Amanda Scott (43 page)

“I told you before, I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, my lad, and there is no better informant than one with a score to pay. There is to be a christening party at Inver House, which means, unless the weather turns much worse, they will be coming through Glen Creran.”

“But when? Do you mean to camp in the glen until they do?” Breck smiled. “Unnecessary. We shall receive a signal, my lad.”

They talked of other things until they retired to their bedchambers, but Ewan’s thoughts kept returning to the key. When he was certain that Breck would not stir from his chamber again that night, he went to fetch it. The key was gone.

Two days later, watching men lower the coffin into the ground, Duncan decided that, come spring, he would order a proper tombstone put up, perhaps even a small chapel. His father had mentioned more than once that this hillside provided a perfect setting for a family chapel. An old Stewart graveyard in the woods near the burn held a number of the previous owner’s kinsmen, but Balcardane had long since made it clear that he did not want to join them.

“I’ll want the sun to shine on my resting place, lad,” he had said, “and I’ll want a devilish good view of the loch.”

Well, Duncan thought, here he would have both when the dark clouds overhead had moved on. The slight warming spell that had begun the day of the accident had surprisingly continued, so rain was possible rather than snow, but he hoped it would not rain. There was too much snow higher up that could melt and turn nearby rivers into torrents threatening anyone who traveled through the glens.

Hearing the soft sound of feminine weeping, he looked for the source and saw one of the maidservants sobbing into her sleeve. Involuntarily, he frowned.

“Let her cry,” Mary said gently beside him. “It has been long since anyone hereabouts has howled the dead into their graves.”

He nodded, unsurprised that she had read his mind. It had become something of a habit with her. His cousin Rory, who had traveled miles with Argyll, had once told him Englishwomen did not attend burials, but Duncan was glad Mary was with him. His mother was there, too, at his other side, watching them lower the coffin.

“Did they have difficulty digging the hole, Duncan?” she asked.

“Less than I’d feared,” he said. “Coulter said the ground was hard for only the first few inches. Are you sure you are warm enough, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes. Listen, someone is playing a fiddle. How mournful it sounds. That must be Simon Stewart playing again, I think.”

Duncan knew who it was, because the same dour Stewart clansman had played more cheerful music from time to time during the lakewake. Although the church frowned on the Highlanders’ ancient practice of dancing exuberantly around a coffin—as, indeed, it frowned on many of their oldest customs—the cheerful music had persisted. Even now the onlookers, of whom there were about fifty, began quietly to sing. As Duncan stepped forward to throw the first shovelful of dirt onto the coffin, the rain began to fall.

It was a light rain, barely enough to make itself felt at first, and not until the music stopped could he hear the raindrops hushing on nearby shrubbery. Other men took their turns at the shovel, and soon the sad deed was done. Everyone turned back toward the castle.

Inside, the windows were shut again and the hall fire roared.

Serena said, “Thank heaven we can have done at last with freezing ourselves. That fire feels absolutely wonderful! I shall hate to leave it in the morning.”

Neil glanced at Duncan. “Do we still leave tomorrow? This rain could—”

“We’ll start early,” Duncan said. “Unless this drizzle grows much heavier, it should pose no great threat to us, but I want to be well into the glen and along before the day has time to turn warmer.”

Watching Duncan, and listening, Mary knew that he was more concerned than he was admitting, and she did not have to ask why. She, too, had seen what a warm rain could do after snow had blanketed the Highlands. A quick melt overfilled the rivers and burns, sending them quickly into dangerous spate, raising the levels of the lochs and lifting any ice that had formed on them. Conditions would soon grow too treacherous for travel, and she knew that Duncan wanted to avoid offending Caddell any more than he already had by rejecting his daughter.

Thoughts of Serena overtook her again when their guests had departed, which they soon did, for they, too, had concerns about the weather. Serena had left the hall by then, and Mary hoped she was packing.

Leaving the servants to clear away the remains of the funeral feast, she went upstairs to the tower bedchamber, determined to make certain that Serena would not delay the morrow’s departure. Opening the door without ceremony, she surprised her in the act of setting a lamp in the deep stone window embrasure.

“Lud, Mary, you nearly made me drop this! What do you want?”

Having noted that Serena’s maid was also in the room, sorting clothing, Mary did not comment on her tone but said calmly, “Don’t place that lamp too near the glass, Serena. Rain or no, it’s cold outside. The lamp’s heat may crack the window.”

“Much I would care,” Serena said, turning with a swirl of her skirts to sit on the dressing stool. She did not invite Mary to sit. “Why did you come up here?”

“To be certain you know that Duncan wants to leave early in the morning.”

“I know he does, though we’ll all be soaked to the skin by this rain.”

“I don’t think so. The shepherds say it’s turning colder, and I agree. The rain outside will turn to snow by morning, but the day may warm it to rain again if the sky doesn’t clear, and Duncan is worried about the river we must cross.”

Serena shrugged. “If he is worried, we should wait. There is no great hurry.”

Aware that Duncan had even more interest in returning Serena to the bosom of her family than in greeting Caddell’s new grandson, Mary rejected a wicked urge to tell her so, saying instead, “Your parents will be delighted to see you, Serena, and you must know that much heavier snows are bound to come soon. When they do, they will make travel impossible. You will not like to be stuck at Balcardane then.”

Serena hunched a shoulder, avoiding her gaze.

Turning to the maid, Mary said firmly, “Please see that you finish packing Lady Serena’s things tonight, other than what she intends to wear tomorrow. Then have them taken downstairs to the hall before you retire for the night.”

“Aye, my lady, I’ll see to it.”

“Good night, Serena.” She did not wait for a response, which was just as well since none was forthcoming. Shutting the door behind her, she went to the schoolroom to be sure the children were in bed.

Finding them well tucked in, with Jessie in a chair by the fire, telling them a story, she bade them sleep well.

Pinkie said anxiously, “Will we all go even if the weather turns worse?”

“If it gets too bad, no one will go,” Mary said, “but if we go to Inver House, you may be certain that you and Chuff will both go with us.”

Remembering that she had not yet imparted that information to Duncan, she said good-night and went immediately to the chamber she now shared with him.

Finding that he had not yet come upstairs, she rang for Ailis to finish packing her clothes for the journey. Then, before the maid grew too busy in the dressing room, Mary donned her night shift and took the pins from her hair.

“You need not brush my hair tonight, Ailis,” she said. “I’ll take my brush into the bedchamber and do it myself by the fire.”

“Aye, mistress. I’ll no tak’ long here, I’m thinking.” Ailis smiled. “That wee lass, Pinkie, has flitted up and down the stairs the day, keeking into your baggage, insisting she wants tae ken where all is kept so she’ll ken where tae find things when ye reach Inver House. D’ ye really mean tae take her with ye?”

“Aye, but do not fear for your position, Ailis. His lordship does not want to impose on Lord Caddell’s hospitality, so we’ll take mostly men at arms, and Chuff is to help with the horses. Doubtless they think he’ll eat less than a larger lad.”

“They dinna ken that laddie’s appetite then,” Ailis said with a chuckle.

“At all events, I want to keep the children together,” Mary explained. “They have only each other in this world, you know.”

“Aye, mistress. Does the master ken aught o’ this yet?”

Seeing a twinkle in the maid’s eyes, Mary realized that it had been nearly three days since she had promised Pinkie she could go, and yet she had not heard a single word whispered about that promise within the household.

“Ailis, have you formed a conspiracy to keep it silent?”

Still twinkling, the maid shrugged. “We didna ken, ye see, but we didna think it would be Master Duncan’s notion tae tak’ the wee lassie along.”

If she had needed proof of her acceptance by the inhabitants of Balcardane Castle, Mary thought, she had received it. She wondered what other secrets Ailis might be keeping for her. There was at least one other that she might have deduced.

With a little shake of her head, Mary said, “You put me to shame, Ailis. I should not be the cause of your keeping secrets from his lordship. I will tell him tonight. It … it just went out of my head, I’m afraid.”

She believed she spoke the truth, but since she had slept in his bed and enjoyed his sexual attentions every night, and thus had had plenty of occasions to tell him, she felt like a coward nonetheless. Remembering that she had known even at the moment of telling Pinkie she could go that the decision would test Duncan’s promise, Mary wondered if her failure to tell him about it was truly inadvertent.

Keeping her other secret was not a matter of cowardice. Until she was sure of it herself, she had no intention of telling him. She would not do so before they returned from Inver House, in any event, because he had already decided the journey would be too much for his mother. At the merest hint that his wife might be bearing his child he would order her to stay behind as well, and Mary did not want him to have to face Caddell alone.

Taking her brush and donning a warm dressing gown over her night shift, she went into the bedchamber and drew a stool close to the fire. As she removed her cap and took the pins from her hair, she wondered if she feared his reaction.

“I am not afraid of him,” she murmured at last to the leaping flames. “I just did not want to add to his worries.”

Bending forward to let her hair swing down in a curtain before her, she brushed rhythmically the way her mother and sisters had taught her in childhood, counting quietly, letting her mind free itself of all thought but the number of strokes. As always, she felt her body begin to relax. It did not matter who did the brushing, Ailis or herself, so long as she did the counting in her mind.

So lost was she in that world between counting and full consciousness that she did not hear him enter and did not realize he was near until she heard him speak.

“Is that my wife or someone else?”

Starting, she straightened and flipped her hair back to look up at him, noting new lines at the outer corners of his mouth and eyes. “Come sit by the fire,” she said. “Ailis or someone brought wine earlier. I’ll pour you a glass if you like.”

“Pour another for yourself, lass.” Drawing the armchair near the fire, he sat wearily and began to pull off his boots. “Has Hardwick finished packing my gear?”

“I have not seen him, but I am sure he has, sir. Ring for him if you like.”

She saw his lips twitch. “I have your permission, do I?”

“Aye,” she said, pouring two glasses of claret from the decanter on the side table. “He must have brought the wine. I do not think Ailis would have thought of it without someone’s having asked her.”

He was silent; and Mary, conscious of his gaze, wondered why she hesitated to tell him about Pinkie. She told herself she was waiting for the best time to break the news to him, perhaps when he had relaxed a little.

A window rattled. “The wind is picking up,” he said.

“From which direction?”

“Southwest.” He grimaced. “I hope it shifts before morning and that the rain does not grow worse.”

“I am sure Caddell would understand,” she said gently.

“Blast Caddell. I want to give him back his daughter.”

Surprised into a gurgle of laughter, Mary hastily stifled it, but Duncan grimaced. “I see nothing funny about that.”

“I know you don’t. I was laughing because I was thinking only a short time ago that Serena was the primary reason for your concern about the weather. I am growing to know you rather well, I think.”

“You read my mind,” he said. “I’ve noticed it more than once. Are you going to make me get up for my wine, or do you intend to serve me?” There was a new look in his eyes, and he no longer seemed quite so tired.

Demurely, she said, “I will serve you gladly, my lord.” Moving toward him, holding both glasses carefully, she let her wrap fall open.

He reached for her. “I can teach you still other ways to serve me, lass.”

Putting his glass in his outstretched hand and stepping back before he could grab her with the other, she said, “First there is something I must tell you.”

He sighed. “I knew it. You are angry with me.”

“Angry!”

“Aye, don’t trouble to deny it. I’ve known it for days, but what with keeping watch over my father and attending to my mother, as well as making preparations for tomorrow’s journey, and all the rest, I just didn’t want to deal with that, too. You seemed easy enough to divert,” he added with a smile, “but we need to talk it out, lass. I warned you that I’d not change overnight.”

“Duncan, what are you talking about?”

His eyes widened. “Don’t you know? I was sure you were incensed because I’d no sooner told you I would trust your judgment than I scolded you unfairly for leaving the castle and then commanded you not to do it again.”

“Well, I am not angry,” she said. “Still, I’m glad that you feel a bit guilty, because what I want to tell you is that I told Pinkie she can go with us.”

“Then you can just tell her you were mistaken,” he said instantly. “Such a journey is no place for that child. My mother is not even going.”

“Duncan,” she murmured, moving close again. When she caught his eye, she shook her head gently. “I already told Pinkie that she can go. I am not taking Ailis, and Pinkie needs to stay with Chuff. She is afraid to remain here alone.”