Through the Mist: Restoration

by C. Renee Freeman

  “I was starving,” she said, laughing. “It was wonderful.”

  “Oh, that is high praise, milady,” he joked. “It was wonderful because you were starving.”

  “That is not what I meant,” Tilly said. She playfully poked him in the ribs. “The stew was lovely. I am very glad that you did not let me starve.”

  Turning serious, she asked, “How was your marriage, Benjamin?”

  He looked down, suddenly shy. “She was a MacDougall,” he said. “My father felt the union would be beneficial for both families.”

  “You were crying for her in the forest. You must have cared for her, despite it being an arranged marriage.”

  “I did not say the marriage was arranged. I fell in love with her the first moment I saw her,” he said. “Her feelings were not the same. It took some time for her to warm toward me. Eventually, she relented and became my wife.”

  Tilly did not think any woman could deny his affections for very long. With a blush, sweet memories of their only union flooded her mind. She pushed those thoughts aside. That event would never be repeated so it was best not to dwell on it.

  “Mary was a kind, gentle woman,” he said. “She was an excellent mother. She was my lover and my friend. Her passing is a terrible loss.”

  They sat in solemn silence for several minutes, haunted by memories. Then, Tilly broke the spell by making an offhand comment. “I am surprised your father has not selected another marriage prospect for you,” she said. “He seems to be involved in everything.”

  She immediately wished she had kept her mouth shut. She vividly recalled the letter his father wrote to him and realized just how incredibly careless and stupid her comment was. “Benjamin, I sorry.” She felt him tense beside her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “My father is always thinking about the betterment of the family,” he said curtly. He rose. “If you will excuse me, I have some matters that require my attention.”

  She watched him return to the castle. The letter hinted at a deep divide between Benjamin and Malcolm. She did not think it formed simply because the father wanted the son to marry well. Didn’t Mr. Douglas say something during the tour, something about the son disagreeing with his father’s management of the estate? Could that have caused the tension between father and son?

  Tilly pondered the problem before deciding that an excellent source of information was available. She abandoned her ladylike pursuit of poetry and entered the house in search of Sarah.

  Nineteen

  Tilly found Sarah in the dressing room, mending yet another black dress. She pulled a chair beside the maid and exchanged idle chit-chat for a few moments. She wanted to soften Sarah’s reserve. From the look on her face, she could tell the maid had no desire to engage in small talk. She decided to be blunt.

  “I know you are very busy, so thank you for giving me a moment of your time,” she said, hoping flattery would win favor. Tilly guessed the maid had a great many tasks to accomplish, and lounging by the fireplace with her would not see them completed any sooner.

  “Mr. Campbell speaks often of his father, yet I know so little about him,” she said. She tried to be coy. “You seem to know all about the family. Could you tell me more about the man?”

  “There is really nothing to tell,” Sarah said. She squirmed in her seat. “His Grace – Mr. Campbell’s father, that is – stays at the family estate in England. He has not visited in years.”

  So, the Tinberry Hall estate he mentioned in the letter must be in England, Tilly thought. She filed away that piece of information for later consideration. She continued her query, “Surely, His Grace was here when Mr. Campbell and his older brother were children.”

  “Yes, of course. I heard he was a doting father.”

  “Really? Even to the younger Mr. Campbell?”

  “Well, you must understand that Allan Campbell was the first boy. His Grace devoted time and energy to his instruction. He wanted the child to learn how to manage the estate, since it would be inherited by the eldest son one day.” She paused as she struggled to recall information. “I have heard that milord spent a lot of time with the MacIvers, though his father did inquire after his health and welfare. It is not uncommon for those born after the first son to be treated thusly. Milord always knew he must find his own path.”

  Tilly considered the maid’s comments for a moment. Deciding that all this formality with names made conversation nearly impossible, she boldly said, “When Allan was murdered, everything must have changed for the His Grace and Benjamin. What happened then?”

  Sarah was quiet. Tilly leaned forward and squeezed the maid’s hand. “Please. I fear I offend Benjamin whenever I mention his father.” She smiled encouragingly. “I would like to know why.”

  “Milady, Mrs. Keith would have me whipped if she knew I told you these stories. “ She lowered her voice and said, “If I speak of this matter, you must swear on your life that you will never reveal the source of the information.”

  “I swear it,” Tilly said, nodding eagerly.

  Sarah took a deep breath and began the tale. Malcolm Campbell was a hard man, born in very difficult times. He arrived in the world three years before the Rising, the eldest son of Allan Campbell.

  Malcolm’s father Allan placed preservation of Castle Fion and its lands above all things. When rumblings of a Jacobite rebellion began, Allan Campbell carefully weighed the matter. He even went to the Continent and met Bonnie Prince Charlie. After that fateful meeting, he decided the Scottish could not possibly come out on the winning side. He joined forces with the English and did dastardly deeds against his own people, so that he might preserve the estate. When the rebellion came to naught, he was greatly rewarded by King George II for his loyalty. Other families lost their holdings, but not the Campbells. They survived.

  With such a role model, it was not surprising that Malcolm became into a ruthless man. Upon his father Allan’s death, he inherited the estate and promptly married Eleanor MacLean. Her dowry included a large sum of money, and she stood to inherit a large property in England upon her father’s passing. It was a strategic move, plain and simple. No love could ever exist in a marriage to Malcolm Campbell.

  The couple had, in rapid succession, two stillborn children. Malcolm became sullen, worried his union would not produce an heir. It was rumored that he contemplated a divorce from his wife, so that he might seek another woman with whom he could produce a son. Then, to his delight and his wife’s relief, a healthy son was born. He insisted the lad be named after his father Allan.

  Benjamin arrived six years later, but Allan was Malcolm’s sole focus and purpose for living. He took the boy with him everywhere, instructing him about how to run the family estates in Scotland and England. Allan accompanied him to London so he could learn politics and business dealings beyond those of the Scottish countryside. He enlisted the very best tutors for his son’s education. In Allan, he saw the future of the Campbell family.

  Benjamin was left on his own. Fortunately, Iain MacIver’s father, Robert, took an interest in the boy. Robert was the factor, as his son Iain would one day become. He took both Iain and Benjamin with him when he travelled throughout the Campbell lands. He showed them the real work that occurred in the management of the estate, the daily toil on the farms, and the hard life of the tenants. Where Allan’s education was centered on abstract matters, Benjamin learned firsthand the value and struggle of the cottars who were the life’s blood of the property.

  The years quickly passed. Allan grew into a handsome man who was his father’s pride and joy. Benjamin chased after the MacIvers and was generally oblivious to the opposite sex – and his father.

  With the prospect of a great inheritance, Allan was a valuable prize for any unmarried woman. He had his choice of feminine companionship and seemed to be in no rush to wed. All of that changed when he met the beautiful Cairen MacDonald. She was bewitching. Many men sought her hand, yet she favored none. Allan never faced rejection, for
no one refused the future master of Castle Fion. Her indifference sparked his interest and challenged him to win her heart.

  He recklessly pursued her, even though their families had a long-standing and oft-times bloody feud. He sent messages to her and arranged clandestine meetings. He was deeply in love and believed her when she said the ancient feud meant nothing to her. That was his folly.

  One night, Cairen lured him to the outer boundaries of the Campbell lands. It was a remote area, far from any witnesses. Allan thought they were stealing away to be married. Instead, he found her waiting with her brother James. They slaughtered him. They tossed his body into a ravine and fled to the MacDonald family home.

  It devastated the Campbell family. His mother Eleanor collapsed in grief when she heard of her son’s murder. She lay in bed for a week before she died.

  Malcolm was inconsolable. In one fell swoop, he lost his precious son and his wife. He wanted immediate revenge, not the slow kind obtained through the legal system. He wanted swift justice served from a blade in his own hands.

  In the middle of the night, he grabbed Benjamin. They rode two days to the MacDonald castle. They spent two more nights in the forest, watching the movements of its inhabitants. On the fifth night, they crept into the castle. Malcolm ran a knife through James’ heart while he slept in his bed. Then, Malcolm pulled Benjamin into Cairen’s chamber. Killing her was a task that the father ordered his son to complete.

  When they returned, life changed for Benjamin. The naïve boy of sixteen was now a man. He was no longer allowed to accompany the MacIvers. He spent his days at his father’s side, learning what it was to be master of the estate. With Allan gone, the mantle of responsibility would rest upon his shoulders one day. His father meant to teach him well.

  Unfortunately, he did not find an eager pupil in his other son. Benjamin balked at his father’s heavy-handed ways and efforts to sculpt him into a copy of himself. He complained incessantly when his father took him to London and abroad. He had no taste for the pandering necessary to win political favor with the English. Malcolm understood, at last, that his son had been left wild too long.

  However, in one area, his father prevailed: Benjamin’s marriage to Mary MacDougall. It was a fortunate alliance. The family’s property bordered Campbell lands. Of late, they had enjoyed a friendly relationship, which would be strengthened by the marriage. For his son, it offered the opportunity to marry someone who might not slit his throat at the first opportunity. His brother’s ill-fated romance hung like a cloud over the family.

  Fortunately for all, Mary MacDougall was a sweet, innocent girl with fiery red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She loved to laugh and went through the world with a light heart. The couple found love and happiness with each other.

  When she mentioned her former mistress, tears sprung into Sarah’s eyes. “It was such a tragedy when she died,” she said between soft sobs. “Our hearts were very heavy, especially milord’s. He was lost without his dear Mrs. Campbell.”

  Sarah rose from the chair. “He is a good man, despite the terrible deed his father commanded him to do. I have seen the great things he has done for the cottars and the kind way he treats us servants. He should not be judged harshly for the one sin he committed.”

  “If it pleases milady, I have other chores that require my attention,” she said, looking expectantly at Tilly. At her mistress’ nod, she quietly left the room.

  The 1800s were supposed to be more civilized than the restless past. Or at least, that’s what Tilly believed. She grimly understood “the past” was not that long ago in 1801. It would take a couple of centuries to distance oneself from the bloody times that once existed in Scotland. She desperately wanted to leave this place soon. It was not the Highland fantasy she envisioned.

  ∞

  When Tilly appeared at the table that night for dinner, Benjamin was surprised how happy he felt. Her comment about a prospective union may have been badly timed, but he enjoyed the rest of their conversation. To his shock, he admitted that he always liked talking with her. She challenged him in ways that he found refreshing. Her opinions were unusual and thought-provoking. He never felt bored by any conversation he had with her. As he helped her into her seat, he looked forward to the evening.

  He heard reports that she was going through every book in the library and wanted to ask why. Given her boredom with poetry, he doubted she looked for volumes of those works. Unfortunately, her responses to his queries were limited to “yes” and “no.” With the constant presence of the servants, he decided it would be impossible to engage in meaningful conservation. At length, he stopped trying, and they ate their meal in silence.

  To his dismay, she excused herself before the dessert was served and scurried away to her room. Her unusual reserve perplexed him.

  “Mr. Murphy, I too shall retire for the evening,” he informed the butler as he tossed his napkin onto the table. The man looked slightly vexed that his liege would not enjoy the dessert but said nothing.

  Instead of going to his chambers, Benjamin made his way to Tilly’s room. He knocked twice, hoping the maid was not attending her. Thankfully, Tilly answered the door and let him into her receiving room.

  He took his usual seat by the fireplace. “It was nice to see you this evening,” he said, stretching his legs toward the fire. “I feared my company had offended you.”

  “No, not at all,” she replied as she eased into the chair opposite him. She stared at the fire. “I thought my presence might be intrusive.”

  Benjamin frowned. “Why would you believe that?”

  “Well, you made it perfectly clear that you do not trust me,” she said. “I am sure you want me to leave as soon as may be.”

  “Madam, I promised you refuge for as long as you need it,” he replied, bristling at her comment. He wondered if that the reason for her reserve.

  “I wish I could go home but have not figured out how.”

  “Perhaps you could contact a distant relative?”

  “I told you I don’t live in 1801,” she snapped. “I am from the 21st century. If I could figure out how to contact that time, I certainly wouldn’t be in this damn place, would I?”

  “When will you tell me the truth?” he asked angrily. “Why must you continue with this fiction of being from another time? You are safe here. You have no need for lies, Tilly.”

  She stood abruptly and pointed toward the door. “Get out!” she roared. “I may have to stay here, but I will not be called a liar, you murderous bastard!”

  He noticed she was trembling. Was it from rage or fear? “Murderous bastard?” he pronounced evenly. “What an interesting thing to say. Pray tell me, madam, why would you call me that?”

  Tilly looked down at the floor and said nothing. She reminded him of his children when he caught them being mischievous.

  Benjamin calmly rose from his chair and leaned against the mantle. “I must warn you that the servants love a good story, true or untrue,” he said, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Be careful what you believe.”

  “Then, tell me the truth.”

  He bade her to return to her chair. He pulled his own chair closer to her and took a seat. From the startled look on her face, he knew he surprised her by lifting her hands to his lips and kissing them. “There is only one tale that would warrant such a description of my person – the story of my brother Allan’s death.”

  “Did your father and you really kill those people?” she blurted.

  He stared at her hands. He could not look her in the eyes for some time. Finally, he did. “Aye, it is true,” he confessed.

  She gasped and pulled her hands from his. “Why?”

  White hot fury coursed through his veins. “Why?!!! Why not?! Do you know what they did?!” He jumped to his feet and planted his arms on either side of her chair. “They stalked my brother like a red stag,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “They lured him into their trap. They slaughtered him, and then they left his body
for the wolves to devour.”

  He pushed away from her chair. “Do you know why they did it?” he asked, breathing heavily. He struggled to contain his anger. “Did you hear that part of the tale?”

  She managed to sputter “no.”

  “During the Rising, a group of Campbells led by my grandfather attacked a village where Cairen MacDonald’s great-grandfather lived. They burned it to the ground, killing every man, woman, and child who lived there. Her family never forgot.”

  “But, that must have been around 1745?!” Tilly exclaimed. “It was ages ago, long before your brother was even born.”

  “They killed Allan forty years to the day the village burned,” he said. “We do not forget or forgive. We wait for the day when vengeance is ours, even if it means waiting a lifetime.”

  “So much for a civilized society,” she muttered.

  “We try to be civilized, but sometimes we must return to our base natures,” he said with a shrug. “I am not proud of what I did, but they murdered my brother for no good reason. They deserved to die.” He took a seat beside her. “Now I ask you - would you want justice, if it had been your kin?”

  Tilly lowered her gaze. He said softly, “Aye, it is not so simple, is it?”

  He gently held her hands and took a moment to regain his composure. His head bowed, he said, “My actions will haunt me for the rest of my life. I have had many, many sleepless nights. I am tortured by dreams of what happened. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, I will jolt and shake when those images appear before me, a waking nightmare. I hate myself for doing it, yet I know -” He gulped. “I know how good it felt to avenge my brother’s death.”

  “If you could have seen what they did to Allan…they tortured him, lass,” he said, his face twisted in anguish. “They must have played with him like a cat with a mouse. It was not an easy, quick death. I cannot imagine the suffering and horror my beloved brother must have experienced. They will receive no forgiveness from me.”