Joan Wolf (11 page)

“But there have been no clearances in Lochaber?”

“No. And, my dear brother, I’ll tell you who you have to thank for that.”

“Mama?”

“No. She was against them, of course, but Charlie wouldn’t let himself be swayed by Mama.”

Ian frowned. “Then who?”

“Frances.”

Ian’s black brows shot up. “Frances!”

   “Yes.” A look of satisfaction came over Margaret’s face. “I shall always feel privileged that I heard the dressing down she gave to Charlie when he mentioned to her the possibility of putting in sheep. She told him he was a disgrace to his name, to his family, and to his nation. She said he was worse than a Campbell. She said that in her opinion the highest title a man could hold was that of a Scottish chief, that the Sassenach title of earl meant nothing compared to that. She told him that Dada would turn in his grave if ever a man of his blood evicted his people from the land. ‘I mind always some words Ian told me your father once said,’ she told Charlie. “They have always seemed to me to exemplify the code of a true chieftain. He said that he thanked God that he had never betrayed his trust, never injured the poor, and never refused a share of what he had to the stranger and the needy.’ Then she ended up with the coup de grace.”

“And what was that?” Ian asked in a carefully expressionless voice.

“She told him she’d never speak to him again if even one crofter was removed from Macdonald land. That ended any more talk from Charlie about clearing Lochaber. He wanted desperately to marry Frances.”

“So I hear,” Ian said in the same expressionless tone. “From what Mama tells me, his desire was not singular.”

Margaret looked at him in awe. “Ian, I don’t think even Mary Queen of Scots had as many suitors as Frances. I stayed with her at Charlotte Square for a month last spring. Really, I don’t see why she is wasting herself in a backwater like Edinburgh. She could hold almost any position she wanted to. Why, the Duke of Pendleton drove up from London just to see her! He has royal blood, you know. His mother was a princess.”

There was a faint, sardonic smile on Ian’s face. “Frances has royal blood, too,” he said. “She is a Stewart. Her ancestors were kings in Scotland while the Hanovers were still mucking out pigstyes.”

“Ian!” Margaret’s eyes were alight with laughter. “That is just what Frances said.”

He grinned. “Good for her. Frances may be the most obstinate woman on the face of the earth but, on most matters, she has got her priorities in order.”

Margaret suddenly sobered. “Yes, she does. At present her chief priority is Nell, but she’s got to stop living in the past some time. She never talks about her husband, but I’m afraid she thinks about him. Why else would she have so little interest in the men who surround her?”

Ian didn’t answer. He found he could not bear to talk about Robert Sedburgh or his daughter. The sudden, savage jealousy his sister’s mention of them had provoked in his breast was a grim reminder that more than just an ocean had divided him from Frances these past five years.

Chapter Fourteen

0 where have you been, my long long love,

These long seven years and mair?

—
ANONYMOUS

Ian stayed six days at Castle Hunter and then he left for Edinburgh. He told his mother and sister he was going to see his solicitor; in reality he was going to see Frances.

Edinburgh. Frances lived in Charlotte Square, one of the glories of the New Town built in the late eighteenth century after the North Loch had been drained and bridged by an enlightened town council. As Ian rode down Princes Street his eyes went with affection and respect to the towering heights of Edinburgh Castle, for so many centuries the home and fortress of Scotland’s kings. The classical New Town was Edinburgh’s pride, but Ian loved the Old Town, with its high, narrow houses, winding closes, and boisterous, teeming life. The Macdonalds in fact still had a house on the Canongate, a short distance from the Palace of Holyroodhouse.

   He asked for Lady Robert in a constricted voice and gave his name. The servant went to inform Frances and then came back to conduct him to the drawing room. She was standing by the tall windows, which were opened to let in the warm August air. The sunlight reflected off her pale hair and bathed her face in the merciless light that was kind to very few women. Her hands were tightly clasped together in front of her, her eyes were deeply green, unsmiling and intent as they rested on him, standing bareheaded and enormous in her doorway.

He gave a strange laugh. “I don’t know how it is, Frances, but you always turn out to be more beautiful in the flesh than one remembered you.”

She, who had received unmoved the lavish compliments of England’s greatest and wealthiest nobles, flushed. “And somehow you are always bigger than one remembered,” she returned with an attempt at lightness. As he crossed the room toward her she said a trifle breathlessly, “I am so sorry about Charlie. It must have been quite a shock to you.”

He stood directly before her now. “It was,” he replied grimly. “It was also a shock to learn that you were a widow. I had not received any of Douglas’s previous letters.”

“Oh,” she said faintly and looked up into his lean, tanned face. The brilliant life was still there in his eyes, but it was controlled now. He looked different, she thought confusedly. He was not really any taller than she remembered, it was the sense of authority he exuded that was new. He had not said he was sorry about Robert’s death. Her chin rose a trifle. “Has Margaret told you what is going on in the Highlands?”

“Yes. And I gather I have you to thank for saving Lochaber from Charlie’s greed.”

Her finely arched brows drew together. “Nonsense. Your mother would never have allowed him to carry out any clearances. I merely reinforced what I’m sure he had heard before.” Her lips set. “I’m sorry Charlie was killed, but I am not sorry you are Lochaber now. The Highlands need chiefs like you. Too many of them have been seduced by the lure of Sassenach money.”

He was not surprised by her reaction. Abstract causes would never have any appeal for Frances, but she had always been endlessly concerned about the people she knew. “What chiefs are refusing to be seduced?” he asked her, a faint approving smile in his eyes.

She grimaced slightly. “I hate to say it, but the Duke of Argyll is one of the more notable holdouts. Of course, he already has so much money he can scarcely need more.”

,He looked thoughtful. The Duke of Argyll, Mac Caileinmhor, was chief of Clan Campbell the hereditary enemy of the Stewarts and the Macdonalds. Centuries of hatred and oceans of blood lay between the Campbells and the other clans of the central Highlands, and none had more cause to hate them than the Macdonalds of Glencoe.

There was a knock at the door and it opened softly. A small dark gold head peeked into the room. “I’m home, Mama,” said Nell.

   “Come in, darling,” Frances responded, walking past Ian to take her daughter’s hand. “There is someone here I want you to meet. This is Ian Macdonald, Douglas’s cousin, who has been in South America. He is the Earl of Lochaber now.” She braced herself slightly as Nell looked gravely at Ian. This was a meeting she had had nightmares about.

Ian’s face looked strained and harsh as he unwillingly regarded Frances’s daughter. She was all Stewart, he was relieved to see. There was nothing of Robert Sedburgh in the dark gray eyes or small square chin. He raised his brows slightly and looked at Frances. She said in a calm, self-possessed voice, “You don’t have to say it. She’s the image of my father, I know. She looks more like him every year. It’s positively uncanny.”

Nell took two steps toward Ian. “Are you a pirate?” she inquired in her clear child’s voice.

Ian suddenly grinned. “No. Do I look like a pirate to you?”

Nell smiled back. “Yes. You look just like the pirate in a book my Poppy gave me. But you need a patch over your eye.”

“Where
is
Poppy?” Frances put in before Ian could answer. “I thought he took you to Arthur’s Seat with him.”

“He did, Mama. And we climbed
halfway
up.” Her gray eyes sparkled. “I’ll bet Stephanie Scott never climbed up that far, and she’s four and a half already.”

“You are getting to be a first-rate mountaineer, darling, but where is your grandfather?”

“He went to the university. Mama. He told me to tell you.”

“Thank you. Now you may go upstairs. Nurse is waiting for you.”

“All right.” The little girl went slowly toward the door then turned to smile again at Ian. “Did you kill a lot of soldiers in South America?” she asked irrepressibly.

“I’m afraid I did,” he answered gravely.           “How many?”

“Hundreds, I believe.” His dark eyes were steady on her face.

“Hundreds! Wait until I tell Stephanie Scott!”

“Nell,” said Frances purposefully, and the little girl grinned impishly.

“I’m going. Mama. Goodbye . . .” She frowned in sudden confusion. “How can he be Lord Lochaber?” she asked Frances. “Lord Lochaber is someone else.”

“Don’t you remember I told you Lord Lochaber was shot by a bad man?” Frances asked steadily.

“Oh.” Nell looked gravely at Ian.

“Not by Ian!” Frances said hastily and Nell looked indignant.

“I know that!” she said. “He shooted the people in South America!” With another smile at Ian she finally departed, closing the door behind her.

Frances turned to Ian a rueful smile in her eyes. “Nell is regrettably bloodthirsty,” she said.

“So I see.” Amusement colored his voice. “Who, may I ask, is Stephanie Scott?”

“Nell’s greatest friend and rival. She lives across the square.”

“And she’s four and a half already,” he said with mock gravity.

“Yes,” said Frances, conscious of treading on dangerous ground. She opened her mouth to change the subject but Ian was already speaking.

“Nell is quite tall, isn’t she?” He frowned. “How old is she, anyway? Three?”

   “No, she is just four,” she responded cautiously. Her long green eyes were veiled as they looked at him and, returning her look, he felt suddenly a wave of desire so strong that it startled him and, to conceal his feeling, he said hastily, “When was she born?”

Frances kept looking at him. “May eighteenth,” she responded.

There was a moment’s silence then Ian’s eyes focused in a way that set her heart racing.
“May
eighteenth?” he said sharply.

“She came early,” Frances said quietly. “She wasn’t due until July but I had a fall. It was quite nasty, actually. I knocked myself out. She came that night.” She was conscious that she was talking too much and stopped abruptly.

Ian’s black brows were drawn together and there was a little flame burning deep within his eyes. “May,” he said. “Exactly nine months after you and I ...” He broke off, a look of astonishment on his face. “Sweet Jesus, Frances, she’s mine, isn’t she?”

Her face was shuttered. “Would you believe me if I said she wasn’t?”

His dark eyes held hers relentlessly. Under that look her own gaze fell. “No,” he said grimly. “I wouldn’t believe you.” He looked at her slightly bent head. “Why?” he asked. He sounded very angry. “Why did you lie to me? I was afraid of that. I asked you.”

“I know.” Her voice was muffled.

“Why,
Frances?”

She raised her head, stared back at him and told him the truth. “Because it was between you and me, that’s why. No one else. Just the two of us.” Her mouth quivered. “Besides, I never thought you would really go.”

   He prowled to the door and back, his long stride making the room seem smaller than it was. He finally paused beside her. “It never occurred to you to write and tell me?” he said evenly. “I would have come home.”

“You were thousands of miles away,” she said bitterly. “How long would it have been before you even got my letter let alone returned? Time, after all, was a factor, Ian.”

His face was bleak. “So you told Sedburgh,” he said.

“Yes.” The bitterness had left her voice. Ian would never make the mistake of thinking she would do anything else. “I was frightened. You were gone. I didn’t know what to do and he was so kind. So I told him and he offered to marry me.”

“What a hero.” His tone was sardonic.

“Yes, he was,” she replied forcefully. “I prayed, Ian. Mother Mary, how I prayed that she would be a girl. Rob would have accepted a boy as his, would have made him heir to all of Aysgarth. He would have done that for me. Yes, I think he was a hero.”

“I see.” He wondered if she would ever understand what this knowledge meant to him. He had left her to bear his child in another man’s house, to be reared with another man’s name. His woman. His child. Given away to another man. He stared down at the face that had haunted his dreams for five long years. There was a strained look about her eyes but nothing could mar the miraculously clear lines of the bones. She sounded as if she had loved Sedburgh. He felt savage. And so he said the words he had come halfway across the world to say, but the phrasing was not what he had intended. “I hope you won’t refuse to marry me now?” he asked.

   Frances was watching him with a face as shuttered and remote as a Byzantine madonna.                “Why? So that you can have Nell?”

“I want Nell,” he answered. “And I want you.” For a long moment they looked at each other, steadily and with something that was almost hostility. His eyes were dark and brilliant, fierce, not loving. He pulled her into his arms and, unresisting, she went. His kiss was hard with the pent-up passion of many years. She closed her eyes, melting effortlessly into his embrace, helpless as ever against her love for him. His anger was drowned in desire.

When he finally raised his head to look down at her his eyes were black. “Will you marry me?” he said, but this time he spoke in Gaelic.

Her mouth curved in a beautiful smile. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she replied in the same language.

He grinned, his dark face lighting with that blazing life she saw every day in her daughter’s smile. “When?”

“Whenever you like.”