She on the wings of sacred duty flies
With shepherd’s care to bless the untended flocks;
And like an angel missioned from the skies,
They greet her coming from the old gray rocks;
Like the healing birds of Cliodna in the tower high
‘Tis the Lady who loves the Highlands…
Poor island-dwellers by the lonely sea,
Whom all forget but God in heaven and she,
Of English blood, but true to the Celtic she
‘Tis the Lady who loves the Highlands.
It was an ancient Scottish poem that Grace remembered having read in one of the old books she had found stored away in the castle garret, only the words had been slightly changed and were sung to the soft lilting strains of the Highland pipe and harp.
Grace moved from where she stood, drawing closer so that she might see who was singing so beautifully. The torch lights flickered on the stone walls, casting the great hall in an embracing glow. She came quietly to stand beside Alastair. At first, she could not see above the heads of the others, but then someone moved a bit, affording her a view to where there was a woman standing in the midst of the circle of Highlanders. When she saw who was performing, Grace could scarcely believe her eyes.
It was Flora, who rarely spoke above two words at a time, who had as much strength in her arms as most men, who had always seemed so rough and solid and robust, but who was singing with the voice of an earthly angel. Gone was the plain linen kerchief that always covered her head. Her hair was now loose and hanging down her back in thick rippling waves of chestnut. Her eyes sparked in the light from the torch fire, and her hands moved before her as she sang with the gossamer lightness of a swan. With just her voice, she had transformed herself, captivating the masses with her song—a siren who had utterly mesmerized Alastair Ogilvy.
The look on the steward’s face was akin to disbelief. He was spellbound by the sweet sounds Flora was creating. When Flora finished the song on one high silvery note, everyone standing in that hall broke into applause. Flora smiled shyly, her cheeks coloring in the light of the fire, unaccustomed as she was to having so much attention focused upon her. Grace watched as Alastair stepped forward through the crowd, bowing his head while asking Flora for the honor of the next dance. The look in her eye as she nodded to him spoke clearly of the beginnings of something tender between them. Grace thought of the story Alastair had once told her of his long-ago love and how he had lost his heart to her after first hearing her sing. She wondered that he might be given a second chance to find that love again.
All around her the enchantment of the evening had woven its way into the lives of the people. Seonag and Eachann, who sat together with Deirdre and the babe Iain, a family so recently threatened, now safely reunited. Liza and Andrew, who basked in the light of their discovery of one another, and now Alastair and Flora, having passed each day over the past months so close to one another, suddenly seeing one another with new and different eyes. Deirdre’s words the night of Iain’s birth echoed softly to Grace’s thought.
You must tell it to him… doona wait too long… there is ne’er a certainty of tomorrow.
Standing as she was, alone on the outskirts of this scene, Grace suddenly wanted more than anything to feel a part of the magic that had taken over the night. She wanted to dance in the arms of the man she loved and thrill to the touch of his hand and the warmth in his eyes. This wonderful, mysterious light shared only between two—his was all that mattered. It was as clear and as real as the Highland moon beaming down from overhead and Grace knew then that the time had come for her to share the truth of the child that lay nestled within her womb with Christian.
Grace started across the hall, heading for the walkway that led to the office, hoping she might find Christian yet there. As she entered the corridor and made the turn for the office door, she nearly collided with someone who was coming down the passageway in the opposite direction.
Grace stopped, looking up at the figure who stood in her path.
And what she saw there literally took her breath away.
Chapter Thirty-two
“Leaving the celebration so soon, my lady?”
Christian stood silhouetted by the shadows of the darkened corridor, just outside the great hall, away from the noise and light of the gathering. “I was just coming to look for you. I—” Grace’s words caught in her throat and stuck there as Christian stepped forward in the muted torchlight. No longer did he wear the carefully knotted neckcloth and high-pointed collar of the stylish English gentleman. Instead he had donned a plain linen sark with the full sleeves rolled loosely over his forearms and lace ties opened at the neck. In place of his tailored breeches and perfectly polished Hessians he wore a kilt fashioned in the familiar chequered shades of the Skynegal tartan. And he was smiling, a carefree, contagious, and utterly charming grin that curled his mouth and wrapped its warmth around her like a cloak of summer sunshine.
Grace blinked, twice, but the image didn’t fade. She suddenly understood why Liza had been so transfixed by the sight of Andrew MacAlister. She couldn’t take her eyes from Christian.
“Christian, you are wearing a kilt,” she said. It was laughably obvious, but she was so distracted by the sight of him that she scarcely realized her words. “I grew weary of being the only one in breeches.” Grace simply stared at him more. “Actually, I thought perhaps it was time to shed the image of the noble English lord and acknowledge my position as laird of Skynegal.”
From the moment Christian had arrived at Skynegal, Grace had held the secret hope that he might realize the virtues of the estate which, while not a financial bounty, had the merits of tradition and kinship and physical beauty that could not be exceeded. She had hoped that he wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the people and their plight, that he would realize their importance and embrace his place as their patriarch. Tonight he had surpassed that hope, giving her the most precious gift she had ever been given. Before that moment, Grace would never have thought she could love Christian more than she already did.
She was wrong.
“Thank you, Christian.”
“I’ll take that to mean that you approve.” He presented his arm to her, that strange and wonderful smile still curving his mouth. “Shall we proceed to the hall, my lady?”
Grace gave a wordless nod. It was all she could manage.
As they came into the great hall, most everyone was still taken up with the dancing. They walked across the room and Grace caught sight of Catriona standing with Robert near the hearth. The duke was garbed like Christian in sark and kilt, but in the same tartan that made up Catriona’s gown. They exchanged greetings with their friends while one of the women brought them cups of Deirdre’s tasty gooseberry punch. Grace found herself wondering how the evening could be any more complete.
She wasn’t left wondering long.
A moment later, Deirdre appeared in the entrance to the hall, accompanied by two newcomers.
Christian noticed them first.
“Nell!”
He crossed the distance to his sister in three strides and took her tightly against him. “Still tagging along after Big Brother, eh?”
Eleanor grinned. “I just couldn’t resist the sight of you in a kilt.”
After greeting her brother, Eleanor turned to embrace Grace. “I am so very relieved to know Christian has found you.”
Grace had always regretted having left London without first bidding farewell to Christian’s sister, for she had been so kind to her after their marriage. Lady Frances stood beside Eleanor and greeted Grace with a gentle smile.
“Indeed, dear, you had us all so very worried.” “I am sorry for leaving as I did. I…” She faltered. “…It was just…”
Lady Frances took her hand and squeezed it. “Let us not speak of that now, dear. You are here and we are together again as a family. That is all that matters.”
Family. Togetherness. How wonderful the sound of
those two words were, particularly now that she carried Christian’s child.
“But how did you find your way to Skynegal?” Christian asked. “I had posted a letter sending for you, but that was only a few days ago. You couldn’t have received it so soon.”
“Actually, dear, we were brought here by—” But Christian had already found his answer, having noticed the arrival of a third newcomer—his grandfather, the duke.
“What is he doing here?”
Lady Frances answered, “Christian, it was he who asked us to accompany him and he was very kind throughout our journey. He seems sincere. Perhaps he has had a change of heart.”
Christian’s smile darkened to a bitter frown. “How could he, Mother? He doesn’t have one.”
Grace broke away from them and crossed the hall to where the duke stood, hanging back from the gathering in the doorway of the great hall. “Good evening, Your Grace.” She curtsied before him. “What a nice surprise to see you.”
The old man raised a cynical brow. “I rather doubt your husband shares your feelings.”
Grace refused to be baited by his bitterness. Instead she slipped her hand into his. “Come, Your Grace, join the gathering.”
The duke looked startled at the gesture, but didn’t refuse as he followed her into the hall.
The others in the great hall soon took notice of their arrival and at the sight of their lord and lady together, in the Skynegal colors. The people stopped their dancing and gave a cheer. As Grace watched on, Christian walked about the room and greeted everyone he met by name. She noticed that he purposely avoided his grandfather.
“Let us give a cheer for the laird and lady of Skynegal,” someone called, and everyone hollered out “Aye!”
The piper then struck up a lively reel and the assembly scrambled, forming two large circles in the center of the room, ladies on the outside, men on the inside. As the dancers began to weave in and out, they pulled Christian and Grace along, laughing good-naturedly as Christian struggled to keep in step. Soon most everyone in the hall was skipping and turning, hands clapping, feet stomping, laughing out loud as the music played on and on. Even the old duke seemed to enjoy the merrymaking as he stood chatting with Deirdre near the fire.
Alastair hopped into the center of the circle of dancers and surprised them all as he hopped and stepped to the lively tune with an ease that belied his girth. He rejoined the circle and another took his place as a fiddler then joined the piper. The music was so spirited, the tempo so alive, even the fire burning in the hearth crackled as if joining in the revelry.
Grace had turned about and was making to weave her way back through the line of dancers when she felt a sudden pulling across her abdomen that caused her to falter. Her immediate thought was of the babe and she broke away from the chain of dancers, crossing the room to sit on a corner bench. The tightness in her belly soon subsided, but Grace decided it best that she sit out on the vigorous dancing. A moment later, Christian was kneeling beside her, his face filled with concern.
“Grace, is something wrong?”
She smiled and took his hand. “No, just a little too much dancing, I suspect.” She looked at him. “Christian, there is something I must tell you. We are—”
“My lady!” Liza rushed over from the dancing to join her, Andrew coming with her. The maid pressed a hand against Grace’s temple. “I noticed you falter. Are you unwell? Is it the babe?”
Christian looked at her. “Babe?”
“A babe?” Eleanor echoed, having somehow appeared beside her.
Suddenly there was an outburst of excited chatter as news of Grace’s suspected pregnancy spread quickly around the room.
Grace looked to Christian. His expression had gone blank and he was staring at her queerly.
“Grace, do you mean to say you are with child?” She could not truly sense if he was pleased by the news. He looked so stunned. She only knew that this was not at all how she had intended for him to learn of the coming of their child. “Grace?”
Tentatively, Grace nodded. “Yes, Christian. You are to be a father.”
The entire assembly seemed to erupt all at once with cheers and hollers of congratulations. Everyone filled their cups, passing toasts all around for the laird and lady’s coming child.
Grace watched Christian closely as he accepted well wishes from those around him. He shook their hands and nodded his thanks, but there was something clearly missing. Everybody else was so taken with their enthusiasm, only she seemed to notice that the expectant father wasn’t smiling.
When the merriment had fully resumed, taking everyone’s attention back to the dancing, Christian turned without a word and started walking from the room. He disappeared into the corridor that led to the outside courtyard.
Grace glanced at Liza beside her. The maid looked close to tears.
“I am so sorry, my lady. When I saw you waver in the lines of dancers, I was so worried about you and the babe, I didn’t even think that you hadn’t yet told his lordship.”
“It is all right, Liza.” Grace squeezed the maid’s hand and looked at Andrew, who took his cue, coming forward.
Grace stood. “I must go and talk to Christian.”
As she started off in his direction, she tried to tell herself that he was not displeased about the babe, but that he was disappointed she had waited so long to tell him. All she would need to do, she thought, was explain her reasons.
Grace found Christian standing in the moonlight in the courtyard, one foot propped up against a rock, his hand resting on his knee. His back was to her as he stared in silent contemplation at the shadowed mountains to the east. If he heard her approach, he didn’t acknowledge it. Grace hesitated, searching for her words.
“Christian, I was hoping we might talk.”
As she came to his side, she could see in the moonlight that his jaw was clenched tightly, the muscles working as he fought so obviously against his emotions.
Finally he said, his voice frighteningly hollow, “How long have you known?”
“I first suspected the day you arrived at Skynegal.”
“It has been many days, yet you said nothing to me.”
He was angry that she had kept the news of the child from him. If only she could make him understand the fear and uncertainty she had felt. “Christian, I am sorry I did not tell you before. I—”
Christian turned to face her, his eyes so bleak, it frightened her. “It doesn’t matter, Grace. It is too late.”
“Too late? Christian, I don’t understand…”
“Do you not see? He has won.”
Christian laughed then, a terrible, bitter sound that carried on the shifting wind. “No matter how I tried, he has still found a way to outwit me.”
Grace was only growing more confused. “Who, Christian? Who has won?”
“I would guess he speaks of me, Grace.”
Christian turned his back on her to face the old duke who had come out onto the courtyard behind them. All the pain he had endured, the shame, the guilt that had kept him prisoner so long, surged through him in a burst of rage, forcing him to let go of the anger he had kept locked inside himself over the past twenty years.
He rounded on the duke. “You always knew you would conquer me, didn’t you, you bastard? From the day I was born you hated me because I was more like him than you. You vowed to make my life a living hell and I handed you the very means for you to do it. And now you have succeeded. You have made my misery complete!”
Christian shut his eyes tightly against the unspeakable anguish that threatened to rip him in two. His hands were fisted and his jaw was so tight, his breath seethed from his nose. A moment, two. Then, from somewhere deep inside, a new and unfamiliar feeling of strength began to rise up inside of him. It swelled and it grew into a conscious defiance against all that had kept him chained to the past for so long. Like the lion who finally breaks free from his chains, Christian gathered that strength, embracing it to him. He could never again
allow that man to beat him. He would no longer live as he had before, shackled by a foolish pledge he had made as a child. Not for himself—and not for his future child. Christian lifted his gaze to the duke again. “You will not win, old man. I don’t care what our agreement was. Do what you must, but I promise you now, I will see you in hell before I will every allow you to ruin my son the way you have ruined me.”
Unable to stand the sight of his grandfather any longer, Christian turned, looking to draw Grace into his arms, to allow her into the heart he had kept shut away from her so long. Only she was no longer there.
Chapter Thirty-three
Grace lay in the darkness of her bedchamber, curled brokenly at the edge of the bed with only the moonlight to hold her. Her window was opened slightly and she could hear the sounds of the loch breaking on the shore beneath the castle while the dancing went on in the great hall below. Laughter and merriment continued to abound. Once someone had called out, asking for the laird and his lady. When neither of them appeared, someone else suggested that they had perhaps retired abovestairs for a bit of merrymaking of their own. This had elicited a new round of toasts to the continuity of such a happy union.
It had also elicited a new bout of tears from Grace that even now dampened her pillow.
She felt the brush of a sudden chill against her legs and turned, realizing someone had just entered her room.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
It was Christian, his voice taut with discontent.
“I wasn’t asleep.”
She watched as he came into the room, approaching her tentatively. “Grace, I need to explain.” His eyes were hooded in the moonlight. “There are things you know nothing about, things about me and my past—”
White Regency 03 - White Knight Page 26
