by Adams, Alisa
Roy sat in stunned silence for a moment. "But that's like making a woman into a man!" he burst out indignantly, "you cannot allow her to do that!"
"That is what I said, but her mind is made up."
Roy stood up. He was fuming. "A woman being equal to a man!" He began to pace the carpet, "it is unheard of! It is against the very law of God! What does her father say?"
He sat down and poured more whiskey for each of them. "I have not seen him," he answered, "but I received a very frosty reception last time I was at the castle. I will know soon, I trust. If not, I will send him a message. But I have very little hope."
Roy banged his fist on the table, making Kenneth jump. "There must be something we can do!" he shouted furiously, "damn the woman! Whoever heard of a woman disobeying a man? If she were mine I'd give her a good beating!"
"But she is not," Kenneth said, "and neither is she mine. I don't think she has told her father. If she had, I feel sure I would have heard from him. He is an honorable man with whom I work well."
The two brothers stared at each other for a moment, then Roy got out his paper and quill.
17
Interview with Laird McVey
Laird Gordon McVey read the curt missive with astonishment.
Dear Laird McVey,
I write to you concerning your daughter, Lady Heather McVey. I would like to meet you privately at your earliest convenience.
Yours very sincerely,
Laird Kenneth Jamieson
It seemed a very formal message from a man who was about to become his son-in-law. Concerning Heather, he thought, what had the girl done now?
Kenneth had requested a private meeting, so Gordon sent back a letter saying that he would see him the next evening. He was mystified. He sent for Heather as soon as she was awake that morning. She came in looking fresh as a daisy and as happy as he had ever seen her.
"Good morning Father!" She bent down to kiss him but he glowered at her.
"What is this about, young lady?" he asked, tossing the letter over to her.
She read it briefly and looked up at him. "No doubt he wants to tell you why I broke off our engagement," she replied languidly.
Gordon's mouth dropped open. "You what?" He almost squeaked the words. "When did this happen?"
"Last week," she said blithely, "just before the storm."
"And I am only hearing about it now?"
"Sorry, Father," Heather replied, "it slipped my mind." She stared at him defiantly.
"Do not insult my intelligence, girl!" he growled, "I demand an explanation for this outrage!"
"Very well." Heather took a deep breath. "We were chatting about the school. He said that he would not allow me to work at the school after we were married."
"And?" The Laird frowned. "What is so wrong about that?"
"Because Kenneth does not own me!" she cried, enraged, "I love what I do, father, and I am helping people. I will not stop because a man wants me to sit around doing needlepoint."
"But when you are married you vow to love, honor and obey, do you not?"
"Really?" Heather said with heavy irony, "Father if I have to say those words I will never marry. Tell me, Father, if you were a woman, and you had to obey every word your husband said without having any consideration being given to your own wishes—would you like it? Would you tolerate it?"
Gordon looked up at her under thunderous brows. He was shocked to the core. If James had talked to him like this he would have understood because James was a man, and men had certain rights not accorded to women. "Let me hear what Kenneth has to say," the Laird said evenly, "perhaps there is a way to resolve this."
"You may try," Heather said defiantly, "but I doubt you will succeed."
Kenneth felt quite nauseous as he entered the castle gates that evening, but he was glad to get a warmer reception than the one he had received on the last occasion he had been there. When he was shown into Gordon McVey's study he was warmly welcomed with a strong handshake and an offer of a drink. He wanted to keep a clear head so he settled for tea.
"How can I help you, Kenneth?" Gordon asked.
Kenneth folded his hands on the Laird's desk and looked at him steadily.
"Did you know that Heather had ended our relationship?" he began.
"She told me this morning," Gordon replied, "I am so sorry, Kenneth, but what can I do?"
"You arranged this marriage for us because we all thought it would be a good match—even Heather," he said desperately, "please try to make her see sense. I want to marry her and she wants to marry me - but she has these odd ideas - I cannot live that way! I must have a wife who is compliant and gentle."
For the first time, Gordon began to get a true inkling of the size of the problem. "I am afraid if you want a wife who is gentle and compliant then you do not want Heather, for she is neither," the Laird said, "when she explained it to me at first I thought she was being defiant for the sake of it. But now I realize that she only wants to be what she already is—her own woman. Look at the good she is doing. Would you ask her to stop doing what she loves?"
"She will love being my wife," Kenneth said mulishly.
"I think she loves her work more than she loves you, Kenneth," the Laird said sadly, "she cannot be a person she is not. Sometimes I wish I could make her into that person, but I cannot."
Kenneth sighed and nodded. He had done all he could. "I will not try to see her again, he said, standing up, “but please send my love and wish her well for me."
Gordon stepped forward and clasped Kenneth's hand. "I am sorry," he said sadly, "I will give her your message, and go with our good wishes too, Kenneth."
Kenneth turned away. It was over.
Summer had come to the Highlands. It would never be like the warmer climes of the Mediterranean or even the South of England, but it was a pleasant time when the hills were covered in purple heather and golden gorse and the days lasted till midnight. The long days did not suit the children, however, since they had to go to bed when the sun was still shining brightly in the sky.
Heather may have been a privileged Laird's daughter, but she could still remember being put to bed at seven o'clock, fuming with frustration while the adults went to have dinner. Now, she could indulge herself. Her parents had gone out with friends and Jessica was having a tray in her room, pleading a headache, so Heather decided to take a walk.
Her footsteps led her directly to the forge as she had known they would. Perhaps he wouldn't be in. Perhaps he would, and hide behind the door and pretend he was out. Or perhaps he would come out and talk to her. She half-hoped he was not there since she felt suddenly shy of him now that they were on speaking terms. Ignoring him had been much easier. Her steps became slower and slower as she got to the forge and she almost breathed a sigh of relief as she realized there was no-one at home.
Thank goodness, she thought.
18
First Kiss
Then she saw him. He was stretched out on a blanket on the ground lying with his arms behind his head, with his ankles crossed and his eyes closed. He looked like the picture of perfect peace. She sat down and studied him, as she had wanted to do since the first minute she saw him. Her gaze went from his untidy thatch of thick black hair to his broad forehead. His closed eyes had ridiculously long black eyelashes of which Heather was irrationally envious, and she smiled at the thought. He had a long nose that was slightly Roman in shape, and broad high cheekbones. His lips were full and looked soft to the touch and there was a perfect dimple in the middle of his square chin. He showed no sign of having heard her arrival, so she decided to sit for a few moments then leave.
The sun was going down in a blaze of glory, with deep orange, pink, and scarlet clouds striping the sky. The disk was huge but dim enough at this time of day to be looked at with the naked eye. Heather sighed, lay back on the grass to watch it, and dozed off into a lovely dream of being held in a strong but gentle embrace. She felt safe, cared for, and completely content.
Then a sudden noise woke her, and that was when she discovered with a start that Bruce was awake, lying by her side, and gazing down at her. He was leaning on one elbow with the side of his face resting on his hand, and there was a slight smile on his face. For a moment she was bewildered, then she realized where she was, but with Bruce gazing into her eyes she felt totally incapable of speech. For a long, while they just looked at each other, then he spoke.
"Did you sleep well, milady?" There was a touch of humor in his voice.
She laughed. "I did," she replied, "I didn't say anything dreadful in my sleep, did I? Sometimes I talk the most awful rubbish, and I would hate to think that I gave away any of my secrets!"
He laughed softly. "And what secrets would they be, milady?"
"If I told you they wouldn't be secret anymore, would they?" she replied mischievously.
Bruce, who was fighting the desire to kiss her with all his might, only smiled. He was searching her face as if to commit every inch of it to memory. The deep brown eyes, luscious mouth, and flame-colored hair were driving him wild.
"I was dreaming that someone had their arms around me," she said, frowning. "I don't know whether it was a man or a woman, but it was a lovely dream."
"It wisnae me, milady," he said regretfully, "I hae mair sense than tae try that."
"Is it sensible to lie here together like this?" she murmured softly. Her eyes drifted to the black stubble on his face and she put up her hand to run her fingers over its scratchy surface. His gaze locked onto her lips and when he spoke his voice was husky with desire.
"Milady, it is gettin' dark." It was a prosaic remark, and as she looked up into the darkening sky she saw that it was, but the tone of his voice was anything but ordinary.
"I hadn't noticed," she murmured. She was mesmerized by those fierce gray eyes searching her own. Her lips parted and her body arched up as if she wanted to touch his.
"I must go," she said at last. Every nerve in her body was aware of him and she was not sure if she had the willpower to stand up and leave.
"Milady," he touched her hair in a gentle caress. "I am afraid that if ye stay here ony longer ye will no' escape withoot a kiss."
She sighed and smiled coyly at him. "Then, Mr. Ferguson," she said mischievously, "since I am but a weak and feeble lady and you are a big strong man I suppose that you will kiss me whether I like it or not."
He grinned broadly. "I wid prefer that ye liked it, Milady," he answered.
"I will never know until I have tried it," she replied, wishing the flirting were over and he would just get on with it.
"Yes, milady," he said gruffly and kissed her.
The first touch of his lips on hers sent a shiver through her whole body and she made a little involuntary moan. Obeying some primitive instinct, she pulled his head down so that she could get closer and deepen the kiss. She opened her mouth and felt his tongue move inside to touch hers. Kenneth had never kissed her like this, but then she had never allowed him to. She couldn't imagine him making her feel this quivering pleasure. His tongue caressed hers, stroking and licking, running over her teeth and the inside of her cheeks, stroking the inside of her lips. His mouth moving on hers was making her moan with pleasure.
How did he know what to do? He was stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, his hand buried in her hair. She could smell the faint odor, not unpleasant, of fresh sweat and soot and another underlying smell that was just Bruce.
When he tried to pull away she held onto him by digging her hand into his hair and keeping hold of his head. She felt him laugh slightly against her, but a few seconds later she let go of him. They were both a little breathless.
He laid his head down on her breast for a moment and closed his eyes, and she let him lie there, resting her hands on his back. She never wanted to move but to stay here like this forever in utter contentment. At last, he sat up, running his hands back through his thick black hair.
"Milady," he said at last, "I think that perhaps we shouldnae hae done that, but—"
"Shush…" She put her hand over his lips. "You were going to say that I'm a fine lady and you are a blacksmith. You were going to say that we could never be together, were you not?"
"Aye, milady."
"My name is Heather," she said, smiling. "You don't say 'milady' to someone with whom you just shared a kiss like that!"
"Naw." He laughed. "I suppose no'."
There was silence between them again, but it was a comfortable silence. The sun had completely vanished now, leaving behind a faint orange glow, and the night was settling in.
"I am never going to be able to look at you in the same way again, Bruce." Her voice was husky and her gaze tender as she looked at him.
"Naw, I suppose I willnae either, Heather," he said with a sad smile.
"What will we do?" She asked.
He shrugged. "Go on as we dae every day, Heather," he replied. Her name still felt awkward on his tongue. "I think it wid be better if we jist left it here, as a bonny memory."
"Why? No-one will know," she suggested hopefully, "I can still come here sometimes unless it is still too soon as you told Jessica?"
"I told her that," he replied, "because she is no' right for me, although she is a very sweet lass." He sighed and picked up her hand. "An' we arenae right either. A blacksmith an' a lady? They wid say I wis a gold-digger, only efter yer money."
"I am not in possession of a fortune," she replied, "only an allowance."
"It's mair o' an allowance than I will ever see in my whole life!" he said indignantly, then he thought of something. "But are ye no' gettin' merrit tae anither Laird?"
"I called it off," she replied heavily.
"Why?" he asked curiously, frowning.
Heather looked at him. His leather apron was filthy, as was his shirt. The pattern on his kilt was almost indistinguishable. The only clean bits of him were his hands and face which he had obviously washed just before she arrived, but she had seen him washing, so she knew that he scrubbed his whole body clean. He looked exhausted. He had been working since dawn just to make ends meet, and she felt a great tenderness for him.
"Because I never loved him," she said quietly, "because whenever he tried to kiss me like you just did I pushed him away. And because he wanted to control me."
"Control ye?"
"He wanted me to submit to him in all things," Heather said angrily, "to have no rights of my own save what he allowed me. I could not live his way and he could not live my way, so we called it off—or I did."
Bruce laughed softly. "Bridie wis a bit like that till near the end," he said, smiling fondly. "She always stood up for herself.” Then he laughed. "It caused nae end o' fights but I widnae hae had it ony ither way."
"You loved her very much."
"She wis my life," he said simply, "but it's aboot time tae move on noo."
Heather nodded and laid her head on his shoulder. For a second, he stiffened with surprise, then he relaxed and began to talk again.
"Naebody will talk aboot her," he went on, "it's as if she had never been here."
Heather leaned on her arm to look into his face. "You can talk to me," she murmured, "I will listen."
Then she kissed him again, and he put his arms around her and strained her against him. It was hard and passionate, and Heather felt her lips being almost painfully pressed against her teeth, but it was wonderful. Why had she never been told about this? Maybe it was only something common people did. When it was over, she looked into his eyes deeply and he into hers.
"Bruce Ferguson, I will never be able to stay away from you."
"Ye must," he whispered, "I am no' for you. Anyway, a couple o' weeks ago ye hated me."
She laughed. "You hated me too." She reminded him, "but I don't anymore, and maybe it was just because I was scared to l—"
Bruce put a hand over her mouth. "Dinnae say it," he said desperately, "no' tae me. I will walk ye hame, for ye cannae go alane on a dark night like thi
s."
"I have a lantern," she replied.
"Aye, but there are aye skellums aboot," he replied, standing up and locking the door. He looked down at her and then because he simply could not help himself, he kissed her again, slowly and tenderly. Afterwards, he held her in his arms for a long time, then he laughed softly. "Ye're taller than she wis," he told Heather, "but ye're jist as nice tae hold."
"I'm glad to hear it," she whispered, "because I don't care what you say, you will be holding me a lot more from now on. Bruce, I'll find a place where we can be alone and safe, just to hold each other and talk, not to do anything else. I honor the memory of your wife and I promise never to try and take her place, but tonight has been so wonderful. Tell me I can see you again. There will be no blacksmith and no lady, just Bruce and Heather. We may never have a future together but we have now this moment."
He sighed. "I will think on it," he said resignedly, "since it seems that I will no' get a minute's peace until I dae!"
19
Working Hard
"There's something different about you today," Jessica said thoughtfully to Heather as they gathered up the children's books and slates. She looked at Heather with narrowed eyes. "You're expecting!" she cried, making a funny face to show she wasn't serious.
"It would have to be an immaculate conception," Heather replied dryly.
"You've done something to your hair?"
Heather made a mock swipe at Jessica and rolled her eyes.
"I know! I know!" she cried excitedly.
"Enlighten me," Heather said sarcastically.
"You're in love," Jessica went up to her and cupped Heather's face in her hands. "Yes, definitely. Flushed face, shining eyes, slightly swollen lips consistent with having been kissed repeatedly. All the signs are there! Who is it?"
