Molly in the Middle

by Stobie Piel

  Miren eyed her doubtfully. "Laugh?"

  "Aye . . . When Kenneth first came to visit your mother, she paid no attention to him, but I was impressed by his humor. I thought I would like him for a husband."

  "Kenneth MacCallum was . . . funny?"

  "When he wasn't drinking, yes. It is the one thing he passed to Nat. It skipped David, unfortunately. David was so serious."

  "Was Laird MacCallum angered because of the switch?"

  "Oh, Miren, his fury knew no bounds. I didn't understand. He'd only met Cora once, when she was fourteen. He paid no attention to her, other than to learn her parentage. Her parents, like mine, were dead, but her father had been Stephen Malcolm."

  Miren considered this. "Was he wealthy or prominent?"

  "Not to my knowledge. Rumor said he was descended from a Jacobite chieftain, one who fought and died in the war against the English. Some say he hid away a great sum of money before his deathin the form of jeweled weapons, crowns, and gold. I wondered if Kenneth had learned of this rumored fortune and thought to claim it for himself, through Cora."

  "It seems a great deal of effort for the sake of a rumor."

  "Aye, as I thought myself. Unless he knew something I didn't."

  "I wish it were true." Miren chuckled. "Those dirks and crowns would be mine. I have an affection for dirks andsgian-dhus. But the treasure is, no doubt, exaggerated by time and imagination."

  "I expect so. Still, Kenneth never felt his estate was enough. Even a wee promise of such fortune would have meant much to him. It might have been enough to assuage his angerwhich he directed through drink to me."

  Glenna spoke without emotion, and Miren marveled at her even temper. "You speak of him with amazing forgiveness. I think I would want him dead."

  Glenna sighed heavily. "I hated him, make no mistake. When a man lays a hand of violence upon a woman, there is no return to trust. Yet the effect of such abuse is strange. I feared myself more than Kenneth. I didn't trust my own body, because I couldn't protect it. I wished and wished, but no fairy came."

  Glenna paused. "Maybe I'm wrong. Simon came. I wouldn't be at all surprised to find a pixie in Simon's ancestry."

  "He cares for you."

  "I know. It grieved me once, to know he cared and that I couldn't return his feelings. But Simon's first love is the sea. It always was, and it always will be."

  "And for you?"

  "My love . . ." Glenna closed her eyes softly. "I had lived with the Seneca for almost a year. David had just started walking. I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. But one evening a young man entered the village, the chief's son. When I first saw him, I thought the sun rose and set at his feet. He'd returned from a long quest into Canada, and his father asked him to choose a bride. Every beautiful young woman wished to marry him. I sat with the elders, shucking corn, wishing with all my heart I were young and beautiful and innocent again."

  Miren's eyes puddled with tears. "You are beautiful."

  "I didn't think so. When I envisioned myself, I saw a bruised woman, an old woman. A woman who lost innocencebeneath her husband's fist. Miren, when I looked at that perfect, strong young man, I saw all the things I couldn't be. I ran into my adopted clan's longhall and I wept. I hadn't cried in years, but I cried that day."

  Miren couldn't speak. Nat looked up at his grandmother, an attentive expression on his small face. He took her hand, but he said nothing.

  "While I was crying, someone touched my shoulder and knelt beside me. It was that beautiful young man. He asked me if I was crying because of his choice. I didn't know what to say, so I just shook my head. He said if it caused me pain, he would choose another, but he promised to be a good husband. He said he would treat my son as his own."

  "Oh!" Miren shoved tears from her cheeks, but more came. "He chose you."

  "He did. I've never understood why. When I ask him, he says he looked around and picked the woman he liked best."

  Miren sniffed. "That sounds reasonable. That's the way I picked . . ." She caught herself and bit her lip.

  "The way you picked Nathaniel?"

  Miren rose from her chair. "I suppose it wasn't quite like that."

  "No. Each lover's story is different. That is the beauty, and why the stories are told over and over, and each one is new."

  Miren looked into Glenna's eyes. "I am suppose to leave Scotland today, after the Games. I do not want to go."

  "Fate unfolds beyond our control, Miren. But don't fear. Sometimes it sees clearer than we do."

  The Highland Games were in full swing by the time Miren and Glenna arrived. Nat held Miren's hand, but seemed eager to sample the table offerings of shortbread and whiskey. "Not just yet, Nat." Miren edged him away from the whiskey, but Glenna purchased a round cake of shortbread and gave him a sample.

  Nathan was waiting, looking anxious. Miren saw him neara large white tent, pacing. He spotted her, and she felt his relief across the field. Glenna waved, then took another bite of her shortbread. "The Iroquois don't know much about shortbread, either."

  Nathan strode across the field, and Miren's heart quickened. Today was their last together. Tonight, she would be on board a ship for America. She would never see him again. The milling crowd faded from her vision as she watched him. He wore his pirate shirt and snug black trousers with his high boots again. As he came toward her, the wind tousled his hair and the sun glinted off his earring.

  Molly wagged her tail eagerly and pulled on her leash to greet him. Miren stepped forward and he took her hands. "Miren . . ." He seemed moved to see her. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe his soft words of love meant he wanted her at his side.

  "Have you caught Brent yet?"

  "The duke's men are in position. Edgington's here, and he's jumpy as a cat."

  "Do you think he knows you're on to him?"

  "Maybe. But I greeted him and he didn't notice. Odd."

  Simon came up beside Miren. "As I've said before, young Brent's an odd duck anyway."

  Miren looked around. Lady MacCallum hovered near the queen and the Duchess of Argyll, but she didn't see Brent. "Where is he?"

  "We're keeping an eye on him. He's got Grainger with him, which is interesting. He needed someone to help him cover his actions. Grainger seems likely."

  Miren sighed. "He seemed kind to me."

  Nathan kissed Miren's hand. "You stay with Simon and my mother. The queen asked that you join her. You and Nat will be safest there, Miren."

  "Uncle?" Nat tugged at Nathan's sleeve. "Has the hairy fiend come to the Games?"

  Nathan glanced down at his nephew, a faint smile on hislips. ''He wouldn't dare." He touched Nat's head, then drew his hand away as if his own affection frightened him. "Stay with Miren, Nat. She'll keep you safe."

  Nathan left, and Nat positioned himself close to Miren. "The hairy fiend won't come. Uncle will scare him away." Nat sighed. "I'm sorry that the hairy fiend has to miss the Games, though. Looks fun."

  Miren squeezed his hand. "Maybe hairy fiends have games of their own."

  Nat nodded, serious. "Eating little children. I know."

  Miren led Nat through the crowd, but reaching Queen Victoria wasn't easy. She was seated before a large tent, surrounded by noblemen, silent guards, and excited onlookers. Lady MacCallum stood stiffly by the queen's chair, but everyone else looked happy.

  The queen noticed Miren and motioned to her guards, who escorted Miren into the group. "Miss Lindsay, Her Majesty is pleased you could attend. I see your fiance and the duke are busying themselves."

  Miren curtsied, and Molly dropped. Nat bowed, surprising Miren. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Well done."

  He nodded. "You, too."

  Glenna stood behind Miren, but Simon shoved his way through the crowd, smiling happily as his victims glared. "Pleased to see you, Your Extreme and Majestic Eminence."

  "And you, Mr. MacTavish. I trust your sheep are attended in your absence?"

  Simon shrugged. "They'll do fine."
/>
  "The caber toss has begun." Queen Victoria raised her hand and pointed as an immense man with blond wavy hair squatted in position. Two men carried a pine-tree trunk and placed it upright in his hands. He labored to his feet. With the caber balanced against his shoulder, he propelled himself forward, stopped, roared, and thrust the pole upward.

  The end of the caber hit the ground, went end over end, and the crowd burst into applause.

  The queen clapped, too. "The caber toss has a fascinating history. The mighty Scots Highlander had to throw felled trunks into rivers to get them to sawmills. They had to reach the middle of the river so as not to snag."

  Lady MacCallum's face stretched into an unnatural smile. "Your knowledge of Highland customs is truly impressive, Your Majesty."

  Queen Victoria chuckled. "Not as impressive as the size of that next competitor."

  The sound of pipers warming up their instruments distracted the queen. "I must admit, as fascinating as the caber toss is to me, it is the bagpipe competition that most moves my heart."

  Lady MacCallum's lip curled, then contorted into another smile. "It seems to please the Scots."

  The solo piping contest was the highest honor awarded at the Games. As the caber toss continued, the pipers assembled to begin their competition.

  Nathan made his way through the crowd and stood at Miren's side. She noticed Brent coming the other way. He was dressed in full regalia, with a black cap and feather, and white button boots. He looked pale and nervous, but his eyes were bright. She felt a little sorry for him, cornered this way. She looked down at Nat and remembered his father's cruel death. No, Brent deserved no pity, after all.

  "Brent, dearest. Where have you been?" Lady MacCallum said.

  "I'm . . . I've got some things to . . ." Brent stuttered, the silenced himself.

  The Duke of Argyll made his way to Brent's side. "Brent . . . I'd like a word with you, if you've got a moment."

  "Not just now."

  Lady MacCallum gasped and went white. "Brent!" She turned to the duke, fanning herself violently. "Of course, he has time to speak with you. Don't you, dearest?"

  "Not now."

  Brent passed in front of the queen, who made a small chopping motion with her hand. Miren met her eyes, and the queen winked.

  "Brent!"

  Brent turned to his mother. "I'm sorry, Mother. There's something I have to do."

  The duke stepped forward, apparently sensing that matters had come to a head. The guards stiffened, their hands went to their weapons. "We need to ask you a few questions, Brent."

  "Later."

  The duke nodded to Nathan, who placed himself in Brent's path. "Now, Edgington."

  Brent looked . . . not frightened, but annoyed. "No."

  Nathan caught him by the shoulder. Brent didn't freeze or reach for a weapon. Instead, he rolled his eyes. Miren glanced at Glenna. "Something's not right."

  Glenna just sighed and shook her head.

  "You weren't on a hunting trip last week, when Miren was attacked."

  "By wolves, I know . . . If you'll excuse me . . ."

  Brent edged past Nathan, aiming for the queen's tent. "Look, Nathan. I'd be happy to chat another time. Not now."

  Brent's response took Nathan off guard. He released his grip, and Brent headed for the tent. Nathan glanced at the duke, who shrugged. "Odd duck, he is."

  Nathan started for the tent, but the sound of a bagpipe stopped him. Miren caught her breath as the bag filled and began the most haunting, beautiful music she'd ever heardexcept once.

  "Nathan, that's the music we heard . . ."

  Nathan's mouth dropped as the music slowed, then began again. Grainger held open the tent flap, his eyes shining with pride. And Brent Edgington emerged carrying an old, worn bagpipe, his eyes fixed ahead as music filled the air.

  The queen rose to her feet, and the guards stood back. Theother pipers ceased their own music to listen. A caber-tossing competitor slowed and set his tree trunk down. Brent continued through the crowd and into the field. His music rose and lifted over the crowd and pierced toward heaven.

  Tears flooded Miren's eyes and dripped to her cheeks. A slender, self-conscious Englishman had taken up Miren's national instrument and poured all his soul into its music. She'd never heard anything so beautiful.

  "Your Majesty, please forgive him. I don't know what's come over him. Brent!"

  The queen held up her hand. "Silence!" She closed her eyes and a smile formed on her face.

  Brent moved across the field, ignoring the crowd, stepping in sympathy with his heart-wrenching music. Grainger pushed his way past Lady MacCallum. "I'd be silent if I were you, Irene. The boy's got a gift."

  Her mouth dropped, but she didn't argue. No one but Miren noticed the quiet exchange. "Irene . . ."

  Brent's song wound to its end. The bagpipe groaned and left its final, ignominious gasp. Brent stopped and opened his eyes. He was in the center of the field, looking lost. The odd man out. The crowd was silent. No one moved. Then, all at once, as one, they erupted in cheers and applause.

  Brent looked surprised. Then his face lit into a beaming smile. The crowd moved in around him, patting his back, declaring him the winner even before the other pipers began. The queen summoned her guards, who fetched Brent to stand before her.

  He bowed, but he stood straight and proud, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Your Majesty."

  "Mr. Edgington. You have done England proud. Your skill proves that Scotland is in the heart first, not the blood."

  Brent bowed, then backed away. Several pipers were already inquiring about his joining a pipe band. To Miren's surprise and pleasure, he seemed interested. She glanced at his mother, looking for signs of emotion. Irene's face lookedfrozen, contorted with anger. Yet beside her, their coachman's eyes overflowed with tears of pride.

  Nathan stood motionless beside Miren. "I was wrong."

  "You were wrong."

  They looked at each other. Miren shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Now what?"

  He drew her apart from the crowd. "I was so eager to prove Brent guilty." Nathan clasped Miren's shoulders. "Do you understand? I wanted it over. So you and I . . ."

  "So we could go our separate ways, or stay together?"

  Brent came up behind Nathan, smiling. "Sorry, Nathan. Didn't mean to put you off. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

  Nathan released Miren and placed his hand on Brent's shoulder. "It's not important now, Brent. I've never listened to bagpipe music before. But today, when you were playing, I knew what it meant to be Scottish, after all."

  Brent beamed with pride. "You are Scottish, Nathan. A laird. You know, I envied you when Kenneth went hunting for you. I used to be his heir, but he wanted his own son. I was afraid I'd be nothing without that title." Brent patted his sunken bagpipe. "But titles don't mean as much as I thought." He glanced at his mother. "I hope she'll understand, one day.''

  Brent seized Nathan's hand and shook vigorously. "I've been invited to join the Edinburgh piping band, and I've agreed. I have you to thank, Nathan."

  Nathan looked doubtful. "Why?"

  "Something you said at dinner. 'A man must seize life in many places.' You said bravery comes when you want something more than you fear its loss. I took those words to heart. I learned the bagpipe when I'd gotten lost hunting, you see." Brent lowered his voice. "Truth be told, I hate hunting. Blood, killing . . ." He grimaced, then resumed a more manly stance. "I ended up at an old crofter's hut. All he had to his name was a bagpipe."

  Brent patted his instrument. "This is it."

  Miren's eyes misted. "He gave you his bagpipe?"

  "He was old. Couldn't play much, because he coughed. He didn't have a son, so he passed it to me. Said I had talent."

  "That is obvious. We heard you play one morning . . ." Miren's mouth fell opened. "Your trunk, the one in the forest . . . You kept your bagpipe in it, didn't you?"

  "Didn't know anyone had seen it. Grainger helped me
cart it around." Brent glanced toward Grainger. "Old fellow caught on to me a few years ago. But he's stuck by me, and encouraged me when I thought I was crazy. He'd take me off for my hunting trips and see that I'd get to a peaceful spot to practice instead."

  Miren's brow furrowed. "Are you the reason lady MacCallum doesn't fire him?"

  "Fire him?" Brent sighed. "I'd do my best to see the old fellow taken care of, but my word doesn't go far with Mother. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason, really. I'd understood that Lady MacCallum doesn't keep staff long."

  "No. She doesn't. Grainger must be charmed." Brent touched his cap and bowed, then headed back to his admirers.

  Nathan watched Brent Edgington among the other pipers. The band major was examining Brent's instrument and nodding his approval. Brent had changed. He looked taller than usual, and Nathan realized that until this day, Brent held himself tense, his chest caved. Like a small boy.

  Nathan turned his eyes reluctantly to his own nephew. Nat stood beside Glenna, looking small and tense. Nathan didn't want to see it, but the comparison rose before him as if held on a canvas by angel hands. Brent lost his father young, like Nat. Brent grew up insecure, desperate to cling to any importance he could find.

  Brent had a mother, true, but Irene wasn't a warm woman. Her disgusted apology to the queen revealed everything herchild endured. And Nathan was leaving Nat to grow up in a large, cold house, with servants, with a grandmother who longed for her far-off husband. Taregan was too stubborn to join her, so she had come without him. But Glenna would never be happy in Scotland.

  Nat seemed to be a bright child. Nathan had avoided him, but he couldn't help observing the small boy's attentive manner. When they left New York harbor, Glenna had wept quietly. Nat sensed his grandmother's sorrow, and took her hand while she cried, but he didn't pester her.

  He needed a father. He needed a mother. He needed brothers and sisters. Pets. He needed . . . Nathan.

  Nathan snapped his gaze from the child, but Miren had noticed his expression. "He'll be all right. He's a strong little boy."

  "He'll end up like Brent, Miren."

  Miren squeezed Nathan's arm. "That's not so very bad. Brent found his own way, despite everything. Look . . . Lady MacCallum is fuming. She'll lecture him and try to shame him from following his dream. But it won't work, Nathan. Because he's found his courage."