Island of the Swans (20 page)

“Well, thank you, Mistress,” Captain MacEwen replied, swiftly setting down his empty glass of whiskey and patting his broad, kilted waist in preparation for a hasty departure. Pointing to the bandages on his hands, he added in explanation, “Almost lost a finger or two in that last bit o’ business at Fort Pitt—but I was lucky and the surgeon patched ’em up right and proper. Said I’d be good as new in a couple of months.”

Captain Fergus MacEwen took a moment to stare curiously at the dark-haired young woman who hadn’t uttered a word since her aunt had joined them. Suddenly, her expressionless countenance changed and she looked on the verge of hysterics, which made him all the more anxious to take his leave. Reaching for his blue bonnet that he’d dropped on his chair, he wagered that despite the latest skirmish, the rumors that a goodly portion of the Crown Troops would be sent home by summer was probably true. If no one was there to fight off the bloody savages, the white settlers would be too fearful to push west in their quest for land, and thus not violate the Six Nations Treaty. If the treaty were respected, Chief Flat Fish and his followers might not bother anybody, he figured.

He prepared to exit the cold, dreary chamber, with thanks to whatever turn of fate had saved him from being scalped and hatcheted to pieces like those poor lads lying in the muddy soil on the banks of the Monongahela.

“Well… good day to you…” Captain MacEwen said to the two women and marched past a maid balancing a tea tray just outside the door. Letting himself out the front entrance, he escaped into the cold winter air of Hyndford Close.

Inside the sitting room, Jane heard Elizabeth direct Fiona to set the tray down on the sideboard. Sitting in stunned silence, she felt as if she were underwater. An overwhelming wave of emotion was pushing at her brain, threatening to crush her with its force. As if peering through a foam-flecked sea, she watched her aunt pour a strong cup of the brew and exchange it for Jane’s untouched glass of whiskey still clasped in her hand.

Why would her aunt give her whiskey?
she wondered.
Mama never let them even taste it, since Daddie imbibed far too much and too often.

There was a buzzing in her head. She couldn’t think anymore. The teacup in her hand started to rattle as if it were alive.

“Jane?”

Elizabeth stared worriedly at her niece as the cup danced in its saucer, and shudders coursed through the young girl’s body. For a long moment, Jane gazed into her aunt’s face, seeing in Aunt Elizabeth’s melancholy glance the truth that had been pressing on her mind like a vise. Thomas dead?
No!
Jane searched for a different answer in Elizabeth’s pitying gaze. Thomas couldn’t be gone forever—wiped off the face of the earth! Not strong, steady
Thomas!
But he was. He was dead and buried in foreign soil. That’s what that fat captain, anxious to cover up his mistakes, had told them just now. Her beloved Thomas,
cut to pieces
, had been rotting in a mud-filled common grave these past four months, while she had danced and laughed and dreamed of his coming back to her.

Jane’s keening cry could be heard echoing throughout Hyndford Close. The rhythmic wails brought Lady Maxwell scurrying into the sitting room just as Elizabeth was easing the girl onto the floor, cradling her in her arms as if she were the infant Montgomery. Shards of Jane’s teacup were scattered everywhere. A dark brown pool of tea seeped out in a ragged oval on the floor, staining a corner of Jane’s lace handkerchief that lay beside it.

Elizabeth looked up at her sister-in-law, who stood paralyzed at the threshold. The blond-haired woman gently rocked her niece, who was by now hysterical. She had to shout to Magdalene above Jane’s wild, piercing screams.

“’Tis Thomas. Thomas Fraser. He’s been killed.”

Ten

April 1767

J
ENNY, JUST LOOK AT THAT SKY!” EXCLAIMED
C
ATHERINE TO HER
sister. The pair had been sitting in the window seat for several minutes without exchanging a word. “The rain has stopped and everything looks so clean and fresh! ’Tis
beautiful
, isn’t it?”

Jane gazed indifferently at the jagged rooftops of Edinburgh bathed in brilliant hues of pink and peach and remained silent.

“Let’s take a walk!” Catherine proposed suddenly. “We still have time before I must go home to dress for the ridotto. ’Twill do us both good.”

“Oh, Catherine… not now. I don’t really feel like going out and I’m
not
going tonight, no matter what Mama says!”

“But you’re obliged to come,” Catherine said, a worried look furrowing her brow.

“I didn’t accept the invitation, Mama did! And besides, there’ll be so many people at the theater tonight, the Duke of Gordon will hardly notice if I stay home… which is exactly what I intend to do!”

Catherine perceived the catch in Jane’s voice and the tears gathering in her sister’s eyes.

“You’ve been cooped up here for weeks,” Catherine protested sympathetically, though she knew that arguing about the matter would only result in an emotional outburst and Jane’s shutting herself in her room. Lady Maxwell had all but given up trying to cope with Jane’s emotional state and had requested that Catherine drop by Hyndford Close as often as possible to encourage her younger sister to cheer up and get on with the business of finding a suitable husband.

With the perspective gained from living as Mrs. John Fordyce under her own roof at Argyle Square for several months, Catherine could see how manipulative her mother had become, and how unhappy Catherine would have been if Lady Maxwell had opposed her marriage to John and sent him far away from her.

“Come!” said the older girl gently to Jane, who had remained sitting wanly in the window seat. “At least, let’s get some air.”

Reluctantly, Jane permitted Catherine to drop a cloak around her shoulders and then lead her downstairs, out the door. Hawkers mingled with the many townspeople who were promenading up and down the rain-washed High Street. Catherine and Jane walked along in silence. As they approached Fountain Well, Jane froze at the sight of the ancient landmark, struck by the painful memory of the final pig race. Thomas had stood right where they were at this moment and declared Eglantine the winner. Jane remembered the happy laughter at the sight of all of them slathered with mud. That was surely the last day of her childhood, she thought ruefully. She’d lost a forefinger in the accident with the apple cart that day, and along with it, her good fortune. If only she’d realized she was doomed to lose Thomas in the bargain.

“Jenny, hinny…” Catherine said helplessly, watching the tears start to flow down Jane’s cheeks. There was simply no way for her to comfort her sister when these waves of grief overtook her. “You must try…”

Catherine didn’t finish her sentence.
Try what?
Catherine wondered. To forget Thomas? To forget her loss? What could anyone say that would help her sister start living her life again?

Suddenly Jane stiffened, staring at an approaching pedestrian on the other side of the street. Simon Fraser, out of uniform and looking somewhat shabby in an ancient greatcoat that probably belonged to his father, the Fox, walked toward them from the opposite direction. Before Catherine could stop her, Jane darted through the traffic and dashed into his path, her cloak streaming out behind her.

“Well… can you imagine! Simon Fraser, Master of Lovat, I see,” Jane hissed as Catherine ran up behind her. “Pray forgive me for not paying you a formal call of condolence… but then, I don’t remember your paying
me
one!”

Simon looked haggard and unkempt. The Maxwell household had had word that he was about to depart with His Majesty’s forces for Portugal. He did not reply to Jane, who stood glaring at him, flushed and trembling.

“’Tisn’t it fortunate,
sir
,” she emphasized with sarcasm, “’tisn’t it just an amazing twist of
fate
that I was not ‘formally’ betrothed to Thomas before he went abroad.”

“Aye, I suppose it was,” the old campaigner said wearily.

“No one expects me to wear widow’s weeds or mourn for a dead man whom you and my mother
never
intended to be part of my future, now do they, Master Simon?” Jane spat back. Simon looked past them both, avoiding Jane’s poisonous glare. “But I suppose
you
realize it was you and my dear mother who sent Thomas to his death! To be scalped and mutilated beyond recognition…”

“Jane—
stop it
!” Catherine implored, tugging on her sister’s arm.

“His red hair must have been torn from his head!” Jane shouted, her voice taking on an edge of hysteria. “Afterwards, they didn’t even know which body was which!”

Simon Fraser stood stock still on the busy thoroughfare.

“Now, see here, lass—” he began.

“You butchered him, sure as if you’d struck him with your own claymore!” she shouted, her face contorted with rage. She poked her stubby right forefinger into the middle of Simon’s massive chest. She seemed oblivious to everything else around her.

“You sent Thomas where he’d be hurt… where he could never come back to me… I
hate
you for that! I hate you,
Simon Fraser
!! I will hate you till I’m in a grave like your
beloved
godson!”

Jane started to cry uncontrollably, pounding Simon’s broad chest with her fists. For a moment, the brigadier stood rooted to the spot where Jane had accosted him. Then he made a grab for Jane’s wrists in an effort to fend off her blows. Passersby stared curiously at the two of them engaged in a furious struggle, noting that the burly gentleman seemed to be taking the worst of it. The tirade issuing from Jane’s mouth was shocking to hear, but Catherine assumed it had been building for weeks. She summoned all her strength and grabbed Jane roughly by the arm.

“I said
stop it
, Jane!” Catherine shouted, ignoring the ring of onlookers that had gathered around them. “Master Simon has suffered a loss as well, lass. You’re behaving abominably!”

Jane clamped her mouth shut, breathing in ragged sobs.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Catherine said to Simon, whose color had drained from his face. “I’m so sorry about Thomas… you were always good to the lad since his parents died. Please forgive my sister, if you can.
Come
now, Jane,” she ordered sternly. “We’re expected at home.”

Catherine caught Jane’s hand and half-dragged her down the narrow alley, through the gate, and into the stable yard behind Hyndford Close. Without ceremony she pushed her sister into the stable and slammed the heavy wooden door shut.

“Thomas is
gone
, Jane!” Catherine yelled, holding her sister by her two shoulders so fiercely, her intensity shocked them both. “He was killed in a senseless, stupid, horrible way! I feel terrible, Simon feels terrible—you feel worst of all—but he’s gone!
Gone!
You’re only hurting yourself to keep blaming…
blaming
everyone.”

“But they sent him
away…
” Jane sobbed, her body sagging against the empty horse stall. “They sent him to die in that horrible way… hacked to pieces, from limb to limb—”

“But Thomas
wanted
to be a soldier, Jane,” Catherine interrupted, almost shouting. “’Twas a way to build a life for the two of you, and perhaps even regain his family lands… even the baronetcy! It wasn’t merely that Simon banished him to America… part of Thomas
wanted
to go and deep in your heart you know that to be true.” Catherine threw her arms around her sister and hugged her close. Tears streamed down both their faces. “’Tis simply that a very bad thing happened to a very good lad, Jane… and whether you were
married
or not…
betrothed
or not—doesn’t make much difference. You’d miss Thomas just as much and your grief would be as terrible… maybe more so… so stop blaming everyone else, hinny! Feel your loss…
your
loss… and accept it, and one day life will seem good again.
We’re
still here! I love you.”

For a moment, Jane stared at Catherine. Her shoulders started to shake once again and she sobbed quietly for a few minutes while her sister rocked her in her arms. At length, sniffling, Jane wiped her damp face with the sleeve of her dress.

“I love you, too, Catherine,” Jane whispered, “and I do, truly, appreciate how good you and John have been to me these last months.”

“I know, hinny,” Catherine said, stroking Jane’s hair soothingly and blinking away her own tears.

“You’re the only ones who seemed to understand what I’ve been going through—” Her voice cracked.

“We
do
understand… and we are so desperately sorry all this has happened,” Catherine replied simply.

The golden light was fading now. Dark shadows had crept into the stable and Catherine suddenly became aware of the lateness of the hour.

“Jane, we must hurry! I’ll help you dress, and then I must get back to Argyle Square to get ready m’self!”