by Julia London
“Don’t advise me,” she said, throwing her hand up. “Don’t tell me what I should do.”
He said nothing. So many things were flitting through his head that he couldn’t actually grasp any coherent thought, except one—he did not want to leave her with Spivey.
They stood in awkward silence a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Daisy clasped her hands before her, and she kept her head down, as if she were truly interested in the pebble she was toeing about.
What was he to do? Whisk her away from Spivey? And then what—return her to England to find someone just as... English? And a noose waiting for him? What alternative for her was there? He couldn’t put it to rights, and his presence had made it worse.
Cailean had let this go too far between them, had allowed himself to delve too deeply into their acquaintance. He groaned—the time had come for him to leave it be. A swell of disappointment, tasting of bitter dismay, rose to the back of his throat.
He touched her face, his fingers lingering, forcing her to look up at him. Her eyes swam with regret that he couldn’t make sense of. Did she regret him? Spivey? The unfortunate altercation on the terrace? “Be happy, Daisy,” he said. “Now and forevermore.”
She pressed her lips together. He dropped his hand and turned away from her, walking briskly across the drive, headed for the path through the woods that would take him to Arrandale.
As he stepped into the shadows of the wooded path, he realized that as the trees had swallowed the sunlight, so would her departure swallow the bit of sunshine over Auchenard. And in its place, a dark cloud would hang.
* * *
THERE WAS A small fishing hamlet on the road to Balhaire, and on the edge of that hamlet was a cottage in the forest where every man in the Highlands knew he might slake his thirst. To the outside world, the women who inhabited that cottage were sisters, drawn together by some familial tragedy.
They were not sisters, but no matter, their stories were a mystery to Cailean. They lived on a patch of land with a wee bit of livestock and a robust garden. They were hardy women, too, all of them big-boned and strong, accustomed to the sort of Highlanders who came down from the hills to call on them.
Against his better judgment, Cailean stopped there on his way to Balhaire. He felt in desperate need of a distraction—anything to take his mind from Daisy. He’d been at odds with himself for two days now, since Captain Spivey had come to Auchenard. Cailean’s imagination had gotten the best of him, holding him captive and torturing him with unwanted images of Daisy in that bloody wooden box of a potting shed with her one and only true love.
They were images that could be tamped down with hard work and determination.
In those moments Cailean managed a small victory over those thoughts, his own desires rushed to the forefront of his mind. He found himself remembering the moment she’d found her release, the feel of her fingers digging quite painfully into his shoulders. She was with him in every moment of the day. Her mouth, ripe and wet from his kiss, accompanied him to fish in the mornings. Her hair, braided and fragrant, filled his nostrils as he cleaned a hare.
Everything he did to try to ignore her only made the images of her grow and bloom and press against his flesh and bones, reminding him of just how bloody long it had been since he’d been in the company of a woman.
Cailean had finally determined he had to do something or lose his fool mind, if it hadn’t been lost already. He commanded Fabienne to wait and strode into the cottage in the woods, prepared to release the demons from his body.
Unfortunately, he knew the moment he stepped across the threshold into the low-ceilinged room with the smell of burned peat and unwashed man permeating the air, and the women flocking around him, cooing over his physique, that he would find no relief here. Not for this fever.
One of them lifted her skirts so that he could plainly see her sturdy legs and the dark patch between them. Another cupped her breasts with her hands and bit her lower lip.
But not a single one of them had spirited green eyes or a bloody seductive smile. Not one.
Cailean didn’t speak; he tossed some coins on the table and left, even as the women taunted him and called him back, one of them promising a remedy for his failed masculinity. He was mortified by that, of course—if there was one thing on which he could depend, it was his bloody masculinity. In fact, it was pounding hard in his veins as he rode away.
He was soon enough at Balhaire and the village that surrounded the fortress. Everyone was in the throes of preparing for the feill to celebrate the end of summer. The Mackenzie tradition was an annual affair, and it brought dozens, even hundreds, to Balhaire for market, games and dancing. The feill was particularly important during trying times—Balhaire was a true stronghold, and Arran Mackenzie wanted his clan and other Highlanders to know it and depend on it.
The inner bailey and the old keep were teeming with people when Cailean arrived. He walked down the long, narrow corridor that led to his father’s study, sidestepping two footmen who carried a sideboard between them.
At the end of that hall, Cailean walked into his father’s study in such a stew that at first he did not see his mother until she cried out with delight.
“Cailean! I am in astonishment!” She hurried across the room with her arms outstretched. Cailean reached for her hand, but she pushed his hand away and threw her arms around his neck, rising up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll not be greeted like a distant cousin.” She hugged him tightly, small thing that she was, then let him go. “I thought at first you were a vision—I have so rarely seen you of late, and particularly when the day is fine.”
“Aye,” he said. “Business has brought me in from the sunshine for a word with Athair.”
“Ah yes, good, then. We men must speak of cargos and prevailing winds,” his father said from behind his desk.
“What matters?” his mother asked.
“You’ll no’ want to hear it, leannan,” Cailean’s father said and fluttered his fingers at her. “Best you go and occupy yourself.”
“Are you asking me to leave, dearest? Don’t you want my advice? Cailean, darling, you will attend the feill, won’t you?”
Cailean couldn’t help but smile—after all these years, his mother’s English accent weighed down any word she tried to speak in Gaelic. “Aye, of course I will.”
“I’d like you to invite your neighbor.”
Cailean’s heart stilled. “Who?”
“Your neighbor,” she said, enunciating the word. “Lady Chatwick.”
“Mathair—”
“Her family, as well,” she said before he could object. “She has a young son, does she not? He will be delighted.”
“Aye, she does, but I—”
“I should like to meet her,” his mother said quickly. “She is English after all, and there are precious few of my countrymen in the Highlands.”
“Aye, with good reason,” her husband reminded her.
“You sound like a Jacobite, darling. Cailean, please do extend the invitation.”
“If you mean to try your hand at matchmaking again,” he said, leveling a pointed look at her, “you’re too late.”
His mother gasped. “She’s made a match so soon?”
“No’ with a Scotsman. An old love has come from England to fetch her.”
His mother gaped at him. “Who? Who would come all this way?”
“Captain Robert Spivey.”
His mother stared at him blankly, but his father’s brow furrowed. “The name is familiar.”
“Aye, it is. Spivey is or was captain of the Fortune.”
His father frowned darkly. “Is that no’ the ship whose gun nearly brought down our foremast?”
“It is the ship that lost a sailor to Wallace’s gun, aye,” Cailean said.
“What in bloody hell is he doing here, then?” his father demanded.
“He’s come for her. They courted before her marriage to Chatwick.”
“No’ bloody likely,” his father began, but Cailean shook his head.
“He didna know me, aye? He was surprised. Drew his sword.”
His mother gasped. “Oh my. Why has he come?” she repeated, sinking down onto a settee. “I don’t like it, Cailean, not at all. Why would a captain of the Royal Navy suddenly appear so very close to Arrandale?”
“Lady Chatwick believes he has resigned his commission,” Cailean said. “I think his appearance is a war tactic—”
“A war tactic!”
Cailean held up his hand. “In the war of fortunes. What I mean is that I think he has come, has inserted himself between a woman he loves and open sea—that is to say, between her and any other suitor, aye?”
“Between any other suitor and her fortune.” His mother snorted. “A man in search of a fortune plays to win, doesn’t he?”
“Aye, that he does,” his father said thoughtfully.
“Invite him, then,” she said to Cailean.
“Pardon?”
“Invite him to the feill.”
“Màthair, think of what you are saying,” Cailean calmly suggested. “Any number of people at the feill would gladly slit his throat.”
“They’d no’ do it at Balhaire,” his father said.
“No, never,” his mother agreed. “Your father and I learned a very long time ago that it is better to keep your enemy close. Otherwise, one cannot know what he is about. And if there is even the slightest chance that he might be sending English troops down Lochcarron for Arrandale—” She shuddered, then vigorously rubbed her arms. “They won’t come near Balhaire,” she said firmly.
“No’ unless they mean to start a war,” his father agreed.
Cailean didn’t disagree. To attempt any retaliation in the midst of so many Scots—many of them Jacobites—would be grounds to take up arms.
“And have a pair of guards with you, darling,” she said. “I can’t bear the thought of you at Arrandale alone with someone like him so close. I’ll speak to Rabbie and Cat about it. We’ll need to welcome them here, which will take a bit of persuading with the clan.” She stood up to leave, but before she went out, she put her hand on Cailean’s cheek. “Do have a care.”
“Aye,” he said and kissed her cheek.
He watched his mother leave, then turned to his father, who moved as if he meant to stand. With a sudden grimace, he caught himself on the edge of his desk and bowed his head.
“Athair,” Cailean said, alarmed, starting for the desk, but his father waved him off.
“It’s naugh’ to worry over,” he said and rubbed his leg.
Cailean could see the pain etched into his father’s face. “I’ll ring for—”
“No,” his father said curtly. “I donna want to upset your mother, aye? She worries enough as it is. I’ll need you on hand to start the games,” he said and eased back in his seat. He sighed, leaned his head back a moment, then opened his eyes and smiled at Cailean. “Now then,” he said. “Let’s discuss the feill.”
Cailean listened to his father, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from rushing. It was clear that he would be needed at Balhaire in his father’s stead sooner rather than later. He was beginning to feel as if his life had been tossed into the air by a fierce ocean wave and then smacked back down onto the deck, scattering into pieces he would have to quickly gather before he lost them all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I cannot describe the joy in my heart upon seeing Robert after all these years. He is of course older, as am I, but still very much himself, as he proved to me by embracing me and kissing my cheek in earnest happiness at finding me well.
Our acquaintance has been very much renewed and in many ways, it is as if the years have melted away and meant nothing. We have talked of everything. He asked if my husband was good and honorable, and I assured him that Clive was a good husband. Robert never married as I had supposed he might have done, but said rather that after he was forced to let me go, he had married the sea. I don’t remember it in precisely that way, but then again, many days have passed since then and memories do fade.
Robert had heard various and sundry things about me over the years. He knew of Ellis’s birth. Of Clive’s illness. Of my mother’s death. But he’d not heard of Clive’s passing until only recently, and he said he dreamed that night that an angel told him to come straightaway, all the while knowing that a journey into the Highlands would be particularly perilous for a captain in the king’s Royal Navy.
I cannot fathom how Robert came to pull his sword. He admitted he reacted poorly, but only out of concern for me. Perhaps he thought A had come up from the lake to rob us at that very moment, although that seems rather impossible. He was quite insistent that I tell him how I have come to know A. He has warned me he is a dangerous smuggler. He would not tell me what A has been accused of smuggling, but he did insist that I should not consider him friend or invite him into Auchenard again.
Robert has surprised me with a gift of a gold necklace, one that he purchased in India. It is quite lovely, and I wear it proudly. I did understand him to mean that he made the purchase with me in mind, but at supper that very same evening, he regaled us all with tales of his daring sea voyages, and related that he’d sailed to India more than a year ago. As he didn’t know of Clive’s death as long ago as that, I must assume that perhaps he bought the necklace for someone else he admired.
Mr. S called yesterday. The poor man could not seem to find his tongue at the sight of the captain, and took his leave very shortly thereafter, refusing my invitation to bowl with us on the newly shorn lawn.
Uncle has taken to fishing and may very well take barrels of them to Balhaire. I suggested he set up a booth and sell them. He said I would thank him on the long journey back to London. We are to leave in a fortnight, and all arrangements have been made. Rob is to escort us home, as is Rowley, and uncle and the rest of the servants will follow once they have closed Auchenard.
Rob has not asked to speak with my uncle, or me, and I therefore cannot know his intentions, although he has given me every reason to believe he intends to offer. Perhaps he means to wait until we are in London again.
Mr. Munro has told us the preparations are being made for the festival at Balhaire, to be held at week’s end. I think E would very much like to go, and he informs me the world’s strongest man shall be in attendance. He asks when A might come round again. I thank the Lord that he did not see what happened on the terrace.
I, too, should like to know when A might come round again. Whatever he has done, I would not like to think I’ve seen the last of him. I would not like to think that at all.
I saw the strangest, most colorful bird in the garden this morning, pecking at the petals that have fallen from some of the roses. It looked like a blue chicken, the likes of which I have never seen.
DAISY DID NOT care much for lawn bowling, but Ellis seemed to enjoy it, and Robert suggested they amuse him. “Fresh air and his studies are what the boy ought to be about,” he’d said.
Daisy had bowled the last two rounds—her balls going quite astray—and was staring absently at the loch, wondering why she’d not seen any boats gliding past in the last two days. Not a rowboat, not a single sail. Not a man fishing on the edge of the lake. Not a Highlander in sight.
“Madam?”
She started and turned toward the sound of Rowley’s voice.
“Arrandale, madam, and two riders, as well.”
Cailean. Her heart fluttered madly, and she touched the lobe of her ear in a vain attempt that Robert not see how the news affected her. “Thank you. See him to the great room, please.”
“I invited
him to do so, milady, but he refused. He asks you meet him on the drive.”
“Oh,” she said and felt the disappointment rush through her. He had given up on her after Robert pulled his sword; she was certain of it.
“Who has come?” Robert asked, drawing up from what would have been his turn at bowl.
“Ah...our neighbor,” she said carefully.
Robert immediately dropped his ball. “I’ll accompany you,” he said firmly.
“I’m sure it’s nothing—”
“Lady Chatwick,” he said, in a habit he’d forged of addressing her when he was quite serious, “as I have said, you should not receive him at all. He is a traitor to the Crown. A common criminal. You must not tarnish your reputation by association.”
“No he’s not!” Ellis said angrily.
“Darling,” Daisy said, warning him. Perhaps Robert had forgotten that she was, indeed, Lady Chatwick and still mistress of this house. Perhaps he’d forgotten that they were in the Highlands without society, and there was no reputation for her to tarnish.
“I knew he’d come, Mamma!” Ellis said pleadingly. He ran before she could stop him.
“The boy needs to learn to be presented,” Robert said curtly as he put his hand on Daisy’s back to guide her around the lodge.
“Ellis! Ellis, darling, wait for us!” she called to him, and Ellis reluctantly slowed his step. She grabbed her son’s hand and ran with him around the lodge, Robert walking briskly behind them.
When they reached the drive, Ellis broke free of her hand and ran to Cailean, throwing his arms around his waist. “I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said breathlessly, and Daisy’s heart caught in the vise of her son’s need.
Cailean looked at Daisy over the top of Ellis’s head, and her heart quickened. Cailean was magnificent, as magnificent as the day she’d first laid eyes on him. He wore plaid, his hair in a queue, and his eyes, crystal blue, seemed to leap out of his face, breathing new life into the fire that had smoldered in her since the last time she’d seen him.
