“Good night, Raild.”
His voice was hardly above a whisper, and Raild only raised his hand in response. Then they were hurrying away, the stallion seeming after his rest fresh and no longer tired, unless it were that instinctively he knew the comfort of the stable lay ahead.
Almost immediately they began climbing the hill, and even through her weariness Iona sensed that they were not going direct to the castle. She raised her head and the Duke understood the unspoken question.
“You must remember we are supposed to have come straight from Fort Augustus,” he explained. “By this path we join the road at the top of the hill.”
“I understand.”
Iona barely whispered the words and without slackening speed the Duke glanced down at her.
“Shut your eyes, my dear,” he said softly. “You have had much to endure – and there are still difficulties ahead of us.”
She obeyed him without argument, thankful that for the moment she need make no effort but could relax against him, happy despite everything because he was close, because his arm encircled her. At last they were trotting downhill and the lights of the castle drew nearer and nearer.
Suddenly Iona was afraid. If only she could lie like this forever. Already tomorrow menaced them, but for a few seconds more she need not think of anything save him whom she loved.
The Duke reined in his horse, grooms came running, the front door of the castle was opened and flunkeys hurried down the steps to help Iona alight. Her feet touched the ground but she felt as if her legs did not belong to her.
She stood there swaying a little uncertainly, a sudden dizziness making it impossible, for her to see the way. Then just when she thought she must faint, she felt herself caught up in strong arms and the Duke carried her up the steps and into the Great Hall.
A butler hurried forward to offer assistance, but His Grace brushed him to one side. Holding Iona close, he carried her up the main staircase and up the next flight to her own bedchamber. Cathy was at the door and as she opened it the Duke crossed the room to set Iona down on the bed, her head sinking weakly against the pillows. Before he let her go, his lips lingered for one moment against her hair, then he straightened himself.
“Put your mistress to bed,” he said to Cathy, “and see that she is not troubled until she has rested.”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
Cathy curtsied as the Duke went from the room without looking back.
Iona was barely conscious that Cathy undressed her, her faintness had passed, but she was weary almost beyond endurance, and when at last she could slip between the cool linen sheets faintly perfumed with lavender, she fell at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.
She was not aware that Cathy brought food and warm milk from downstairs only to find that it was impossible to waken her. She was indeed aware of nothing until her eyes opened to find the sunshine peeping from between the curtains and the hands of the clock nearing eight o’clock.
For a moment she lay half asleep, half awake, then she remembered everything. She sat up in bed and throwing back the clothes, crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. Even as she did so, her eyes instinctively avoided the loch. She could not look at the shining, silver water.
It was then she saw laying on her dressing table, sparkling and shining with a brilliance, which made them almost appear alive, the three remaining “Tears of Torrish”.
Iona looked at them and after a long moment she raised her fingers to her eyes. Her mission was accomplished and she had done all that she had been sent to do.
The seconds ticked past. Iona walked across the room to the bed. On the table beside it stood her Bible. She lifted it in her hands and found, as she had expected, that the notebook had gone. She had known that it must be so and it was with a sense of fatality that she sat down on the edge of the bed, her Bible still in her hands. The notebook was lost, and yet how much else she had accomplished.
It was then that there flashed into Iona’s mind a fact of which subconsciously she had been aware all the time. She knew quite clearly that she must go away. The Duke had said he loved her, and only her heart knew how much she loved him in return, but it was impossible for her to stay. She had not lived at the castle, had not come in contact with the Duke and those who served him without realising what a great and proud heritage it was to be the Duke of Akrae, Chieftain of the Clan MacCraggan, and although the Duke might lose his heart to an unknown young woman who had come to spy on him at the request of a Royal Prince, it was obvious that it would be impossible and indeed unthinkable for him to marry such a person and make her his Duchess.
Now that Iona faced the position frankly and without the distracting wonder of the Duke’s presence, she knew that the glory and rapture of their happiness together last night must remain only a sweet interlude in a night of adventure and horror.
Thinking of him, of his height and breadth of shoulder and his arrestingly handsome face, Iona knew that never could she confess to him that not only had she come from France with forged papers, but also that she was in fact of such inconsequence that she did not even have a name.
It was obvious, of course, that the Duke had not believed her story of being the Lady Elspeth MacCraggan.
It was not as a half-brother that he had kissed her last night and told her that he loved her, but even if he had disbelieved her story, it was impossible for her to admit that she had known it untrue from the very moment when it emanated from the ingenious brain of Colonel Brett.
Yet were she brave enough to confess that she was both a liar and a pretender, there was something else – something far more important.
Family pride was a very real thing, and Iona had known what it meant to the Scottish from the very first years of her life. How often had she heard her guardian boast of the Drummonds, how often she had listened to other exiles speaking of their clans, their forebears and the part their ancestors had played in the History of Scotland. But sometimes there would be some scathing reference to a child who had been born out of wedlock, or to a base-born or illegitimate offspring of some great man who had caused trouble to other members of his family and brought an honoured name into disgrace.
Iona knew that never could she tolerate being spoken of like that by the generations to come. She loved the Duke, and would love him with her whole heart and soul all her life.
She could never forget him. Her love for him was not only inescapable, it was eternal. It would remain with her to her death and beyond, but she would never hurt his pride or do anything to injure or defame his family.
Iona set her Bible down by her bedside, and as she did so, the door opened and Cathy came in, an early morning cup of chocolate in her hand.
“Sae ye are awake, mistress,” she exclaimed, “an’ I’m hopin’ it is a guid nicht ye have passed, for it was tired tae death ye were wheen I disrobed ye.”
“Yes, I was tired,” Iona replied, “but now I am myself again.”
Her voice was strange and Cathy glanced at her with a sudden solicitude in her eyes, but Iona did not look at her.
“Theer’s strange happenins this morn, mistress. Are ye weel enough tae hear tell o’ them?”
“Tell me everything,” Iona replied quickly.
“‘Twas at dawn this morn,” Cathy began, “that twa o’ the woodmen saw sommat unto strange on the lock. They oot wi’ theer boat an’ found it was the bodies o’ his Lordship an’ ma Lady Wrexham.”
Cathy paused impressively.
“Go on,” Iona said.
“They brocht word tae His Grace who sent ’ethers tae bring back the bodies. They are lyin’ the noo in the Great Hall an’ His Grace is askin’ fae the minister.”
Iona took a deep breath and rose to her feet.
“Listen, Cathy,” she said. “I want your help. There is no time now for explanations, but I must leave the castle at once.”
“Ye wad gang awa, mistress?” Cathy’s words were a cry.
“At once!�
� Iona answered firmly. “But I cannot do it unless you help me. His Grace must not know, do you understand? On no account must he know that I am leaving. Somehow I must get away, and only you can help me.”
“Theer’s anither strange happenin’ I must tell ye, mistress – Her Grace went this morn at dawn.”
“Before the bodies were recovered?” Iona asked.
Cathy nodded.
“Aye, an’ maybe ’tis fae the best for Her Grace wad hae been grievin’ fae his Lordship, I make nae doot o’ it.” Iona pressed her fingers together.
“I must get to Inverness at once, Cathy, but first there is something of the utmost import – a little black notebook. Mr. Hector gave it into my keeping but it was stolen from me by either Lady Wrexham or Lord Niall.”
“To incriminate ye wi’ the English, mistress?”
“Yes, Cathy, but it is also of value to the Prince. Could you find it, do you think?”
“I ca’ but try, mistress,” Cathy replied. “Her Ladyship’s maid is in the housekeeper’s room awailin’ to wak’ the deid, His Lordship’s valet is doonstairs the noo.”
“Then this is your opportunity. Oh, Cathy, please contrive to discover it – a small black book which has been used as a diary.”
“I’ll dae ma best, mistress!”
Cathy slipped from the room. Iona listened to the minutes ticking past. Soon the room would be empty and she would be gone. She felt her heart contract at the thought, followed by a pain like a physical wound beneath her breasts.
Then she no longer heard the clock, she was living again those moments when the Duke had told her of his love. Her lips were parted, her eyes soft with happiness.
Cathy came hurrying into the room and Iona was startled from her reverie. Then tense and alert her anxious face asked a question wordlessly.
“Is this it, mistress?” Cathy asked and held up the little black notebook.
“It is indeed! Oh, Cathy, how clever you are. Where did you find it?”
“In the drawer o’ her Ladyship’s dressing table wi’ some ither papers an’ a great gold seal, mistress,” Cathy smiled.
Iona took the notebook in her hands. She looked at it for a moment without speaking then raised her head and her voice was resolute as she said,
“Now I must get away at once. But, Cathy, how can we manage it?”
“Drink ye the cup o’ chocolate,” Cathy replied, “for ‘tis cauld it’s gettin’, and whilst ye sup I’ll run doonstairs tae see if I can hear aught o’ anybody leavin’ the castle.”
“Yes, please do that,” Iona said, “but remember, say nothing.”
“Ye ken weel I’ll dae as ye say,” Cathy replied. “But oh, mistress, it breaks ma heart fae ye tae gang awa’.”
There were tears in the girl’s eyes as she closed the door. Iona took a few sips of the chocolate and began to dress. She was in her travelling gown and putting her things together ready for packing when Cathy reappeared.
“What news?” Iona asked quickly as the girl came into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Bad news, mistress,” Cathy replied. “Therr is but ane person leavin’ this morn, an’ he is ridin’ tae Inverness wi’ a message tae some relatives o’ His Grace regardin’ the death o’ his Lordship.”
“Riding?” Iona said. “Could I not ride pillion?”
“Oh, mistress, ye couldna dae that!” Cathy cried.
“Why not?” Iona said. “If it is the only way of leaving the castle, I must take it. Go quickly, Cathy, find out if the man will take me, and above all things swear him to secrecy.”
“But, mistress – ” Cathy began, only to be silenced by Iona who said almost sharply,
“Do as I ask, Cathy, I beg of you. This is no whim but something of the utmost import.”
Without further ado Cathy did as she was told, and half an hour later Iona was on her way. Fortunately Jamie, the stout, good-humoured youth who had been persuaded by Cathy to take a passenger on his journey, had managed to obtain a double saddle and Iona, perched behind him on a spirited roan mare, was not too uncomfortable.
The only luggage she had been able to bring with her was a bundle done up in a small shawl, and this she balanced precariously between herself and Jamie.
It had not been easy to avoid the curiosity of the grooms, but Cathy as usual had contrived to get Iona out of the castle without being seen and Jamie had picked her up outside the stables.
As they galloped across the bridge, Iona pulled the hood of her travelling cloak well down over her head so that no one seeing Jamie would have thought that he had anyone more interesting on his pillion than a country woman accompanying him to market.
It was only when they reached the summit of the hill that Iona felt safe enough to look back.
There was no one in hot pursuit – only the beauty of the castle in the early morning sun to bring the quick tears to her eyes. She saw it dancing iridescently beneath her, and she turned away, knowing that the pain stabbing her through and through was something which would grow worse with every successive mile.
It was a long and wearisome ride to Inverness. Jamie changed horses at a half-way inn and Iona was able to rest her aching limbs and force herself to eat and drink something although what it was she had no idea. Her sense of unhappiness was aching within her now until she felt as if the misery of it was almost unbearable and at any moment in sheer weakness she would ask Jamie to turn round and take her back to Skaig. But when she thought of the Duke, she knew that she could never bear to see those proud eyes look contemptuously at her, could not live and know that he either despised or pitied her.
For some moments before she left she had hesitated whether she should write to him, then she had known that she had nothing to say. There was no explanation to make and had she taken up her pen she would only have written ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ down the page until there was no more space left.
And finally she had decided that she would go as she had come, unexpectedly and without warning, and perhaps in that way he would remember her with a fondness, which would not be dimmed or spoilt by explanations.
As the horse jogged along, Jamie sometimes singing or whistling a tune, Iona thought only of last night and of that ecstatic, wonderful moment when the Duke’s lips had held hers.
Once again she could hear the warm secrecy of his voice as he spoke of his love, once again she felt the fierce strength of his arms as he cried out,
“You are mine!”
Yes, she was his – forever!
The tears gathered in Iona’s eyes, but she would not let them fall. Unknown though her parents might be, she was certain of one thing only that Scottish blood ran in her veins. She would therefore be proud, as every Scot is proud, and contemptuous of any show of weakness. What she had to bear she would bear with fortitude and without self-pity.
At last, when every bone in Iona’s body, seemed to be aching from the discomfort of her position on the saddle, they reached the outskirts of Inverness and at the sight of the town she recalled vividly her first impression of the grey houses and grey roofs against a grey sky the morning after she had landed from France. Now the sky was blue, and the sunshine made the roofs seem silver rather than dull grey, and the waters of the Ness had become silver too, whilst the hills on the far side of the river were beautiful and gay with colour.
In the market place Jamie stopped to set her down. When Iona thanked him, he refused the small sum in silver that she offered him for his trouble.
“I’ll dae aul I can fae a friend o’ Cathy’s, mistress,” he said. “Ye keepit yer silver, fae ye may hae need o’ it wi’ a long journey ahead o’ ye.”
She tried to thank him, but he looked embarrassed and rode away as quickly as he could. Iona watched him until he was out of sight and then, picking up her bundle and putting it under her arm, she set off in search of Dr. Farquharson.
It was a little time before she found his house for it lay off the main street. Several tim
es she had to ask her way finding it difficult to understand the very broad Scottish in which she was answered.
When finally she reached the house, it was to find a poor, rather dirty place, and a slatternly maidservant who regarded her with suspicion opened the door.
The Doctor was out, Iona was informed, and it was with a grudging air that she was told she might wait in a cold room without a fire.
Feeling justifiably despondent, Iona sat down on a hard chair, wondering what she would do if the Doctor refused to help her, but when finally he arrived and she saw his good-humoured, cheery smile above a long, red beard, Iona’s spirits rose.
He took her into his warm study, set her down by the fire and sent for tea and cold meats. Then he listened attentively as she told him as much of her story as she thought it necessary for him to know.
She made no mention of the Duke’s sympathies, feeling it was not fair to involve him in any way. She told the Doctor about Hector, and the information that had been in the little black notebook, which unfortunately got lost, and how the Prince had sent her on another mission that was now accomplished.
“So you want to return to France?” Dr. Farquharson stated rather than asked, rising from his armchair and standing with his back to the fireplace.
“As soon as possible if you can manage it, sir,” Iona replied.
“If only you had come yesterday or the day before, it would have been easy,” Dr. Farquharson said. “A French ship was in harbour until midnight, but she sailed with the tide and Heaven alone knows when there will be another.”
“Then what can I do?” Iona asked in dismay, remembering what little money she had left and feeling it would be impossible to spend several weeks waiting in Inverness with the Duke not so very far away.
“I’ve thought of something,” the Doctor said suddenly. “Wait you here, lassie, and I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
He went from the room and Iona heard the front door slam behind him. So she waited, at first sitting primly on the edge of her chair, tense and anxious, then, after a while, sitting back comfortably, feeling a drowsiness from the heat of the fire creeping over her and with it the memory of last night warming her heart with a little echo of the joy and rapture that had been hers.
An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition Page 52
