Lord of the Black Isle (14 page)

Over and over the words played in her head like a litany, until she wondered if she was becoming deranged, or was she hopelessly confused. How had she gone from being intelligent, self-possessed, pleasant, and resolute to stupid, confused, insecure, and indecisive in such a short time?
My
life
is
running
off
in
a
direction
I
don't want to go, and I don't know how to turn it around. Am I not the master of my own ship, the heroine in my own play?

“What's done cannot be undone. To bed… to bed… to bed…”

She turned around and brought her hand up to her chest as if that could still the frantic beating of her heart. “You took your sweet time showing yourself. I was beginning to think there was some truth to that story of you and the Countess of Sussex. Were you off gallivanting with her?”

Sir James crossed his arms and looked down at her with a grandfatherly expression. “Ye are upset.”

She clapped her hands on her hips. “Gee whiz, how could that be true? Especially when things have been going so very, very well and you have been a peach to visit me frequently, just to see how I am faring?”

“Ye may not be upset, but ye are angry.”

“I
know
I'm angry and I am also upset, so don't tell me you popped in here to tell me something I already know. You haven't exactly been involved in your own mischief, and I am not the kind to be enamored with being bounced around like a puppet on a string. I like order in my life. I like to make plans and execute them. I want to feel I have some control over my own destiny. I want to know what is going on here and how you intend to take care of the situation I find myself in. And lastly, just where in the devil have you been? I have needed help and guidance, and you have ignored me.”

“I havena come to yer assistance because ye didna need assistance.”

“I need assistance right now.”

“Nae, lass, ye dinna need that. Ye are no' a lass who likes to be led along and told what to do. So, I ha' given ye the opportunity to make yer own way.”

“Make my own way… hogwash! If I leapt off a bridge, thinking I could fly, would you sit back and let me break my fool neck?”

“There are some things I can do and some things I canna. If ye are determined to jump, I canna intervene.”

“And yet you call my being held prisoner here an opportunity?” She was thinking she could die in this place and Isobella would never know.

He laughed, “Nae, lass, I would tell her.”

“Are my thoughts public property?”

“Some o' them are.”

She was wondering if a ghost could become senile—after all, he was certainly old enough.

“Nae, senility belongs to the living.”

“Why don't I just sit down and think about what I want to say in our conversation, and you can do all the talking? Why are you here? Why did everything work out so well for Isobella, while I'm having nothing but obstacles in my path? She married the man she loved.”

“As will ye.”

Her eyes popped open. Well, that was more like it. But then, he was probably just telling her that to humor her. And if there was anything Elisabeth hated with a capital
H
, it was being humored. “And to whom will I be married? And when?” she asked, not really believing him, so she wanted proof.

“When the time is ripe.”

“Get a new pet reply. I'm tired of that one. Why are you being so hard on me?”

“He who will not be ruled by the rudder must be ruled by the rock. Ye are blaming me for your own wrong-headed decisions, when it isna my fault ye are doing too much thinking and not enough action.”

“So in response to all my shortcomings, you come in here quoting Lady Macbeth? Am I supposed to go out and gather eyes of newt and toes of frogs?”

“Nae… unless it pleases ye to do so.”

“Then you tell me, what does my current situation have to do with Lady Macbeth or Shakespeare?
Macbeth
is tragedy.”

His brows raised, and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, then, with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Aye, 'tis true it is a tragedy. Which is naught more than a serious play with a tragic theme involving a heroic struggle and the downfall of the main character. Does that sound familiar?”

She gasped. “Downfall! Are you predicting my demise?”

“Nae, but one can be brought to ruin or to sorrow as a consequence of their actions, whether it be a tragic flaw, a moral weakness, or simply because they canna cope with unfavorable circumstances.”

He was diving pretty deep with his rhetoric now, and she wasn't in the mood, so she changed the subject when she asked, “So, are you going to get me out of this mess or not?”

His eyes were bright as sapphires and there was laughter in them, which she chose to ignore, her plight being, in her mind, nothing to laugh about. He could not humor her with bright, shining, beautiful blue eyes—or they could turn red and flaming, but neither one would work. She wasn't being bought off so cheaply. She was getting smarter now. She wanted answers. And she was going to get them. “So, are you going to intervene?”

“Nae, I canna live yer life for ye, but I can give ye a poke and a prod now and then.”

“I feel over-poked and prodded already. Have you not been watching? I've been bounced all over the place, kidnapped more than I want to remember by the MacLeans, and then hauled here at a miserable pace. So, what am I supposed to do?”

“Ye could stop feeling sorry for yersel'. Ye always had the ability to control yer destiny, but ye choose not to make changes but wait for change to happen.”

“If you think I can simply fly out the window and walk away from here and not be hauled back…”

“Ye dinna listen, lass. 'Tis sometimes a problem fer ye, for yer mind races ahead o' my wirds.”

Well, that sure slammed a damper on things. “Okay, I can take constructive criticism, so where am I off on all of this?”

“Destiny will happen. Ye either strive to find it, or ye sit back and wait fer it to find ye.”

All the wind seemed to go out of her sails with a giant
whoosh!
For how could she fight what was foreordained? “Destiny packs quite a wallop, and I'm beginning to hate that word. It is an inexorable ruler and not fair in the least, for determination and physical ability have no authority over it. I do all the work and feel all the pain, and destiny gets the credit. It seems destiny is something gained through immense suffering. And I hate that!” And she stamped her foot for emphasis. “It makes me feel like a puppet. Destiny is an excuse for everything, even crime.” She gave him a direct look. “It is all rather hopeless, isn't it?”

“Nae, lass, ye have no reason to be so doon aboot it. There is always room for optimism, ye ken. 'Tis no' so difficult when ye ken the formula.”

That got her attention. “Formula? What formula is that?”

“Change what ye can change, and find a purpose in that which ye canna change.”

“Find a purpose? Are you saying I am not going to leave here, so I have to dig in and make the most of it?”

“Ye are a creature born to make yer own choices, and I canna tell ye what yer future holds, but I can help ye to find it.”

She thought of the words of Dryden: “‘For present joys are more to flesh and blood than a dull prospect of a distant good.'”

The sparkle of his eyes lit up the room. “Aye, lass, now ye ha' discovered the way o' it. For a while there, I thought a Heilan' coo could sooner be broke to ride than fer ye to get the understanding o' it.”

She smiled and said, “Well, that was a first… I've never, ever been compared to a Highland cow before.” She was about to say more, but he smiled brilliantly, and his image began to sparkle like a million lighted pinpricks before it began to grow lighter and lighter until nothing remained, save the memory that he had been here.

She fell into bed, rolled over, punched the pillow into some sort of shape for her to sleep upon, and placing her head there, she closed her eyes, the words of the Black Douglas floating in and out of her consciousness. She yawned and fell into a deep sleep, unaware that it was due to a sweet breath of air that floated into the room and left her feeling strangely calm and comforted.

***

She awoke the next morning and decided that she could either spend the day feeling sorry for herself as she had been doing of late, or she could stiffen her spine and find something to do—beside waiting on Lord Difficult to see what his mercurial mood suggested. So, she dressed and went down to find something she could wrap in a kerchief and take with her, for she needed exercise and needed to be out of doors.

She put on a dark blue dress and discovered it was cut lower than the others she had worn, but it was simple, with a full skirt that would give her room to walk and climb, if need be, and she liked the color blue.

A short time later, she walked into the bustling kitchen. The castle cook, Mrs. Duffy, was a pleasant sort, with a round face and a cheery greeting: “Good morning to ye, Mistress Douglas. May I be offering ye a bit o' breakfast this fine mornin'? Would ye be likin' a nice, hot bowl o' porridge?”

Elisabeth pulled the kerchief out of her pocket and offered it to Mrs. Duffy. “I would like something I can take outside with me, Mrs. Duffy, so porridge won't do.”

“Ahhh, 'tis a blessed mornin' to be oot an' aboot now, that is for certain, for the sun is shining and there is nary a cloud in sight. I can wrap ye up a nice currant scone, wi' a spot o' butter, but let me get ye a cup o' tea to warm ye while ye wait.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Elisabeth sat at the table in the kitchen and sipped her tea, finishing it about the time Mrs. Duffy brought her the kerchief.

“I put two scones there fer ye, in case ye wander aboot a wee bit longer than ye planned. 'Tis such a lovely day fer it.”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Duffy. I will be on my way.”

It was the first time Elisabeth had ventured out beyond the castle walls to familiarize herself with this part of the Black Isle, for it was quite different from the gray fortress that was Màrrach Castle, which seemed to rise out of the Atlantic with all the fury of a volcano, surrounded by a savage sea.

Compared to Màrrach, Aisling Castle was a study in stately tranquility. Built in the thirteenth century, it was a large fortified enclosure, known as a quadrilateral, with thick curtain walls twenty feet high, six square towers with parapets with embrasures for defense, and rampart walks that ran the length of the curtain walls. Entry was through a portcullis, and in the square towers there were pointed arch windows facing the courtyard. The inner bailey was quite large and there was room for a nice garden, but today she walked beneath the portcullis and out of the castle.

She had not walked too far when she saw a fairly large building through the trees, and her curiosity, getting the better of her, caused her to veer off the narrow trail and do a little investigating, it did seem strange that another building would be so close, yet outside the wall of the outer bailey.

At that moment, she realized it was an old, abandoned abbey of a decent size, with two smaller outbuildings and a burial ground adjacent to one side. Although it was not common knowledge, Isobella said abbeys usually had a burial crypt that was in the central court of the castle, with an opening and steps leading down to a hidden tunnel that ran to another crypt in the abbey. Suddenly, she remembered that when she first arrived, Ailis had told her there was a hidden tunnel, laughing as she told how she and her brothers and sisters would play in it when they were children.

Elisabeth paused to take in her surroundings, for the peaceful tranquility called out to her. The setting around Aisling Castle was as magnificent as it was idyllic and pastoral, with cattle and sheep grazing in pastures that had been cleared from a thick stand of trees on the southern slope, while the wooded glens were home to deer and wild boar, and not far away there were wildly tumbling falls that gave way to the placid meanderings of Markie Burn.

At that particular moment, David happened to be in his study, where he was staring out the window, deep in thought about Elisabeth and what to do with her. He wanted to keep her here but had no valid reason for doing so, and as a peer of the realm, he should allow her to go.

With a sigh, he was about to turn away when he caught sight of Elisabeth and watched her enter the old abbey. Suddenly, his brain felt as if it was struck by lightning, for he knew the perfect way to keep her here. She wanted to work in a hospital, so why not give her a hospital here at Aisling Castle? The old abbey would be a perfect place where she could design her hospital and conduct her work away from the castle. And a hospital here would provide a great service, for there was not another place to receive medical treatment nearby.

He turned away, thinking about what would be the best time and place to mention it to her, for he did not want to wait overly long.

Still intrigued by the abandoned abbey, Elisabeth found the door unlocked and pushed it open, shuddering when it scraped against the stone floor, the sound of it sending chills down her spine. Her first thought was that it would make a great haunted house.

Sunlight filtered through the windows to provide enough light for her to satisfy her curiosity, and she went first to inspect a raised dais at one end beneath an arched glass window that was, remarkably, still intact. The crypt was at the opposite end, which was probably where the tunnel from the castle ended. She stood there for a moment looking at the crypt and thinking she could hear, beneath the cold slab, the soft, sad music of the humanity that resided there, and she wondered about the nameless acts of kindness, the unremembered deeds, the moments of joy and kindness, and the depth of love they once knew. She wondered, too, what ailments they had died of, and then her heart began to pound and she had difficulty breathing, but she was not afraid, for she knew it wasn't the crypt or the tunnel that caused her mind to race.