Jamie MacLeod

by Michael Phillips

  “Miss MacLeod,” he said with a friendly smile. “I was hoping I might find you thus unencumbered with your . . . duties, as you say.”

  Jamie could hardly speak for mingled revulsion and apprehension.

  “What did you want, Lord Graystone?” she asked with forced calm.

  “I said before that I hoped we might become better acquainted during my stay. But it would almost appear you are avoiding me.”

  “I cannot see how acquaintance with one such as myself could possibly interest a gentleman of your stature.” Her tone remained cool despite a growing sense of dread. All the other servants would be at dinner, and she knew Miss Campbell was nowhere nearby to effect a rescue.

  “On the contrary,” said Graystone coolly. “When it comes to my position or standing, ‘All equal,’ that’s my creed. I’m no snob.”

  “Well, then, perhaps I must be one,” she said, brushing past him and quickening her step toward the stairs. But before she had taken three steps his hand caught her shoulder from behind and pinned her against the wall.

  “I begin to wonder about you, Miss MacLeod,” he said, emphasizing the designation sarcastically. “How does a peasant girl like you come to behave in such a high and mighty fashion? Is it because the supposed lord of the manor has already spoken for you?”

  “No!” said Jamie, “I—don’t know what you mean! Please—”

  “Oh, come now, Miss MacLeod, you know how the game is played between a lord and his servants! Now let’s just go to your room and talk this over calmly.”

  “No. I’m going—downstairs—the others are expecting me—please!”

  “Miss MacLeod! Miss MacLeod! Do you yet not understand? I know my brother has had a soft spot for you—”

  “No, that’s not true!”

  “Deny what you will! It hardly matters. But there is a new lord at Aviemere—and you will give your gratuities to me now!”

  “Like you expected Janell to give them to you?” she cried, hardly realizing how much worse it could go for her once she angered the violent man.

  “So the little slut has been talking, has she?” he snarled. “Well, I’m the laird, and I’ll get what I want any way I please. I own this house, this land—and I own you also!”

  “Don’t you dare touch me!”

  He laughed an evil laugh, then squeezed her tight against the wall and pressed his fervent lips against Jamie’s neck.

  She struggled, but his strength was much too overpowering. She tried to cry out, but he clamped his large hand over her mouth and only whimpers—now of terror, not anger—could escape.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps on the stairs. Still held in a tight grip she could not turn her head to see who it might be, but the explosive shout told her it was Edward Graystone.

  He was upon them in a moment and ripped his brother violently from his prey. Jamie sank to the floor.

  “You miserable wretch!” he cried. “I’ll kill you!”

  Derek had received several punishing blows before he was able to recover from the shock of his brother’s unexpected attack. But then he turned on Edward with all the superb training of a Royal officer.

  “So, my brother, it comes to this! The two of us fighting over a servant girl!”

  “We don’t have to fight, Derek, if you’ll walk away from here. Otherwise I’ll have no choice but to thrash you as you deserve!”

  Derek laughed with derision. “You thrash me, younger brother?” And even as he said it he lunged forward. With renewed terror Jamie watched horrified as the skill and training of the one attacked the hatred and fury of the other.

  Sidestepping Derek’s initial ferocious onslaught, Edward dealt his brother several punishing blows to his midsection. But like an angered bear, Derek recovered himself and came on again, this time calling upon his ten years’ experience, and it was clear the younger Edward was no match for him. With three swift blows he drew blood from Edward’s nose and right eye.

  “Thrash me, indeed, you miserable wretch of a younger brother!” he cried. “You’re nothing! Nothing, do you hear! Nothing but a paid servant to watch over my property! Ha! ha! ha!”

  But the insults were unwisely delivered, for even as he laughed at what he thought had been an easy victory, he felt the full force of Edward’s fist against his jaw.

  Derek staggered back, almost to the very edge of the stairway. Edward came forward and tried to seize upon his momentary advantage, but again Derek’s skill resurfaced. He slammed three punishing blows into Edward’s chest and belly, doubling him up gasping for air, and then dealt a severe lightning-swift cross to the head which sent Edward sprawling on his back, unconscious. But even as Derek threw the punch, he took a half step backward from the recoil of the force, lost his footing on the landing, and tumbled backward halfway down the stairway before he could stop himself. He lay for a moment stunned, then crawled slowly to his feet and slunk the rest of the way down the stairs and to his room—aching and wondering if any bones had been broken. Even if he had gotten considerably the best of it, he was hardly used to any blows finding their way to his handsome head, and not knowing his brother’s condition as he lay at the top of the stairs, could not help wondering where Edward had learned to fight like that.

  Jamie rushed to where Edward lay, now gradually coming to. The cut above his eye was minor, but the blood still oozed from his nose. She ran back to her room, grabbed a towel, moistened one end of it, and ran back down the hall to where he lay.

  “Dear God!” he moaned as she applied the wet towel to his face and tried to clean off the cuts. “Is—is Derek—”

  “He’s gone,” said Jamie. “He fell down the stairs.”

  Edward pulled himself to a sitting position where he remained leaning against the wall. Jamie ran back to her room once more, quickly poured some water from her pitcher into a cup, then ran back.

  “Here,” she said, “drink this.”

  He did so.

  “Thank you,” he replied, then closed his eyes and laid his head back against the wall. He was clearly exhausted.

  Jamie said nothing, continuing to kneel at his side.

  At length Edward spoke. “I—I could have killed him . . . that is, if I could have. I would have, had I been powerful enough.”

  “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along,” Jamie said.

  “The fury—the hatred that was inside me—”

  “You were just trying to protect me. You wouldn’t have really tried to hurt him.”

  “No! no! I would have! I wanted to hurt him. I could have killed him, I tell you! The hatred nearly consumed me! Oh, God!—what might I have done if he hadn’t had the best of me? I might have killed my own brother!”

  “You can’t blame yourself. He was threatening me. You were only—”

  “You don’t understand!” he interrupted, clearly distraught beyond the mere physical pain of his bruises. “It wasn’t because of you—not all of it—not the evil feelings welling up from within me as I attacked him. I’ve always wanted to kill him. Always! When I saw him there pushing you against the wall, I was overcome with such—such—God help me! There is such hatred inside me! I’m not a good man! For all the selfishness and blackness in my brother, there is evil, there is hatred, there is utter depravity in my own soul. However I try to put a mask over it and hide it from the world, it is there! God help me! What’s happened to me? What kind of man am I?”

  He bent forward and covered his face with his hands and began to weep.

  Overcome at the sight, Jamie struggled for something to say.

  “Let God help you, Mr. Graystone,” she said.

  “Teach those things to Andrew,” he replied, still not daring to look up at her for the shame of his tears. “Teach him how to live. It’s too late for God to help me. I have spent my life wanting all the wrong things, and now I have nothing—and I deserve no better.”

  “You cannot mean that! You know it can’t be true!” pleaded Jamie. “An
d even if it is, what’s to stop you wanting the right things now? It’s never too late! Peace is always there to be found!”

  “Peace!—I’ve never heard of it—not for the likes of me!”

  “It’s for everyone,” said Jamie. “And it’s no more than you’ve always wanted. You tried to get it from Aviemere, and lately you’ve found snatches of it in Andrew. But that’s not where it can be found.”

  “I know that only too well!” he said, taking his hands from before his face and holding them in front of him, gazing at the bruises and blood from his own cuts.

  “Then look to where it can be found!”

  He looked up and faced her squarely, no longer ashamed of his red, tear-stained eyes. For the first time since she had known him, Jamie saw deeply inside—beyond the impenetrable hardness. Even in his most tender moments with Andrew she had not seen this look. Reflected in tears she could see a pure longing for something more, a longing for the liberation of his love-craving heart. They were the eyes of a child.

  “If only—oh, God, help me!” he said, but the hard knot in his throat made it difficult for him to continue.

  “Yes?” she encouraged gently.

  “You are so right,” he went on with faltering voice. “If only—yes, you must be right—but it all seems so backward. Why are we never taught these things? If only I could have such a thing as the peace you talk about!”

  “God will give it to you—gladly! You need only ask Him.”

  “I have never asked anything of another. I was taught that to ask for help is degrading. I would not even ask Derek for Aviemere.”

  “But the peace of God is the one thing we must ask for. To come before God is the one time in life we must truly humble ourselves and admit that we are nothing and have nothing without Him. Only by our asking can God know that we truly want it.”

  Again he covered his face and wept.

  “I do—I do want it!” he sobbed.

  “Then tell Him so . . . in your own heart,” said Jamie.

  Still kneeling beside him, Jamie closed her eyes and prayed fervently in the silence of her own thoughts for this once-proud man whose own bitterness had proved too much for him. Truly broken in spirit, he sat beside her, eyes closed but the tears still flowing.

  As she prayed, all at once the words came flooding into her mind that she had heard so many times. And unaccountably as she heard them, almost as if he was standing beside her, the voice that spoke was her grandfather’s, though the words were the words of her grandfather’s Lord: “See, here I staun chappin at the door; gin ony man hears my voice an apens the door, I will ging in an tak my sipper wi him, an him wi me, as I will make my hame in his hert.”

  35

  Rumors

  It was not long after the fight that Derek began to tire of the sport at Aviemere. The incident was never mentioned and the servants, of course, made not the slightest reference to the battered countenances of the brothers. After lingering about the estate for another week, Derek received a letter from his regiment. Apparently having already had sufficient fill of the boorish place, the letter from his commander must have come as a welcome excuse to make his departure.

  Within two days he was gone. Not another word was said about the status of the estate. A month before, his flippant assumption that Edward would carry on as before would have exasperated Edward to inward wrath. But now it had little effect on him. For the first time in his life he had truly let go of Aviemere. And if he still bore his brother no great affection, at least the heinous bond of hatred had been sundered. As never before, he was free.

  Again he began to enjoy Andrew, and even Aviemere, more than before. They were no longer the source of his peace, and thus if they fell short in his expectations, he could not be devastated.

  One afternoon he wandered out to the back courtyard and found Jamie and Andrew lunching.

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  For sole response Andrew held up a bright red and yellow ball and cried, “Papa, look!”

  “That’s grand, son. Is it new?”

  “Mr. Els gived it me.”

  “Mr. Ellice brought it back from his recent trip to Aberdeen,” Jamie explained further. “Do please join us,” she added, “though the fare is rather simple.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s the company, not the food, I’m interested in.”

  They spent the next few minutes munching on the cheese, oatcakes, and apple slices, but now that his father was present, Andrew was much too excited to eat. He wanted to try out his new toy.

  “Watch me, Papa!” he cried, taking up the ball and running back a few paces from the diners. He raised his hand and swung it back, trying to hurl the ball with such force that had it made its mark it would have upset the lunch basket. As it was, it barely managed to knock a few buds from a rosebush just to his right as he lost his balance and toppled to the ground. He tumbled over giggling, his audience laughing with him, and promptly jumped up, eager for more.

  Before long he had both his father and nurse involved in a game of catch, though his modest skills dictated that the ball spent more time on the ground than in the air. When Andrew began to tire, Edward dropped to his hands and knees, grabbed his son, and wrestled him to the ground, to the boy’s rapturous delight. Then, lying on his back, Edward raised him over his head with outstretched arms, tossing him into the air and catching him again.

  Jamie was the first to see Candice Montrose approaching, let out through the French doors of the ground floor sitting room by Cameron the butler, who still stood in somber silence, looking disapprovingly on the playful affair.

  Edward sensed rather than saw her, turned, pulled himself to his feet and made a half-hearted attempt to brush the grass and dust from his clothes.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Montrose. What a surprise!”

  “Yes, I can see it is! I do hope I haven’t disturbed anything,” she said.

  “Not at all! Perhaps you’d like to join us.”

  She smiled coolly as if to say, “Surely you jest,” then explained that she was in the vicinity, and since it had been so long since she had visited she had decided to stop by.

  “I hope you don’t mind my doing so without an invitation?”

  “Of course not! We are neighbors, after all—well, nearly so. You are always welcome.” He then led her to a chair at the table where they had been having luncheon.

  “You’ve met my nurse, Miss MacLeod?” he asked.

  “Indeed I have,” said Candice, casting Jamie a superior glance.

  “Mr. Graystone,” said Jamie, “perhaps you would like me to go ask Cameron to serve tea for you and your guest?”

  “Thank you, Jamie,” Edward replied, not noticing how Candice bristled at the familiar use of the nurse’s Christian name.

  Jamie took Andrew’s hand and the new red and yellow ball and exited.

  ———

  Candice’s plans had been delayed due to her mother’s unexpected illness. But with the first tint of pink returning to her cheeks, Candice set out again after her quarry. It distressed her to learn that she had missed the visit of Edward’s brother, for what an opportunity it would have provided for dinner invitations, parties, and the like! Not to mention that Derek Graystone was reportedly even more handsome than his brother.

  But she had missed him, and thus, content with her original intent, she gradually accelerated the rate of interchange between the two estates. In the weeks that followed, Edward found himself deluged with invitations to Montrose Manor. Though he was unable to accept every one, he did at least feel bound by common courtesy to reciprocate those he did accept. Thus the comings and goings between Aviemere and Montrose were frequent, and talk began to spread throughout the valley that it was not at all unlikely that Candice Montrose would soon become the next Lady Graystone.

  Candice was satisfied with the progress. Of course, Edward was not the ardent suitor she would have hoped for, but she had always known him to be the cool
and distant type, so she was able to build many castles in the fantasies of her daydreams by even the most minor attentions he showed her.

  She still was concerned about the nurse. Invariably when she came to Aviemere, especially if she had not been expected, she found Edward off somewhere with Andrew and that MacLeod girl. However the man might want to spend time with his son, it hardly seemed necessary for that little snip of a nurse to continually tag along!

  “You know how I try to ignore what is nothing but gossip,” she said one day, “but something has come to my attention which I simply cannot ignore, for your interests, and for those of dear little Andrew. I hate to see his future position in society jeopardized in any way.”

  “What is it?” asked Edward.

  “It has to do with that nurse of yours,” she replied. “I have heard that she is but a peasant—in fact, that until a year or two ago, she was a mere shepherdess girl—indeed, one of your own tenants. I thought you should be aware of this.”

  “What makes you think I am not already aware of it?”

  “Come now, Edward. You are a gentleman. I know you would have someone from only the most spotless background tend your child. Your brother is a bachelor. It is not inconceivable that your son may be earl one day.”

  “I have always known of my employee’s status,” said Edward.

  “And you’ve done nothing? Surely you can see what a detriment such an upbringing could be socially! How long do you intend to allow his training to be governed by this—this . . . I don’t know what to call her!”

  “Miss MacLeod has been the best thing to happen to Andrew since his birth. I know most fathers in my position care about such things as social graces. But as for my son, his social advancement pales greatly before his emotional security. And however low her background, Miss MacLeod has given him the security that comes from being loved.”

  Sensing that to push further in the matter would only alienate him, Candice pulled in her tentacles. “That greatly relieves me, Edward. I fully trust your discretion in the matter. I was only concerned for the boy.”