as he had done before. At the same time there were still barriers between them, barriers she could sense rather than to which she could put a name.

  Now, as she was startled to wakefulness, she thought that she had dreamt the knock at the door until it came again. She rose quickly from the bed and picking up a wrap that lay over one of the chairs she put it on, slipping her feet as she did so into a pair of soft slippers.

  As she opened the door, she saw that an old man stood there with a lantern and guessed he was the nightwatchman.

  “I’m real sorry tae disturb Your Grace,” he said, “but there’s a young gentleman at the door and asking for you.”

  “A gentleman?” Clola repeated in surprise.

  “He says he’s your brother, You
r Grace.”

  Clola was astonished and she said,

  “I will come with you and speak to him.”

  She went out into the passage and shut the door behind her and they walked side by side towards the stairs, the light from the lantern guiding their steps.

  “I didna know what to do, Your Grace, when he comes and askin’ for you,” the nightwatchman said, “but most insistent he was he should speak to you.”

  “You were quite right to wake me,” Clola assured him. “It must be something very urgent!”

  As she spoke, her thoughts were busy over what could have occurred. Had there been an accident involving her father on his way home?

  It must, she thought, be something desperate for them to send for her in the middle of the night.

  Then, as she reached the top of the stairs by the light of the candles in the sconces, she could see her brother Hamish standing in the hall below.

  She hurried down to him saying as she reached him,

  “Hamish – what has happened? Why have you come here?”

  “I have to speak to you. I have to tell you something,” Hamish replied.

  She thought he looked wild, his kilt was covered in mud, his bare legs stained and very dirty.

  She drew him to one side out of earshot of the nightwatchman, who tactfully removed himself to the outer hall.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Torquil,” Hamish answered. “The McAuads have taken him prisoner!”

  Clola stared at him in horror.

  “What do you mean? What are you telling me?”

  “We planned together that we should have a go at them just to teach them a lesson,” Hamish said. “But, while we were driving a calf over at the border, two men appeared from nowhere and caught hold of Torquil.”

  “Oh, Hamish, how could you do anything so stupid, so wrong at this particular moment?” Clola cried.

  “We planned it when Torquil was in prison,” Hamish said, “and it seemed quite safe.”

  “Where is Torquil now?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you, I ran away before the men could catch me, but I watched them hidden in the heather and they’ve put Torquil in the watchtower and have gone to get help.”

  “The watchtower!” Clola exclaimed.