Richard kept those traditions alive at his home. Oh, how he looked forward to returning, where he did not have to hide in the forest like an animal. He had been away for some time. He left the day after he buried his father. He knew he should have stayed longer to tend to family matters. However, for too long, he had nursed the white hot flame of revenge. It was time to avenge centuries of horror inflicted on the MacDonald family by the likes of Benjamin Campbell and his forefathers.
He deeply regretted that innocent lives might be lost in his quest. His father taught him it was a necessary evil in battle, but he cared not for it. The fact was, he liked Maureen Donnelly.
They talked for nearly three hours. It was apparent that she hated Benjamin and his father Malcolm almost as much as he did. Still, she willingly shared extensive intelligence of the Campbell family for a few gold coins. Would she run to Benjamin and reveal his presence, his intentions, if offered compensation?
Richard could not take the chance. When she turned to leave, he slipped behind her and dispatched her as quickly and quietly as he could. He made sure she did not suffer. He held her when she slipped from this world, not wanting her to die alone. He saw the fear in her eyes and whispered a prayer of deliverance into her ear. With great care, he buried her body in a grave behind the stable. With luck, it would not be discovered until after he carried out his plan.
Soon, he thought.
Twenty Five
As Tilly made her way to the stable, she calculated that she had been living in 1801 for two months. She was genuinely surprised. It did not seem as if she had been there that long. She remained unsettled that she did not know how to return to her own time, yet she grudgingly admitted she was happy. Sure, the lack of plumbing and other modern conveniences was, at times, distressing.
She really missed being able to take a nice bath, or even a quick shower, at least once each day. How could she ask the servants to heave buckets of hot water to her room for a daily bath? She tried it once and felt enormously guilty about the amount of effort it took. She quickly adopted the custom of weekly bathing, with a daily wash from the basin of fresh water that Sarah provided. To live in this time, she decided she must compromise on some things, and a good soak was one of them.
Despite the disadvantages of the plumbing situation, she felt a lightness that she had not experienced since the accident. She was relieved that the pitying stares and whispered, sympathetic comments were confined to her own time. People knew a version of her story, yet they did not treat her differently here. After all, most had experienced equally profound loss and continued on with their lives. They had no other choice.
She reflected on her newfound situation as she surveyed her surroundings. It was so peaceful here. The air was clean. Utility lines did not scar the view. Airplanes did not streak overhead, leaving vapor trails and thundering noise. No, the only sound she heard now came from the red stag that stampeded through the forest. The first time she heard it, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
It had become her daily custom to take a walk around the grounds as soon as lessons were finished with the boys. Sarah had been right all those weeks ago. The exercise and fresh air was great for her body and mind. Her favorite spots were the stable and chapel.
The stable reminded her of the little farm Alex and she once had. Their livestock consisted of chickens and goats, not horses. Still, the familiar smell of wild beast and fresh hay gave her a warm feeling. As she strode into the stable, she inhaled deeply and could not resist smiling.
She was immediately greeted with a gentle “woof” from the little white terrier who patrolled the building. Tilly knelt and scratched the happy dog behind the ears. She glanced up in time to see two puppies racing toward their mother. The terrier growled a warning. Mommy wanted all the attention today.
“Grace is trying to wean the pups,” a man said, emerging from the shadows. Tilly recognized him. He was the stable master, a sturdy Scot by the name of Graeme.
“I am sure Mr. Campbell would not mind if you took one of the pups,” he said. He leaned against a stall and gestured toward a scraggly black cat that groomed itself in the sunlight. “Grace is a better mouser than yon cat.”
Tilly said nothing. While she would love to adopt Grace and her pups, she was not certain that she should be so firmly rooted in the current time. She might find a way home soon. How, she had no idea. So far, she found no clues or hints that suggested how she came to be in 1801. She clung to the hope that she could go home soon.
She rose and moved toward one of the stalls. She found that being around horses was a surprisingly fun experience for her. She fancied one horse in particular. A white mare named Angel saw her and whinnied in anticipation. She produced an apple from her pocket, much to the delight of the horse. She stroked the side of Angel’s face while the animal nibbled on the treat.
“You may ride her whenever you like, mistress,” Graeme said. “She is the gentlest creature in the stable.”
“Oh, thank you, but I do not know how to ride,” she said, staring into the horse’s soft brown eyes. If she did not know better, she would swear the horse smiled at her.
“You do not know how to ride?!” the stable master exclaimed in shock. He came to her side. “Do they not have horses in America?”
“I lived in a city,” she lied. “I used carriages. I never learned how to ride a horse.”
“Well, we shall have to remedy that,” Benjamin said as he exited the adjacent stall.
Twenty Six
Much to Tilly’s chagrin, Benjamin was true to his word. That day, he placed her on Angel’s back and led her around the castle grounds. He instructed her to return to the stable every day, at the same time, for proper lessons.
At first, the rides were brief. Unfortunately, with each passing day, the distance grew further. Then, at dinner one night, he informed her that the children’s lessons were canceled the next day so that they might take a ride. Tilly was worried but said nothing.
As instructed, she met him in front of the castle. Allan and Angus waved cheerily from their mounts, excited at the prospect of an adventure. Upon seeing the boys, her worst fears were confirmed. She watched Benjamin tuck food and bottles of ale into his saddle bags. She groaned inwardly. Her 21st century body was not made to be jostled around on the back of a horse for hours on end. Automobiles were invented for a reason, she thought as he helped her onto the horse.
They headed for a road that hugged the rocky shores of the loch. When they reached a slight rise, she looked behind her. From this vantage point, the castle and surrounding forest was on full display. She drew her horse to a stop, enjoying the view. Its dark gray stones were no less forbidding, yet she felt a certain sense of home now when she gazed upon the castle.
“It is a fair view, lass,” Benjamin commented, a contented smile forming upon his lips. “Whenever I am away for a long time, I feel such peace at the first sight of my home.” He pointed to a turn ahead. “Come now. I want to show you a special place.”
∞
An hour later, they finally stopped on top of a windy ridge. Tilly did not know why Benjamin felt it would be the perfect picnic spot. When she turned to ask him, she noticed the dark expression upon his face. She said nothing, unsure what prompted the change in mood. At length, he moved his horse closer to hers so she could hear him over the wind. “Look in the valley,” he commanded. He pointed to a desolate area of gorse and heather.
She studied the scene. She noticed a crumbling rock wall and the remnants of a house, its roof collapsed long ago. She thought one area looked as if it held a garden at one time. Squinting, she spotted a small graveyard in the distance. Did the place belong to some ancient ancestor?
“Iain MacIver’s family owned this farm,” Benjamin said. He grabbed the reins of his horse and motioned for Tilly and the children to follow him.
He led them to a trail that ended at a sheltered spot in the valley below the ridge. A small copse of trees remained where the re
st of the land was bare. He deftly dismounted his horse and helped Tilly from hers. The boys hopped from their horses with ease. They did not seem to suffer the same ill effects as she.
Benjamin remained silent. He took their lunch from the saddlebags and handed a blanket to Tilly. She silently noted it was the plaid blanket from their tryst. She decided that it was best to keep that knowledge to herself. Instead, she spread the blanket upon the ground. Using the food and drink as anchors, she secured it in the windy conditions. She sat onto the blanket as primly as she could with a corset digging into her ribcage.
“Da, we want to explore,” Angus said, running up to his father. “Can we? Please?”
“Stay where we can see you,” Tilly replied reflexively. Biting her lip, she looked at Benjamin, “Sorry. Force of habit.”
A ghost of smile appeared on his lips. “You heard Mrs. Munro,” he said. “Go.”
“Tell me what happened to the MacIvers,” she said when the boys were out of earshot.
He settled beside her on the blanket. “It is a long tale,” he said, taking a swig of ale. “Do you wish to hear it?”
She nodded eagerly. She took a sip of the drink and looked at him in anticipation.
“As I told you, my father was always dedicated to the preservation of the estate,” he said. “It became an obsession when my brother Allan died. Unfortunately for him, I did not share the same values as Allan and he.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. After cutting the bread with the dirk he provided, she handed him a slice along with a hunk of cheese.
He took the food and looked at her for a moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he relented. “My brother was as ruthless as my father,” he said. “God rest his soul, he did not care who he hurt or what he destroyed as long as the Campbell holdings were preserved.”
“As you can imagine, Allan made my father very proud,” he said bitterly. He tore a bite of bread with his teeth and chewed it. He seemed to struggle with keeping his anger in check. “Of course, I care about the estate, but I care more deeply about the people. Without them, none of this matters.”
He pointed to the ruins of the farm. “Iain’s family lived there for five generations. We spent many summers roaming these hills and harassing the livestock. I grew up among what my father would call ‘the common people.’ I was never meant to be the master of the castle.”
“And then your brother was murdered,” she said. She omitted the part about seeking vengeance. She did not want to pick at that wound. “What happened afterwards?”
“My father felt I was too young at 16 to be trusted with responsibility. He decided that he would train me for a few years and handle the family’s affairs until I was ready.” With undisguised resentment in his voice, Benjamin recounted the lessons his father taught him.
Malcolm Campbell feared his son would cast the estate into ruin through mismanagement. He set in motion a series of plans to make as much profit as possible. He hoped that, once his idealistic son saw the vast sums of money from the endeavors, he would be more easily swayed toward his father’s point of view. “And that is exactly how he said it – ‘vast sums of money, my boy.’ He thought it would be an encouragement for me,” Benjamin recalled. “He did not understand that some people are not motivated by profit.”
“The same idea continues in my time,” Tilly said. “My husband spent so many years away from home, travelling all over the world to open restaurants for other people. He missed a good part of the children’s early childhood.”
Benjamin squeezed her hand. “You understand then why you cannot live your life based upon greed,” he said. “Money does not bring true happiness. It can never fill the void in your soul.”
“What did your father try, to make money?”
“At first, he harvested timber,” he said. He motioned toward the treeless ridge from which they just came. “Naturally, the farms and cottages that stood in the way were cleared. Nothing could block progress. Then, he sold the Highland cattle that roamed the hills, replacing them with sheep.”
“Someone needed to tend the wee beasts so he allowed a few of the cottars to remain,” he continued. “Others moved south in search of work or took his offer of alternate accommodations in Deoch. After all, we would need blacksmiths, merchants, and other tradesmen to keep Castle Fion in operation.”
“Forgive me, but I hardly think a lot of people are necessary,” Tilly said, with a frown. “The family is not that large.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “We had a great many guests then.” He paused, as if an unpleasant memory flitted across his brain. “My father offered the castle as a country retreat for the English nobles. They came here for a grand Highland adventure. They killed our deer and birds and enjoyed our excellent whisky.”
“Mr. Douglas said that your father became a duke as a result.”
“Yes, he was renowned for his fine Scottish estate. When he married my mother, he spent every penny of her dowry to renovate the castle into a luxurious retreat for the many nobles whose favor he sought. And, they loved him for it. He encouraged them to hunt the red stag and other game on his wild Highland lands. He catered to their every whim. He brought servants from London and France to lend an air of refinement and polish. He made sure his was the finest table in all of Scotland, prepared by a chef rumored to have served French aristocrats.”
“It was a rumor my father started,” Benjamin said, with a broad grin. “The man was as Scottish as the heather and previously worked at an inn in London. Whenever the English asked him a question, he would reply in rapid Gaelic. The bastards were too stupid to know the difference.”
Benjamin rose slightly, checking the location of the boys. Spotting them some yards away, he returned to Tilly’s side. “My grandfather Allan learned hard lessons during the ’45,” he said. “Times were very, very hard in Scotland. He had to tread carefully to avoid ruin for the family. My grandfather told my father that he must maintain the family’s favorable position. He must always stay on the right side with the English.”
“I take it you never came around to your father’s point of view?” Tilly asked, already knowing the answer.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “The man and I fought like cats and dogs from sun up to sun set. I despised him for what he did to people who were more like family to me than he ever could be.”
“How did you convince him to let you manage the estate?” she asked. Based upon everything Tilly learned about His Grace, Malcolm Campbell, he did not seem to be easily swayed once his opinion was fixed.
“I married Mary,” Benjamin answered simply. He cleared his throat, visibly struggling to contain his grief. “She was my salvation in more ways than one.”
“What advantage did your father perceive in your marriage? I doubt he would be interested in love.”
“Oh, aye, my father would always look for the material gain in any arrangement,” he said ruefully. “Mary MacDougall was the eldest daughter of Auld MacDougall, a powerful man in this region. It greatly pleased my father that our marriage would unite the MacDougalls and the Campbells. He believed it was a strategic move. He could never understand true love.”
Tilly could not help but think of her own courtship with Alex. She took a long drink from the bottle and ran her finger around the rim, distracted by the ghosts of her former life.
Benjamin leaned forward and took the bottle from her. “Many people go through life never knowing love,” he said. He took one of her hands and gently clasp it. “We are truly blessed.”
She jerked her hand away. “Blessed!” she spat. “How can you say that? Your wife is gone. My husband is gone. My children…” She choked back tears. While she might think she buried the pain, it was always close to the surface.
He wrapped his arms around her and placed her head upon his shoulder. “I did not mean to imply the hurt is less,” he said. “I miss Mary with every single breath, yet I am grateful that I knew her.”
Benja
min stroked her hair and asked, “Tell me, lass. If you knew what Fate would bring, would you turn away from Alex the first moment you saw him?”
She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. “No,” she finally admitted.
“We will survive this,” he said. “We must – for their sakes.”
She placed her head upon his chest and snuggled close. She knew it was an intimate gesture that she should probably avoid, but she did not care. She craved the comfort it brought. “Did your father leave after your marriage?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.
“He allowed me to take over different aspects of the estate’s management, but he did not entirely trust me.”
“What changed?”
Pointing toward his eldest son, he said, “When my son Allan was born, he told me I was ready. He said children always make a man more responsible.” With a chuckle, he added, “They give you a reason not to cock things up.”
“I suppose that is true, although I do not believe I would phrase it like that,” Tilly laughed.
“He did not completely relinquish the reins, though. He split his time between England and here during the early years of my marriage. He kept a close eye on things, and Mr. Murphy sent regular reports of my activities when he was not here. I had to prove I could at least maintain the income. In time, he was satisfied with my efforts and retired to his fine English estate, where he can keep his filthy nose out of my business.”
Tilly shook her head. “I don’t believe that a man like your father could resist meddling. He must send orders to you and try to impose his will, even if he is miles away.”
Through the Mist: Restoration Page 18
