A Highland Conquest

by Sandra Heath

  She lingered for a moment longer on the gallery, enjoying the coolness of the night, and then she turned back into her room, stepping carefully past Peggy, who was deeply asleep on her pallet at the foot of the bed.

  She was awakened again at dawn when the gentleman left. The climbers had thankfully reached the end of the whisky punch, and the inn was quiet. Lauren heard the cabriolet being led into the courtyard and the gentleman’s spurs jingling on the steps as he went down from the gallery. A moment later the cabriolet was driven away, and she listened to the dwindling sound as it came up to a smart pace over the moorland road. Then there was absolute silence, except for the first curlew among the heather.

  Chapter 4

  Lauren was dressed and ready to go down to breakfast. She wore the peach lawn gown and brown velvet spencer again, and her hair was combed and pinned in readiness for her straw bonnet, as they would be leaving the inn directly after they’d eaten.

  She stood out on the gallery, looking down at the busy yard, where a private carriage was on the point of departure and a stagecoach from Glasgow had just drawn up. It was a scene of chaos and noise, with so much happening at once that it was hard to recall the furtive goings-on of the night. The carriage which had attracted her attention the previous evening was still in the same place and there was no sign of movement in the lady’s room opposite. But as Lauren glanced across, the curtains twitched a little, and the lady peeped cautiously out. Her eyes met Lauren’s, and with a visible gasp she drew swiftly back out of sight again.

  Lauren smiled to herself, reading the lady’s actions like a book. The unfaithful wife was very nervous indeed now that she knew there was someone at the inn who knew her, and by now she had somehow perceived that Lauren herself was with Hester and Alex. It was therefore very unlikely indeed that the occupant of the room opposite would stir outside until the Kingston carriages had departed.

  She was proved right on this. After an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs, hot bread rolls, butter, and best black Bohea tea, they emerged into the morning sunshine of the crowded yard, and Lauren glanced up to see the lady’s curtains still drawn. The navy blue carriage remained in its place against the wall, with the cloth over the door, and there was no hint of the sort of activity which suggested an imminent departure.

  The landlord came out to bid them farewell. “I wish ye a fair journey,” he said, and then added curiously, “May I ask where ye’re bound?”

  “Glenvane Castle,” Alex replied. “We took the wrong road out of Dumbarton yesterday; otherwise we wouldn’t have come this way.”

  “I fear it’s easily done,” the landlord observed sympathetically. “Ye’re no the first of Lord Glenvane’s guests tae have ended up here at the Crown & Thistle. I take it that ye’re going there for Lady Mary’s birthday?”

  “You’re remarkably well informed,” Alex replied, wondering how the landlord knew such details when the inn was far away from Glenvane on the other side of Ben Vane mountain.

  The man smiled. “Well, as I said, ye’re no the first guest tae happen this way. Sir Sydney Dodd was here earlier this week, after taking the wrong road out of Dumbarton. And I can help ye as I helped him, for there’s nay need tae go all the way back to Dumbarton.”

  “What do you mean?” Alex enquired.

  “Why, ye can take the shortcut hard by Ben Vane.” The landlord waved his arm in a generally northeasterly direction.

  “Shortcut? In carriages?”

  “Och, aye. ‘Tis a fine enough road at this time of the year. Not in the winter, mind.” The man chuckled.

  “Which way do we go?”

  “Just drive back the way ye came until ye reach the fork, then instead of going back tae Dumbarton ye take the other way up toward Ben Vane. The road passes in the lee of the mountain, and then down into Glenvane on the other side. The River Vane rises in a cave at the top, and spills out in a waterfall. There’s shelter tae be had in the cave when the weather closes in, which it often does. Ye’ll no need it, though, not with such fine carriages. Anyway, the road follows the river down tae Loch Vane, and ye’ll see the castle soon enough, placed on a slip of land jutting out intae the water. It’ll take ye about four hours, but about eight if ye go all the way back tae Dumbarton.”

  Alex nodded and smiled. “Thank you. We’ll take your advice.”

  “Farewell, sir, ladies.” The landlord bowed to them, and then watched the two carriages drive out beneath the arch to the road.

  As they left the Crown & Thistle behind, Lauren’s thoughts returned briefly to the secretive lady and her dashing lover, but then she put them both from her mind as she gazed out at the breathtaking highland scenery.

  The carriages soon reached the fork in the road and left the Glasgow highway to begin the long climb over the moorland toward the hills that were topped by the soaring magnificence of Ben Vane. Curlews called, and a small herd of red deer fled toward the shelter of a copse of spindly oak trees. It was a beautiful late August morning, the sky was an almost transparent blue, and far away to the south was the shining mirror of the Firth of Clyde. The carriage windows were lowered and the heady moorland air was warm and almost intoxicating, as if it had passed over a hidden pool of the purest malt whisky. It was unlike any air Lauren had ever breathed before, and the scenery she gazed over was a perplexing blend of wild freedom and strangely gentle intimacy. The mountains and endless purple heather were wild and untamed, but the little burn that babbled beside the road, and the humpbacked stone bridge that eventually spanned it, were charming and almost familiar.

  They saw hardly any people—just two barefooted women with shawls over their heads, carrying baskets of knitted stockings which they hoped to sell to the carriers who halted at the Crown & Thistle, and a shepherd wearing plaid which was kilted around his waist and then tossed over his shoulder. He sported a highland bonnet and tartan hose, and he strode over the heather with his dog at his heels. The carriages warranted only a brief glance, and then he continued on his way toward a small knot of wayward sheep by a stand of Scots pines.

  The road climbed higher and higher, and they had to pause from time to time to rest the horses. Ben Vane loomed over them now, its craggy peak seeming to almost brush against the sky. From up here it was possible to see the grand sweep of almost the entire Clyde estuary, with its dotted white sails and matchless headlands. Civilization lay down there, but up here they were now quite alone, except for the mournful, haunting cries of the secretive curlews, heard clearly but seldom seen.

  At last the road reached the crest of the pass and they saw the cave and waterfall of which the landlord had spoken. The mouth of the cave yawned in the side of the mountain, and a clear stream of water tumbled down into a pool where the blue of the sky was reflected as if in a mirror. The little River Vane, scarcely more than a burn, spilled out of the pool to pass over the road and then down the glen ahead toward Loch Vane. Beside the ford there was a cairn of stones, to mark the place where centuries of travelers had paused to rest after the long climb over the pass; the two carriages halted as well, for the horses were very tired.

  The passengers alighted, and as Hester and Alex strolled by the waterfall and pool, Lauren found a place on a large flat rock beside the ford where she sat gazing at the wonderful panorama of Loch Vane in the valley far below. Surrounded by mountains, the loch shone like a vast sapphire, its surface dotted with a string of emerald islands which seemed to have been embroidered upon the water. It was at least ten miles away from them, but the air was so clear that it was as if she could reach down and dip her fingers in its coolness.

  But it wasn’t just the loch which took Lauren’s breath away. It was also Glenvane Castle, which seemed to almost rise out of the water on a slender tentacle of land reaching out from the superbly landscaped park on the far shore. Tall, gray, and clustered with Gothic towers and turrets, it clung to its foothold, as impregnable now as it had been in medieval times. Its reflection shone on the surface of water which was so st
ill and clear that it might have been a looking glass, and altogether it was a scene so perfect in every way that it might be the setting of a fairy tale. Lauren stared. This was a magical place, the stuff of dreams…

  At last the coachmen pronounced the teams sufficiently refreshed to continue and the passengers took their places again for the final stage of the long journey from London. After such a long and arduous climb, the horses picked up their heels to make the descent, and they set off through the little ford and then down the glen. The road meandered down the mountainside, and after a mile the way became narrower and choked with rowan and birch. The River Vane splashed at the roadside, the crystal water sweeping down between fern-draped banks, joined now and then by other burns until the splash of water had become a veritable roar amid the trees as the river cascaded eagerly toward the loch far below.

  At last the road reached the floor of the valley and emerged from the screen of rowan and birch to cross a bridge spanning the now quite wide river, which was still a torrent of white water after its brief but hectic descent from the mountain. There was rich parkland all around now, with here and there a specimen tree to indicate the work of man enhancing that of nature. The road joined the one they should have taken from Dumbarton, and the carriages passed the fork, driving on toward the castle, which now seemed even more splendid and magical than it had from the top of the pass.

  Lauren held her breath as she stared at Rory Ardmore’s highland stronghold. Glenvane Castle seemed the very embodiment of Scotland’s history, with successive centuries lying over it like veils. But the fortress had a softer side, for there was a terraced flower garden reaching down to the water’s edge, with fountains, arbors, and lawns that swept toward a jetty where pleasure boats were moored.

  Looking at the garden, Hester sat forward suddenly, pointing ahead. “There’s Rory. He’s walking with a lady by the shore,” she said.

  Alex looked as well, and then smiled. “If I’m not mistaken, that flame hair belongs to Isabel,” he murmured.

  Lauren looked at the couple walking by the shore. They’d paused by the jetty, and were standing very close as they spoke intimately together, unaware as yet of the carriages passing nearby.

  Isabel, Lady Maxby, wore daffodil muslin which clung to her legs as she moved. Heavy ringlets of her memorable hair fell from beneath her wide-brimmed white gauze hat, and a cashmere shawl trailed idly along the ground behind her. She possessed a tiny-waisted, voluptuous figure, and was very elegant indeed—she might have been a living illustration from the pages of La Belle Assemblée.

  Rory wore a fawn coat and cream breeches, and he carried his top hat under his arm as he smiled down into his companion’s eyes. As Lauren watched, he took her hand and raised it tenderly to his lips. He lingered over the gesture in a way which could only be described as loving. Lauren had to look away, for nothing could have reminded her more sharply that the wisest thing would be to put all thought of Lord Glenvane from her foolish head.

  Suddenly Rory realized the carriages were driving over the narrow neck of land toward the castle, and he turned to wave his hat aloft as they passed beneath the towergate into the dark courtyard within. The walls of the castle seemed to crowd over the narrow cobbled area, blotting out even the bright August sunshine, and the arrival of the two vehicles disturbed a flock of doves, which rose with fluttering excitement toward the openness of the sky beyond the turrets.

  Alex alighted, and as he assisted Hester and Lauren down, they heard Rory hailing them. There was a deep archway leading from the courtyard to the gardens, and he and Isabel were coming through it, their figures mere shadows against the riot of sunshine and flowers behind them.

  Lauren was glad to see Rory again after what seemed a very long time, but then her attention was drawn to Isabel, who was arrestingly lovely. The daffodil gown was made of layers of sheer muslin, with a dainty gold-buckled belt and a square neckline which plunged perilously low over her full breasts. There was a dainty sprig of heather pinned to her shoulder with a golden brooch, and another sprig fixed to the crown of her wide-brimmed gauze hat. The hat cast translucent shadows over her gloriously beautiful heart-shaped face. Her hair was that rich auburn which Titian delighted to paint, and her eyes were the color of a bluebell wood in April, but as Lauren looked she saw that the clarity of that blue was being spoiled by barely concealed anger. That same anger was also evident on Isabel’s cheeks and in the whiteness of the fingertips resting on Rory’s arm. Lady Maxby was clearly finding it a struggle to appear relaxed as she applied herself to the business of greeting the new arrivals.

  Lauren wondered what had happened. Had she and Rory had an argument? That hardly seemed likely, not given the intimate way they’d been speaking together by the loch a few moments before.

  Rory smiled warmly at them. “Welcome to Glenvane, my friends. We were beginning to wonder if you’d changed your minds about joining us.”

  “The journey wasn’t all it might have been,” Hester replied, returning the smile as he drew her hand to his lips.

  Alex hastened to renew his acquaintance with Isabel. “You are as lovely as ever,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  “And you are as dashing, Alex,” she replied. Her voice was low and melodic. She smiled at Hester. “It’s good to see you again, Hester.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Hester answered, the subtleties of her tone conveying to Lauren that there was nothing good about it at all. Lauren was a little surprised to realize this, for Hester hadn’t given any intimation at all that Lady Maxby wasn’t to her liking.

  Isabel’s bluebell gaze then swung to Lauren, and Rory effected the introduction. “Isabel, this is Hester’s cousin, Miss Maitland. Miss Maitland, may I present Lady Maxby?”

  It was the first time he’d looked directly at Lauren, and as he did so he seemed to gaze right into her soul. There was nothing brief about the look—it was intense and clear and it caused a frisson of emotion to shiver through her.

  Isabel inclined her lovely head. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Maitland.”

  “And I yours, Lady Maxby,” Lauren replied, tearing her eyes away from Rory.

  “Miss Maitland is from Boston, Massachusetts,” he explained to Isabel.

  “She is?” Isabel seemed taken by surprise, and then her eyes swung accusingly toward him. “You neglected to mention that before,” she said softly.

  “Did I?”

  “You know you did.” Isabel gave a faint smile. “How neglectful of you to leave so much unsaid.”

  “You were ever inclined to dramatize,” he replied shortly.

  She raised an eyebrow and said nothing more.

  Rory returned his attention to Alex. “I’m neglecting my duties as host. Come inside.” He ushered them toward an ancient studded doorway. “We expected you yesterday! What happened to delay you?”

  Alex gave a rueful grin. “A wrong turning in Dumbarton. We ended up at the—”

  “The Crown & Thistle?” Rory finished for him. “Yes, it happens from time to time, and indeed has already happened this week. Poor Sir Sydney Dodd managed to land there several nights ago.”

  Hester halted and looked curiously at him. “Poor Sir Sydney? Why do you say that? The Crown & Thistle may only be an inn, but it is a rather superior one.”

  “So it is, Hester, but I fear Sir Sydney has been laid up in bed for the past day or so, and he puts the blame fairly and squarely on the Crown & Thistle’s red grouse dinner.”

  Hester was dismayed. “I do hope he’s wrong, for I had the grouse last night.”

  “Well, you look as radiant as ever, so perhaps the red grouse is innocent,” Rory murmured, taking her hand and drawing it gallantly to his lips.

  They walked on across the courtyard, but as they reached the flight of three stone steps leading to the door, Isabel, unseen by anyone, tried to deliberately trip Lauren. A dainty foot in a yellow satin slipper darted out suddenly, and it was all Lauren could do not to tak
e a very undignified, if not dangerous, tumble. Somehow she managed to retain her balance, and was saved from stumbling by Rory, who seized her arms to steady her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

  “Er—yes, I think so. I wasn’t paying proper attention,” she replied, meeting her assailant’s glittering bluebell gaze.

  “Are you sure? You could have hurt yourself quite considerably on these cursed steps. The stone is so worn away after centuries of use that—”

  “I’m quite all right, truly,” Lauren insisted, glancing at Isabel again.

  The faintest of smiles curved the other’s lovely lips as she walked on into the castle. Lauren gazed bemusedly after her. So that was how it was to be. Isabel, Lady Maxby, had for some reason appointed herself Lauren Maitland’s enemy!

  Chapter 5

  Recovering from the sharp brush with Isabel, Lauren followed the others through the doorway and found it gave directly into a vast baronial hall with an aged smoke-stained wooden roof. The uneven upper walls were whitewashed and hung with weapons and hunting trophies which were interspersed with heraldic shields, and the shields were draped with fringed lengths of the blue-and-green Ardmore tartan. More of the same tartan figured in the ancient banners suspended from the roof beams and in the painted carving on the paneled lower walls. There was an immense stone fireplace, on either side of which stood suits of armor, and, apart from various chairs placed around the walls, the only item of furniture was a huge sixteenth-century table which ranged down the center of the black-and-white tiled floor. Two more suits of armor guarded the foot of the grand wooden staircase which led up into the shadows of the next floor, where a half-gallery afforded a splendid view down into the hall. The scent of roses and honeysuckle filled the air from the three large bowls on the table, and the sound of piano music drifted from somewhere beyond the staircase as someone played a sweet, romantic lovesong.