by Alisa Adams
Here she found her dream dissolving, however. Despite what Athol had said, there were so many prettier girls out there, all within marrying age, and all slimmer and lovelier than she was. They were the daughters of lairds, barons, gentlemen, and knights. What chance did she have among such competition?
She sighed, feeling sad once more. How thoroughly Athol Murray had upset her equilibrium. Damn him! Even his name was gorgeous, so she tried it on for size. Davina Murray—it was perfect! No, Davina, she scolded herself inwardly, put him out of your mind, for he is quite out of your reach.
When she got home she went straight to her bedroom, where her temporary maid, Morag, took off her riding clothes and turned down her bed so that she could nap for a while. Sleep was the last thing she wanted, but she laid down anyway. She watched as the day faded into night and the clouds shed their load of rain, then she sighed and got up. It was almost time for dinner, and as usual, she was as hungry as a horse.
As she looked in the mirror, she made a promise to herself. I will eat less and become as slim as the Laird Andrew's daughter, she resolved, and if I cannot have Athol, I will have an equally worthy young man. By the time she reached the dining room, her mother and father had already sat down and were waiting for her. Her mother was frowning deeply.
“It is very rude to keep your dinner companions waiting,” Una commented crossly, “even if they are only your mother and father.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling fondly at both of them, "I fell asleep and told Morag not to wake me up.” It is amazing how fluently lies trip off my tongue these days, she thought ruefully.
She usually tucked into her dinner with fervor and enjoyment, but that night she dined slowly and ate only morsels of meat and bread. Una noticed at once. "Is the food not to your liking, Davina?” she asked, concerned.
“In truth,” Davina replied, “the venison is a little strongly flavored, but my stomach is a little upset.” She coughed delicately and Una nodded in understanding. Ruaridh, who was always embarrassed by women’s bodily concerns, pretended not to notice and stolidly went on with his meal.
“I will have Morag wrap a hot stone for you,” Una said. A hot stone wrapped in a woolen blanket was a sure cure for every type of stomach ailment, in Una’s opinion. It helped sometimes, Davina had to admit, but it would do no good tonight when the ache was entirely mythical!
“I met Athol Murray today,” Davina said airily, taking a sip of ale.
“Hmph!” Ruaridh said grumpily, “he is going to make a fine laird, but he thinks entirely too much of himself. Handsome is as handsome does, I say.”
“You just said he would make a fine laird,” Davina pointed out, “so he must be doing something right.”
“The proof of the pudding is in the eating,” Ruaridh said firmly. He loved metaphors, thinking they made him sound wise, but they were mostly clichés. It was one of the little idiosyncrasies that made Davina love him so much.
Her father was in his late fifties now and his formerly charcoal black hair was receding and turning white. His bright blue eyes were fading to gray, and Davina had realized a while before that he was becoming an old man. Sixty was a long life for a man, and Davina had a feeling that she would be saying goodbye to him before long. She would miss him sorely, but her mother would be devastated. He was the love of her life, despite the considerable difference in their ages.
Una was just the opposite. At the age of forty-three, she looked like a woman ten years younger. She was slim and fit, and her dark blonde wavy hair, so much like Davina’s, had hardly a thread of gray in it.
Davina finished the small portion of her meal that she had allowed herself to eat then stood up. “I am going to bed,” she announced, smiling at them and making sure to grimace a little in pain. She kissed them both and went upstairs to her bedroom. The hot stone was there wrapped in two warm blankets, as well as a cup of willow bark tea which she emptied into her chamber pot. It might have been a good painkiller, but it tasted disgusting.
Even though it had been an unusual and exciting day, Davina fell asleep at once. However, her dreams that night were haunted by a beautiful pair of hazel eyes.
It had been a strange day for Athol too. He rarely had a day to himself, for a start, and it had been an unexpected pleasure to encounter Davina, whom he remembered with fondness from a few years before. She had grown up to be a pretty girl, although her plumpness was a trifle off-putting. She was good to talk to, though, and he could imagine that they could be good friends in a brother-and-sister kind of fashion. He looked forward to seeing her again.
* * *
Damn it! He thought suddenly, as he remembered that he had asked his friend Lyle for dinner and he was late. He lit his lantern and spurred his horse Jock into a faster trot since a canter was impossible on the winding, stony path. Then he went home, fabricating excuses all the way there.
Lyle Shaw was Athol’s best friend in the whole world. They had known each other since they were five years old and had the same riding teacher. He was the son of a local gentleman whose estate was not quite as large as Blairmore. Their friendship had grown stronger over the years but they had always been fiercely competitive. Physically, they were exact opposites. Athol was tall, broad and dark, while Lyle was shorter, wirier and extremely fair.
When they were ten-years-old they would arm-wrestle over who would eat the last honey cake, take bets on who could throw stones further, and of course run races to see who came in first. It was usually Athol who won these since he was taller and stronger, but Lyle could beat him in other ways. He was an expert chess player and Athol had never won a game against him. His sword and fencing skills were superb as was his command of French, Latin, and Greek.
As they became older, the rivalry shifted focus slightly. They became more interested in impressing the opposite sex and, despite his good looks, Athol did not win every maiden by any means. Lyle was intelligent, funny as well as being a good listener, and he knew how to flatter. Athol, having been bested in so many contests of the heart, finally began to realize that he would have to employ some of Lyle’s tactics and learn to listen to what others had to say instead of enjoying the sound of his own voice. His mother had been right. The world did not revolve around Athol Murray.
So, they both grew up to be strong men and, although Athol had to constantly wrestle with the demon of vanity, at least he recognized it. When he forgot, Lyle was always there to remind him. Lyle was there now, sitting at the dinner table talking to Athol’s mother Lorina, who looked up at him with a face like the onset of a thunderstorm.
“Good evening, Athol,” she said cuttingly, “I see that the stomach cramps have gone. What a stroke of good fortune!” Lorina’s sarcasm had always been her best weapon, but Athol had learned to reply in kind.
“Indeed, Mother, ‘tis a miracle!” he said joyfully. “One minute I was moaning in pain and the next minute—poof! It was gone!”
Lyle was laughing helplessly by this time and despite herself, Lorina joined in. When Athol’s father came in he looked no less angry, but he sympathized with his son's need to get away and be alone for a while. Athol now carried a load of responsibility on his shoulders and Duncan knew from experience that it was not easy, since he had done it himself for many years. Nominally, Duncan was still the laird, but ninety percent of the work was done by his son.
“Guess who I met today?” Athol said, pouring himself an enormous
tankard of ale.
“Enlighten us,” Lyle replied, disposing of what seemed like half a salmon in three bites.
“Davina Anderson,” Athol answered. "I have not seen her for three years. She looks very pretty if a little on the round side. Still, maybe she will improve with time.”
Lyle frowned at him with narrowed eyes. “One of these days a woman is going to turn her nose up at you,” he warned, “and I hope I am there to see it. There are other handsome men around here, you know!”
Lorina was silent but smiled. Ly
le was almost a member of the family and had earned the right to be brutally frank.
“Anyway,” Lyle went on, "I see her quite frequently at Mass. She’s a very pleasant girl and will make some man a good wife someday.”
“Aye,” Athol conceded, “she is pleasant, I’ll give her that. I told her she was pretty, which she is, but there are plenty of lovelier maids out there.”
“No doubt there are.” Duncan frowned. “But looks fade, as yours will, my boy, and a bad heart can hide behind a pretty face.”
Athol sighed. He imagined that his demon was laughing at him.
44
Friends
Athol was not very religious, but from what Lyle had said, church seemed to be a very good way to meet young ladies, so the next Sunday he decided to go to the mid-morning service. He found the Mass dreary in the extreme and several times he had to stop himself from yawning, but he could see at least three girls who interested him. It looked as though he interested them too by the way they were sneaking glances at him. Davina was there too and she smiled at him once before directing her attention to the priest again.
At the end of the service, he went outside and looked around. It seemed that all the eligible young ladies he had his eyes on were already attached. The only one left was Davina, who was waiting with her mother for her horse to be brought around.
Lyle thought Davina was very pretty, but he had already committed himself to someone else. Still, if he had not, he would certainly not pass her over. He still went over to greet her.
“Good morning, Mistress Anderson.” He kissed her hand. “How are you?”
Davina wished she could have said something like ‘all the better for seeing you,’ but she did not have a flirtatious bone in her body. “Well, Mr. Shaw,” she replied, smiling. “And you?”
“Always good,” he replied. He greeted her mother, who wished him a ‘good morning,’ then spotted an old friend and immediately went to reacquaint herself with her.
Davina smiled inwardly. She knew a ploy when she saw one, but Lyle was witty, handsome and easy to talk to, so she spent a pleasant ten minutes in his company. She had to admit that after that, Athol Murray’s image lost its shine a bit. What a pity Lyle was betrothed. He kissed her hand again and smiled at her as she left. She watched his shining blond hair as he walked away, wondering who had captured his heart. Whoever she was, she was a lucky lady!
“Well?” her mother asked as soon as they had mounted their horses.
“Well, what?” Davina asked, puzzled.
Una made an inarticulate noise of exasperation. “You know what I mean!” she said crossly. “Did he ask to see you again? Did he want to come and speak to your father?”
“No,” she replied simply. “He asked nothing. Mother—he is betrothed.”
“What a great pity,” Una said grumpily, “his father may not be a laird, but he is still a good catch.”
“You make him sound like a salmon, Mother,” Davina replied, but she was not laughing.
They rode home in silence.
Weeks passed, then months. Christmas came and went, then suddenly it was March and the first signs of spring began to appear. There was still snow on the ground, but it was giving way to rain and the occasional patch of sunshine. Soon, it would be Lent then Easter. Davina forgot about Athol. He had been a momentary fantasy which she had enjoyed but not pinned her hopes on. Lyle had been a much more fascinating prospect, but he was already betrothed and was soon due to marry.
There must be more to life than marriage, she thought glumly. To distract herself, she decided to invite a group of her girlfriends around to stay for a weekend. They would pass the time spinning, sewing, gossiping, and eating. Davina had been unable to stick to her resolution of eating less and the coming weekend would not help at all, but she resolutely put that depressing thought out of her mind and resolved to enjoy herself.
What if she did get fat? It mattered to nobody but herself. She had no husband and she was not betrothed. She was not even courting anyone. They ate good nourishing food like barley soup, trout, salmon, and mutton stew at the table. It was always served with sensible whole vegetables like carrots and onions and accompanied with milk or ale.
Unfortunately, this was followed every time by cranachan, clootie dumpling, tablet, and a whole host of other irresistible sweetmeats. Rich cream was served by the gallon. Egg custard was another favorite, and no exercise at all was taken unless it was to go up and order more food.
Marion, her best friend, was concerned about her. “This is lovely, darling,” she said, putting an arm around Davina’s shoulders. “But you seem sad. Is anything the matter?”
Davina looked up into Marion’s blue eyes. She was a tall, thin girl with long dark brown hair and an arresting, if not exactly pretty, face. She was betrothed to a young laird from Edinburgh and would be marrying him in the near future. The other three girls in the group were also spoken for. Catherine was marrying the son of a baron, while Ailsa and Eileen were walking down the aisle with lairds.
Davina felt completely left out, especially when they talked about their fiancés. There seemed to be no hope for her. She knew that her father and mother would have loved to see her safely married but not one eligible young man seemed to be interested.
“I feel left behind,” she replied, smiling sadly. “All of you will be walking down the aisle soon and I will still be here. No decent man wants me because I am too fat.”
Marion let out a peal of laughter. “I have never in my life heard such rubbish!” she said in tones of deep incredulity. “Where on earth did you get that ridiculous idea from? You’re lovely and your time will come, I promise you.”
Davina sighed. “I wish I had your confidence!” She walked over to the window and looked out to the wild North Sea. “Maybe a handsome pirate will come and take me away to travel the seven seas with him!” She laughed, but it had a hollow ring.
Marion laughed too and hugged her. “That’s better!” She leaned her cheek on Davina’s hair. “But I don’t think I want to know what’s in front of me. I want it all to be a big surprise!” She looked at Davina’s plump face with its pink apple cheeks. She did look like a doll sometimes.
Marion felt her pain, but her time of waiting was over. Her own laird awaited her, and hopefully, her future would be one of happiness. She only hoped her friend’s would be the same.
When she waved goodbye to her friends, a mood of utter gloom settled over Davina. She had always been able to talk to Nanny, but in her absence, she had no confidante. It was even worse since Marion was going to live in the Lowlands and the others were not quite as emotionally close to her as she was. She settled for imagining that Nanny was sitting beside her, advising her on the best way forward.
“Oh, Nanny,” she sighed, “look at me. Not even promised to anyone.”
Nanny’s voice came back to her as clearly as if she had been sitting beside Davina. “The young men roon’ here have nae taste,” Nanny said in tones of deep disgust. “But you arenae helpin’ yer cause either, hen.”
Davina frowned. “Why not?” she asked, puzzled.
“Because ye dinnae believe in yersel’!” Nanny said forcefully. “Ye have jist told me ye are no’ betrothed. What is stoppin’ ye? Ye say it’s because ye’re fat. It’s no’ because o’ that. It’s because YOU think ye’re ugly. Onyway, ye’re no’ fat. Jist a wee bit plump, which is bonny.”
Davina looked at her doubtfully. “Not fat?” She laughed cynically. “Nanny, I ate more than the rest of the girls put together these past few days! When I feel bad I eat. It comforts me, for a while anyway. Then after that, I feel guilty because I have eaten so much.” She frowned and banged her fist on the arm of her chair. “When I marry, this castle will go to my husband. I must be very ugly if no-one wants the estate!”
“Ye’ll be ugly if ye believe ye’re ugly,” Nanny said firmly. “Get oot there an’ act as if the world belangs tae ye, hen. It is as much yours as ony o’ thae em
pty-heided lassies that go oot flirtin’ at ceilidhs. Lass, ye’re pretty, ye’re clever an’ ye can ride a horse better an’ faster than mony a man oot there! Ye can speak Latin, French an’ Gaelic! Ye have a lot tae offer an’ if none o’ thae stupid young eejits can see it, well, they are a’ blind!”
“So, what should I do?” Davina asked, forgetting that she was talking to empty air.
“Listen tae me carefully, lassie,” Nanny said. Davina could imagine Nanny’s deep, dark brown eyes boring into her own, as they had done before when she wanted to drive home a point firmly. “When ye go tae church on Sunday, wear yer very nicest claes. Then start talkin’ tae yer pals. Make sure ye talk aboot horses or somethin’ the men are interested in an’ a’, then ask ane o’ the men’s opinion aboot it. They love that. Make sure it’s the ane ye want, mind. Efter that tell him how clever he is. They love that even mair! Efter that ye can start talkin’ aboot ither things. Make him laugh. Show him how clever ye are. An’ remember - he is the man. We knaw that we are smarter than they are but he needs tae think he is!”
“You are right, Nanny!” Davina laughed out loud.
“Davina!” Her mother’s voice was stern as she shouted from outside. “Who are you talking to?”
Davina jumped. “Myself!” she called out, laughing.
“Hmm... Come and eat. Dinner is ready,” Una said before Davina heard her retreating footsteps.
When Davina turned back, Nanny had gone.
45
