Just Beyond Tomorrow

by Bertrice Small

  “Now,” he told her, “ ’tis up to ye to convince yer man that ye should go to Brae. It will nae be easy, Flanna.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “I am still angry wi’ him.”

  “Then, wait a bit until yer anger hae cooled,” Angus advised.

  “Nay,” she said.

  Patrick Leslie came to his table that evening. His wife nodded coolly to him, but said nothing. The servants brought forth the meal. There was roasted venison, sliced salmon on a bed of fresh green watercress, a duck that had been roasted crisp, set in a pond of plum sauce, a rabbit stew with carrots, and leeks in a rich wine gravy. There was a dish of new green peas, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, two cheeses, cherry conserves and sweet butter. There was nothing served him that wasn’t one of his favorites. Pears stewed in sweet wine, along with tiny sugar wafers, completed the meal. The duke ate with gusto, and when he had finally finished, his mood was mellow.

  “Ye’re still angry wi’ me,” he noted, turning to Flanna.

  “Aye,” she agreed calmly.

  “Yet ye served me a fine dinner,” he noted.

  “I dinna want to starve ye, and besides, I want a favor from ye, Patrick,” she told him boldly.

  The duke cocked a thick black eyebrow at his wife.

  “Ye promised me I might renovate Brae,” she began. “I want to go and do it before my bairn is born. I hae never before held my anger so in check, Patrick. If I am to cool that ire, I must be away from ye. Not for long, mind ye. I dinna intend following the example of yer grandmother Leslie, but I need to be by myself for a short time. Can ye understand that, Patrick?”

  “My mam never left my da,” he complained.

  “I am nae yer mam,” she said hotly, “and as I remember it, yer mam went all the way to France to escape yer da when he pressed her too closely. Can ye nae recall yer own family’s history? I hae committed it to memory. The women in yer family were none of them weak. They were proud and gallant. There is nae one of them who would have suffered the insult that ye hae hurled at me, my lord.”

  “Verra well,” he told her contritely. “If ye wish to go to Brae, then ye may go, Flanna.”

  “Thank ye. I will take Aggie and Ian More wi’ me. Angus felt it would be good to hae him wi’ us. The bairns will remain here wi’ ye so ye will nae be lonely. I dinna want their lives disrupted further, and they need their lessons, ye will agree. I am sure,” Flanna said.

  “When will ye go?” he asked her. He didn’t want her to go. He had been such a fool to accuse her of perfidy, but he had been angry that she had kept her news from him. The words had streamed from his mouth before he could contain them. Even as he said them, he had regretted them. He had no cause to suspect her of deceiving him.

  “In a day or two,” she said quietly. Damn him! Why could he not apologize to her? Would his pride destroy their marriage? Their child could not come into this world safely until he admitted his fault. But there was time, Flanna told herself. The child would come sometime in August according to the calculations she and Una had made.

  “Ye’ll need workers,” the duke noted.

  “Aye,” she agreed. “Angus says the roof requires work, and a new stable will need to be built. The old one hae collapsed. The castle is filthy, but ’tis nae a big place like Glenkirk. Once the men do the heavy work, Aggie and I can make it habitable again.”

  “Why? I thought ye but meant to repair it so it does nae fall down,” Patrick said.

  “Brae is for our second son, my lord, provided we hae a second son. If nae, then for a daughter, one day. I hae always wanted to live at Brae. Once our bairn is born, I canna. Glenkirk’s heir must grow up at Glenkirk,” Flanna told him. “So, wi’ yer permission, I will restore my mother’s home and remain there for a little while.” She gave him a quick, brief smile.

  “I dinna like being parted from ye, lady,” he grumbled.

  “When ye accused me of deceit, my lord, ye separated us,” she responded sharply. “I need time from ye to cool my ire. My choler canna be good for the bairn, Patrick.”

  He nodded reluctantly. “Aye,” he agreed. Reaching out, he took a stray lock of her hair between his fingers a moment and fondled it. God’s boots, she is so beautiful, he thought. He wanted her now as he had never wanted her before, but Patrick Leslie knew he had turned his wife’s passion to fury. Flaming Flanna, her family had warned him that she was called. Her anger against him was hot, but it burned a cold heat. Reluctantly he released the silky tress.

  Flanna arose from the high board. “I am tired,” she said. “Good night, my lord. God grant ye a good rest.” Curtsying to him formally, she then turned and left the hall.

  Patrick reached for his goblet and drank deep. Would she ever forgive him? Sultan, the cat, leapt into his lap and began to purr as he settled himself. “Hae ye come to comfort me, old friend?” the duke inquired of the orange feline.

  Sultan dug his well-honed claws into the duke’s thigh, kneading vigorously as his rumbling purr increased in resonance.

  Patrick Leslie laughed softly. And that was all the comfort he was going to get for the interim, he realized. His hand caressed the big cat affectionately. “Well,” he said, “we managed before her, and I imagine we can manage for a while wi’out her, although I dinna like it. I suppose, sooner than later, I’ll hae to apologize, although ’tis she who ran off and was a disobedient wife. I may be guilty of foolish words, but is she nae guilty of bad behavior?”

  Sultan looked up at the duke as if to say, “Dinna be a fool, my lord. Apologize.” The look was so clear Patrick would have sworn he heard an impatient voice speaking the words. Then the cat put its head down on the duke’s lap and went to sleep.

  Patrick chuckled softly and continued stroking Sultan. The orange beast was good company. His gaze swept the Great Hall, and he found its familiarity comforting. His father had left Glenkirk long ago after the tragic death of his first family. He had gone down into England and quietly served King James. As a boy he had visited the court of the Great Elizabeth. While James Leslie had liked his home, he had not had the passion for it that his eldest son did. Patrick realized that he never wanted to live anywhere else but Glenkirk. Whatever happened with the king, the Duke of Glenkirk would not go to court. His little sister, Autumn, had called him old before his time. She had always been eager to travel, to see new places, but not he.

  He considered his brother Charlie, whom he had always thought much like him. But Charlie had left his home at Queen’s Malvern and joined with the king after his wife had been murdered by Cromwell’s men. Would he leave Glenkirk under similar circumstances? Patrick wondered. Nay. He would not. He thought about his mother’s estate manager in Ireland, Rory Maguire. His mother had spoken often, and fondly, of the Irishman who had been the son of the former lord of Maguire’s Ford. Rory’s family had gone into exile in France rather than submit to the English, but not Rory. He loved his land and felt an obligation to it and its people. As I do for Glenkirk, Patrick considered.

  “More wine, my lord?” Angus was at his side.

  “Aye. Get a goblet and join me,” the duke said.

  Angus Gordon poured two goblets of wine and, handing one to Patrick, sat opposite him. “To the heir!” he said, raising his goblet.

  “Aye, to my heir!” the duke agreed. He took a draught of the rich ruby-colored liquid, then said, “She’s leaving me, Angus.”

  “Only for a little time so she may work off her temper, my lord. Ye hurt her grievously wi’ yer words.”

  The duke flushed. “She told ye, then?”

  “Aye, she did, my lord. Ye know that Flanna and I are kin. I am her mam’s elder brother, but, my lord, I am yer kin as well,” Angus said. “The grandfather for who ye are named, the fourth Earl of Glenkirk, Patrick Leslie who was the husband of Catriona Hay, sired a daughter named Jessie on a lass called Bride Forbes. When she was twenty, my mother died giving birth to me. As ye see, I am a big man, and they say I was a large bairn. Andrew Go
rdon, the Earl of Brae, was my father. I was born just before he married Anne Keith, who was my sister Maggie’s mam. So, my lord, as ye see, we share a Leslie grandfather and are cousins. I am a man who feels strongly about his family. I love my niece, but I hae come to love ye, too, my lord. If ye will trust me as Flanna trusts me, I will guard yer interests as I do hers.”

  “I never knew my grandfather Leslie,” the duke said. He was surprised, but not greatly so by Angus Gordon’s revelation. “Hae ye seen his portrait in the family gallery? Ye hae his look about ye, and now that I know yer lineage, I understand why ye hae seemed so damned familiar to me since ye came to Glenkirk. How many years do ye hae?”

  “Fifty-three come Lammas this year,” was the answer.

  The duke nodded. “Ye’re a good man, Angus Gordon, and aye, ye hae my trust.” He sighed. “What am I to do, Angus?”

  “Ye’re nae ready yet, my lord,” came the amused reply. “Ye know what must be done, but ye’re nae ready to do it.”

  “I must apologize,” Patrick said.

  “Aye, ye must,” Angus agreed.

  “But ’twas she who ran off,” Patrick complained, a hand brushing through his dark hair fretfully.

  “Aye, she did,” Angus concurred, drinking down some of his wine.

  “She dinna apologize to me for her conduct,” Patrick said.

  “Nor will she,” Angus told him. “Ye must understand, my lord, that Flanna is a verra independent woman. After her mam died, there was nae one to care about her but for Una Brodie. That poor woman had her hands full wi’ her own bairns and keeping Killiecairn just like old Lachlann expected it to be kept. None of her sisters-in-law would gie her much help, for they knew Aulay Brodie was his father’s heir, and Una was, therefore, the next lady of the house. Una had scarcely a moment for herself, let alone a wild lass who rarely listened to anyone but herself. I did what I could for Flanna, but I am nae a nursemaid.

  “My niece has always done as she pleased. Becoming yer wife was nae bound to turn her into a model of deportment. She’s too damned old to change, my lord. Her mam, now, was clever. Meg knew how to get her own way while appearing to do exactly what ye wanted.” He chuckled with the memory. “Unfortunately she died before she might pass on that talent to Flanna. But the lass is nae stupid. She will learn in time how to manage us all wi’out butting heads wi’ us. And in the meantime, we will hae to be patient because we love her.”

  He smiled at the younger man. “She will go to Brae and make it beautiful the way she has always wanted to do. And when ’tis finished she will play at being the lady of Brae. And by that time her temper will hae cooled, my lord. I’ll put it into her head to invite ye to see what she has accomplished. I hope by then ye’ll be ready to apologize to her for yer words. If ye do, I expect ye’ll both come back to Glenkirk together while I remain behind to close up Brae. It must nae be allowed to fall into disrepair again, my lord. Flanna means to hae the earldom back for her second son one day, and his home must be ready for him.”

  “I agree,” the duke said, and then he grinned at Angus Gordon. “Ye scheme like a Leslie, my friend.” Then he stood up. “I’m for bed.”

  Angus Gordon arose, too. “And I must see that all is locked and the candles are out before I seek my own rest.” He bowed to the duke. “Good night, my lord,” he said.

  “Good night, cousin,” Patrick Leslie said, and left the hall.

  For a moment the unshakeable Angus Gordon was startled, but then he smiled to himself and went about his duties as always.

  Flanna did not depart Glenkirk for several days after that, for she was secure in the knowledge that she might go unimpeded. With her uncle’s aid, she gathered the workmen she would need. Supplies were dispatched along with a party of clansmen who would erect a shelter for the workers and sweep out the hall so their lady might reside there temporarily. The Stuart children were disappointed that they were not to go with Flanna, for they had grown close to their aunt.

  “When Brae is restored and ready for visitors, ye shall be the first that I welcome,” Flanna promised them.

  “Is Brae to be a hunting lodge?” Freddie wanted to know.

  “Brae was my mother’s family home. The earls of Brae hae lived there since the time of the first King James, and before that the lairds of Brae were the lords there. If God wills it, Freddie, I will gie yer uncle several sons. Brae is to be for the second of them. I dinna want to wait until he is born.” She smiled.

  “I shall be the Duke of Lundy one day,” Freddie told her. “I am my father’s heir. Willy is only Lord Stuart. I don’t know what he shall have but his good name.”

  “Papa will provide for him,” Brie spoke up. “It is a family tradition to provide for all the sons and daughters. I shall marry well, of course.” She sighed dramatically. “If this horrid war is ever over and done with, and I can go home to take my place in society.”

  “You are too young right now for society,” Freddie said wisely. “We all are. However, I want to go home, too, so we must pray for our king to be restored to his throne so Papa will come and get us.”

  “Are ye nae happy here?” Flanna asked them. Until now, they had not expressed a great desire to return to England. Did it have something to do with her leaving Glenkirk? They had lost their mother, and now she was leaving them as well.

  “You are most kind and very hospitable to us all,” Brie spoke up, “but we miss our mother, and we miss Queen’s Malvern.”

  “Yer mam is dead, Brie,” Flanna said gently.

  “I know,” Brie replied, “but it would give me comfort to sit by her grave so I might talk with her again.”

  “Ye may talk wi’ her wherever ye are, Brie,” Flanna responded. “Yer mam is wi’ God in heaven. Only her bones rest at Queen’s Malvern.”

  “Do you think she would hear me here at Glenkirk?” Brie asked. “She never came to Glenkirk, you know.”

  “Yer mam knows just where ye are,” Flanna assured her niece. “Ye can see the whole wide world from heaven, I hae been told.”

  “You can?” Sabrina Stuart’s young face was suddenly lit with a smile. “And our mother can see Papa, too?”

  “Of course,” Flanna said.

  “Will there be a war, Flanna?” the girl asked.

  “Aye, there will be a war,” Flanna said, “but we should be verra safe here at Glenkirk. War rarely comes to us. We must march from our Highlands to meet war in this case, Brie.”

  “And Papa will be with the king, won’t he?” Brie queried.

  “Yer papa is a Stuart, Brie. Aye, his loyalty will be wi’ King Charles II. All of our loyalties should be wi’ the king.”

  “Then, why is Uncle Patrick not with them?” Freddie demanded to know.

  “Yer uncle is as loyal as any to his king,” Flanna said, “but this war the king will fight is nae about Scotland, bairns. ’Tis about England. Yer uncle will nae fight for England, nor will he send his clansmen to fight for England. Yer da, however, is English. ’Tis his duty to fight for king and country,” Flanna explained. “Yer uncle is an honorable man, and he will remain here to keep Glenkirk and his clan safe, for wars hae a tendency of spilling over into places that they should nae go. If the king’s war came to Scotland, then yer uncle would fight, and so would his clansmen.”

  Both Brie and her brother nodded their understanding of Flanna’s explanation.

  Hidden in the shadows, Patrick Leslie had listened to his wife and the children. He was touched that despite their differences Flanna would not criticize him. More and more he was realizing that despite her less-than-elegant upbringing, this young woman was the perfect duchess for Glenkirk in this particular time. And he loved her.

  Chapter 14

  On July twenty-third, Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh, rode into the courtyard of Glenkirk Castle. He was tired, wet, and chilled; and he finally understood the desire his grandmother Gordon and his own mother had for an English summer each year. Only September and October were tolerable i
n Scotland, he recalled. The marquis dismounted his horse stiffly. He had been riding north for several long days, coming from his own estates at Cadby in England’s midlands. Having spent some of his youth at Glenkirk, Lord Lindley knew his way and went directly into the Great Hall.

  Angus Gordon immediately came forward to greet the guest, wondering who he was. The man looked weary and worn. “Welcome to Glenkirk, sir,” Angus said.

  “I am Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh. Fetch my brother, the duke, immediately,” was the answer.

  “At once, my lord,” Angus said low, and he signaled a serving wench to bring their guest wine. Then he hurried from the hall.

  “Uncle Henry?” A small figure rose from a chair by one of the fireplaces. “Uncle Henry!” Sabrina Stuart threw down her embroidery frame and ran across the hall to fling herself into Henry Lindley’s welcoming arms.

  “Sabrina, my dear child.” The marquis hugged the young girl. Then he set her back from him, and said, “Why, Brie, I believe you have grown since I last saw you. You shall be a great beauty one day.”

  Sabrina giggled, pleased, for she did love flattery. Then she said, “Uncle, what are you doing here?”

  “I have come to see my brother,” he said with a smile at her.

  “All the way from England, and during hostilities?” Brie queried him closely. She was young, but she was not foolish. “Is my father all right, uncle? Tell me my father is safe!”

  “I have not heard from your father since you departed England last year, my child,” the marquis answered her honestly. “You would know more, my dear, than I would.”