Jamie MacLeod

by Michael Phillips

  “What am I thinking?” she murmured aloud.

  She deliberately snipped off a particularly vivid yellow and orange rosebud and examined it carefully before laying it in the basket with the others. But if she hoped her concentration on her task would dissipate her thoughts, she was disappointed. A vision slowly crept into her mind of Sadie Malone laughing about her lovesickness over Robbie Taggart. If that made her laugh, Jamie thought, she would have fits over this! As would no doubt, Candice Montrose. And with the thought came a quick dampening of her spirits. He was, after all, practically engaged to her, so the servants said. And it was only fitting. He was a gentleman. His first wife had been from a very old British family of standing. They would make the perfect couple, the talk of the county, the coming together of two such prestigious estates. For the first time in a long while, Jamie found herself wishing she was a lady after all. But she quickly dismissed the thought.

  Rebuking herself, she whirled around and marched from the garden. Andrew would be awake by now, and the flowers would wilt if she did not finish with her silly fancies!

  She located a vase in the gardener’s closet, and after arranging the flowers, she took them up to Andrew. He was just coming awake and was delighted with her gift. He looked so much better! The fever had at last broken and the glazed, sallow look had begun to disappear. He would soon be well, and then . . .

  And then—what! She would leave Aviemere again, go back to Aberdeen—she did, after all, have duties with the Gilchrists. Of course. That was where her life was now. But even at the thought of leaving, her throat tightened.

  “Jamie, why are you sad?” asked Andrew, startling her suddenly from her thoughts.

  “I was just thinking how much I like it here, and what a nice visit we’ve had,” she replied, “but that soon I must go?”

  “But you said you were staying . . .”

  “I can’t stay forever, Andrew,” she said as she ran her hand through his curly yellow locks.

  “Then I’ll stay sick.”

  “No, no, my bairn. That would make me sad.”

  “Will you go today?”

  “No, Andrew,” she smiled. “I haven’t forgotten that I promised you a walk like we used to take.”

  “Then I must hurry and get better!”

  He then requested a story from his favorite picture book. She had barely begun, however, when there came a knock at the door.

  It was Dora.

  “It seems you have a caller.”

  “A caller? For me?” Jamie asked, puzzled.

  “Yes,” replied the housekeeper. “A gentleman asking for you.”

  “A gentleman? I can’t imagine!”

  “Well, dear, there’s but one way to get to the bottom of it,” answered the practical housekeeper. “He’s waiting downstairs.”

  “I’ll finish this a little later, Andrew,” she said. He nodded a bit reluctantly, and Jamie left.

  In the few moments it took her to reach the main stairway, she puzzled over the identity of her mysterious caller a dozen times. When she came to the top of the stairs and looked down at the handsomely uniformed young man standing in Aviemere’s entryway, she could hardly believe her eyes.

  “Robbie!” she cried, and flew down the steps like one of the goats on the slopes of Donachie.

  He took her in his arms and swept her off her feet.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Jamie MacLeod!” he exclaimed with a merry chuckle.

  “Oh, Robbie! I didn’t mean to do that!”

  “I know and I understand. Mrs. Gilchrist told me all about it.” He was about to give her an unreserved kiss when she stepped away, trying to appear casual, and led him inside.

  Out of the corner of her eye Jamie had caught a glimpse of Edward Graystone descending the stair.

  42

  The Laird and the Sailor

  Edward had viewed the entire scene from the top of the stair. At first he tried to persuade himself that this stranger was some relative of Jamie’s, however unreasonable he knew the thought to be. But he knew full well that the look in the man’s eye was not the look of a cousin.

  He walked steadily and unflinchingly down the steps, gathering only the most fleeting hope in seeing Jamie pull away from the man’s advances. It could have, after all, been nothing but modest embarrassment.

  “Mr. Graystone,” said Jamie. Her cheeks were tinged with pink and she seemed flustered. “I would like to present a good friend,” she continued. “This is Mr.—that is, Lieutenant Robert Taggart. And, Robbie, I would like you to meet Mr. Edward Graystone.”

  The two men approached one another and shook hands, Edward rather stiffly, and Robbie in his usual unassuming manner, always ready to take someone new into his wide circle of friendships.

  “I hope you will forgive my brashness,” Robbie said, “barging into your home like this uninvited. Jamie left Aberdeen so suddenly, I was concerned.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable.”

  “Not to mention our unfinished business, Jamie,” Robbie added, giving her a grin and a knowing wink.

  “I’m sorry to have done that to you, Robbie,” Jamie replied.

  Edward shuffled uncomfortably, finding himself in the midst of an exchange he was not part of.

  At length he spoke, trying his best to sound casual. “Jamie, you may take your guest into the parlor if you wish some privacy.”

  The color rose up Jamie’s neck, and Edward could almost feel the heat mounting in her face.

  “Thank you, Mr. Graystone,” she replied.

  “If you have traveled all the way from Aberdeen,” said Edward, turning to Robbie and doing his best to put on a brave front, “you must be tired. You are welcome to stay at Aviemere.”

  “That’s kind of you, sir,” replied Robbie. “But I have already taken lodgings in the village.”

  “As you wish, though the invitation stands.”

  “Well . . .” Robbie replied slowly, apparently weighing the matter further in his mind, “—if you truly mean it. And if it’s no inconvenience?”

  “None at all,” said Edward with courageous courtesy.

  “I should be grateful to see more of Jamie than the long rides back and forth would permit.”

  “I’ll have a room prepared for you. We dine at seven o’clock.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Robbie, rather more formally than he had yet spoken.

  Edward turned to leave, and Jamie led Robbie to the parlor. He stopped, turned again, and watched them until they were out of sight down the corridor. Even when he could no longer see them, he heard joyful sounds of laughter.

  So that is that, he thought calmly.

  But when he walked back upstairs to the library and sank into his chair behind the desk where little work was being done of late, he felt anything but calm. All the gentlemanly reserve he felt appropriate in such a situation fled from him.

  Whatever hopes he had about Jamie were soon dashed in the realization that this man with the flashing good looks, a gallant uniform, winning smile, and merry laughter was a far more likely man for Jamie to fall in love with. Not he, with his hard features, thinning hair, gruff voice and a past which still stung him! He tried to remind himself that Olivia had loved him. But he was younger then and the hard blows of life had not yet taken their toll. And that brought home the coldest reality of all—he was a good ten years older than Jamie. This Lt. Taggart was young, full of vigor, with life still before him—everything a young girl like Jamie could want!

  Did he love her? Was it possible he could love a girl who had once been his servant? If so, did he love her enough to give her up to Lt. Taggart? He was not a man to give in to schoolboy fancies. But neither did he expend his emotions lightly. Yet was not his love—if such it was at all—measured by his desire to see Jamie happy?

  Edward was not a man given to asking for things. In the past year he had requested only two things of God. One had been his plea for peace in his heart; the other, h
is son’s life. Now he covered his face and asked for one more thing. “God,” he prayed, “you know my feelings. You know I am no match for this man who has come here seeking her. Help me to accept what you have chosen for her. And above all, dear God, I ask only for Jamie’s happiness.”

  That evening at dinner Edward staunchly made an effort to be as amiable as he could, but his heart was low. Robbie—as he insisted on being called, despite the fact that he continued to call his host Mr. Graystone—was indeed a winning personality. His merry flow of conversation and unending reserve of captivating stories of adventures in exotic lands raised smiles and correspondent good cheer even from his rival. By evening’s end, his infectious laughter had even drawn Edward into the relating of a few amusing anecdotes concerning Aviemere. Worst of all, Edward liked this Robbie Taggart! He was an interesting, genuine, and congenial man. He left the dinner table feeling that he would be doing Jamie a great injustice to attempt anything that kept him from her. He excused himself, took his leave, and went upstairs to retire, leaving “youngsters,” as he grimly referred to them, alone and to themselves.

  ———

  As the laird left the dining room, silence fell for a few moments.

  “There’s a full moon out tonight,” said Robbie at length. “I hear Aviemere has some grand gardens. How about a tour?”

  They rose, he offered Jamie his arm, and she took it lightly, and they went outside. Indeed, the gardens were bathed in shimmering moonlight, and a soft breeze stirred about the couple.

  “It must have been quite a change coming here for the first time,” said Robbie, making conversation. “It’s certainly nothing like Sadie’s in Aberdeen.”

  He laughed.

  “He did shake me a bit at first.”

  “He?”

  “Oh! I thought you meant—I guess I was thinking—the laird, Mr. Graystone, I mean. Yes, he was difficult to get used to when I first came.”

  “I can see what you mean,” said Robbie, taking little note of her agitation. “He is a bit, I don’t know, stiff.”

  “He isn’t like that at all,” Jamie responded, much too quickly. “I mean, it’s easy to misconstrue him. He’s really—”

  She stopped self-consciously. Then hoping to change the subject, she exclaimed, “Look! The rhododendrons are especially vivid this year—the moonlight makes them look like great colored lights.”

  Robbie stopped walking and, gently taking her shoulders, turned her toward him. “You are the only light I see, my dear Jamie.”

  She smiled.

  “Jamie, I’ve waited almost as long as I can bear.” He took her into his arms and kissed her. This time she did not pull away.

  “Oh, Robbie! Robbie!” Her head felt light, and the garden whirled around her.

  “Please tell me you’ll marry me,” he said, still kissing her.

  “I’ve had so little time to think.”

  “What’s there to think about? I love you and you love me.”

  With those words, confusion again surged through Jamie’s mind. He sensed her hesitation in her suddenly tense and unyielding body.

  “What’s wrong, Jamie?” he asked, the slightest tremble in his voice.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “You do love me, don’t you?”

  She turned from him and walked a few paces away, her back turned.

  Did she love Robbie? It was a question she had not even tried to answer since he had proposed to her in Aberdeen. Of course she loved him! Who could not love Robbie Taggart—adventurous and exciting man of the world! But did she love him in the way she knew she must in order to marry him?

  “Jamie?” he said, coming up behind her and laying a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “Oh, Robbie! I’m so confused! I—I just don’t know!”

  She turned around, and the wounded look on Robbie’s face nearly broke her heart.

  There was a long silence.

  “I want to ask what is confusing you,” he finally said. “But I don’t think I will.” He stopped, but suddenly in a torrent of words that seemed beyond his control, he added, “It’s the laird, isn’t it, Jamie?”

  Stunned, Jamie stared at him in disbelief.

  “Oh, Robbie—I don’t know!”

  “I’ve seen it, Jamie. There’s been a difference since I came here. I can see that look in your eye. You’re in love with him. That’s why you’re confused and afraid.”

  “What a wild imagination you have, Robbie!” she replied, her confusion giving way to a half-angry tone. “The whole thing is crazy, and I’m a fool!”

  “Then say you’ll marry me!”

  “Robbie, I can’t! Not until I know.”

  “You want to see if you can get your gentleman friend first!” he blurted out scornfully, but he regretted his words almost before they were out.

  “Forgive me, Jamie! It was a stupid thing to say. I know you’d never be swayed by such a thing. That’s why I love you. Please say you’ll forgive me!”

  “Of course I do. I know you didn’t mean it. I only wish it were that simple. I only wish—”

  She couldn’t complete her sentence because she still didn’t know what she wished. Or perhaps she did know, but was still afraid to put it into words.

  “We should go in,” said Robbie tenderly. “You are right. Before you make any decision, I want you to know. You have to be certain.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “You have always been wonderful to me, from the first day when you found me dying in the blizzard. I do love you, dear Robbie Taggart. So believe me, my decision will not be easy.”

  “Then I shall never give up hope!” He reached out and gently grazed her cheek with his rough hand, then turned and walked back into the house.

  Jamie watched him until he had disappeared, then turned and went back out into the moonlit garden alone. She walked slowly away from the house, reflecting on the many happy days she had spent here. Scenes and images and faces from the last two years flooded her mind in endless succession.

  She did not return to the house for more than two hours.

  Part VI

  Jamie MacLeod

  43

  Pledges

  Surprisingly Jamie slept soundly that night. She had fallen asleep with the words of Psalm 121 going through her mind:

  He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

  And thus, with the words of the unslumbering God in her heart, she did sleep, awaking cheerful and refreshed and feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She dressed quickly in her brightest dress, a red and green plaid, befitting her homeland, brushed her hair, and practically skipped from her room.

  Her first destination was Andrew’s room. She found him sitting up in bed, squirming to get out.

  “The doctor says you must stay here a day or two longer,” she reminded him.

  “We don’t have to tell him.”

  Jamie smiled. “That wouldn’t be truthful, my bairn. Besides, he’d know!”

  She read him some stories and they talked about where they would go when he was able to get up. She fed him his breakfast when the nurse brought it up, then left to have her own.

  The laird usually took his breakfast alone, and when Jamie went to the kitchen she was informed that Robbie had already been up, breakfasted, and was now out somewhere with MacKay—on horseback, the cook thought. Relieved, she ate as quickly as she dared, then went back to her own room.

  She did not see Robbie all morning. In early afternoon she went again for a visit with Andrew. After several stories he began to tire and she judged it wise for him to sleep. She rose from his bedside and was preparing to leave when his father walked in.


  Her whole being trembled at the sight of him, and what a different trembling this was from when she had seen him that first time in the library!

  “I was just leaving,” she said.

  “Must you?” cried Andrew. If only she could have known that the boy’s father silently cried out the same words.

  “Your father wants some time with you too, you know,” she said.

  “You needn’t go on my account,” said Graystone, speaking at last. His words were clipped, forced, and his voice betrayed his sleepless night.

  Jamie hesitated.

  Was he just being polite? Or did he really want her to stay? “I’ve been with him already twice today,” she faltered. “You need—you deserve some time to yourselves.”

  Sensing the sudden rising of a very awkward lump in her throat and the accumulation in her eyes of a mist it would be very difficult to explain, Jamie turned and fled from the room.

  “Please—Jamie!” he called after her, but she continued down the hall without turning back, the tears coming in earnest now.

  What have I done, he thought! Was she so smitten with the sailor that she couldn’t even carry on the simplest conversation with him any longer? It would have been better for him to keep to himself the whole day! Seeing her was the worst thing he could have done! But after a night spent tossing and turning with visions of the sunlight dancing off her hair and eyes, he could not keep himself from finding her, even if only to gaze upon her from afar. Even to see her in Robbie’s arms would be better than not to see her at all!

  At last he turned to Andrew and said, “I must go find Jamie, son, and speak with her. I’ll be back.”

  He left the nursery and walked down the hallway in the direction Jamie had gone. He had a suspicion . . . if only he could talk to her alone! Even if just for a moment!

  He descended the great stairway and turned toward the rear of the house toward the courtyard where she and Andrew had always been so fond of playing together, where he had lunched with them on the day of the bright red ball. As he approached the glass door his heart gave a great bound within him.