by Julia London
Aulay had sailed this coast more times than he could count, but that fog, damn it, had rolled in so quickly, and so thick, that he’d lost his way. He admitted this to his father. He said that had he been at sea, he would have held course, but that he’d been sailing too close to the shore to avoid the other ship, and when the storm blew up, he couldn’t keep her from the rocks.
When he’d finished, his family fell silent. Catriona slowly leaned back in her chair, resting her head against it, staring at the ceiling. His mother reached across her husband for Aulay’s hand and squeezed it.
His father didn’t speak, but stared down at the Livingstones, his jaw working in a clench.
Would he ever have his father’s forgiveness? Aulay wanted desperately to ask for it, to hear his father say that he was forgiven for what he’d done, forgiven for ruining them. But his father did not offer forgiveness. When at last he turned his gaze from the Livingstones, he rapped his knuckles absently on the table. “We’ll discuss what is to be done with Rabbie on the morrow, aye?” he said.
Aye, of course—he’d hear from one of his better sons.
“We’ll hear what the Livingstones have to say for themselves,” he added, and gestured at the lot of them, eating stew as if they’d just crawled out of the desert after forty days and nights. His father looked at Aulay pointedly. “We canna allow this crime to go unanswered, can we, then?”
Aulay’s heart squeezed. It had been so full of fury, but now it felt as if there was nothing left. Not fury, not hope, not acceptance. Nothing. “No. Of course no’.”
“Will you send for a justice of the peace, then, Pappa?” Catriona asked.
“We’ll decide on the morrow,” the laird said. “I want to think on it and have Rabbie’s opinion as well.”
“They’ve been through quite a lot,” Aulay’s mother said, gazing at them below the dais.
“They’re no’ strays, Margot,” his father said curtly. “And they’ve caused us an insurmountable loss, as you must see, aye?”
“I do. But it’s been so very hard for so many in these hills, Arran. People have been forced to do things they would never do.”
“Aye, and we are included in that number, are we no’?” he asked, looking at his wife. She pursed her lips. “Margot, leannan...we’ve lost our best hope to return an income to us with the loss of the ship. We canna let it lie.”
“I understand,” she said. But she didn’t sound as if she did. “Is there enough room for them in the gatehouse?”
“Aye,” his father said. “Aulay, put them under guard.”
“Aye, my lord,” he said as Frang appeared to place a platter of food before him. But he’d lost his appetite. Perhaps because Lottie was in his line of sight, scarcely touching her own food. Aulay felt a little sick—sick at all that he’d lost, sick at what he feared he might lose yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IN A SMALL room with a single window, Lottie was introduced to the most glorious thing she’d ever seen: a bed. A proper bed, with real linens and even a pillow. And what’s more, Lady Mackenzie had insisted a bath be drawn for her.
Lottie had not argued. She was too exhausted and too heartbroken to care about anything other than a bath and a bed.
Servants arrived with a tub, buckets of hot water, and in the company of the young woman who had greeted Aulay at the gates. She was obviously Aulay’s sister—there was a strong family resemblance in the golden hair and blue eyes. She was carrying a basket, which she placed at the foot of the bed. “You’ll need a change of clothing, aye?” she said, gesturing to the basket.
“Ah...aye, thank you,” Lottie said, feeling suddenly ashamed of her appearance. “I canna thank you enough for it.”
“No,” the woman said coolly. “I donna suppose you can.” She folded her arms, leaned insouciantly against the wall as the servants filled the tub, and eyed Lottie closely, like a crow, as if she’d never seen a woman in such a state before.
When the servants had finished the chore, they went out, but Aulay’s sister remained.
“Ah...” Lottie gestured feebly to the tub.
“You donna strike me as bashful,” his sister said. “Go on, then.” She moved to look out the window at the hamlet rooftops as Lottie disrobed. “You’ve no’ asked my name, so I’ll tell you. I’m Miss Catriona Mackenzie, Aulay’s sister, aye? You may call me Catriona if you like. I canna abide all the Miss This and That.”
“I’m Lottie,” Lottie said, and tossed her trews and shirt onto the floor. “Lottie Livingstone. You resemble, him, you do,” she said, and stepped into the tub. She closed her eyes on a blissful sigh as she sank into the bath. It was pure luxury after the last week.
“Here.”
Lottie opened her eyes—Catriona was standing beside the tub, holding out a bar of soap. Lottie reluctantly took it, wondering why Aulay’s sister should linger.
Catriona strolled around the room as Lottie bathed. “There’s to be a meeting on the morrow. Two of my brothers and my father will determine what is to be done with you and your clan.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lottie. “Does it frighten you, then?”
Lottie remembered how fear had choked the breath from her in those moments she thought she would drown. She shook her head. “I’m a wee bit uneasy, I’ll no’ deny it. But no’ frightened.” She began to wash her hair.
“Funny, but I thought you’d say that.” Catriona stopped her wandering and turned around to face Lottie. “How did you do it?”
“Pardon?”
“How did you steal my brother’s ship? He’s one of the finest captains on the seas, and ’tis no’ only me who says it, aye? Everyone on Skye would say it as well, and the MacDonalds are no’ easy with their praise, they’re no’.”
“Ah...” Lottie still didn’t know how she’d managed it. “We, ah...we planned to do it.”
“It would no’ be so easy.”
“No,” Lottie said softly. “I, ah...I distracted them.”
“How?”
Lottie could feel her cheeks heating and averted her gaze, then gestured vaguely to her face.
“Pardon?” Catriona asked.
Lottie made a circular motion around her face again. “I distracted them.”
Catriona’s brows dipped. Lottie waited to be ridiculed, or worse, censured for it. But Catriona abruptly laughed. “Are gentleman no’ the most ridiculous creatures? Such slaves to beauty they are.”
The heat in Lottie’s cheeks intensified. “While I...distracted them, my brother struck him from behind. You might have noticed him—he’s rather big.”
“Oh, aye, he’s your brother, is he? What ails him?”
Catriona was very direct, which, in any other circumstance, Lottie would have very much admired. But at present, she wished Catriona would leave. “He was born with the cord about his neck. He’s never been right.”
Catriona sat on the end of the bed. “How tragic for your family. For your mother! Does she wait for your return?”
Lottie shook her head. “She died in the course of bearing my sister.”
“Oh,” Catriona said contritely, and glanced at her hands. “My condolences. Well! I donna know what will happen, but the ship is lost and the cargo we held was no’ ours, aye? We canna replace it and now we have a large debt we didna have before. Everyone is verra angry just now.”
“Aye,” Lottie said softly. “I understand.”
“Nevertheless, my father is quite fair.”
If he were a fair man, he’d see them hang for it, for that was the only fair thing. The only fair thing would be for the Livingstones to pay the Mackenzie debts, but that was as laughable as it was impossible.
Catriona leaned across the space between them and lifted a wet strand of Lottie’s hair. “I’ve never seen such a color, in all my days I’ve no’. No wonder Aulay was stricken.” S
he dropped Lottie’s hair and smiled.
“He was no’ stricken,” Lottie scoffed. “He was the only man on that ship who seemed suspicious of me.”
“That is what constitutes stricken for my brother. I’ve never known a lass to catch his eye. He’s had his courtships, aye, and I’ve heard from Rabbie—that’s another of my brothers—that he has no’ lacked for the attention of the fairer sex. But Aulay likes his solitary life, I think. He prefers to be free to sail the seas and return to us every now and again. The good Lord knows that when he’s here at Balhaire, he canna stay for long. He’s always been quite desperate to be out again.”
“He is married to the sea,” Lottie said, thinking back on their conversation.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,” Lottie murmured. She thought of the seascapes he’d painted, of the places he’d been. She had taken that from him and she couldn’t bear that she’d hurt another person as she had clearly hurt him. She would give anything in her power to make it right.
Catriona tilted her head to one side. “You are a beauty, that you are. Pity,” she said.
Lottie flushed.
“I mean pity that you’ll no’ be at Balhaire for very long. I should like to learn how to steal a ship. It can be so tedious here.”
“Borrow,” Lottie said, and closed her eyes.
“Pardon?”
“I borrowed it,” she said.
“Hmm. My brother would disagree,” Catriona said. “He said you are the worst sort of thief, for you pray on the weakness of men.”
Lottie’s eyes flew open, but Catriona had moved to the door. “Sleep well, then.”
Did Aulay really believe that she’d prayed on his regard for her?
In spite of the anxiety that filled her, Lottie slept heavily. Her body had given out, but her heart and mind plagued her with dreams. She was in the water, trying to reach the shore, or her father calling down the hatch for her to come up before she drowned, but she was unable to reach the steps. And then there was a dream in the space between sleep and waking. It was Aulay, crouched on a hill above her, his hand extended to her, his smile broad and inviting. “Come now, lass, come with me,” he said, and as she slipped her hand into his, his smile became a snarl. “You will hang for what you’ve done.”
Lottie awoke from that dream with a tear sliding from the corner of her eye. She held him in such great esteem that it was physically painful to have destroyed the thin thread of trust they’d had between them. She hadn’t deserved his trust at all, but he’d been generous, far more generous than she might have been in his shoes. She’d destroyed that. He was right—she had ruined everything.
She tried to think, tried to determine a way the Livingstones could pay the Mackenzie losses. Did Mr. MacColl have that sort of fortune? If, by some miracle, she could escape the noose or incarceration, could he set the debt to rights if she married him?
All that thinking made her head ache, and Lottie finally rose from bed. She dressed in the gown Catriona had given her, a gray muslin over a white petticoat and a silky white stomacher. It was a plain day gown, but after her two weeks on the sea, Lottie felt like a queen in it.
Catriona had also left her a hairbrush and hairpins, and even a bit of rouge. Lottie was deeply mystified by her kindness, but grateful for it. She brushed her hair, then pinned it back from her face but let it fall down her back. She left off the rouge, however, as two weeks in the sun had left her with all the rosiness she needed.
When she was fully dressed, she walked down the hall to the rooms where the rest of the Livingstones had been shown the night before. She found Mathais dressed in clean clothes, too, and Drustan in a clean lawn shirt.
“The lad said they couldna find anything but a shirt for Dru,” Mathais said.
Drustan didn’t seem to mind. He was sitting on a bed, bent over a piece of wood in his hands. Mathais noticed Lottie’s interest and said, “Iain the Red brought round a bit of wood for him. His gull is quite good,” he said, and held it up for Lottie to see. “He’s carving a ship now.”
Lottie checked on the other men—all of them in clean clothes, all of them groomed, all of them hungry. She volunteered to inquire after the guard if they might have a wee bite.
Lottie went to the door that led into the bailey and knocked lightly, then carefully pulled it open. Much to her surprise, Aulay was standing on the other side of the door with the guard. She gaped at him, unable to speak at first. He was clearly rested, his hair combed into a queue, his jaw clean-shaven. He wore a plaid, which had been banned by the king, with a coat and waistcoat and ghillie brogues. He was the picture of strength and virility, and Lottie’s blood began to race. He was a devil in tartan, and in spite of herself, she smiled broadly, a wee bit like a mad woman.
Aulay did not smile. “I’ve come to fetch you,” he said. “My mother should like to see you all returned to good health with breakfast.”
Lottie nodded. Whatever was swimming in his clear blue eyes made her feel weak and fluttery. It was not esteem—it was the shine of enmity. “What?” he demanded, growing irritable with her intent study of him.
Lottie was reminded of another time he’d asked her what, and she’d said everything. He was everything. “Well...I should verra much like to kiss you, that’s what.”
His gaze darkened. “My father and brother are waiting. We’ll receive you once you’ve broken your fast, aye?” He turned around and strode away from her.
Lottie’s heart deflated until there was no life left in it. Aulay had lost all regard for her, and it hurt.
* * *
THEY WERE FED a king’s breakfast with fresh eggs and ham, soup and cheese, and freshly-baked bread. “What do you think, is it our last meal, then?” Duff asked curiously as he stuffed more bread into his mouth.
Lottie’s stomach turned, and she put down her fork.
“Beg your pardon.”
She glanced up—the butler was standing at the end of their table. “Aye?”
“Miss Livingstone, Mr. Duff Livingstone, Mr. Robert MacLean and Mr. Gilroy are to accompany me to the laird’s study, aye? They rest of you shall return to the gatehouse where you will wait until further notice.” He gave them a curt nod of his head and stepped back, waiting for them to do as he instructed.
“Sounds a wee bit formal, does it no’?” Mr. MacLean muttered.
“I donna see why I’m no’ allowed to come,” Mathais complained. “I helped take the ship as much as anyone.”
“Donna be daft, lad,” Duff said, chuffing him on the shoulder. “Do you think this is to be a feill?” he asked, referring to a Highland festival.
A guard appeared to march them off to the gatehouse, and Lottie, Duff, Mr. MacLean and Gilroy followed the butler down a darkened corridor to a pair of oak doors. He opened them, stepped inside and bowed. “The Livingstones, milord.”
Lottie was the first to enter, determined to accept the blame for all of it. But when she stepped inside, the room stopped her midstride—she’d not expected it to be so large or so grand. There were large windows along one wall, framed with heavy velvet drapes. A hearth with a cheery fire chased the damp, but the most striking thing was the wall of books. So many books! It was what she imagined a king’s room to look like.
The other thing that startled her was how many people were in the room. The laird and his wife, of course, as well as Catriona. Aulay stood at the hearth with a man with rich brown hair who was a wee bit taller and broader. That man stared at Lottie in a manner that she was very much accustomed to, but then suddenly glanced away, to a woman seated in a chair nearby. There was another couple, the lady on a settee, the gentleman standing behind her.
“Miss Livingstone,” the laird said. “You will pardon me if I donna rise, aye? My leg pains me. You’ve met my wife and daughter. Might I also introduce my son Rabbie Mackenzie, and his wife, Mrs. Bernad
ette Mackenzie.”
“How do you do,” the woman said in a crisp, English accent.
How did she do? She was shaking in her borrowed slippers, hoping there was something to which she might cling to keep from collapsing.
“My daughter Vivienne and her husband, Mr. Marcas Mackenzie,” the laird continued.
“Madainn mhath,” the woman said.
“Madainn mhath,” Lottie responded, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
“You may introduce yourself, then,” the laird said.
Lottie curtsied and introduced the Livingstones, who stood behind her in a half circle, none of them coming any deeper into the room.
“I’d like to ask a few questions, if I may?” the laird continued and gestured to a chair at his desk. “Will you sit, then, Miss Livingstone?”
Lottie glanced at the chair. She clasped her hands before her to hide her trembling and said, “If you please, milord, I prefer to stand.”
One of his bushy brows rose above the other. “Verra well. You may begin by explaining when you first saw the royal ship in pursuit?”
So it had been a royal ship. Lottie exchanged a worried look with her men.
“Shortly after we came round the Orkneys, sir,” Gilroy said, stepping forward. “’Twas my ship that was lost.”
“What caused the altercation between you and the royal ship?”
Gilroy looked at Lottie.
She cleared her throat. “We carried illegal spirits, milord. Spirits we’d distilled, aye?”
There was a rustling in the room, and the laird glanced at his sons. Aulay’s expression remained impassive, but his brother was gaping at Lottie, either appalled by her audacity, or that she’d admitted it.
“If I may?” Lottie asked. The laird nodded. “We’ve a new laird on Lismore Island, Mr. Duncan Campbell, aye? He’s raised our rents, and we canna afford to pay them. My father...” She paused, swallowing down a lump in her throat, the wound still so fresh. “May he rest in peace,” she added softly. “My father had the idea that as we could no’ produce our rents by our usual means, which is to say, a wee bit of farming or fishing, that we might do it with whisky.”
