The Chevalier (8 page)

If only she could put the man completely out of her mind. He was interested in adulterous affairs with married women. Even if she were a married woman, she would never consider such a relationship. When she married, it must be with a man she loved and respected completely, the way Maman had regarded Papa. And this man must love her just as totally in return. Gareth Eriksen could never be that man. What did he know of love or commitment or honor? She must stop desiring him so; it was sinful. If only she could make herself dream of Andrew MacCarnan instead. He was truly a magnificent man, like a knight of chivalry. Whenever thoughts of Gareth Eriksen entered her mind, she must force them away and think of her cousin instead.

The trip north-west continued slowly through rough terrain. Maman was very brave, but Madeline was all too aware of her suffering. She determined that she would indeed marry her cousin if he wanted her so that her mother could feel at peace.

Her first sight of the MacCarnan domain was breathtaking but intimidating. A river flowed smooth and tranquil then fell steeply over a waterfall, the water of the falls looking like poured buttermilk. The glen in which the MacCarnan lived was wild country, full of rocks and hilly land, of thorns and heather. There were also pastures where scrawny cattle grazed, but for the most part, the farmland looked unproductive. She reminded herself that all able-bodied men had gone off to fight for Prince Charles.

They passed the thatched roofs of the crofters’ cottages and she saw painfully thin children playing barefoot in tattered clothing. They rode on upland to what was a tumbledown castle. Adjoining the castle was a relatively large house with an indifferently maintained park.

“We’re home at last,” her mother said with an air of finality. “This is Castle MacCarnan, home of the Earls of Glencarnan for four centuries.” Madeline took a deep breath and silently prayed that her Maman was right about what the Highlands would be like – for at the moment, she had her doubts. To her, this seemed like nothing more than an untamed, gloomy wilderness, uncivilized and totally foreign to her sensibilities, a far cry from Paris or even London. How was she ever to feel at home in such a place?

Their coachman knocked at the door of the manor house, and Madeline held her breath then stared in shock and dismay at what she saw when the door was opened.

 
Eight

A horrible-looking, toothless hag stood at the door, reminding Madeline for all the world of the witches from
Macbeth
. Had Shakespeare ever seen this dreadful old woman?

“Happen ye be of the MacCarnan?” the old woman smiled to reveal a grotesque blackness where front teeth should have been. She held out an arthritic hand, gnarled and twisted like an old tree branch.

Madeline instinctively drew back, but Maman came forward and extended her own pale digits to the claw. She told the old woman who she was and they were welcomed into the house immediately.

“I dinna ken your da, but I know of ye, and now you have come home. Ye will be welcome by Lady Anne.”

They were shown into a drawing room of sorts, though it was hardly what Madeline had been accustomed to either in France or England. The room was plain, unadorned and depressingly dreary. She made no comment, noting only that Maman had a smile on her lips.

A tall, red-headed woman entered the room, along with a pretty child of eleven or twelve. The woman was several inches taller than her mother with hair a much fiercer shade of red. She came toward them and immediately embraced Maman. Then she turned to the old hag.

“Ye can go back to your duties now,” the lady said with a wave of dismissal.

Anne MacCarnan was the widow of James MacCarnan, her mother’s first cousin. As Madeline understood it, Anne was herself a second cousin. The two women greeted each other with affection. The cousins seemed immediately at ease, probably due to a long ago friendship that had been sustained by correspondence over the ensuing years.

Madeline did not understand everything that was said; the two women often broke into a dialect of Gaelic, the true language of the Highlands. Her mother had schooled her to some extent in this language and Madeline was quick to pick up on different tongues. In the schoolroom, she had been tutored and become proficient in English and Italian as well as French. Her English had improved to the extent that she spoke almost without accent. But Gaelic was rarely used and so Madeline had to listen carefully to understand even a little of their rapid conversation.

Madeline was introduced to Andrew MacCarnan’s younger sister as well. Her impression was of a tall, skinny girl all auburn hair, freckles and large, inquisitive eyes.

Maman told Anne of their brief visit with Andrew and she nodded her approval. “They’re doing well then. ‘Twas high time we gave the English something to think about again. Maybe this time we’ll win. At least they’ll know the Scottish spirit hasn’t died simply because of the union.”

While her mother and cousin spent hours talking about family and catching up on each other’s lives, Madeline went walking with her young cousin, Elizabeth, who seemed eager to show her around.

Madeline was glad that she was wearing boots for they were needed. She readily conceded the Highlands were very different from the Lowlands. There were trees for one thing, Scots pine and tall beeches, cliffs of rock, streams and lakes, mountains outlined in pinkish hues. Nature here seemed unspoiled, serene and sublime.

“It’s beautiful, wild and untamed,” she said.

Elizabeth smiled happily. “It is, isn’t it? Is France like this?”

Madeline enjoyed the musical lilt of her cousin’s accent.

“In comparison, France is cultivated – and a lot warmer.” For the first time, Madeline noticed how much colder it was here in the high country. She looked to the purple peaked mountains. “Will it snow soon?”

“Oh, probably. It always does by December anyway. But winters aren’t as bad as you might think. Come along, I’ll take you to my favorite place.”

The young girl pulled her by the hand and she followed along almost breathless by the time they arrived at a beautiful loch.

“We catch trout here all the time,” Elizabeth explained. “And in the summer, we go swimming.”

“Is it warm in the summer?”

“Nay, but the water feels good just the same.”

Madeline studied the area as if she might paint it. She had brought her sketchpad and water colors with her and thought that this would be the perfect landscape to inspire her art.

“What is it like here in the summer?” she asked thoughtfully.

“The banks are green with grass, and wild flowers grow everywhere in abundance. There’s foxglove and tall purple thistles.”

Madeline’s eye was caught by a clump of beech trees and among them a red deer glanced its velvet brown eye in her direction and then just as quickly ran away.

As they walked along, Madeline’s gaze fixed on the small pink and purplish flowers that grew in dense masses rising from low-growing evergreen shrubs. “What are those?” she asked. “They seem to be everywhere.”

“Heather,” Elizabeth said. “Sometimes it has to be burned back.”

“What a shame.”

“They’re just like the brambles; they grow anyplace there’s space.”

Madeline bent down and pulled some of the small purple flowers. “What a lovely scent.”

“They bloomed in September and are about past their time, but you still find some, until the frost takes the last of them. The autumn’s been warmer than usual this year. It’s favored the Prince’s army.”

As they walked, Madeline fell under the enchantment of the Highlands, the sheep meadows and the grazing cattle had rustic charm. She could hear the sound of birds in the trees above them and looked upward to the purple shrouded mountains above. The air smelled fresh and sweet even if it was chilly. Although she had always loved the beauty and gaiety of France, in the Highlands of Scotland, Madeline discovered a strange sense of having come home. Perhaps her mother had been right after all.

“Would you like to climb the hills with me?” Elizabeth asked.

Madeline looked down at her voluminous skirt worn over hoops. Her traveling gown was appropriate enough for the coach, but not for climbing.

“Perhaps we may do it another day when my clothes are better suited,” she said. Her fur-lined pelisse was worn over a gown, which was heavily boned and tightly corsetted. Her gown, with its
engageantes
, heavily ruffled elbow sleeves, was much too elegant for this way of life. The broad, low, curved décolletage was the sort of neckline that the sisters of King Louis preferred, but it too seemed out of place here with its band of exquisite lace across the bodice. Just how long the elaborately embroidered silk would hold its elegance in this environment, she did not know, but clearly her usual wardrobe and that of Maman were unsuited to their current environment. How foolish they must appear to these earthy people! Fortunately, Maman had insisted that they bring warm woolens and plain muslins as well.

It was Cousin Anne who gave them the plaid of the clan to wrap around themselves. Madeline was grateful for it. She insisted that Marie fix her plainest dresses so that they could be worn without hoops and stays. The French maid was shocked by her request, but Maman quite agreed. And so her gowns came to be worn with the tartan plaid of the MacCarnan. Thus, Madeline began spending many days out of doors even in the coldest of weather in the company of her young cousin, enjoying her unaccustomed freedom.

She also came to know the tenants, or crofters as they were called, and was surprised to discover that though they deferred to her cousin Anne because she was nobility, there was none of the sort of servile attitude as was common among the French peasants, nor did it seem to be expected. The crofters were under the impression that they were quite as good as anyone else, although they were poorer and their lives harder than the country peasants that Madeline had known in France.

“Are all the men gone to war?” she asked her cousin on the second week of their stay.

“Gone to fight with the MacCarnan naturally, every able-bodied one.”

The pretty, chestnut-haired girl who had been serving them barley tea and scones, smiled at her patronizingly as if she considered Madeline some foolish, inferior being. Madeline frowned deeply, noting that this was not the first time it had happened. Jenny, as the girl was called, clearly did not like her. There was definite hostility in the looks the serving wench gave her, but Madeline could not understand any reason for this. She tried hard to be polite and civil to everyone.

At least Elizabeth liked her, she conceded. Her young cousin was a sweet child and loved to hear stories about France and England. Her eyes would open wide when Madeline told her of King Louis and his magnificent court. She admired Madeline’s clothing and jewelry with adoring eyes. One day as Madeline was dressing with Marie’s help, Elizabeth held a gold, filigreed brooch to the light.

“Oh my, there’s a picture painted here. ‘Tis so lovely and so tiny. How can anyone create something like this?”

“It’s called a miniature. This one is of Versailles during the reign of the Roi Soleil. I would like you to have it as a gift from me.”

Elizabeth’s face colored deeply. “Och, I couldn’t take it. ‘Tis too fine a thing for ye to give me.”

Madeline pressed the brooch into the child’s hand. “You must have it. You and your mother are so kind to us. It’s such a small thing for me to give.”

The winter was spent in a pleasant enough manner for Madeline. Although she did not see any improvement at all in her mother’s condition, yet she was aware that Maman was at peace with herself. This made Madeline relax somewhat as well. She could not imagine life without her Maman nor did she wish to do so. The MacCarnans were kind, good people, but their ways were strange to her. Still, she did not really miss France or England as much as she thought that she might.

Only sometimes did she think of Gareth Eriksen and wonder where he was and what he was doing. Since he was an English soldier, she was uncomfortably reminded that he must be fighting against Prince Charles’ army. That thought both frightened and upset her so much that she forced it from her mind.

But at night, the dreams continued; erotic ones that she could not control. They would come unbidden and she would wake remembering how Gareth’s arms had felt around her and the longing his kisses had stirred in her. How those feelings tortured her!

With morning came much needed control and restraint. She strived to keep active and busy. Each day she learned something new about her maternal relatives. One afternoon, Elizabeth took her exploring the old, decaying castle. It was a cold eerie place and she slipped once or twice on the smooth stones that formed the steps to the tower.

“I don’t think you need show me as far as the tower,” she told the child.

“Och, but I must! You no’ be findin’ many a castle as ancient as this. Why it has been in our family for four centuries – do you ken it?”

“The house is more comfortable,” Madeline observed in her practical manner.

“Aye, but the bogles are here.”

Madeline arched a raven brow. “Bogles?”

“Spirits – ghosts! No self-respecting Scottish castle is without one, especially in the Highlands.”

“I don’t believe in such things,” Madeline replied skeptically.

“Careful,” Elizabeth admonished in a hushed voice. “If they hear ye, they’ll be much offended and they might do something dreadful to ye!”

Madeline folded her arms across her breasts in a gesture of disbelief.

“And who are these spirits?”

“‘Twas the third Earl of MacCarnan that imprisoned two poachers in the dungeon of the tower. One was so terrified of the flogging he thought was to come that he dived out of the high window and met his death in the moat. They say you can hear his ghost screaming out when the moon is full.”

“Probably just wild animals howling off in the hills.”

“Nay, there’s more then one ghost haunts this castle. But I see you’re not a believer. You’re not one for the old Celtic way, are you?”

Just then, Madeline felt something brush against her ankle and saw a blurred movement. She couldn’t keep from crying out.

“Don’t be scared; ‘tis only the rats.”

“I don’t believe in being scared of ghosts, but rats are quite another thing.” She ran quickly down the steps, almost tripping over the hem of her gown in her haste.

“Wait up!” Elizabeth cried out, running behind her.

When they returned to the house totally out of breath, her small cousin turned to her. “I believe you run with the speed of a fairy.”

“Only when I see vermin.”

“My lady has a faint heart,” Jenny said sharply as she came by carrying a load of wash.

After Jenny had passed, Madeline turned to her cousin. “Why does she dislike me so?”

Elizabeth cast her fern colored eyes downward. “‘Tis not you in particular she hates. Our Jenny has had her eye on my brother Andrew for as long as anyone can remember. She’s heard that you’re his betrothed and I suppose it’s made her jealous.”

Madeline nodded her head with understanding. At least now, she could comprehend the young woman’s hostility toward her.

“You do intend to marry Andrew, don’t you?” Elizabeth could be embarrassing direct.

“I don’t know that your brother and I will marry. He and I barely know one another. Still, I suppose if he wants to marry me, I will accept. It would please our mothers, and that is most important – though I hardly feel ready to be a bride.”