by Karen Ranney
The remains of a castle, blown up by the Jacobites to prevent it from falling into the hands of the English, sat above the peaceful River Ness. The town proper was surrounded by mansions and fine houses, close enough to the city so that entertainments might be enjoyed, but far enough away that the noise and bustle wouldn’t intrude on the pastoral beauty of their parklands and waterfalls.
James and Rory passed the clock tower, the remains of a large citadel built by Oliver Cromwell a hundred-plus years ago. At another time, James would have pointed out other sights to Rory, but he was in the mood for a confrontation, not conversation.
He asked the way of a shopkeeper and was directed to the barracks of the Fencible Regiment. There he dismounted, glancing at Rory as he did so. The young man wore a decided look of reluctance to enter an English encampment.
“You can stay here if you wish,” he said.
Rory looked relieved. “I’d prefer it, sir, if you don’t mind. I can’t help but remember all those times that Alisdair and I challenged an English ship.”
He should urge Rory to tell him about some of his shipboard adventures with his brother, James decided. He nodded, stifling his smile, and went inside.
Captain Hastings would be summoned, he was told by a young subaltern who looked younger than Rory. In the intervening moments, James strode up and down the corridor, thinking that one English fortress was not unlike another. They had a tendency to build similar structures in every outpost from India to the colonies. Such devotion to pattern was not necessarily a bad thing, but it revealed an underlying inability to accept change. No doubt why the English were now experiencing such difficulty with the American rebels.
A quarter of an hour later, he heard footsteps echoing on the cobbled floor. A tall blond man emerged from the shadows, attired in a bloodred uniform. Another irony of his life, that his happiness relied upon an Englishman.
“I am Samuel Hastings,” the man said, halting in front of James. “You were asking for me?”
After he introduced himself, James extended his hand. The other man took it in a warm and solid grip that reassured him somewhat.
“I understand that you know Maureen McKinsey,” he said.
Samuel nodded. “I do. Is Maureen well?”
“Very well when I left her yesterday.”
Another good sign that the man cared enough to ask about her. But James was done with tact. He was running out of time.
“Do you love the girl?”
Hastings didn’t answer. Instead, he drew himself up, frowning at James.
“Is that any of your concern?”
“Or is your family more important than she is?”
Hastings’s expression was becoming decidedly frosty.
“I think you’d better state your business with me, sir,” he said in a formal, clipped tone.
So James did, in words that even an Englishman could understand.
Nothing could be worse, Susanna McKinsey thought. Everything that could possibly go wrong had done so.
Polly was ill with a cold; Cook had come down with some kind of fever. The wine she’d ordered had finally arrived, but half the bottles were vinegar. The ham she was planning on serving for the wedding supper had gone bad, and the chickens were refusing to lay any eggs.
Even Ned was being taciturn, more than usual. He had barely said five words to her since dancing with her on Lethson night. She had not been able to stop thinking about him, a bit of foolishness on her part. But she sincerely hoped that he kept his beard trimmed. As if she would ever be able to forget that youthful face.
It was enough to give her hives.
But the greatest disaster was the fact that it looked as if there was nothing to preclude Riona’s marriage to the insufferable young man who sat in front of her in the parlor, drinking her whiskey appreciatively. He acted as though the bond of kinship had already been formed, and he was entitled to anything she owned.
There was no dust to be seen, and everything was arranged perfectly, as if Abigail had just finished cleaning the room. But she scanned the room just in case, taking in each detail. Better to concentrate on her housekeeping than her annoyance.
She couldn’t fault Harold’s appearance; he was very well dressed today without a speck of dirt about his person. He’d politely presented himself to her in an agreeable manner.
Pity that she’d disliked him from the moment they’d met.
“Another glass?” she asked, hiding her irritation behind a hostesslike smile.
“Thank you, no,” he said. “But I would like to see Riona. I’ve not seen her for weeks, it seems.”
Since Polly was feeling poorly, and Abigail was busy with the wedding supper preparations, she excused herself and went in search of Riona herself.
She found her daughter in her room, staring listlessly in the mirror.
Riona turned at her entrance. “I am practicing smiles,” she said. “Which do you think looks more genuine?” She demonstrated a selection, and despite her resolve, tears came to Susanna’s eyes.
Sorrow, however, would not make the situation better.
“Harold is asking for you,” she said.
“Oh, has he arrived?”
“A few minutes ago. He is an impatient bridegroom, Riona.”
“I would rather not see him until tomorrow,” Riona said.
“You should at least greet him.”
“Why?” Riona said. “I may practice smiles, Mother, but I refuse to pretend this marriage is my choice. I will see him tomorrow, isn’t that soon enough?”
She had no words for Riona, no wisdom that would make the situation any better than it was. She knew quite well how her daughter felt about James, and experienced a pinch of guilt every time she thought of it. She had interfered, and look what had happened. Her daughter was miserable, and James was gone.
The only person in this entire situation who was happy was Harold McDougal.
She closed the door silently, thinking that her own marriage had been one of such joy that she could not imagine entering into a union with anyone she did not love. What a pity her daughter had to learn that lesson.
In the end, Riona went to dinner only because she decided it wasn’t fair to inflict Harold on her mother and Maureen.
She sat opposite him, thinking that if the situation had been different, she would not have been displeased with her choice of bridegroom. He was of average height, and had a pleasant smile. His features were proportional and made for a pleasing countenance. He neither laughed too loudly nor was officious in his manner.
But he reminded her of the rind of a cheese that had gone bad. Outwardly, there was no sign of rot.
She couldn’t forget that he had threatened her into marriage. But by his manner, one would think that theirs was a love match.
She watched him from beneath her lashes, uncaring if she made any further conversation. Let Maureen and her mother be polite to him. She had years in which to be so.
How was she supposed to let him touch her? Their wedding night would be a revelation to him, but she had no regrets. If she could not be married to the man of her dreams, at least she’d loved him.
“Ayleshire is a lovely little village,” he said. “I have few duties in the country, and I find that I miss it from time to time.”
“Perhaps you and Riona can be counted upon to visit us often,” Susanna said, smiling pleasantly.
If they did, Riona thought, she would see the abbey ruins on the hill and know herself almost home. Perhaps she could even visit there, to witness the building of James’s house. She might even see him, only a glimpse to last for the long months in Edinburgh.
“I doubt that will be possible,” Harold said. “Business will keep me in Edinburgh, and Riona should not journey anywhere unaccompanied.”
She exchanged a glance with her mother and then looked away. Now she was to be a prisoner, subject to her husband’s whims.
Yet if James had made that remark, she would only have
smiled fondly at him and thought him concerned for her well-being.
“Will your family be attending the wedding?” Maureen asked. “Alas, they will not,” Harold said. “My three sisters do not like to stray from our ancestral home, and Peter has business that keeps him occupied in the city.”
“You have just the one brother?” Susanna asked.
“Just the one. But you will never lack for company, dear Riona,” he said, glancing at her. “Not with all those sisters of mine.”
Maureen looked at her and smiled.
A common joke between them. Riona would be happier with a field of flowers or a pasture filled with cattle than she would a group of women.
Perhaps if she spoke to him, and told him exactly what kind of wife she would be, he would finally relent. Give up this thought of marriage between them and seek another heiress, one with whom he might be more compatible.
The endless dinner finally done, they adjourned to the parlor. After a few moments of desultory conversation, Riona abruptly stood.
She glanced at her mother and Maureen. “If I may but have a few moments alone with Harold,” she said.
Her mother nodded, standing and gesturing to Maureen. The double doors closed, leaving the two of them in silence but for the sputtering of the candles.
Harold remained seated on one of the sofas, looking at her complacently.
“I cannot be the kind of wife you wish,” she said, the words spilling from her lips. “I cannot be acquiescent all the time, any more than I can be sweet and demure. I have more faults than attributes.”
“I am sure we will do well together, regardless of your flaws, Riona.”
“Will my money make everything acceptable, Harold?” she asked him impatiently. “I have no great talents. And although I like my needlework from time to time, I do not excel at it. I laugh at silly things and I become angry at the oddest circumstances. Groups of giggling females give me a headache, Harold, and I would rather be alone than irritated by my companions.”
“I have felt the same when surrounded by my siblings,” he said. “There, you see, a bond of commonality already.” He stood and advanced on her.
She remained where she was, hands clasped together. At his approach, she clamped her lips together and regarded him stonily.
“Nothing you say or do will end this marriage, Riona. It didn’t work when you sent that man to Edinburgh to beat me up, and it won’t work now. If we do not suit, then I doubt it will matter to any significant degree. Regardless, we will be married tomorrow.”
“What did you say?” She frowned at him, intent upon only a few words. “What man?”
His lips twisted in a grimace. “James MacRae. You deny you sent him to pummel me?”
“Did he?” The most outrageous amusement was stealing through her. A bit of the story James had neglected to mention.
Harold didn’t answer her. Instead, he left the room, leaving her alone.
A noise at the window startled her. Sitting up, Maureen gripped the sheet and pulled it to her chin, staring at the shadow that suddenly appeared behind the filmy curtain. For a moment, she wanted to hide beneath the covers, feeling as she had as a child afraid of storms and the dark.
“Maureen?” A whisper. “Maureen?” Louder this time. She knew that voice.
Silently, she slipped from the bed, taking the candlestick with her. Standing at the side of the window, she peeked around the curtains.
“Samuel?”
Raising the window, she knelt, propping her elbows on the sill.
“What are you doing?”
“Obeying an order,” he said brightly. “I’m coming to claim you.”
“You are?”
“It has been pointed out to me that I’ve been lax as a suitor, my dear Maureen. Will you come away with me, and marry me in Gretna?”
“Tonight, Samuel?” she asked, wondering if she were dreaming.
“This very night.”
“It sounds a bit impetuous, don’t you think?”
“Or passionate,” he said softly, smiling at her in a way that made her think of kissing him. “Will you?” He held out his hand. Without thought, she placed hers in his.
She began to smile, a feeling like lightness expanding from deep inside until even her toes tingled. “Yes,” she said, pushing open the window. “Of course I will, Samuel.”
Then she drew back. “Give me a moment to change.”
After closing the curtains on a smile, Maureen turned and stared at her wardrobe. What should she wear?
There had been times, in the past, when she’d envied Riona. She seemed so much more alive. Riona had adventures. Even her marriage was done in high drama, with James leaving without a word. Not, however, after tonight.
She’d never thought that she would be eloping with Samuel, or that he would be so daring as to propose such a thing. A wild and wicked thing to do, and on the eve of Riona’s wedding. But how could she refuse?
The clothes flew on as she laced herself and rolled up her stockings. Finally, she bent down to see herself in the mirror. A more thorough appraisal could be done if she took the time to light a candle, but she didn’t want to waste the moments. She ran a brush over her hair, tucked it into a bun, and pressed her bonnet down over her head.
She was going to be married!
Pushing open the window, she escaped her room, feeling like a princess in a fairy tale off to meet a prince. Or better than that, Maureen thought, a giggle escaping her. She and Samuel were behaving like reivers of old.
He helped her from the window, embracing her before her feet touched the ground.
“This is so unlike you, Samuel,” she said softly.
“Do you regret not having a wedding in the church, my love?”
“Not at all,” she said softly, placing her palm on his cheek. “I am enchanted by your daring.”
He led her to his horse, and helped her mount, and it was only then that she saw the other figure.
James stood in the shadow of the moonlight holding the reins of his mount. Behind him was Rory.
She understood in that instant, tears coming to her eyes. She raised her hand and he responded in kind, bidding them farewell. Samuel mounted and then they were off, following the road to Gretna Green like a highwayman and his bride.
Chapter 32
A wedding was a somber occasion, but nature had decided to gift the day with beauty. The afternoon sky was a brilliant blue, the hills surrounding Ayleshire were an emerald green. From the nearby trees came the sounds of birds, blithely unaware that people congregated in the village church to celebrate the union of one of their own to a stranger from Edinburgh.
The day was marred by her mood, of course, one so dour that Riona remained silent rather than betray her state of near tears. Susanna had seemed the same, but Riona wasn’t sure, since her mother wouldn’t meet her eyes as she bustled around, attending to last-minute details.
She was dressed and ready, waiting only for her hat, a tiny scrap of lace and flowers. A silly thing, almost frivolous, and since she was not in the mood for frivolity, Riona decided that she wouldn’t wear it. Tossing it to the chair on the other side of the room, she turned and surveyed herself in the mirror.
Her eyes looked bruised, the dark circles attesting to a night filled with troubled dreams. Her face was pale, her lips almost bloodless. Hardly the picture of an ecstatic bride.
Her hair was almost beyond hope. Abigail had used the curling tongs on it that morning, and the resultant frizz was a disaster. She could tuck it up into a bun and lace flowers through it. Or braid it into a coronet with a few ferns. Or she could leave it as it was and simply not care. She opted for the last course.
For the first time since he’d left, she was grateful for James’s absence. She wouldn’t be able to do her duty today if he’d been sitting in the congregation. How could she pass him on her way to the communion table?
Too much temptation, to give up James MacRae.
He shoul
dn’t have you.
You make prayers sound like wishes. His words on that day in the church. How long ago it seemed. And how wrong he was. Not wishes, but desires, deeply felt. Needs, perhaps, but nothing as simple or easy as a wish.
Dear God, how could she go through with this?
If Ayleshire were truly the magical place the villagers thought it to be, she could take herself away merely by a thought. Or by clicking her fingers together, she could change this afternoon. But she did not believe in magic, however much she wanted it to be true now.
It wasn’t that she wanted to become someone else. She simply wanted Harold to disappear.
Solemnity and laughter, joy and heartache, all emotions she’d felt around James. She closed her eyes to savor it all for just one more moment before she pushed his memory resolutely from her. How could she perform this duty with his smile dancing in her vision, or the recollection of his blue eyes boring into her mind?
How can you think of giving yourself to anyone else?
Oh, but she couldn’t. Tonight, when Harold came to her, she would close her eyes tightly and think of something else. The roof of the chicken coop that needed repair, the new dating system for the cheese, the irrigation channels James had suggested be dug.
No, not James.
Then she would think of needlepoint stitches, the pattern she’d envisioned in her mind, the lovely embroidery on Maureen’s nightgowns, the blue the exact color of James’s…
Not James.
The scenery? The thick forests that reminded her of the time they gathered branches? Or a verdant glen that recalled that afternoon of abandon? Even the ocean could bring him to mind, sea captain that he was.
Nothing she could envision would be free of him.
Retribution issued by a celestial hand. Sin, Riona, and you’ll be reminded of it a hundred times, a thousand times over.
She pressed her hand on her abdomen. Was there another reminder waiting even now? A child, with brilliant blue eyes and an engaging grin?
“Where is Maureen?” Susanna asked crossly, as she entered the room. A frown wrinkled her brow. “Where is your sister? She’s not in her room and no one has seen her.”
