Authors: Mary Jo Putney
"Where did the name come from? It sounds like a Gothic romance."
"The original name was several syllables longer and Gaelic, but the first syllable was Doom, and it fit so well that it stuck. It's a Clan Campbell fortress that was destroyed by the English after the Forty-Five. No one has lived here since."
He swung a picnic basket from the curricle. The food had been packed by the landlord's wife at the small inn where they'd stayed the night before. Their trip north had been leisurely, with plenty of detours to see things he thought she'd enjoy.
As he'd hoped, the sheer normalcy of their journey created a relaxed, easy mood they'd never shared before. Except when he kissed her good night. In a spirit of feminine revenge, she had taken to kissing him back with a thoroughness that threatened to bring him to his knees, begging to share her bed.
The hard part was knowing that she'd probably bed him gladly. But he was playing for higher stakes than a single night's pleasure, so he'd always returned to his room alone.
As they crossed a crude plank bridge that had been laid over the stream, Troth said, "This seems like the end of the world, as if no one has been here for decades."
"Few people do come—it's well off the main roads, and that last stretch was almost too much even for a carriage like ours." He squinted at the sky. Was that a wisp of smoke rising from the castle? No, it must be a ribbon of cloud. "It's been many years since I visited here with Dominic, and I doubt the castle has changed at all. Yet not far from here in the Hebrides, modern steamboats are now carrying people through the islands in luxury. Quite a contrast."
"Steamboats? I'd like to travel on one of those someday. But I like the wildness of this better."
Conversation ceased as they started to ascend the rough track that snaked up the hill to the castle. A quarter of the way along, Kyle said breathlessly,
"Let's take a rest. I need to hang over the edge and gasp for a bit."
"I'll bet the people who lived in the castle never came down, not when it meant climbing back up again!" Troth gratefully sank onto the low stone wall that protected travelers from the sheer drop. "I'm glad you suggested wearing Chinese trousers. This is not a ladylike excursion."
"Definitely not for the faint of heart or weak of lungs." A category that included Kyle at the moment; apparently he still hadn't recovered fully from the malaria.
Warmed by the climb, Troth loosened the plaid she wore draped around her slender frame. She'd been enchanted when they found a tartan shop in Stirling, then disappointed that there was no plaid for Montgomery. Kyle had cheered her up with a Campbell plaid, saying she had a right to wear it since his mother had been a Campbell. Troth and the green-patterned plaid had become inseparable. When she wore it with a Chinese tunic and trousers, the effect was improbable but charming. She peered over the wall. "There are two streams, not one. They flow together at the back of the hill."
"The one below is called the Burn of Grief, and the other is the Burn of Despair. Another reason for calling this Castle Doom."
She made a face. "What a grim lot these Highlanders were."
"There's truth in the romantic tales Walter Scott and others have woven about the Highlands, but it's always been a hard life." He looked north toward Kinnockburn. "I think my mother married my father mostly to bring English money to her glen so the crofters wouldn't starve. She was the Maiden of Kinnockburn—the hereditary chieftain of her branch of the Campbells. The only asset she had was her beauty, so she went to London and found a lord so besotted he'd agree to her marriage terms."
"Wrexham, besotted?" Troth asked in amazement.
"Hard to imagine, but true. He adored her." Kyle offered his arm and they resumed their ascent. "In the marriage settlement between them, it's specified that her inheritance be put into a permanent trust so it can never be enclosed and the crofters forced to leave the glen, which has happened in too many places in the Highlands."
"Your father agreed to that? I may end up approving of him in spite of myself."
"He's difficult, but his sense of justice is admirable. He understood my mother's fierce attachment to the glen and her need to serve her people. She spent several months a year in Scotland as the Lady of Kinnockburn, running around in bare feet and plaid like any crofter's wife. We children spent a good amount of time there, too. Especially me, since ultimately it's my responsibility to see that the glen prospers."
"Did you run around barefoot also?"
"Indeed I did."
"That explains a great deal," Troth said thoughtfully. "The crofters are lucky your mother was willing and able to make such a bargain. Did she and your father love each other?"
"I think so. Each of them placed their duty before their personal pleasures. That was probably one of their most powerful bonds."
"What a woman your mother must have been."
"You'd have liked her, Troth. And she would have loved you." Troth tugged the Campbell plaid closer. "I wish I'd met her."
"Lucia is very much like her. All three of us have the look of the Highlands."
As the track became even steeper, they started to zigzag back and forth across the incline, which lengthened the distance but made the climbing easier. Though they had to rest several more times, Troth never suggested turning back.
Even so, when they passed through the broken gate that opened to the lowest of the three castle levels, Troth staggered toward the shade of the nearest tree. "Next time you mention a steep hill," she panted, "remind me to flee in the opposite direction."
She was about to flop on the ground when a bristling feline leaped from the undergrowth beside the tree with bared teeth and a fierce growl. Troth gave a squeak of dismay and retreated. "What is
that
?" He caught her arm and drew her farther away. "A wildcat. See the stripes and whiskers? She's a close cousin of your grandmother's tabby, actually. Her fur is up, but underneath she's not much larger than a barn cat."
"The difference is that Grandmother's tabby likes me. Your wildcat looks like it wants me for dinner." Troth circled the tree, keeping a wary eye on the glowering cat.
"This is the season for kittens, and her den must be hidden near the tree. A den so close to the path proves how few people come here—usually wildcats are very shy."
"Does mother love make a female dangerous?"
"So they say. You'd make a fierce mother, I'm sure." She gave him a swift glance, then turned away. "I'm ravenous. Perhaps we can eat on this level before climbing to the higher ruins? " Hungry himself, he unpacked the basket, starting with a coarse blanket that he spread under another tree where they could admire the rugged hills and picturesque ruins. As they ate, the wind rose, rustling the leaves and sending clouds racing overhead. "It feels as if a storm is coming. We should aim to be finished with our sight-seeing and back at the carriage by the time it strikes."
"There is always new weather coming," she retorted. "I never knew what it was to stand in the sunshine and have rain falling on my head until I came to Scotland. No wonder you hired a carriage with a bonnet that could be pulled over us."
"It's all part of that romantic Scottish experience you wanted." Troth was such a perfect companion that it was hard to imagine not having her at his side. He'd love to take her to Italy, France, Spain. Everywhere. Yet it was likely that soon she would announce that the handfast was over, and it was time for him to remove his unwanted self from her sight. The thought was so painful that he felt a powerful impulse to seduce her right now, so they would both remember the rare passion they shared. He was on the verge of leaning over for a kiss when she covered a yawn, then curled up on the blanket. "Is there time for me to take a nap? I'm tired from the climb."
He forced his tense muscles to relax. "We've time. If I wander, it won't be far."
She folded part of the plaid under her head and draped the rest over her as a blanket. Though it would be wiser to put distance between them, he lingered to watch her as she dozed, as unself-conscious as a kitten. What a beautiful blend of East and West was in her face, with its fascinating planes and silken skin. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon today, sunlight turning loose tendrils to dark, shining mahogany. And that supple, feminine body, as strong as it was elegant…
Groin tightening, he collected the remains of a beef-and-kidney pie that Troth had tried and disliked, then crossed to where they'd seen the wildcat. He set the pie on the ground, then withdrew and watched. It wasn't long until the wildcat emerged from the shrubbery and cast a cautious glance around before seizing the pie and vanishing again. He smiled. She and her kittens would dine well.
Preferring to wait for Troth before visiting the keep, he ambled across the lowest level. Despite the sunshine, he still felt a lingering sense of uneasiness.
The castle precinct occupied the whole top of the crag. Most of this level had consisted of gardens, but tucked in a back corner he found a chapel. Surprisingly, the small stone building was intact, with even the slate roof in fairly good condition. The English soldiers who'd wrecked Castle Doom to prevent it from being a threat in the future must have decided to leave the chapel alone. Perhaps they'd feared divine wrath.
On his first visit he'd missed the chapel entirely. Engaged in a competition to see who could reach the top of the fortress first, he and Dominic hadn't paid much attention to this level. Thoughtless creatures, boys. Typically, they'd reached the highest level at virtually the same time. There might have been less competition if they hadn't been so perfectly matched.
The wide, iron-bound door swung open with a rusty squeal. He stepped into a sanctuary of peace and light. Though birds had nested in the baptismal font, the simple wooden cross still stood on the altar and the sturdy oak pews were in place, if dusty. Crofters from the neighboring hills must be tending the chapel.
He sat in the front pew, dust and all. When he finally got around to hiring another valet, the man would probably start by burning Kyle's entire wardrobe because of the abuse it had suffered.
The stained glass in the windows was long gone, leaving stone traceries that cast shadows of intricate beauty where the sun poured in. He closed his eyes, feeling the same sacredness in this simple, abandoned chapel that he had experienced in the gilded spaces of Hoshan. Centuries of prayer had hallowed it.
In my end, I find my beginning
. The words that had rung in his mind at Hoshan echoed through him once more. Then he'd thought it ironic to travel halfway around the world to experience spiritual insights he'd failed to absorb in his own church. Now he'd come home, full circle. But where Hoshan had produced a scalding sense of transformation, now he felt a slow, powerful tide of awareness.
The tide rose, filling him with warmth and quiet joy. His mind drifted to other sacred places he'd visited that had touched him deeply. Perhaps the soul wasn't a foundation but a mosaic composed of myriad small insights and transcendental moments. He'd traveled the world collecting pieces for his personal mosaic, and now he could dimly see the overall pattern. Though he hadn't heard her footsteps on the flagstone floor, he was unsurprised when Troth's hand slipped into his. When she'd settled on the pew beside him, he opened his eyes. "I think I found the missing piece of my soul."
She regarded him gravely. "How did that happen?"
"In Hoshan I experienced profound spiritual awareness," he said slowly.
"It began with a devastating recognition of my failures and shortcomings. Only when all my pride and arrogance had been stripped away did I experience divine compassion so infinite that it could forgive all my weaknesses and fill me with light.
"For those of us who are less than saints, I think it's impossible to stay in such an exalted state, but I left Hoshan feeling closer to spiritual grace than I'd ever been. Then I was captured, and it seemed as if I'd lost everything I had learned. Only now do I see that in prison I was being taught another essential lesson."
"Suffering to enhance compassion?"
"That was surely part of it, but more important was to endure complete loss of control." He smiled wryly. "For most of my life, I've had a great deal of power to shape my world. In prison, I had no power at all. When and what I ate, my physical movements, even my very existence, were all in the hands of others. When the fever struck, I wasn't even master of my own body. By the end of my captivity I was praying for death. It was as if the essence of my being had been wrenched away."
"Aaahhhh." She exhaled softly. "No wonder you were in such dire straits when you returned to England. Your soul had been separated from your body, and they were slow to find each other again."
"That's a good way to put it." He studied her face. "Your experience was similar, wasn't it? Your captivity was gentler, your cell larger, but you were also imprisoned, unable to be a woman or to reveal both sides of your heritage. No wonder that now that you've escaped one prison, you're reluctant to enter another."
Her eyes widened. "Yes! That's it exactly. Marriage does seem like a prison."