by Adams, Alisa
"Good Day, Senga," Laird Sinclair smiled, "I trust you are well."
"Aye, m'laird, we both are," Senga replied.
"Can I offer you some tea?" Lily asked.
"I have brought something stronger," the Laird produced a bottle of whiskey from inside his jacket.
Lily scampered away to get some glasses and when they had settled down to drink, he spoke quietly.
"I think you know why I am here."
The sisters exchanged glances and nodded. Lily looked at her hands and Senga put her hand over her eyes.
"I can see that you are both ashamed, and I am glad," he said angrily, "because what you did to me and my family was inexcusable - no - it was inhuman! I could have you arrested!" The Laird was breathing heavily and his blue eyes were blazing with fury.
"How did ye find oot, m'laird?" Senga asked heavily. She had begun to sob, and she dabbed her wet eyes with a handkerchief.
"I bumped into my good friend Laird Jamieson, who knew my father," the Laird paused for breath, "he knows my story. He gave me certain information which led me to believe that you two had lied to me."
Lily burst into tears. "I am sorry, m'laird," she said tearfully, "we did whit we thought wis best at the time."
"Aye, sir, we did." Senga put her arm around her sister. "We will dae whitever we can tae make it right."
Laird Sinclair stood up. He was a tall man and he towered over the two sisters who were clinging to each other in fear. "Sorry?" He thundered. "Make it right?" He paused to recover his breath. "Do you know what you have done to me? My life has been forever blighted. I looked for my son everywhere - all over Scotland - and I never gave up. I never gave up hope of finding him and he has been living here right under my nose, a scant few miles from my castle! You said he had been adopted and gone to the Lowlands! I went to Glasgow, to Edinburgh, to Paisley, Greenock, Motherwell, and Lanark! I even went south of the border! You festering witches!"
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Now," he growled, "tell me where he is."
Suddenly roused to anger, Lily stood up, refusing to be verbally abused any longer. "My laird - since you are sae used tae searchin' - you find him!" She thrust her face into his. "He is no' far fae here! Now get oot o' my hoose!"
For a moment he looked as though he was going to strike her, but he changed his mind and left, banging the door behind him. Lily and Senga sat for a long time comforting each other, then Lily found the bottle of whiskey he had left and poured them both a big measure. They were not normally drinkers, but the day which they had dreaded for many years had finally come, and they needed some Dutch courage.
Laird Ewan Sinclair had no idea where to find his son or even what his name was. He had a description given to him by Kenneth which might have fitted the tall dark man he had seen earlier, but he could not be sure. He tried the dirty blacksmith's shop and asked if a tall dark man lived in the village. Kenneth had told him he was bigger than any other man there.
"Aye," Colin said in his usual surly fashion, "sounds like Bruce Ferguson—thinks he's a big somebody because he merrit the Laird's daughter." He spat on the ground.
"Where might she be?" Ewan asked, drawing a shilling from his pouch.
Colin's eyes lit as he looked at it greedily. "In yon big castle," he said, nodding in its direction. "Name o' Lady Heather."
"Thank you," Ewan flipped the coin at Colin and trotted his horse towards the castle. He did not want to seem too eager, but his heart felt as if it were about to burst out of his chest with excitement.
He decided that it would be best to ask for Heather first, and was told to wait outside while she was informed of his presence. Instead of allowing him into the castle itself, she came down and greeted him in the courtyard. When she saw who it was she smiled widely.
"My Laird Sinclair!" she exclaimed, "we meet again! How are you?"
Ewan bent over and kissed her hand and she curtsied briefly. "Well, milady." He smiled. "But I have come to ask for your help."
"Of course," she said warmly, "if it is in my power I will help you. Let us sit down and take tea then we can talk."
When they were seated upstairs in the drawing room Ewan looked at her directly. "Milady," he said gravely, "this is a somewhat delicate matter."
Heather put her cup down. "Go on," she said apprehensively, "I am listening."
"I was told by the Laird Kenneth Jamieson that you had married - well - a common man."
"A blacksmith," she replied proudly, "and the best man I ever met."
The Laird took a deep breath. It was now or never. "This is going to sound strange," he said hesitantly, "but does your husband have a birthmark on his back shaped like a heart?"
"Yes, but how did you know that?" She was angry, mystified and curious all at once.
"I will tell you in a moment," he paused, "may I meet him?"
A suspicion was forming in Heather's mind, but for the moment she said nothing. She left, and a moment later came back with the man who had given him directions on the road.
"Show him your birthmark, sweetheart," Heather said.
Bruce looked at her in amazement. "Why?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
"Please, Bruce," she begged, "just do it."
Bruce pulled his shirt off, showing his tightly muscled torso and broad shoulders, then turned and presented his back to the stranger. The birthmark was a purplish red color like a splash of wine, about two inches long and one wide, roughly shaped like a heart. When Ewan came up to touch it, Bruce spun around angrily.
"Whit is this aboot?" he asked furiously, "who are ye and whit de ye want wi' me?"
"I am your father," Ewan said gently, "my name is Laird Ewan Sinclair of Fraserburgh, and I have come to claim you as my son and heir. I have been looking for you for your whole life and now I have found you, thank God."
He threw his arms around Bruce who was standing mute and frozen with shock, then he began to weep. Bruce put his hands on the Laird's shoulders but did not try to pull him any closer. He looked over at Heather, and his eyes held a question.
Do you believe him? It said. She nodded mutely, then went over to pull the sobbing man gently off Bruce, but he resisted and she thought it better not to force him. Bruce backed up then put him gently into a chair by the fire, trying to free himself from Ewan's vice-like embrace, but the Laird clung on tightly. Eventually, Bruce forcefully disentangled himself and stood, breathing heavily and looking down at the still-weeping man.
He felt a jumble of emotions, chief of which was anger, then confusion and sadness for what had been lost, but none of them was relief to have found his natural father. He had never been part of Bruce's life. Indeed, Bruce had not thought of him from one year's end till the next, and now he knew that if the man disappeared that moment he would again feel nothing.
It was Heather who knelt down and offered him her handkerchief.
"I am sorry," he said, at last, wiping his eyes, "but these are tears of joy. I never stopped hoping, you see. I have scoured the length and breadth of Scotland looking for you because the midwives told me you had been adopted and had moved to the Lowlands. I married again, but my wife left me after tiring of my constant absences. You have two sisters, Bruce, well, half-sisters really. Their names are Kirsty and Claire and they are dark like us. Will, you come and meet them?"
Bruce sighed. "In time, m'laird, but noo I hae a lot tae think aboot."
"Don't call me 'm'laird'," Ewan said, "I am your father."
"Naw ye're naw," Bruce said decisively, "ye may be the man whose seed made me, but I had a good, loving father an' I still hae a loving Ma. Ye can tell me the rest later but noo I must think. Good day, m'laird." He gave a slight bow and walked out.
"He doesn't seem pleased to see me," the Laird looked at Heather sadly.
"He's had a shock," she replied, "give him time. Have dinner with us and stay the night, then you can talk later."
41
Laird Sinclair and Son
; For once, Heather could not wait to see her father's reaction. She was smiling to herself as she walked along the passage to his office accompanied by the Laird Sinclair. She knocked on the door and her father allowed her entry, thinking it was his butler with a letter.
"Father," Heather announced as she came in and closed the door behind her. "I would like you to meet someone." She stood aside and held out an arm to Ewan. "This is the Laird Ewan Sinclair, of Fraserburgh. Laird Sinclair, this is my father, Laird Gordon McVey."
The two men shook hands and exchanged greetings.
"Father," Heather went on, "I think you must brace yourself for some momentous news."
Gordon looked and felt terrified. What had Heather done now?
"You remember that I told you that Bruce was a foundling?"
"Yes," Gordon nodded, shrinking back into his chair.
"Laird Sinclair is his father."
Gordon felt as though a weight was pinning him to the chair.
"Wh-what?" he squeaked, "please say that again."
"I am his father," Ewan said, smiling, "and I have been looking for him for twenty-eight years."
Gordon's mouth had dropped open. "But - how can you be certain?"
"Because when he was born he had a heart-shaped birthmark on his back, and he still has it," the Laird replied, "and he looks like me, except for his eyes, which he got from his mother."
Gordon McVey stared at him for a moment. "How did you know where to find him?" he asked, baffled.
"Laird Kenneth Jamieson told me about Heather." He cast her an apologetic look. "Forgive me Heather, but he told me you had married beneath yourself. He described the man, told me he was a blacksmith and I just had a feeling. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes," Heather replied, "yes. I got it the first time I saw you, m'laird!"
"He seemed very kindly disposed towards you," Ewan said, smiling.
Heather was mystified. "I ended our engagement, so I think you must be mistaken." She laughed.
He only smiled slightly and patted her hand, then something occurred to him. "You're related to me now," he said in wonder, "my daughter-in-law."
Heather thought for a moment. "Yes," she replied, "I suppose am, and you are related to me."
They laughed, and Gordon felt quite unreasonably left out. In truth, his daughter had welcomed her father-in-law into her heart already, and not because he was Bruce's father. She had done so because she respected a man who was not afraid to show his emotions openly and admit he was vulnerable to two people who were, for all intents and purposes, total strangers. Purely and simply, she liked him. The fact that he looked so incredibly like Bruce helped too, though, she had to admit, and he was still a very handsome man.
"I have invited the Laird to dinner, Father," Heather said, giving her father a dangerous look in case he should dare to contradict her. "And he will be staying here tonight too. I am going to introduce him to Mother then we can all get to know each other a bit better, for I have a feeling that we will be seeing a lot of each other from now on."
Gordon finally rose to the occasion. "I look forward to that very much m'laird," he said graciously, "and please call me Gordon, since we are also related now in a fashion."
"Ewan," he supplied, smiling, "and now my dear Heather, lead on, for I wish to see the castle."
Bruce had gone to lie down for a while to think, but he could make no sense out of what had just happened to him. This morning he had been an ordinary man who just happened to be married to a Laird's daughter, and now he was actually a Laird. This had to be a dream, but it was no dream, he realized as he looked out of the window and saw daylight, clouds, birds flying, and heard servants calling to each other and the sound of horses' hooves in the courtyard.
This was real, and somehow, he had been transformed. He was still the same man, of course, but society's view of him would change, or he thought it would. Maybe they would just look at him as being the raw uncultivated peasant he saw in the mirror in the morning, a view he had always seen and always liked. He did not want to be anyone else. Heather loved him just as he was, and she was the only person who really mattered to him. He turned over restlessly in bed. If he was still the same man, why did he suddenly feel so different?
Just before dinner, Heather came in to get changed. Bruce was still lying in bed with his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. When she approached him, he opened his eyes and gazed at her lovingly.
"Come an' let me hold ye for a while, darlin'," he said huskily, "I have a pain in my heart."
"Oh, dear," Heather murmured, lying down beside him. "That sounds serious."
"Very serious," he agreed, "ye'll have tae hold me very tight."
Heather kissed his forehead and slid her arm under his back, her other around his waist, and he turned towards her laying his arm loosely over her. They were lying face to face, foreheads touching, each of them right where they wanted to be.
"Let's no' bother aboot dinner," he whispered, "tell them we're sick or somethin'."
Heather giggled. "You would collapse in five minutes flat if you were not fed every thirty minutes, Bruce Ferguson."
He laughed softly. "No' Bruce Sinclair?" he asked doubtfully.
"I will take whatever name you like, Bruce," she said lovingly, "as long as it's the same as yours."
"Ferguson it is then," he said, relieved. "I've had this name a' my life. I dinnae think I could change it noo."
"I had to!" Heather pointed out.
He smiled and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I dinnae care whit ye're ca'ed," he whispered, "as long as ye never leave me."
"I never will, you daft thing!"
"D'ye love me?" He smiled.
"You know I do." She kissed him.
"Show me how much," he said huskily.
"We're going down to dinner," she reminded him.
"They will wait for us." He began to touch her neck with little nibbling kisses.
Heather felt her resolve weakening. "They'll know what we've been doing." She began to moan with delight.
"We're married," he whispered, "we can dae what we like, sweetheart."
It was the 'sweetheart' that did it. After a few more kisses and many more caresses, Heather gave in with a sigh of pure pleasure.
Dinner was a festive affair, despite the tension between Bruce and Ewan. Jessica had been invited and had accepted, although Dougie had work commitments. Katrine was as enchanted with the father as she had been with the son, and Ewan flattered her quite shamelessly until she was eating out of his hand. Ewan was, of course, delighted with the idea of Bruce being his son, but Bruce was wary, thinking of the father he had known and loved for almost twenty years of his life. It felt disloyal to his memory to be suddenly thinking of another man taking his place.
Before they went into the dining room Ewan pulled him aside. "Bruce, may we talk after dinner?"
"Aye," Bruce replied grudgingly. Heather was standing by his side and he knew that she would want him to accede to his father's request.
"I want to explain a few things—well, many things, really." He looked into Bruce's gray eyes and smiled fondly. "I would know these eyes anywhere. They were your mother's. Anyway, I want you to tell me about your life too."
"I will," Bruce replied with a sigh.
"It won't kill you," Heather whispered.
"How do ye knaw?" Bruce asked grimly.
After it was over, Bruce, Heather, and Ewan retired to a small parlor next to one of the largest of the bedrooms, where the Laird would sleep that night. Heather poured them glasses of sherry and Ewan sat down to study his son's face. Bruce tried to ignore him for a few moments, then he put his glass down firmly on the table.
"Will ye stop starin' at me?" he asked irritably.
The Laird smiled. "I'm sorry, son." He sighed. "But I have so many years to make up for."
"Don't call me 'son'!" he exclaimed, "ye're no the ane that raised me."
"But I wanted to!" Ewan said hotly, "it bro
ke my heart to have to abandon you. We were traveling home from Arbroath when your mother went into labor." He paused and sipped his drink, his eyes faraway and looking into the past. "I pulled the carriage over and she gave birth, there inside it.
“We had no midwife and not even a carriage driver. It was bitterly cold and she was in agony, but when you were born - her face - I have never seen anything so beautiful. But there was so much blood. I tried to stop it but she passed away there in the carriage in the snow. But you…" He pointed to Bruce and laughed. "You were bawling—there was nothing wrong with you! And I had no idea what to do with a new baby." He paused, emptied his glass and stared at Bruce again. "I came to the first village, Invergar, and I panicked. I didn't know what to do—and at that moment I hated you for the death of my darling, so I left you on the porch of the church where I hoped you would either die or be found and at that moment I didn't care which, I was so confused and angry.
“I didn't know it, but the minister's wife came and found you and brought you to the midwife, and the rest you know. I have never forgiven myself for leaving you, but I was out of my mind. I went back a few weeks later and I was told you had been adopted. When I asked who had adopted you they told me the story of a lady whose baby had died. She was passing through on her way to Glasgow, they told me. I have been searching for you everywhere, and meanwhile, you were here all along. They lied to me. Forgive me, Bruce, for I have never forgiven myself."
Bruce was silent for a long time. He went and stood at the window, looking out at the lowering skies outside. Eventually, he turned around again, and he was smiling. He came over and rested his hands on Ewan's shoulders.
"I forgive you," he said firmly, "because if ye hadnae left me here I wid never have met my wonderful mither an' faither, or Bridie, my first wife, who I loved mair than anybody until I met my lovely Heather. So, I wouldnae become a Laird? Pfft! Whit's land when ye hae love?"
Then they hugged each other so tightly that Heather thought she might have to prise them apart. Father and son were no longer estranged and never would be again.
