Grace in Thine Eyes

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Davina did not acknowledge the woman as she edged past her. Somerled MacDonald would not cry over so slight a thing. Though she might, remembering their tender morning kiss.

  The four McKies convened in her father’s room rather than open the letter with the innkeeper looking on. “ ’Tis from both gentlemen,” Father informed them, “requesting our presence at the castle at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. His Grace will provide a room for us while the rest of his party engages in a morning of hill climbing.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

  “Aye.” Jamie nodded toward the window. “The path to Goatfell is just beyond our door and through the castle grounds. If our business goes well in the morning, perhaps you and your brother can make the ascent after our noontide meal. As I recall, the view from the summit is breathtaking.”

  When the men turned toward Jamie’s room, intent on continuing their discussion of hill climbing, Davina plucked her sketchbook from Sandy’s grasp, though he seemed reluctant to let go of it. “Will you not join us, lass?”

  She closed her eyes and tipped her head down, certain he would understand.

  “A full night’s rest would do us all good,” he agreed. “Sleep well, dear sister.”

  A moment later Davina sagged against her closed door, eyes brimming with tears born of exhaustion and relief. Her father had discredited the scandalous rumors; Lord willing, her brothers would not persist in discussing them. Perhaps by noon tomorrow—if Somerled continued to impress her father and if Sir Harry kept his pride in check—she would find herself betrothed and her family’s reputation spared without anyone knowing the truth.

  Please, Lord, please. She mouthed the words over and over while she prepared for bed, pulling her nightgown over her head, then brushing the tangles from her hair. The sun hung low in the sky, filling her room with amber light, as she closed her eyes and folded her hands and pleaded for the strength to do what she must. In the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.

  Davina had not paid a morning visit to the castle before. It was cool and a bit gloomy, though the duke had been generous with candles; beeswax tapers brightened the center of their oak table and each corner of their fifteenth-century meeting room.

  Seated on her left, Somerled was resplendent in his double-breasted tail coat. Sir Harry sat at one end of the narrow, rectangular table and Father at the other. The twins were across from her, black eyebrows slashed across their foreheads, underscoring their displeasure. Poorly attired in wrinkled cravats and sullied waistcoats, her brothers wore their resentment like beggars’ badges pinned to their lapels. Eying them, Davina remembered poor Jock Robertson being pummeled by the twins on May Day. They would not find Somerled so easily vanquished.

  She scooted back in her chair, the seat high enough that her feet barely rested on the floor. Dressed in a blue gown embroidered by Leana’s own hand, Davina smoothed the polished cotton across her lap. You are here with us, Mother. I am certain of it. After tea was offered but declined, the McKies and MacDonalds were left alone in the high-ceilinged chamber, with its red sandstone walls and peat-darkened beams.

  As the servants’ footsteps faded down the stair, Davina prayed once more. Thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble. No one else, only the Almighty. God is my defence, and the God of my mercy. She’d never needed his strength more than now.

  Sir Harry began the meeting, his gaze aimed at the other end of the table. “You will no doubt find our letters waiting for you when you return to Glentrool, Mr. McKie. I regret that you came to Arran not knowing the situation.”

  Somerled’s father sounded rather formal, Davina thought. And quite restrained. She’d seen an occasional hint of Sir Harry’s temper at the duke’s dinner table, but not this morning. At least not yet.

  “I arrived with very little information in hand,” her father acknowledged, his tone neither hot nor cold. “It seems our children have found each other rather quickly.”

  “Aye.” Sir Harry glanced at Somerled, then settled his gaze on Jamie. “My son has not expressed any interest in marriage before, yet it appears Miss McKie has captured his heart. On his behalf, I would ask that you give your daughter to Somerled as his wife.”

  Davina swallowed her surprise. He’d wasted no time in getting to the point.

  “Give her?” Will muttered under his breath.

  Sir Harry eyed her brother. “Despite speaking out of turn, your son is quite right. A gentleman does not make so great a request without offering something substantial in return. I’ve prepared a list of the MacDonald holdings. Perhaps you’d care to review them.”

  A sheet of fine stationery traveled from one patriarch to the other—on Will’s side of the table. Sir Harry was no fool. Both brothers took their time as the paper was passed to them. Even from where she was sitting, Davina could read the bold hand in sweeps of black ink. The income in pounds and the property in acreage were impressive, though of little importance to her.

  Davina turned to Somerled as the tally sheet reached her father, and she faintly shook her head. That is not why I agreed to marry you.

  Beneath the table Somerled wrapped his hand round hers.

  “As I have no other sons,” Sir Harry was saying, “nor any living brothers, the first male whom Davina bears can be assured of his inheritance.” His smile was almost genuine. “Think of it, McKie. A Lowlander laying claim to a Highlander’s lands.”

  “Or think of this, MacDonald,”—Jamie’s expression matched his in guile—“a Highlander laying claim to a Lowlander’s daughter.”

  Davina’s gaze darted from one man to the other. Were they in agreement, then? Or throwing down their gloves?

  “What say you, Somerled?” Her father looked down the table, pinning him with a sharp gaze. “What will you offer for my only daughter? For I’ll not give up such a treasure easily.”

  “As well you should not, sir.” Somerled released her with a gentle squeeze, then folded his hands above the table, a display of good will and of supplication. He looked first at her father and then at both her brothers. “I ask only for your blessing. If I am the husband you favor for this woman, then you are free to set the bride price. Whatever you say, I shall give.”

  “Somerled!”

  He ignored his father’s outburst and made his offer clear. “You may ask for as much as you wish if you’ll give me Miss McKie as my wife.”

  Jamie leaned back in his chair, patently bewildered. “ ’Tis generous.”

  “And foolish,” Sir Harry grumbled.

  Davina stared at her future husband, a bit dazed. As much as you wish. She would not doubt the sincerity of his commitment again.

  Gazes were exchanged among the men, though no one broke the weighty silence.

  Finally Will leaned across the table toward Somerled, his chin like the prow of a ship. “No gentleman would offer so much unless he felt an obligation. A need to make recompense—”

  “Will.” Jamie cut him off. “Do not offend the MacDonalds with your accusations. Somerled’s offer is meant to demonstrate his affection, not appease his guilt.” His stern look softened. “Young man, your liberality speaks well of you. I’ll not take advantage of it. What say you to a bride price of one thousand pounds?”

  “Nae!” Sandy cried out. “Fifty thousand, for the man must pay—”

  Jamie was on his feet. “Not another word, lads. You have insulted your sister and the gentleman she wishes to marry.”

  “ ’Tis not an insult if the gentleman can afford it.” Somerled’s voice poured over the room like cool water, dousing their ire. “Miss McKie is worth fifty thousand and more. What say you, Father?”

  “I’d say you are paying too much for damaged goods.”

  The earlier silence was nothing compared to this. Davina could not move, could not breathe. Damaged. No word better described her.

  Somerled looked as if he’d been struck by a caber
.

  Jamie remained at his end of the table, but the heat from his anger radiated through the room. “How dare you suggest that because my daughter cannot speak she is of lesser value!”

  “ ’Tis not her impaired voice that concerns me.” Sir Harry’s chuckle was low, coarse. “What husband would not prefer a silent wife? Rather, it is your daughter’s—”

  “Father!” Somerled grabbed the man’s sleeve. “We agreed—”

  “Nae, you insisted.” Sir Harry wrested his arm free. “The plain truth is, McKie, your daughter has already given herself to my son. And without costing him a shilling, let alone fifty thousand pounds.”

  Davina stared into a dark void. I did not give … I did not …

  “Given herself?” Jamie leaned toward her, lowering his voice as he did. “Daughter, whatever does he mean?”

  “I’ll tell you what he means.” Sandy pulled Davina’s sketchbook from beneath her limp hands and dragged it across the table.

  Sixty

  Arm thyself for the truth!

  EDWARD ROBERT BULWER, LORD LYTTON

  Nae!” Somerled lunged across the table to retrieve her sketchbook.

  “You cannot do this. Not if you mean to protect your sister.”

  Will blocked his arms, then shoved him aside. “She is ours to protect. From you.”

  Before Somerled could protest, Sir Harry pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. “Enough, lad. You cannot save her now.”

  “On the contrary.” Somerled shook free of his grasp. “I am the only one who can.”

  He sat down and turned his chair toward Davina, with her sorrow-filled eyes and her trembling chin. “My bonny wee girl.” He took her cool hands in his. “Do not be afraid. Whatever is said here, you and I know the truth.”

  “We shall all know the truth shortly.” Sandy was leafing through the book. “I only caught a glimpse of it yestreen. No more than a sentence, written at the top of a page, but ’twas quite enough.”

  “Sandy, that is not your property.” Jamie’s voice held a warning, though he did not stop his son from turning the pages as he reclaimed his seat.

  Desperate, Somerled tried another tack. “Will you not let Davina write out what she wants you to know?” He released her hands so she might face them herself. “She is sitting right here, though you seem to have forgotten that. Or would you rather steal her secrets?”

  Will glared at him across the table. “You’re a fine one to speak of robbery, MacDonald.”

  “Here.” Sandy pointed to the page, empty except for a single line written across the top.

  Somerled knew very well what it said. Only a blackguard would reveal such a thing. And only a blackguard would have done such a thing.

  Now that Sandy had found what he was searching for, he seemed reluctant to read it, his hand resting on the page.

  “Go on,” Will told him. “ ’Twill be easier on Davina if you do this.”

  Sandy wet his lips, then looked down as he read her words. “What is to become of me now that I am ruined?”

  “Ruined?” Her father yanked the sketchbook closer and read the truth for himself. “Davina, surely you have not …” He swallowed audibly, staring at the page. “Please tell me this is not … that it means … something else.”

  Somerled could wait no longer. “Mr. McKie …”

  His hand shot out. “You will say nothing.”

  Hands trembling, Davina reached for her sketchbook, then wrote these words beneath the others. My heart and my body belong to Somerled. We must marry at once.

  “God, help me.” Jamie’s features twisted in pain. “Davina … how could you do this?”

  “Do not blame our sister.” Will’s gaze fixed on Somerled. “No woman sins alone. He seduced her, Father. In truth, MacDuff said—”

  “The drunkard from Fife?” Sir Harry scoffed. “What does he know?”

  “He knows what her maid saw,” Will shot back. “Isn’t that so, Davina? However willing you might have been, MacDonald bruised you, did he not?”

  Somerled had heard enough. He gently took the sketchbook from Davina’s hands. “Trust me in this,” he murmured, looking into her ravaged face. He then turned back one page, to the rest of her questions. The ones her brothers apparently had not seen. The ones he alone could answer.

  “I care not what you think of me,” Somerled began. “Any names you call me are well deserved. But I’ll not have you thinking ill of your daughter, Mr. McKie. She is in no way to blame for her ruined state. I am.”

  “Hech!” Sir Harry said, a rude sound in a quiet room. “ ’Tis as her brother said: No one sins alone. Who is to say the lass did not entice you?”

  “Miss McKie knows differently. And I know differently.” Somerled pushed the sketchbook into her father’s hands. “After I took … That is, the following afternoon these are the questions she asked of me.”

  Jamie scanned the page, blinking hard, as if he could not believe what was written there. “ ‘Why did you not stop …’ ‘Did you intend to hurt …’ Davina, did this man … did he violate you?”

  Somerled knew she would turn to him, and she did. Searching his face. Wanting to be sure. “Miss McKie, I am grateful you accepted my offer of marriage. But your family must know the terrible truth of how it started. Please answer your father’s question.”

  Davina took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Nae!” Jamie shoved his chair behind him and stormed round the table, his sons close on his heels, all of them shouting.

  Somerled stood, unafraid. He was strong enough to take their blows.

  Then Davina leaped to her feet, arms spread, blocking their advance.

  “Lass, whatever are you …”

  She pressed her back against his chest and would not budge. A wee fairy of a shield, protecting him.

  “Davina!” her father roared. “Has this man bewitched you, that you defend him?”

  She firmly shook her head, then pressed her hand against her heart and held it out as a gift.

  Somerled was undone. My beloved, my bride.

  “You cannot forgive such a crime!” Her father’s expression was utter anguish.

  Sir Harry answered for her. “ ’Twould seem that she has, McKie.”

  “How is that possible?” Her father’s voice was strained to the point of breaking. “He … defiled you, Davina. Can you truly want him for a husband?”

  Her crown of red braids slowly bobbed up and down. Somerled did not need to see her eyes to know what he would find there. Aye. I do.

  Jamie McKie and his sons saw her answer as well and backed away, though their faces remained stony, their hands clenched.

  “You’ve raised quite a daughter, McKie.” Sir Harry eased into his chair. “Far better than my son deserves.”

  Somerled would not dispute that for a moment. “My offer still stands, sir. Whatever bride price you ask, I will gladly pay. This is the woman I love and will have as my wife.”

  “We’ll see about that, MacDonald.” Her father glowered at him, then retreated with his sons to the far corner, where they huddled in a tight circle, dark heads bowed.

  As the trio murmured among themselves, Somerled whispered in her ear, “I believe your family is coming round.” Though he could not hear their words, the intent expressions on their faces gave him cause for hope. Better a conversation than a brawl.

  When the McKie men finally resumed their seats, their private discussion over, Somerled and Davina sat down as well, inching closer together before she retrieved her sketchbook. To think she had stood up to her father on his behalf. Had he ever known a braver woman?

  After much clearing of throats and scraping of chairs, Will was the first to speak, though he waited for a nod from Jamie first. “Whatever our sister’s wishes may be, MacDonald, we cannot simply give her to a man who stole her virtue and disgraced our family name.”

  “Will—”

  “Please, Fat
her. We agreed on this.” Will looked round the table, his expression resolute. “ ’Tis not ready silver our family needs but an assurance that our sister will be provided for, since she may even now bear the MacDonald heir.”

  A hush fell across the room. Was that still a possibility? Somerled stole a glance at her. Aye, judging by the faint blush on her cheek.

  Will continued, “Why not bestow on Davina the right to inherit your income and property now, at your betrothal? ’Twill not cost you any silver yet guarantees the welfare of your son from this day forth.”

  Somerled eyed the men at the table, his father in particular. The plan was a sound one. What if, when he and Sir Harry sailed home to Argyll, their boat sank in a storm? Would he not want to provide for Davina? And for their son, if his seed had already taken root?

  “What do you make of it, Father?” Somerled turned to the head of the table. “Is it not a reasonable request? After all, it will cost us nothing. Unless we die.” He shrugged. “And then we’ll not mind so much, eh?”

  Sandy took up the cause. “We are only asking that she be protected by your name and fortune sooner rather than later.” He folded his arms across his chest. “If you refuse, we’ll take our sister home at once.”

  “I will take her home,” Jamie admonished him. “My sons have well stated our terms. What is your decision, MacDonald?”

  Sir Harry nodded his silvery head. “ ’Tis fair. The duke’s steward, Lewis Hunter, can easily draw up such a letter of intent, allowing a certain annuity for my wife.” He looked at Davina with begrudging respect. “Miss McKie, it appears you’ve stolen my son’s heart and my holdings without a single word. My hat is off to you and to your family.”

  “And so is mine.” Somerled pushed back his chair, mystified by how the negotiations had proceeded. Could the McKies be satisfied with so paltry a bride price—nothing more than paper? Lest they change their minds and demand further satisfaction, he’d not tarry in fulfilling their request. “Father, we must see the agreement penned this very morning.”