Clandara (30 page)

“Well,” he repeated, “what point is there in delaying? Henry is coming back before the end of the month just to see you. Why don't you send him a message that when he comes you'll marry him?”

“Why do you want me to hurry?” she asked him. “There's a battle to be fought, have you forgotten? Supposing he is killed …”

“All the more reason,” her father said. “You may well be carrying the heir to the Ogilvies and to Clandara by then. Katharine, for the love of God, be sensible and show the poor fellow a little kindness. There is no time for delay now. Scotland is blazing round our ears; those dogs of English are destroying everything they can lay hands upon, and I tell you plainly that since that young madman has gone off to enlist with the Prince, his only hope is to be married to you so I can plead for him later.”

“You are so certain they'll be defeated,” she said.

“As certain as that the night follows the day,” her father answered. “There's not a chance for any of them. Damned fools! They're dealing with an experienced general in this German duke; he's fought in Europe and he knows the science of war, not like our gentlemen amateurs, bickering among themselves! The Stuarts are lost, and so are all who follow them. I said that before ever this war broke out. At least there'll be a few like ourselves who will survive the English vengeance. And I don't want my family to be wiped out, either by wars or the lack of heirs to follow me. Katharine, it is your duty to marry Henry while you can. As your father I ask it of you. See if you can give me a grandchild before I die. You owe me that at least.”

She looked up at him and her pale face flushed. He had not reproached her for Robert's death since that terrible day at Ben Mohire. But his eyes were hard now; there was no sympathy in them for her excuses and hesitations. He wanted the wedding and he wanted a child to take the place of the son who had been murdered by her lover. He was right; she did owe it to him. And she owed something to Henry too, before he went out on his impossible, quixotic venture into a war which was already lost.

“If you want me to do it, then I will,” she said. “I'll write tonight to him.”

“I'll have it sent to Inverness tomorrow,” the old Earl said. He came over and bent down, kissing his daughter's cheek.

“Thank you, my child. Now you're being sensible. All will be happy for you yet, you'll see.”

She got up and returned his kiss, and curtsied to him as she said good night. When Annie came to undress her, she told her to wait. The night, though very cold, was fine and clear, and she went to the window and opened it, looking up at the dark sky which was full of glittering stars. Behind her Annie shook out her velvet dressing-gown and laid the lawn night-robe on her bed.

“What is it, milady? Tell me, please.”

“I'm going to marry Mr. Ogilvie at the month's end. My father has insisted upon it.”

“Then you should be very happy,” Annie said. “Why postpone it longer, when there's a chance he may be killed? … Ach, you ought to be smiling, milady. Come, leave that window before ye catch your death of cold!”

“I wonder where he is,” Katharine said suddenly. “I wonder if he's still with that woman …”

“God protect us!” Annie stared at her in horror. “Are ye talking of that murderer again, after what his brother tried to do to ye? Are you mad?”

“No, just curious.” Katharine closed the window and turned round. “I wonder if he loves her,” she went on, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I can't imagine it. He was never capable of love.”

“I'm glad to hear you say that,” the maid said fiercely. “How can you mention him and a man like Mr. Ogilvie in the same breath? I won't discuss him with ye … it's wrong and it's a morbid sin against the one you're going to marry!”

“He's a good man,” Katharine said slowly. “How strange, there couldn't be a greater contrast to James Macdonald in the whole of Scotland. Virtuous, gentle, honourable, kind—” She laughed suddenly and beckoned Annie to begin unfastening her dress. “And yet I shall never love him, never. Now tell me I ought to be smiling and happy, you foolish creature!”

“I can't tell you anything,” Annie muttered. “Except that I'm sure ye'll bless the day you married him in the end.”

“No doubt,” Katharine agreed. She stepped out of her dress and Annie removed the tight bone corselet. She stood in her shift and then suddenly pulled it off and waited naked for a moment, while her nightgown was opened up and drawn over her head. “When I'm too old to remember and my blood is too sluggish to run fast for any man, then I'll bless the day. But not before. Leave me now, Annie. I'll snuff my own candles.”

“Good night then, milady.” For a moment Annie hesitated, then suddenly she put her arms around her young mistress and hugged her awkwardly.

“Be patient,” she whispered. “They tell me love breeds love. I'm sure it will be so for both of you.”

Katharine lay back and smiled at her as she went out and the door closed. Under the sheets she slowly touched her own body; coolly, as if it belonged to a stranger. It would be as chilled and stiff under the hands of her husband as it was under her own; his touch had never roused her, his kisses and the circumspect caresses she had permitted him might just as well have been bestowed on someone else for all the effect they had upon her. And always afterwards the thought of James came creeping back into her mind like a serpent, stinging her with memories when the blood sang in her head and the vision blurred and her fiercely independent spirit implored the absolute subjection of her body. It would never be like that with Henry. It would never be like that with anyone again. Two weeks later the words in which that sentence had expressed itself came back to her as she knelt before the altar of the family chapel at Clandara with Henry Ogilvie beside her, and took her marriage vows.

“A healthy and long life of happiness to both of you! To you, Katharine, and to my new son, Henry!” The Earl raised his glass and the half a dozen guests assembled in the Green Salon did the same. The toast was drunk and the glasses flung into the fireplace where they smashed to pieces. It was the custom to hallow the toast by making sure the glasses never held wine for another.

Two elderly cousins, their close neighbours Lord and Lady Glendar and their niece Fiona, and Mrs. Ogilvie of Spey were gathered round the bride and groom. Katharine stood close beside Henry; she wore a white dress, simply cut and frilled with rows of exquisite lace, and her family's jewelled headpiece glittered in her hair. She did not look pale because Annie had insisted upon rouging her, and the paint disguised the fact that there was not a vestige of colour in her face. Everyone agreed that she looked beautiful, and Henry's arm was round her waist, and he had her other hand in his, the hand on which his new ring shone. His mother gazed at them both with moist and happy eyes. She had always liked Katharine, in spite of the fact that she was such a beauty and of imposing presence, and her son was so happy that she discounted all her fears. Dear Henry; her maternal smile of pride and tenderness shone on him like sunshine. He looked more handsome than she had ever seen him in his wedding suit of pale blue velvet and the kilt woven of fine silks. She went to the Earl and said gently: “What a splendid pair they make, my son and your daughter. This is a very happy day for me.”

“No happier than it is for me,” the Earl answered. “I've known Henry and loved him as if he were mine own. Now I have settled Katharine safely with him, I have no cares left in this world. Let me get you something more to drink, madam. Davie, bring the wine here for the lady of Ogilvie.”

It was a very small wedding, quite unlike the pomp with which the Frasers married off their children, but all their close neighbours were with the Prince at Inverness, and there was little enthusiasm for extravagance in the countryside. The doom of defeat and retribution hung over so many families that pride alone would not have permitted them to drink and celebrate in the house of one who had remained neutral.

Lord Glendar moved over to speak to Katharine. He was a small man, middle-aged and nondescript in appearance, but he was very rich and influential, with distant kinship through marriage to the treacherous Earl of Breadalbane and his Campbells. He had no sons and he had not joined the Rising himself; that and his connection with the Campbells, who were as busily despoiling their own people as the soldiers of the King of England, ensured for him the safety of his family and the immunity of his fine mansion. He bowed to Henry and kissed Katharine's hand.

“My compliments to you both. You look exceedingly well, my dear, and I may say that this is a doubly happy occasion for me; firstly I haven't seen your father since July, and secondly I find you married to someone of whom everyone heartily approves.” He could remember that ball so well and seeing her sweep past him on the arm of James, her flushed and lovely face upturned towards him, his dark one bent down to hers. The old nobleman glanced across the room towards his niece; she was talking happily to Mrs. Ogilvie. Remembering the unwelcome suit of Hugh Macdonald, he frowned and moved away. The silly child had been quite besotted for a time. Luckily she was well under age and sufficiently frivolous to be quickly diverted by the other eligible young men who came to call on them. It had taken a bloodthirsty murder to break Katharine from her engagement to the elder Macdonald. How very fortunate, he thought, as he made conversation with one of Clandara's old spinster cousins, how very fortunate that she was safely bestowed upon such an excellent, sensible husband as Ogilvie. Lord Glendar was convinced that the management of a large house and the regular delivery of children were the only possible means of happiness for any woman. His ideal was the serenely settled matron who gave to her husband the absolute obedience she exacted from her children and her servants. His own wife was a delicate, nervous woman who had lost four children in infancy and now devoted her time and energy to his orphaned niece. When Fiona was married, he did not know how his wife would occupy herself … At that moment Fiona Mackintosh of Glendar made her way to Katharine. She was very pretty, with a rosy complexion and soft fair hair; her hazel eyes shone up at Katharine and at Henry, and she exclaimed in admiration of the elegant dress and its abundant lace.

“I'll just go to my mother, sweetheart,” Henry said. He squeezed her hand and moved away. And when he was gone the young girl glanced quickly after him in the direction of her uncle and aunt.

“Lady Katharine, I must speak to you. Can you come over to the window with me? I mustn't be overheard.”

“Of course. Come, I'll show you this picture in the corner, by the north window. No one will disturb us for a moment.”

“Thank you.” They were apart from the rest now, apparently absorbed by the small landscape before which they were standing, and Katharine said quietly, “Tell me, what is the matter, Fiona?”

“I don't know how to start,” the girl began. “To you, of all people. But there's no one else I dare ask … Lady Katharine, do you know what has become of … Hugh Macdonald?”

To her surprise she saw the genuine colour rise in Katharine's face, and when she spoke her voice was strained and shaking.

“Why do you mention that name to me on this day? What is Hugh Macdonald to you?”

“I love him.” The answer was very soft, almost a whisper. The large bright eyes looked up at her; she reminded Katharine of a small, trusting animal. “My uncle forbade me to see him again. The last time was in Edinburgh when we went to see the Prince. I saw him then and I expected we would be formally betrothed. But my uncle heard things and suddenly turned against us. He doesn't know I ever think of Hugh now, but with all these stories of the retreat and the battle that's coming …” She hesitated, and then hurried on. “I wanted to know if he was safe … I thought you might have news …”

“I know nothing about him,” Katharine said. She took the girl by the elbow and their backs were turned towards the room.

“All I know is this, you are the most fortunate girl in Scotland to have been saved from him in time. You say you love him. Let me tell you this: if he did not seduce you, it was only because he wanted to marry you for your money. It was he who killed my brother Robert, killed him from behind like some low footpad in the back streets of Inverness. Put him out of your head and your heart, and thank God for your escape. That's all I have to say to you.”

“I understand,” Fiona Mackintosh said. “And I'm sorry if I've caused you any pain by asking you. But I knew he was a bad man, you know,” she added gently. “Everyone knew it. But that doesn't stop me loving him any more than it stopped you loving his brother. Excuse me, Lady Katharine, I see my aunt is coming over.”

“Why now, what were you talking about, my love?” Henry had come back and he put his arm around her tenderly. “You look distressed.”

She looked up at him and managed to smile.

“We were talking about my trousseau,” she said. “And I'm afraid the poor child was woefully disappointed when I told her how meagre it was. I had so little time, after all!”

“You shall have all the fine things you wish,” he said fondly. “As soon as this business is over and we can be together in peace, I shall personally supervise your choice. I have decided views on what you should wear, my darling one, and from now on you shall do nothing without consulting me.” He laughed and kissed her, and she felt the pressure of his arm as it tightened on her and his lips hesitated against her cheek.

“How nice it is to see you two.” Lady Glendar came up to them, followed by the Earl of Clandara. “So few young people show their feelings now; we went to the marriage of some cousins of mine a few months ago, and they stood like statues beside each other, not a word or a kiss between them … so discouraging, I think, for the future …” She wandered off, and within the next half-hour the others took their leave. By late afternoon only Katharine, her husband and her father and mother-in-law were left. They dined quietly, and throughout the meal she maintained her calm and responded to the smiles and banter of the two old people, both of whom were mellowed by emotion and, in the Earl's case, by a prodigious amount of whisky. She had only to look up to see Henry watching her, his face suffused with tenderness and pride and the longing to be alone with her at last. She drank his health and her mother-in-law's, and deliberately did not dawdle because her pride would not allow it. And when the time came for them to say good night, she kissed her father and Mrs. Ogilvie and went upstairs on her husband's arm.