by Karen Ranney
Mr. Grant suddenly smiled. “I would at that, lad.”
Only then did Brendan take a deep breath.
They celebrated over a glass of whiskey, and a few moments later, Brendan stood and began his farewells. Before he could start his future, he had to go to Castle Gloom and on to Gilmuir.
Elspeth was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment, he thought that he’d have to leave without bidding her farewell. But she was waiting for him in the courtyard, beside his horse. This morning, he’d given up his accommodations at the inn in preparation for this very journey.
“You’re leaving for Gilmuir,” Elspeth said.
Brendan nodded.
“Will you be gone long?” She stepped closer. “I’ll miss you,” Elspeth said, clasping her hands in front of her. The words were said in a soft, almost wistful tone.
He’d wanted to say what he felt in a more auspicious setting. Not standing a few feet away from the stable, with a horse’s head between them. The sky overhead was a leaden gray, promising rain. The air was cold, and remnants of snow still clung to the ground. It was an ugly day for such a declaration. He wanted spring, and flowers, and words that had been rehearsed. Brendan moved away from his mount, gripping the reins in his right hand. Standing in front of Elspeth, he studied her. Today, she was dressed in blue, something that reminded him of sunny and warm summer days. Always before, being around her had brightened his mood. Now, however, he was all too conscious of his departure.
“I’ll miss you as well,” he said. Talking to her father was easier, he discovered than telling Elspeth how he felt. “But in addition to doing an errand for Hamish, I need to make arrangements for my ship.”
She didn’t look at him, and he knew, then, that she hadn’t understood his subtle hint.
“I’ll not be going back to sea.”
Her head whipped up. She looked astonished, he thought, with her wide eyes and her mouth half open.
“I’ve always wanted to try my hands at another occupation,” he said. Only a little falsehood. In actuality, he’d not given much thought to staying on land until he’d come to Inverness. No, he corrected himself, until he’d met Elspeth Grant.
But he’d already made his fortune; he could afford to simply enjoy whatever venture he chose next, even that of making whiskey.
“Where will you live, Brendan? At Gilmuir?”
He shook his head. “In Inverness,” he said, thinking that this business of divulging his heart was even more difficult than it had appeared at first.
Elspeth seemed to take a deep, relieved sigh. “Would you welcome me back?” There, the question he meant to ask all this time.
“I would, Brendan,” she said breathlessly.
“I’ll try to make the journey as fast as possible, Elspeth.” He looked around, and seeing no one there, did a most forbidden thing. Hamish was not the only MacRae with a touch of wickedness to him. He bent and kissed her lightly on the lips, then stepped back before temptation proved too difficult to overcome. Elspeth’s face blossomed with color, and her eyes sparkled merrily.
“Hurry and leave, then,” she said. “The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll return.”
The afternoon was well advanced by the time the Ionis approached the end of Loch Euliss.
“Scotland hasn’t changed,” Ian said, hearing the sound of footsteps behind him and correctly identifying his wife. He glanced over his shoulder as Leitis joined him.
“It’s an old country; the passage of a few decades makes no difference.”
“Whereas Nova Scotia seems to be growing more crowded every year.”
She sent him a fond look. “You don’t like the English getting closer, Ian.”
He smiled in agreement. “We’ll be seeing Gilmuir soon.” He glanced around the deck. “Has Douglas found something more important to do?”
“He’s talking with the captain, negotiating with him for a chance to pilot the ship out of the firth.” She laughed, leaned her head against his shoulder. “Don’t look so surprised. He’s a MacRae.”
“He’s been adamant about never going to sea. Isn’t that the reason we sent him to France?”
She nodded.
“What the blazes was he studying, anyway?”
“Philosophy.”
“And women,” Ian added in an annoyed tone.
“A MacRae trait,” his wife said, trying and failing to stifle her smile.
“I’d rather he cultivated an interest in the sea than some French noble’s daughter.”
Her face abruptly sobered, and Ian wished he hadn’t commented about Douglas’s newest scandal.
“We have to do something about that, Ian.”
He agreed, but he didn’t know what could be done. Trust his youngest son to attempt to disgrace the family. “Did we spoil him?”
“Undoubtedly,” she said, sighing. “The other boys were so much older when he was born. It would have been helpful to have them around when he was growing up.”
“They would have kept him in line.”
“It can’t have been easy for him, though, being the youngest MacRae.”
Ian sent her a look that summoned another smile.
“Very well,” she admitted, “you’re right. He is very securely himself.”
“Being the youngest has never been Douglas’s problem,” his father said. “In fact, I would have preferred a little more reticence in his nature, at least where females are concerned.”
“Do you know that I had a stream of visitors before we left? All young and all female, and every one of them concerned as to the length of the voyage. They didn’t even have the tact to claim it was out of worry for us, either.”
“Missing Douglas already?”
She nodded.
“With any luck, all the females at Gilmuir will be happily married or too young to be affected.”
It was Leitis’s turn to chastise him with her expression. He grinned. An instant later, his smile slipped as he looked past her.
“Dear Almighty God,” he said, awed.
The ruins that had been Gilmuir had disappeared. The English fort that had stood beside the ancient castle was likewise gone. In its place was a tall, multiturreted structure of golden brick.
This new, imposing Gilmuir stretched the width of the promontory, two towers on either side seeming to rise up from the sheer cliff face. The sun’s bright rays illuminated the fortress, causing the stones to appear golden and the high set windows like inlays of dark jewels. Perched on the edge, looking out over Loch Euliss, was the priory, with its fabled arches and pillars stretching the length of the castle.
“He’s replaced the priory windows with stained glass,” Leitis said, her voice sounding as astonished as Ian felt.
“But otherwise, it looks as it must have four hundred years ago,” he said.
“Only larger.”
Alisdair’s accomplishment nearly overwhelmed him. He felt pride, both as a MacRae and as the father of the man who’d created this miracle.
“We need the sound of the pipes in the background,” Leitis said. “Something proper to welcome us back to Scotland.”
“Pipes, hell,” Ian said, grinning. He turned and shouted for the captain. “Peter,” he said, when the man appeared, “break out the cannon.”
“The cannon, sir?”
The Ionis was a trading vessel designed for ocean voyages. As such, she was equipped for any eventuality, including ten small cannon.
“Yes, cannon,” Ian said. “We’re going to announce our arrival in Scotland. The MacRaes have come home.”
“Did you hear that noise?” Mary pulled back, but Hamish only murmured something deep in his throat and kissed her again. For ten minutes, he’d been kissing her like this, deeply, thrillingly. She felt warm all over, a delicious feeling like being drugged spreading through her body. She barely noticed the coach, or the sometimes steep incline. If asked, Mary would have said that the roads were like heaven only because she never felt any discomf
ort.
“Kissing you to Gilmuir is a wonderful way to travel,” she said long moments later. She laid her head on his shoulder, lazily kissing his neck. His skin felt hot to the touch.
She entwined her fingers with his, realizing, suddenly, that they were moving. Surprised, she gripped his left hand. This morning, she’d insisted upon massaging his arm. But this was the first time she’d seen any change in his condition.
“I’ve been having some sensation,” he admitted. “Like a tingling.”
“Can you move your arm?” she asked, excited.
He shook his head. “No. Just the fingers and only a little.”
“Still, it’s more than you had,” she said, smiling at him. “This is the very best news, Hamish,” she said, bending to press a kiss to his palm.
He raised her head and kissed her mouth. She surrendered without much protest, wrapping her arms around his neck.
There it was again.
“Don’t you hear that?” she asked, pulling back. “Like thunder, but the sky is clear.”
She glanced out the window, staring at the sight before her eyes.
“Is that Gilmuir?” she asked, finding it difficult to swallow.
Hamish followed her look, and nodded. “Not quite as I remember,” he admitted. “But yes, that’s Gilmuir.”
She had imagined it to be large, and it was. But she’d never realized that it might dominate the land on which it sat, or envisioned the blue loch that surrounded it on three sides. The glen rose from the land bridge, became hills that were nevertheless dwarfed by the magnificence of Gilmuir.
Hamish tapped on the top of the coach, a signal for the driver to stop. The horses slowed and then halted, the coach wheels rolling backward and then finally stopping.
Opening the door, he unfurled the steps and turned to help Mary down from the carriage.
“My father used to stop in this very place every year,” he said. “His mother was a MacRae, but she married an English earl. One of the conditions she arranged before their marriage was that she return every summer to Gilmuir with her son.”
Mary didn’t say a word, looking as awed as he felt.
He hadn’t seen Gilmuir for three years, but it might have been a century. Alisdair had expanded the old castle until it took up most of the promontory. No one, seeing the behemoth of a building his brother had created, would be able to remember the ruins that had once stood on this spot. Most of the scaffolding was gone, and in its place was a four-towered structure that dominated the countryside.
In the middle of the new Gilmuir was a huge courtyard, spanned by an arch and framing the view of the loch. Hamish wondered if the staircase to the secret cove still existed or if Alisdair had built another way down to what was now his shipyard. They’d find out shortly.
“Well, Mary MacRae, shall we go home to Gilmuir?”
She looked momentarily disconcerted.
“Your new name sounds right,” Hamish said, smiling at her.
“It feels right,” she said, returning the smile.
They both got into the carriage again for the descent through the glen.
A circular drive curved in front of a wide flight of steps. At the top were two broad, heavily carved oak doors, flanked by a pair of lanterns mounted on tall iron poles. Similar lanterns lined the road from the glen. At night, the approach to Gilmuir would be both dramatic and welcoming.
Hamish opened the door before the driver could dismount, and helped Mary from the carriage. Taking his hand, she held her skirts with the other and mounted the steps to Gilmuir beside him.
A moment later, she heard the booming sound once again.
“What’s that noise?”
“Cannon,” Hamish said, identifying the sound. He descended the steps and stood in the courtyard staring out at the loch. There, on the horizon, was a ship, and from the puffs of smoke dissipating as it drew near, it was also clearly the source of the noise.
Mary joined him, shading her eyes from the bright sun.
“Why are they firing on us?” Mary asked, wondering where the inhabitants of Gilmuir were and why they weren’t alarmed by the noise.
“They’re not,” he said, bemused. “They’re signaling.”
“But why?”
“To announce their arrival.”
“Who?”
“My father.” He turned to Mary. “You’re about to meet my parents,” he said, beginning to smile.
“There were times I despaired of ever seeing you again,” a voice said from behind him. Hamish turned and greeted his oldest brother; the first time he’d seen him for three years.
Alisdair surveyed his face in silence.
“I’d heard you’d been tortured. Is that true?”
Hamish’s smile faded. “Did Brendan tell you that?”
“Our brother has been suspiciously silent, Hamish. But his crew has not.”
“What you heard was true enough, Alisdair.”
A little girl followed by a toddler came running from the castle. Their feet flew over the grass, and Hamish was reminded of tales his mother had told, of growing up at Gilmuir as a child.
They ran to Alisdair, and he greeted them with a laugh as each gripped one of his legs. Both had silky black hair, and their features marked them as Alisdair’s children, just as the intense blue eyes of the youngest child decreed him a MacRae.
“Aislin you’ll remember,” Alisdair said, ruffling the hair of his daughter. “And this little lad is Robert.”
Hamish knelt until he was eye-level with both children.
“Well,” he said smiling at the little girl, “I knew about you. In fact, I was here not long after you were born. But I had no idea about Robert.”
“We call him Robbie,” Aislin offered.
“I can talk,” Robbie said indignantly.
That was, however, the extent of their conversation.
Hamish glanced over his shoulder, realizing he’d been rude. Standing, he drew Mary forward, placing his arm around her while he introduced her to his brother.
“I’d like you to meet my wife, Mary,” he said.
Alisdair looked as surprised as Hamish had been at the sight of his brother’s children. However, he hid it faster.
“You’re the Angel of Inverness,” he said.
“She doesn’t like to be called that,” Hamish said protectively.
Alisdair didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Welcome,” Alisdair said, extending both hands to Mary. She placed hers in his. “You’re welcome to Gilmuir and to the family,” he said warmly.
“Did you know they were coming?” Hamish asked, glancing out to sea once more. The vessel was the Ionis; the flag it flew identified it as the flagship of their merchant fleet. Only one man was entitled to fly that pennant, and his father did so rarely, since he disliked being at sea.
“I didn’t,” Alisdair said, turning to look at the loch. “But I’m glad of it. I never thought that they’d come home to Scotland.”
“Nor I.”
“They’ll need to dock on the other side of the necklace of rocks and come around by land. We’ve hours until they arrive. Why don’t we go inside, and you can greet Iseabal. I expect James today or tomorrow.”
Hamish must have looked surprised, because Alisdair smiled. “We’ve been watching their ship since it entered the firth,” he said. “What about Brendan?”
“He’s on his way,” Hamish said. “He’s doing an errand for me.”
All day, he had tried to keep Mary’s thoughts from the verdict, and he knew he’d been only partially successful. When Alisdair looked quizzical, Hamish realized he’d have to tell his older brother the story.
Mary slipped her hand in his. He clasped it tightly, and together they walked toward Gilmuir.
Chapter 26
T hree massive crystal chandeliers imported from France illuminated Gilmuir’s clans hall. Cunning lanterns in the embrasures banished the shroud of shadows from the corners. The walls, painte
d a pale yellow, seemed to reflect the light, and acted as a perfect foil for the multicolored banners draped from the ceiling.
The table was long and wide, stretching the length of the room. What space wasn’t occupied by platters of food was taken up with crystal, silver, and more candles. The guests sat on chairs with high backs, richly upholstered in tapestry.
Mary’s past merged with her present in an odd way. Only Alisdair and Iseabal knew that the silver goblets they used came from Inverness, or that Gordon had fashioned them. Mary had seen them before, having marveled at Gordon’s artistry as he’d packed a dozen of them in their specially designed wooden case.
Each chalice was seven inches tall and set with a leopard agate in the stem. Around the top was an ornate design of thistle and heather blossoms. Three main panels depicted scenes no doubt from the MacRaes’ history: a tonsured monk painting on the wall of a cave, a woman bent over the neck of a horse clearing a hedge, a ship in full sail.
The room was filled with conversation. Occasionally, someone would exclaim aloud, or a burst of laughter would erupt from the end of the table.
Mary’s silence wasn’t because of the splendor of her surroundings. Her own home in Inverness had been filled with treasures. If anything kept her mute, it was the fascination with which she viewed her new in-laws.
She’d never met anyone like the MacRaes.
Ian was tall and broad shouldered, his temples rendered silver with age. His face was lined, true, but other than that, he appeared as youthful as his sons. Leitis, the matriarch of the clan, had more wrinkles, and she hesitated somewhat in rising and walking, but she had a youthful laugh. Her surprising blue eyes, young and now lit with laughter, were replicated in the faces of her two older sons.
It was their nature, however, that Mary marveled at more than their appearance. From the moment they’d met, Leitis had enfolded Mary in her arms. Ian had done so as well, welcoming her to the family.
Then there was Alisdair, who had rebuilt Gilmuir but insisted on sharing the praise with his wife, Iseabal.
