Grace in Thine Eyes

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  At the duke’s bidding, more tunes followed until the hall clock chimed eleven, and the duo closed with a lilting Gaelic air, “Mary, Young and Fair.” As Davina had hoped, the Highlander knew the tune well, infusing every measure with heartfelt expression. Their last note, played in unison, hung in the air for a breathless moment before a final ovation overpowered it.

  Davina and Somerled bowed as one. She still could not bring herself to look at him, nor did he turn toward her, as if some spell might be broken, some invisible thread torn.

  The audience urged them to play another, but Captain Fullarton stood and held up his hands in protest. “The hour is late, and our performers have given their all. Young ladies, you will find your fathers in the hall, prepared to escort you home.”

  Davina placed her fiddle and bow on the pianoforte with care, her hands trembling as she watched Somerled return his borrowed instrument. No one had ever listened to her more carefully nor spoken to her more deeply. She, in turn, had withheld nothing. How did one proceed from here? For there was no hope of going back, of pretending she was unchanged.

  Davina remained by the pianoforte, one hand resting on it for support, as the audience collected their shawls and wraps, offering words of praise in passing, which she acknowledged as best she could. Somerled, standing an arm’s length from her, murmured his thanks as well, while Captain Fullarton bade his guests good night.

  Between duties, their host confessed, “I was not apprised of your talents, Mr. MacDonald. Do forgive me for not introducing you properly at the start.”

  “Ah, but you introduced me to Miss McKie,” Somerled reminded him, not quite looking her in the eye. “For that, I will ever be in your debt, sir.”

  “ ’Tis hard to believe you’ve not performed with this lady before.” The captain smiled at them both. “I do hope this will not be the last evening you spend together.”

  “That is my hope as well,” Somerled murmured before their host was called away. The music room was emptying quickly as horses were brought round for the duke and his party. “Some of the younger men have left for Brodick castle on foot,” Somerled commented offhandedly, glancing toward the door. “Less than half an hour’s walk.” He stepped aside to make room for an exiting couple, then moved closer to her.

  Lifting her face toward his, Davina hoped he might look at her at last. Might speak to her with words the same way he spoke to her with music.

  Somerled gazed down at her. “After such an evening, Miss McKie, I find it difficult to bid you farewell.”

  And I, the same. She was certain he saw the truth in her eyes. When he touched the small of her back with his ungloved hand, she felt unsteady on her feet.

  He started to say something, then caught sight of the duke preparing to leave. “Pardon me, but I must speak with His Grace on a matter of some urgency. I shall not be long.” Somerled adopted a stern expression, so exaggerated as to be comical. “In the meantime, see that you do not leave this house, Miss McKie, or I shall be forced to hunt for you.”

  They both smiled; he loathed hunting even more than fishing.

  After offering her a courtly bow, Somerled strode toward the door, the tails of his dark blue coat flapping.

  “Cousin Davina?”

  Still a bit dazed, she turned to find the Stewarts standing not far behind her.

  “You were wonderful!” Cate breathed, and Abbie echoed the same, her eyes bright.

  Oddly, Elspeth said nothing, though her features were drawn. Had she not enjoyed the evening? Perhaps the rich food did not suit her.

  Reverend Stewart was more forthright. “Cousin, you know how very proud we are of your musical talents. But tonight I fear your playing was rather … unrestrained.” A ruddy tint crawled up the minister’s neck as he hastened to add, “The blame rests entirely on Mr. MacDonald, of course, and his wanton manner of accompaniment.”

  Wanton? Now it was Davina’s turn to blush. Had they played so passionately as that?

  “Please.” Elspeth nervously plucked at the reverend’s sleeve as her gaze darted about. “Do not embarrass our cousin on so special an occasion. Perhaps you might address this matter at home.”

  “Aye, and so I shall.” He straightened his hat as if prepared to leave at once. “I assured Jamie McKie I would protect his daughter. I’ll not have some slaoightear—”

  “Reverend!” she said in dismay, then bowed her head. “Kindly arrange for our ponies and carts.”

  Davina had never seen the couple so upset. Was her music the only reason? She did not recognize the Gaelic word her cousin had spoken.

  Cate watched her father make his way to the front door as she fidgeted with her shawl. “I’m sorry, Davina. Father seldom gets this agitated. Truly, you played beautifully.”

  What of Somerled? Davina waited, but his name was not mentioned.

  “Oh, Miss McKie, there you are!” Elizabeth Fullarton sailed toward them, skirts in hand. “I was afraid you’d already slipped out the door.” She smiled at the Stewarts, and a few pleasantries were exchanged before Mrs. Fullarton took Davina’s hands in hers. “His Grace has requested that you remain here in Glen Cloy for a fortnight while his guests are in residence at the castle. He very much wants to hear your music each evening after dinner.”

  Davina felt her hands grow cool in the woman’s clasp. Mrs. Fullarton delivered the news with obvious delight, anticipating a favorable response. And Davina was honored. But …

  “ ’Tis a great privilege, as you know. In the days of Duchess Anne, her husband kept a permanent piper at Brodick castle. Now you shall be the duke’s summer fiddler.” Her hostess laughed a little. “Of course, the décor at Brodick is less … ah, refined. But you needn’t appear there until just before dinner. The rest of the time you’ll be our guest here at Kilmichael.” She turned to Mrs. Stewart, as if she’d only now remembered her. “Assuming that arrangement suits your family.”

  Elspeth tried to smile. “I shall … speak with the reverend.”

  Davina knew the Stewarts would have little say in the matter. As sole patron of Kilbride parish, the Duke of Hamilton appointed its minister; Reverend Stewart would be hard pressed to oppose the man who ensured his salary. If His Grace wanted a fiddler to entertain his visitors, a fiddler he would have.

  Mrs. Fullarton arched her brow with an aristocratic air. “Surely your husband would agree ’tis imprudent for a young lady to travel the coast road five miles each afternoon and again late at night, even with an escort.”

  “Aye, well …” Elspeth eyed the door. “I suppose he might agree with that.”

  “All is settled then.” Mrs. Fullarton squeezed Davina’s hands. “What a pleasure it will be to have your company. No need to send for your dresses from the manse. I have several summer gowns we can easily hem to fit you.”

  Davina nodded, wanting to appear grateful; the woman’s offer was more than generous. But could she truly be comfortable in an unfamiliar house, spending her days with people she did not know?

  Her hostess leaned forward and said in a softer voice, “I think you’ll find the ground-floor guest room to your liking. It faces the garden and is quite my favorite bedchamber in the house. When you’re ready, one of the maidservants will escort you there and serve as your chaperon whenever required. You have only to ask.” She released Davina at last, glancing toward the hall. “Do forgive me, but I must speak with my housekeeper. After a large dinner party there is much to be done. And undone.” She smiled, stepping back. “Our home is yours, Miss McKie.”

  The instant Elizabeth Fullarton was gone, Davina’s cousins gathered round her.

  “Does this arrangement suit you?” Elspeth asked, her blue eyes filled with concern. “I hate to think of leaving you with strangers.”

  “Mother, these are the Fullartons.” Cate aimed a pointed gaze at their surroundings. “They’re the only landed gentry on Arran and far from strangers. Davina will be well cared for here.” Cate gave her
jacket sleeve a playful tug. “In truth, I am jealous. What a fine visit you’ll have, Cousin!”

  “The manse won’t be the same without you,” Abbie said, pouting. “Promise us you’ll be all right? And you won’t forget us?”

  Touched by her youthful concern, Davina held up her hand. I promise, dear girl.

  Reverend Stewart appeared at the music room door, a look of resignation on his face. “I’ve just spoken with the duke.” Though the family had the room to themselves now, the minister kept his voice low. “His Grace has informed me of his plans. Tell me, Davina. Are you willing to do his bidding?”

  She saw the conflict in his eyes. Wanting to take her home. Needing her to stay. If she refused, the Fullartons might take offense and the duke even more so, making things difficult for the reverend. Could she not do this for him?

  Aye. She nodded firmly so the Stewarts would not leave with any misgivings. I am willing.

  Reverend Stewart clasped her hand. “We shall see you at kirk on the Sabbath. ’Til then, you may depend upon our prayers.”

  So I shall, Cousin.

  Thirty-Six

  Hope! thou nurse of young desire.

  ISAAC BICKERSTAFF

  Davina stood on the flagstones outside the front door, flanked by tall iron torches that held the darkness at bay, waving farewell until her cousins rolled out of view. On the lawn all was quiet. The Stewarts were the final guests to leave, and the servants of Kilmichael House had tasks to attend elsewhere. Even the footman had deserted his post.

  Taking advantage of the solitude, Davina remained out of doors, drinking in the refreshing night air, letting the events of the last few hours find a resting place in her mind and heart.

  You shall be the duke’s summer fiddler. ’Tis a great privilege.

  Davina took a few steps along the graveled walk, hoping to calm her nerves. She had hours of entertainment to provide. However might she fill them all? Fiddle tunes were short and often grouped together in sets of three and four. Her repertoire would quickly be depleted, particularly without anyone dancing; when lines of blithe dancers were involved, a repeated reel was hardly noticed.

  If the Fullartons did not object, she would spend her days at Kilmichael working on a dozen tunes she’d yet to master and practicing some of her grandfather’s old strathspeys she’d neglected of late. One was “Monemusk” and “Tullochgorum” another. Davina smiled, hearing the frolicsome notes in her head, and imagined the duke’s foot keeping time with her bow. Aye, she would have sufficient music to keep His Grace entertained and his company as well—one guest in particular.

  See that you do not leave this house, Miss McKie. Davina glanced toward the empty entrance hall, her smile fading. Somerled MacDonald had not come looking for her as he’d promised. She sighed, remembering his words. I find it difficult to bid you farewell. Perhaps he’d found it altogether too difficult and left without saying good-bye.

  She chastised herself at once for thinking ill of him. The duke’s other guests might have insisted Somerled return with them. And she would see him tomorrow evening, would she not? Considering how deeply the man and his music had affected her, that might be soon enough. His gaze, his smile, his voice, his words spun round inside her, thrilling and confusing her all at once. Dared she hope for more than one night of music?

  Shivering at the prospect, Davina continued in the direction of the garden, stopping when she reached the outermost light cast by the torches. The June night was seasonably mild, without a hint of rain. With the new moon gone from sight, a faint blanket of stars covered the velvety sky. The sun, not long set, would soon rise again on this shortest of nights, then skirt the treetops throughout the long Midsummer Day. Even now, at almost midnight, she could discern shapes in the garden, bathed in a dark blue sort of twilight.

  Davina tipped her head back, picking out the northern constellations: Lyra, high in the southern sky; Ursa Major, growling down at her from the north; and to the east, Cassiopeia, shining in a distinct W.

  She heard footsteps. Then a voice behind her softly said, “Light in darkness.”

  You remembered.

  Davina gazed over her shoulder into Somerled’s star-bright eyes. She turned round to face him, then stepped back for propriety’s sake, and curtsied.

  After a low chuckle, Somerled bowed. “How very formal, Miss McKie.”

  At least the darkness hid the color in her cheeks.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten what transpired in the music room this evening.” With one step he closed the gap between them. “You can be sure I have not.”

  When his fingers touched hers, she jumped slightly.

  “Pardon me, for I did not mean to startle you.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, an innocent gesture common to every gentleman of the realm.

  Then why did it feel so intimate? And why could she not stop blushing?

  A diversion was called for. Davina pulled her hand free as gracefully as she could, then turned and swept her arm in an arc above her, inviting him to gaze at the night sky—safe, cool, distant—while she sorted through her scattered thoughts. She was attracted to Somerled; she was frightened of him as well. They should return to the house at once or procure a chaperon, yet she was loath to do either, having never stood beneath the stars with so handsome and charming a man as this one.

  “Draco,” Somerled murmured over her shoulder, pointing straight up. “The Dragon. ’Tis that spindly constellation with three stars forming its head. And below it, toward the horizon, is Boötes, the Herdsman. Four stars in a diamond pattern, like a kite with a bright tail. A favorite of your sheep-breeding father’s, I’ll wager.”

  She nodded, though she was not quite listening. Would her father approve of Somerled? Her dear mother?

  “Low in the sky is Perseus,” Somerled explained, moving closer. “Shaped like a bent T. Do you see?”

  Nae, she did not see, for she was too aware of the nearness of him, the summery scent of him, like heather and sun and ocean.

  “One constellation in particular reminds me of you, Miss McKie. Can you guess?”

  She pretended to play a harp, plucking unseen strings while the lace on her sleeves fluttered.

  “Lyra is a fine choice,” he agreed, “for you are a musician without peer. No wonder the duke desires your company at table each evening.”

  But do you desire my company? She bowed her head, ashamed of her feelings—unfamiliar yet undeniable.

  “You’ll not find your stars down there.” She heard the smile in his voice and a note of something else. He reached round and gently lifted her chin, pulling her closer.

  Her breath, her heart seemed to stop in place.

  “Do not be afraid, Miss McKie.” His hand lingered on her chin, barely touching her as his fingers relaxed, then slowly eased down her neck.

  Nae! She tried to move away.

  “Please.” His hand pressed more firmly. “Do not end what has only begun.” His voice thrummed in a low vibrato, like the strings beneath his bow. “You trusted me with your music, Miss McKie. Trust me in this.”

  Thirty-Seven

  He sees only night,

  and hears only silence.

  JACQUES DELILLE

  He stilled, waiting for Davina to soften beneath his touch. To yield to him, if only a little. No gentlewoman gave herself easily. What pleasure was there in that?

  If Davina required wooing, he would woo her. Gladly.

  “Let me show you the constellation I had in mind.” Somerled tipped her chin toward the southern sky, leaning over her shoulder as he did. He positioned his rough cheek next to her smooth one, almost touching but not quite. “There it is, like a cross in the heavens. Cygnus. Do you know what the name means?”

  When she nodded, her cheek brushed against his. On purpose, lass?

  “ ’Tis a mute swan,” he told her, “the sort that glides across your Lowland lochs. Beautiful and silent. Very much li
ke you, Miss McKie, in your fine damask gown.” He lightly stroked her neck, marveling at the silken texture of her skin. “How did Milton phrase it?” he murmured. “The swan with arched neck between her white wings.”

  When Davina tried to move again, he gently released her, determined not to rush things. Time was not a hindrance; the night was young and the weather cooperative. He’d warned Sir Harry not to expect him at the castle until breakfast, hinting of a dairymaid who’d promised to share her narrow bed. Fathers paid little attention to trysts with servants.

  As for Davina, Somerled felt certain no one would bother her until morning. He’d learned the location of the guest room from a loquacious maid, then locked the bedchamber door from the inside and slipped through the open sash into the garden. When the time came—much later, if all went well—he would escort Davina home by way of that same window without raising the alarm at Kilmichael.

  She suddenly turned, as if considering a return to the house.

  “Please, Miss McKie. Tarry with me a minute longer?” Somerled captured her small hand and tucked it round his arm, playing the part of a trustworthy gentleman. When she didn’t resist, he knew he’d chosen wisely; they were on comfortable footing again.

  “Might we follow the gravel path to the burn? There’s a torch staked along the bank for guests who want to enjoy the water without tumbling in. The footman apparently forgot to extinguish it.” As well the man should have: Somerled had paid him to forget.

  Davina frowned at the darkened walkway, then shook her head.

  “We needn’t spend long there,” he assured her. “And we’ll be doing the Fullartons a service if we put out the fire for them.”

  However reticently, Davina let him lead her toward the burn. His boots were noisy on the gravel-strewn path, yet he could not ask her to walk in the grass and risk staining her ivory gown, much as he preferred they not be seen or heard. Though he cared nothing for his own reputation, he cared very much for hers. Miss would never become Mrs. if the respectable gentlemen of Galloway learned of Davina’s indiscretions. He was a rake, aye, but not a scoundrel.