Jamie MacLeod

by Michael Phillips

  Edward never knew what made his brother this way. By his teens he had already started hating Derek. Years of separation had somewhat muted that feeling until he was able to convince himself he felt nothing at all for his brother. But when the farce of his supposed death had turned his world upside down, bringing with it, as it did, all the accompanying tragedy in his personal life, he realized the hatred had only been lying dormant within him.

  For the first time he had recently been able to look more objectively upon his feelings for his brother and Aviemere. His new relationship with Andrew had caused him to reevaluate his priorities. He had begun to think he might be able to deal with the inevitable more calmly and with less bitterness now that he had his son to share life with.

  At least so he thought until the swaggering form of his brother landed square on his doorstep!

  Edward was horrified at how quickly the old hatred had resurged. Derek had not changed. He had relished that first look of shock and dismay his brother displayed, and laughed right in his face.

  Then came the exchange following last night’s dinner. Having his coffee in the parlor, Edward had hoped desperately that his brother would choose to retire rather than join him. But Derek would never allow such a prime opportunity to pass. He came jauntily into the room and, foregoing the coffee, poured himself a large brandy.

  “Edward, my dear brother,” he said with a taunting glint in his eye. “You have become stiff and stodgy in your ripe old age of—what are you now, twenty-eight, thirty? I should have expected a better reception after ten years.”

  “I should have expected some sort of warning of your arrival,” Edward returned dryly.

  “I was never one to plan ahead. One never knows what kind of turn one’s life may unexpectedly take.”

  “So you kept your options open in case a better offer came your way.”

  Derek laughed.

  “Exactly! Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Yes, there definitely may be, especially after having a look at the servants. That nurse is certainly a tantalizing morsel, and the parlor maid is a dish equal to any man’s appetite.”

  “Leave my servants alone, Derek.”

  “I see that perhaps I have been away too long. It seems you have forgotten just who the laird of Aviemere is, and who owns every scrap of land and every ounce of flesh upon it.”

  “You depraved—”

  But Edward bit back his retort. He would not give Derek the pleasure of his wrath.

  “Have you no better welcome for your dear brother after so long?”

  “How long will you be staying?”

  Derek laughed again. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you—never one to mince words.” But he did not answer the question.

  So now Edward must show the returning lord his kingdom. The way Derek looked at the homely cottages, sickened Edward. He could see no intrinsic beauty; everything was only a means to achieve whatever calculated ends he happened to be turning over in his mind at the time. Edward hoped to get this tour over with as quickly as possible; he could hardly tolerate what was happening inside of him as a result of being near his brother. And worst of all, he knew he could not blame his brother for the bitter attitudes of his own heart. Derek’s appearance only revealed his own weakness. These past months had brought the first glimpses of happiness he had experienced in a long time, and now he despised himself for capitulating so easily to his brother’s spell, and his own unforgiving heart.

  “Over there,” he said, pointing to a field on their left where several men were busy at their task of scattering seed, “that’s the last of the sowing. We should finish in a few days. The conditions have been favorable, and I expect this to be an excellent season.”

  “I spoke with my solicitors in Edinburgh before coming here,” said Derek. “Profits were down last year.”

  “Only slightly. American grain has been quite competitive since their civil war.”

  “‘Competitive’ is putting it mildly, wouldn’t you say? They are flooding the market with cheap grain. We can hardly afford to use our own grain ourselves.”

  “You’ve been out of touch for ten years, Derek,” Edward replied. “The reports are exaggerated and make things look worse than they actually are. If things were as bad as they say, we would have had a much worse showing last year.”

  “It’s possible the effects are only beginning to appear.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Nonetheless,” said Derek, drawing the word out dramatically, “I feel we need to take some action.”

  “Action?” Unconsciously Edward reined his horse to a stop as he said the word.

  Derek reined also and turned.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ve spoken to other landowners in London and Edinburgh. I’ve come to the conclusion that there is but one solution to the problem, and one with sound historical precedent. The only way to avoid inevitable collapse is to convert the fields into pastureland where sheep can graze at a fraction of what the upkeep costs us now on all these small crofts. Sheep would bring in equal income at far less expense and bother.”

  Edward gaped at his brother. The idea was preposterous, no better than that black era in Scottish history some eighty years earlier when tens of thousands of highland tenants had been ousted from land their ancestors had occupied for generations and had been forced to migrate elsewhere or live in squalor in the cities.

  “You’re talking about new Clearances!”

  “Don’t be so naive.”

  “You can’t just turn the people out!”

  “It was a necessity back then, as it is now,” Derek replied. “It’s my land and I will see it turn the best profit possible.”

  “A necessity, you mean, to line the already fat wallets of the gentry. There’s more money in wool, human lives are expendable. Is that it?”

  “Your emotionalism about the estate is quite beneath your station, Edward.” Derek’s reply was laced with the humor he always perceived in Edward’s position. “If the market crashes, Aviemere’s dear tenants will suffer as much as if they had been turned out. At least my way they will have some kind of chance.”

  “If the market crashes,” Edward repeated pointedly. “And the chances of such a thing happening are extremely thin. We can sustain some loss.”

  “We!” repeated Derek with emphasis. “You forget again, dear younger brother, they are my losses you are speaking so casually about. And I don’t fancy sustaining any loss.”

  “You can’t do this!”

  Derek laughed.

  “Be grateful for the latitude I’ve allowed you over the years, Edward. But I am now back and I will make the decisions. You will not tell me what I can or cannot do. I was even considering stocking the hilly regions and the mountain with game and renting out hunting rights to sportsmen from the south in season. There’s money to be had in that business too, dear brother.”

  “Just how long do you intend to stay here, Derek?” Edward forced out the words despite his fear at what the answer might be. Yesterday Derek had avoided the question, and Edward knew his brother was dangling him on a string for a reason.

  Derek’s initial response was a merry chuckle. Then he spoke, purposefully drawing out every word. “The army has been a good life for me. But as a man begins to get on in years, it loses some of its glamor. A man begins to look more favorably on the notion of settling down, starting a family—producing heirs. I’ve given it considerable thought and the prospect of settling permanently at Aviemere is not all odious to me.”

  “Then this is not a mere visit? You are not simply on leave?”

  “In all likelihood,” replied Derek vaguely. “The longer I am here the more this place grows on me.”

  “You can’t simply waltz in here and turn everything upside down!” said Edward, but even as the words left his mouth he despised himself for his pleading tone. But he could not help what he said—if he must be humiliated, then let it be complete.

  “There you go with can
’t again,” said Derek. “Remember, Aviemere is mine and I can do whatever I please!”

  For a moment the edge of humor in his voice was replaced with venom. But he recovered quickly, and ended with a sharp, piercing laugh.

  “You cur!” Edward spat, then dug his heels into his stallion’s sides and galloped away.

  His whole body shook with repressed fury. There was a moment—a brief split second of time, when Derek had laughed—when he could have killed him. Only his lack of a weapon stopped him.

  Was that the answer? The only way he could find peace? It was always Derek who had brought turmoil into his life. Derek who had robbed him of his father’s affection. Derek who had caused him to lose Olivia. Always Derek—always delighting in robbing him of things that should have been his!

  It would be a simple matter to kill him! How many times had he planned just such a ploy in his youth? Of course he would never have dared to carry out any of his fantasies then. But he knew some particularly treacherous stretches on the moor. An accident would be easy to fabricate, especially to one like his brother, unfamiliar with the terrain. There had been accidents there before—none would question it.

  There was the moor now off to his left. He reined his mount into a trot and gazed out upon it. He shuddered as he remembered one such accident out there—to his father’s prized thoroughbred.

  Yes, it was a treacherous place, one that lent itself to thoughts of murder.

  With such notions further darkening his mood, he turned toward home, though even the mere word embittered him further. What a fool he had been over the years to allow himself to believe it could ever be his! He knew it was time to let go of such folly and begin to base his life on realities—hard, cold, immovable realities.

  34

  Midnight Encounter

  Jamie saw nothing of Andrew’s father for two days, and began to fear that the appearance of his brother had caused him to revert to his former ways. He made no attempt to see his son, and the boy asked constantly for his papa. No more dinner invitations had come her way, much to her relief.

  Gradually the house began to take on its old tensions. Desiring no mutiny, Derek kept his distance for a time from most of the staff, and Edward’s presence was silent and aloof at meals. No one saw him otherwise.

  Andrew’s cut was healing rapidly, but since the accident Jamie had found herself sleeping much lighter, jumping to her feet and hastening into his room at the least sound. She had fallen into a rather sound sleep one night only to be awakened suddenly by a loud cry.

  She sprang to her feet and ran to Andrew’s side. The boy was whimpering, but she could not be sure that his cry had awakened her. All about her, however, the house was dead still. She waited at Andrew’s side, trying to soothe him back into a peaceful slumber. However, sleep continued to elude him. At length Jamie decided that a small bottle of warm milk would be needed.

  She wrapped Andrew in his blanket, picked him out of his bed, and carried him downstairs to the kitchen.

  As she went she heard the clock strike a single chime in the dining room. Entering the kitchen carrying a candle in her hand, she saw by the flicker of a shadow on the opposite wall the movement of a silent figure inside.

  “Who’s there?” she breathed.

  There was no answer, but as Jamie brought the light fully into the room she saw that the other midnight visitor to the kitchen was Janell, the parlor maid.

  “Janell,” said Jamie, relieved. “Why didn’t you answer? You scared me near to death.”

  Still she said nothing, just standing there as if she wanted to run away.

  “Janell, are you all right? You look ill. Do you know how late it is?”

  “Yes—I know—the clock just struck half past eleven,” the girl rasped in a bare whisper. “I’m—I’m fine . . .”

  Jamie studied her for a long moment. She certainly did not look fine. The young parlor maid, about Jamie’s own age, was very pretty, for it was customary for the gentry to display only their finest servants before their guests. She had large soulful brown eyes, thickly lashed and considered more than alluring by several of the laird’s young field hands. Her thick yellow hair was normally pulled up into a bun on her head, revealing a long alabaster-white neck. But now her hair hung in a tangled mass about her shoulders. The simple cotton nightdress she was wearing was torn at the shoulder.

  The questions had barely begun to form in Jamie’s mind about Janell’s odd appearance and agitated countenance, when the other girl turned to go.

  “Janell,” Jamie pressed, “are you sure? Something seems wrong. How long have you been here?”

  “Only a few minutes,” she sniffed, trying to stifle a sob.

  “What’s wrong, Janell?”

  “Nothing . . . I’m fine,” she tried to say, but even as she did she could not keep the sobs from escaping her lips.

  “Did you hear something a few minutes ago? I heard a scream. I thought it was Andrew at first—but I’m not sure.”

  “I couldn’t help it!” cried Janell, but her words were nearly drowned by several more choked sobs, followed at last by a rush of tears. Jamie rushed up to her and, setting down her candle, placed her free arm around her.

  “What is it, Janell, dear . . . Please, tell me what’s troubling you!”

  “Oh, Jamie . . .” but her sobs now prevented her from speaking coherently for some time.

  “It was you who screamed out?”

  “I—I couldn’t help it. I was so frightened!”

  “Of what? Dear, what is it!”

  “It was terrible—” she covered her face with her hands and it was a moment before she could continue. “He turned my head at first,” she went on in gasps, trying to catch her breath. “He is rather handsome, and what girl wouldn’t be flattered to have a laird pay her such attention—”

  “The laird!”

  “I knew he didn’t really mean the things he said, but still—”

  “Janell, what are you saying? Do you mean Lord Graystone?”

  “Aye, the laird’s brother.”

  “Derek Graystone?” asked Jamie, whose relief was almost visible when the girl nodded. “What did he do?”

  “It was late, and I had just gone to bed,” she began, but fresh sobs continued to interrupt her speech. “Maybe an hour ago . . . I heard a knock at my door and—when I opened it—there he was. He pushed his way in . . . He tried to talk to me for a while but then . . . he . . . then he came closer to me, and tried—oh, Jamie, I was terrified! I pushed him away, but he kept trying. I screamed out, hardly knowing what I was doing. He told me to shut up or . . . or he’d hit me. Oh, I was so scared! He came closer again, but I got free and ran to the door and managed to open it a little and scream again. He pulled at me and tore my nightdress, and—oh, Jamie, I don’t know what he would have done . . . but then we heard steps coming along the corridor and Miss Campbell’s voice calling to me. He swore at me and then hurried out—in the other direction. I quickly closed the door and . . . I told Miss Campbell through the door when she came . . . I told her I’d had a terrible nightmare. Oh, Jamie! I was so terrified!” she sobbed.

  “So then you came down here?”

  “I knew he wouldn’t be back, at least not tonight. I had to get something to quiet myself down—I couldn’t sleep! Oh, but what if he comes back again another night?”

  “Oh, dear Janell,” soothed Jamie, but even as she tried to calm the girl, she could not ignore the indignation rising within her at the thought of what had happened. “He won’t try anything again. He can’t get away with this!”

  But Janell stiffened and pulled away.

  “Jamie, no! Please don’t tell a soul about this! I would be mortified if everyone knew!”

  “But Edward Graystone must know. He can’t let his brother treat his servants so.”

  “What could he do? What would he do? They don’t care about the likes of us. An earl can do as he pleases with his servants. But—but I’m—I’m not that
kind of girl.” She broke down again, this time into quiet weeping.

  At length she said again, “Please, Jamie, promise me you’ll say nothing. I only told you because it seemed Providence brought you here just now. And I had to tell someone. I couldn’t bear it alone. But you have to promise me!”

  “If it means that much to you, Janell, then, yes—I promise.”

  Jamie looked at Andrew, who had fallen asleep on her shoulder. Perhaps he hadn’t required the warm milk after all.

  “We must get to bed,” she said. “Come to my room for the night. In the morning you’ll be able to face things much better.”

  ———

  In the morning, it was true, Janell felt much better and was able to resume her duties, though waiting upon the two brothers was a painful task, however much she avoided the mingled look of fury and teasing evil humor which Derek Graystone seemed intent on boring into her face with his penetrating eyes. Jamie, furious but, also wary of the lord, said little, and for once was glad not to see Andrew’s father throughout the day. For Janell she felt only heartache. Gentlemen had toyed with peasant and servant girls through the ages and had always enjoyed immunity because of these positions. But Janell was a tender and sensitive girl, and though Derek Graystone had failed to have his way with her, she had still been scarred by the terror of it. And who could say what might happen in days and weeks to come? If this cruel man was indeed the new laird of Aviemere, could Janell ever be safe? Could she herself be safe? It could have been Jamie just as readily as Janell!

  The shadows of evening had begun to fall when Jamie stepped from Andrew’s room, the boy at last asleep for the night, and walked toward the main stairway leading downstairs to the kitchen. There, rounding a corner and looming large at the end of the corridor and blocking her way to the stairs, the form of Derek Graystone came walking toward her.