Questions for a Highlander

by Angeline Fortin

  Abby was his wife. His future.

  Simply his.

  Over the past months, recalling their nights of lovemaking had made him long to be in her arms once again, but to his surprise, what he longed for most was just Abby. Her comforting words, her caring, even her sharp tongue. She would bring him passion, friendship and even challenge for the rest of his life. They would laugh, argue and love. Richard didn’t want to live with regrets any longer. He wanted only to look toward his future with Abby. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  Eventually his thoughts turned to the other letters and Richard began to sift through them. They held news from his brothers at home, a few of the older lads at Cambridge. James had recently joined the Queen’s Army as well, Richard read to his surprise. Given what had happened to him and Vincent, Richard couldn’t imagine what James had been thinking. There was even one from Jack that drew his curiosity. Jack had never been much of a writer.

  Pushing himself up onto one elbow on the soft mattress, Richard picked it up tipping over the pile of remaining letters. As they slid to the side, something caught his eye. Included in the pile of letters was a telegram… two, no three, four, five telegrams. Three from Jack and two from Joshua Boughton.

  Richard read the short missives, each saying nothing more than that Richard needed to contact them – urgently. Intrigued, Richard pushed through the pile searching for more of them but found none. Nothing that gave him a clue as to what was so crucial.

  Was there something amiss with Abby, he wondered feeling his heart seize before he shook the thought away. No, surely not. Her letters – the last dated just a fortnight past – spoke to nothing more important than the recent cricket season where Oxford had beaten Cambridge and she had been certain he would want to know. Nothing more than that.

  Undoubtedly, everything was fine.

  Still…

  Picking up the telegrams, Richard left his room and headed down the hall to Francis’ room, knocking once before opening the door. “Francis, I think something might be wrong with Abby.”

  The blow to his jaw caught Richard unaware sending him sprawling back into the hallway. His fall sent a cloud of dust into the air around him, but through it, he could see Jack glaring down at him. “Do ye think so?”

  “Jack, what the hell was that?” Richard demanded, rising to his feet as he rubbed his jaw as he shook the stack of telegrams at him. “And what are you doing here? What are these all about?”

  “Ye left my sister as ripe and round as a bloody peach, ye bastard!” Jack ground out, his hands still fisted by his sides.

  Richard’s eyes shot to Francis, who only shrugged sympathetically, and back to Jack who looked ready to do murder. He couldn’t doubt that his friend – were they still friends? – was in a rage but surely his claim was a false one. Abby wouldn’t have kept something like that from him. She couldn’t.

  Richard rolled his eyes with a groan of comprehension. Aye, she could… and would to allow him as much time as he needed to find Vin.

  “I’ll wring her neck,” Richard muttered under his breath.

  “Only after I’m done wringing yours,” Jack ground out.

  “Pax, Jack,” Francis broke in, placing a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. “I told you before but I’ll tell you again. Richard knew nothing of this.”

  “I’ve a dozen letters from her without a mention of anything about it,” Richard added, though his head was spinning from Jack’s words. Ripe and round as a bloody peach? He was going to be a father! He pictured Abby round with his child. Her belly heavy. Doing some mental math in his head, Richard swore again. It had been eight months already. If he wanted any chance to see her as he pictured her – of seeing the birth of his child, at all – they would have to hurry.

  “I’ll wring her neck,” Richard repeated.

  “You’ll have to wait in line behind me,” Jack told him. “I’ve been in this shithole a bloody month waiting for you.”

  “But, Jack,” Francis drawled. “Weren’t you just telling me how much you had been enjoying the company of the consul’s sister-in-law and…”

  “Bugger off, MacKintosh!” Jack ran his hand through his hair before turning back to Richard. “If you know nothing about this then I suppose there’s nothing at all in those letters about the rest of it either.”

  Richard closed his eyes, bracing himself. “There’s more?”

  “Nothing less than the scandal of the Season,” Jack snorted. “I cannot believe she said nothing of it to you. Word got out about her spending the night with you – Oona’s doing, of course. Abs was given the cut direct by the entire ton. She was utterly spurned, a paraiah. Of course, Aylesbury stepped up and offered to marry her.”

  The image of Abby dancing with the marquis flashed through Richard’s mind. Of Abby laughing with him, teasing him, scolding him playfully.

  Richard’s gut tightened as he ground out, “She’s already married. To me.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Stop, I beg you. I’m about to turn green about the gills. Are you actually jealous, MacKintosh? Aye, she’s married to you, so the only way to save her from ruin was to announce that you had married. Problem was, no one believed it at first since you were gone and her own family knew nothing of it. Her grandparents sent the announcement to The Times anyway. Her father disowned her, by the by.”

  It was Richard’s turn to scoff at that. “More likely, she disowned him. So where is she now? Her most recent letters were addressed from Rose Lawn.”

  “Aye, she’s with them,” Jack told him. “She had to leave London altogether, the talk was so bad. Whether she let on or not, she’s had a hard time of it. This gossip on top of all the rest was too much for her to bear. At least she was long gone from Town before word got out regarding her condition.”

  Pain lanced through Richard imagining Abby facing the censure of the ton, the ridicule that always accompanied scandal. It was the one thing he had wanted to spare her and not only had she faced it, she had faced it alone. Why hadn’t she said anything, he wondered. But he already knew the answer. Abby hadn’t wanted to give him any reason to abandon his search and return home. Not even for her. Not even allowing him a choice.

  Of course, his choice would have been her.

  Bugger it all, but he was going to wring her bloody neck.

  Chapter 37

  Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.

  - Jane Austen, Emma

  Telegram to Abby at Rose Lawn Coppice:

  To Mrs. Richard MacKintosh

  c/o Lord Joshua Boughton

  Rose Lawn Coppice

  Deal, England

  18 January 1888

  Angel,

  Received word of the news from Jack. Intend to have strong words with you upon my return.

  Yours, Richard

  Reply:

  21 Jan 1888

  Captain Richard MacKintosh

  c/o British Consulate

  Cairo, Egypt

  Sir,

  I don’t believe I care for your tone.

  Not yet courted, Lady Abygail Merrill

  Richard read the telegram, unable to hold back a bark of laughter. In typical fashion, Abby had been unable to stand for any reprimand against her. He could just picture her, hands on hips and chin thrust forward impudently. If he were there, he would kiss her silly.

  God, but he missed her. He missed the joy in his heart when he was with her. Soon it would be theirs to share each day. Richard looked down at her closing words. Aye, he would court her, as promised. He was looking forward to it.

  The telegraph operator, unable to stifle his curiosity, leaned forward across the desk. Well, the fellow had earned every right to his nosiness, given the quantity and tone of the telegrams that he had received for Richard in his absence. “Will there be a reply, Captain?”

  Richard grinned. “There certainly will.”
<
br />   To Mrs. Richard MacKintosh

  c/o Lord Joshua Boughton

  Rose Lawn Coppice

  Deal, England

  22 January 1888

  Angel,

  The courting will commence upon your most abject apology.

  Already yours, Richard

  Reply:

  24 Jan 1888

  Captain Richard MacKintosh

  c/o British Consulate

  Cairo, Egypt

  Richard,

  Conditional or unconditional?

  Nearly yours, Abby

  The telegraph operator leaned forward on his elbows, rocking back and forth over the desk with a wide grin. “Would you like to reply, Captain?”

  Richard couldn’t help but smile broadly in return. God love the woman. “Is there really anything I can say to that?”

  Chapter 38

  One word

  Frees us of all the weight and pain of life:

  That word is love.

  - Socrates

  The home of Lord and Lady Boughton

  Rose Lawn Coppice

  Deal, England

  February 12, 1888

  Finally, Richard thought as the carriage pulled into the drive at Rose Lawn. The day was gloomy, even for winter. The clouds hung heavily close to the ground making it almost impossible to see the manor as they approached. The last almost three weeks of travel had been hard and fraught with delay. So much so, that they might have been better off waiting an extra week for the British mail packet to leave Cairo. Instead they had taken a passenger ship to Marseilles and traveled overland via railroad to Calais before taking a commercial transport into Dover.

  The Boughton’s estate was less than ten miles north of Dover, perched right on the cliffs high above the channel. It had been the longest ten miles of Richard’s life.

  His anticipation had been palpable to the other two occupants of the carriage. While Francis simply shook his head in bemusement, Jack claimed to be nearing physical illness in the face of such ‘love-struck rubbish’. Richard could only grin in response. Someday Jack would understand.

  Well, with Jack Merrill, perhaps not.

  As they pulled up to the door, he felt a rush of euphoria at the thought of seeing his wife again. His wife, Richard grinned. He couldn’t wait to hold her, hold their child when it came. And he was a bit anxious as well, he admitted, though only to himself. Though he had her letters and had dreamed of her for… well, Richard chuckled, almost nine months, their relationship was still a new one. He hoped there would be no regrets from Abby in regards to their hasty marriage. That she would be as anxious to begin their ‘courtship’ as he.

  Leaping from the carriage before the step was let down, Richard bounded up the stair to the front portico but what he saw there stopped him in his tracks. Ice chilled his veins. His feet were leaden, frozen in horror.

  The blood that had been pumping eagerly through his veins just moments before roared in his ears and Richard felt his head swim with the same dizziness he’d felt when Jack had told him that Abby was pregnant.

  Or perhaps not the same at all, that moment had resulted in the exhilaration of hope and anticipation for a life that held very little. This was… pure dread. Sickening fear.

  Black crepe draped over the door.

  His breathing hitched, stopped as he stared at the door and what it represented. . Richard felt Francis’ supportive hand on his shoulder and actually heard Jack’s painfully audible swallow next to him.

  No.

  His heart thudded heavily, excruciatingly in his chest. It was something Richard had never considered. Women died in childbirth all the time. His own mother had died that way. Abby. His heart slowed painfully… or was it time that slowed? As if he were caught in the moment with no escape? “Do you think…?”

  “No. Don’t jump to conclusions,” Francis said, raising his hand to rap on the door that had been stripped of its knocker.

  “To hell with that,” Jack said, reaching for the doorknob.

  Richard agreed, taking the knob before Jack could.

  Three abreast, they entered the house in mourning.

  The house was as silent as the highlands on a winter’s day. Chilled and soundless. Their boots echoed hollowly in the deserted hall. Richard shouted out for Abby as they looked in each room, searching for any living being.

  “Richard.”

  Hearing his name, Richard jerked around expectantly but only found Moira MacKenzie at the top of the stairs. As she rushed down to meet him, Joshua Boughton also appeared. For a moment, all five of the stared at one another in silence before they all began talking at once.

  “What happened?”

  “Where is she?”

  “You’re here.”

  “We weren’t expecting you for a couple more days.”

  Silence fell awkwardly once again before Richard was able to make his lips move again. He looked pleadingly at Abby’s grandfather. “Abby?”

  “She was doing fine,” Joshua Boughton began, “then the baby came early. Dr. Leven doesn’t know what went wrong. He was so big.”

  The words faded until it was if they were being spoken from a distance. Richard couldn’t ask. She was gone. Abby was gone. His hope was gone. His chance for happiness gone. All of it… gone. Richard swayed on his feet.

  “Oh, Richard!” Moira cried out, as she realized what Richard was thinking. “No, no! Abby’s not… she’s alive, but…”

  “Good God, man!” Francis exclaimed gripping Richard’s arm. “You need to sit down before you fall down.”

  A part of Richard wanted nothing more than too comply. His body had gone from anticipation to terror to lifelessness in just a few moments. His chest ached with anxiety, with fear. Breathing had suddenly become a chore. Richard pushed his brother away. “She’s all right then? Why didn’t you send a cable?”

  I did,” Lord Boughton said. “It must have reached Cairo after you left and we don’t know where to contact you since then.”

  Francis asked, “Who is the mourning for?”

  “Her father,” Moira said, then cast a sympathetic look at Jack when he sucked in a deep breath. “Your father. I’m so sorry, Jack. Abby insisted on observing the mourning.”

  “When?” Jack croaked out.

  “A few weeks ago. Just before the baby came.”

  “Where is she?” Richard wanted to know.

  “Richard, you must understand… you must remain calm,” Lord Boughton said softly. “The doctor said she must have quiet.”

  “Where?”

  “She’s in her room.”

  Remembering the layout of the house from years past, Richard took the stairs two at a time, racing to Abby’s room. Lord Boughton and then Jack trailed behind.

  Francis lingered in the hall. It wasn’t his place to follow. Nor did he want to. He remembered his mother’s death too vividly to do it, even for his brother. Instead, he turned to Moira, who he remembered as fondly as Abby, having grown up with her nipping his heels as well. “Tell me what happened, Moira.”

  “We’re not certain if it was the news of Haddington or something more but the baby came early – Dr. Leven says he’ll be fine,” Moira reassured him quickly. “But he was still a big babe. Too big for Abby. There were complications.”

  “But she’ll be all right?” Francis asked the same question as Richard. The one that he realized no one had answered before. His heart ached for his brother who was just beginning to realize how fortunate he was to have found someone to love, someone to love him in return. “Will she?”

  “I don’t know, Francis,” Moira said finally, her lip trembling. “She’s so weak.”

  Francis was silent for a moment, then asked, “It’s a boy?”

  “Yes, he was born on the 26th of January. He was early but Dr. Leven says he’ll be fine. He’s a fine baby, a handsome boy. Abby named him Tristram. Tristram Vincent MacKintosh.”

  The second name emerged with a slight stutter.

 
“Tristram?” Francis repeated expressionlessly.

  “She got the name from a gothic novel she read,” Moira told him as if that news were supposed to make him smile. “She thought the name quite heroic.”

  “Richard is going to kill her,” Francis said thoughtlessly, then grimaced. “I mean…”

  “I know what you meant and you’re right,” Moira said with a sad smile. “Assuming he gets the chance.”

  “I should go and see, I suppose.”

  “Francis.” Moira caught his arm as he passed. Her eyes were filled with dread, her voice weak as she asked, “Did y-you find him?”

  Francis closed his eyes as the realization of what Moira was asking – and perhaps why she was asking – washed over him. Bloody hell, he had never known. “Ahh, lass,” he sighed, opening his arms to her.

  A jagged sob hiccupped through Moira’s entire body as her eyes filled with tears. “No?”

  “No, lass, I’m sorry, but no.”

  Moira wilted in his arms.

  Chapter 39

  Time is very slow for those who wait

  Very fast for those who are scared

  Very long for those who lament

  Very short for those who celebrate

  But for those who love time is eternal

  - William Shakespeare

  Richard came to a halt at the door of Abby’s room. He barely saw the other occupants of the room and only vaguely heard Lady Boughton’s surprise exclamation at his appearance. His entire being was focused was on Abby, so small she almost disappeared in the middle of the bed. She wasn’t as pale as he remembered, but rather her skin was cast in pasty gray. Her once shiny blond locks, dull and lank.