Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (39 page)

There was a hill on the General's estate from which one could
obtain a very fine view of the surrounding countryside and, on a clear
day, see all the way to the Isle of Arran. It was a pleasant spot, the
thick turf providing a soft blanket underfoot, and several large old
trees offering sprawling patches of shade if the sun should prove too
warm. Josie and her friend Maisie had sometimes brought their dolls up
here, and the hill had served variously as the afterdeck of a great
galleon deliciously pursued by bloodthirsty pirates, or as the topmost
parapet of some mighty castle from which the two "ladies" had watched
their knightly lords set forth to battle oppression and tyranny, with
an occasional dragon thrown in for good measure.

To this peaceful retreat on a warm afternoon some eight days
after the confrontation at Castle Tyndale came Alain Devenish, head
down bent and heart as heavy as his dragging steps. He strolled to the
tree that was closest to the western side of the hill and settled
himself down with his back propped against the trunk. The valley
between this hill and the one whereon stood Steep Drummond stretched
out lush and green below him, smoke wound lazily into the air from two
chimneys of the great house, and, far off, the sea, incredibly blue
under the azure bowl of the heavens, stretched into a misty distance.

The young man's brooding gaze saw none of this beauty, but saw
instead a slim girl on her knees in the vast hall of Castle Tyndale,
her great eyes, hate-filled, flashing up at him… Down in the meadow, a
small disgruntled creature named Socrates came upon a placid milk cow
and hurled himself into battle, barking shrilly. The sound travelled
all the way to the hilltop on the warm air, but Devenish heard only a
beloved voice railing at him as it never had railed before. "Murderous
savage… May God forgive you! I never shall!" And he thought with
longing that was a pain, "Yolande… Yolande…" Her face, fondly smiling
now, was before his eyes, wherefore he closed them and leaned his head
back.

Perversely, it was Tyndale he saw then. Tyndale, standing
astride him during the fight with Akim and Benjo; laughing when he was
staggered by a blow, and fighting on dauntlessly; Tyndale, looking so
confoundedly magnificent in his Scots regalia, with that uncertain grin
on his face. Tyndale, shouting a warning and leaping forward to push
him clear, thus taking the ball that had been meant for him… Somewhere
at the back of his bedevilled brain a soft voice whispered, "Greater
love hath no man…" He swore and bowed his head into his hands, and
though he would fiercely have denied it, his grief was not entirely for
his lost love, but some was for the man he had come to like and admire;
and who had betrayed him.

For a long time he remained thus, trying to form some plan for
the future; trying to envision a future in which there was no sparkle
of laughing green eyes, no soft, teasing, musical little voice, no
warmth of hearth and home—and children… But gradually he sensed that he
was not alone and, looking up, found a small figure kneeling beside
him. When the wistful dark eyes encountered his own, the child said
nothing, but thrust a small, rather wilted bouquet of tiny daisies at
him. Touched, and faintly smiling, he took it, and she sighed,
murmuring regretfully, "I got nothing else to give you."

"This is just right," he said. "Thank you." And, with an
attempt at lightness, "But it is not my birthday, you know."

"I picked 'em for you 'cause you was hurting so bad. I'd have
bringed hundreds of roses and great big dailies, if I could. Or I'd
have made him better for you. I asked God to make him better, so p'raps
He will." A small grubby hand was placed comfortingly on Devenish's
immaculate sleeve. "Don't you never grieve so. If God needs him in
Heaven, you shouldn't ought to angrify about it."

He looked away from her earnest face, flushing slightly. "I
expect you are right." Her eyes seemed so piercingly intent. There was
no telling what might be going on in her funny little head. Hurriedly,
he asked, "What have you been up to these past few days? I fear I've
neglected you. Have you been playing with your friend?"

"No. Her mum wouldn't let us. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, of course. Maisie, wasn't it? And she has the measles."

"She's better. But Mrs. MacFarlane's poorly. I thought she was
cocking up her toes, 'cause they asked the vicar to come and see
her—only they call him a minster. Next day when I went to take her a
rose, she was up, and she was lots better. I was s'prised. That minster
must be God's bosom bow to make her well so quick. P'raps we should get
him to come and make Major Craig better."

"Perhaps," he gritted. "Was Mrs. MacFarlane cross because you
went to her house?"

"No. I thinked she would be, but she wasn't. She was nice,
even when she talked so funny."

"Funny?"

"Mmmm. She asked me how Miss Yolande was, and I said I hadn't
hardly seen her, because she's been so busy nursing of Major Craig. And
she started to look all weepy and said something about how good Miss
Yolande is, and now her heart is breaking 'cause her love is dying
under her very eyes. I told her she'd got it all wrong, 'cause
you
are—" She faltered to a stop, Devenish's suddenly bleak expression
causing her own eyes to become very big indeed. "Oh… my!" she gasped.
And without warning she threw her frail arms around his neck, hugging
him so hard he all but choked. "Never look so, dear soul! Oh, my poor,
dear soul!" she said with a sob. "I'll take care of ye. Ah—never look
so!"

Succeeding in freeing himself from her stranglehold, Devenish
regarded her wonderingly. "What are these?" he smiled, removing a
glittering drop from her cheek. 'Tears? For me? No need, m'dear. I'm
fine as fivepence, I do assure you!"

His grin was as bright and cheerful as ever, but she was
undeceived. She buried her cheek against his cravat and hugged as much
of him as she could reach. "How
could
she?" she
gulped. "Oh, how
could
she like him best—when she
could have
you
?"

Devenish's grin took on a set look. But, after all, there was
no need to dissemble with the child. "Tell you the truth," he said
wryly, "I've wondered as much myself. But—no accounting for tastes."
Once more, he gently disentangled himself and, looking down at her
woebegone face, said, "And there really is no cause for all these high
flights and tragic airs, milady elf. I wasn't thoroughly set on getting
leg-shackled. This is probably—probably better for everyone."

Having been deprived of throat and cravat, Josie hugged his
arm and, looking worshipfully up into his face, said with a sigh, "You
say that, but I know how your poor insides really feel. Anyone else,
they'd be waiting for Major Craig to get up, so they could shoot a hole
right through his breadbasket. But not you! He's lucky you love him,
else—"

"
Love
him?" exclaimed Devenish, revolted.
"I cannot
abide
the fellow!"

She gave a rather watery giggle. "I know. And you'll say you
don't give a button if he saved your life, or 'cause his dad and your
dad was such fine friends. You both pretend you don't like each other.
But you fights together, and you keeps together. You didn't run off and
leave him alone at that horrid castle, however creepy it is. And I
think he's very lucky that you… cannot 'bide him. Poor Mr. Dev! You
want her for your lady wife, but you're so good you'll probably wish
her happy—even if she's hacked your poor heart to little pieces!"

Shattered, Devenish scrambled hurriedly to his feet. He strode
to the brink of the hill and stood staring across the valley to that
other hill and the great house wherein was a quiet bedchamber and a
lovely lady—waiting. And he thought in stark misery, "Perhaps when my
dear cousin wakes up—if he wakes up—I
shall
shoot
a hole through his breadbasket."

Yolande came swiftly down the stairs and hurried to the small
parlour into which her unexpected guest had been shown. "Mrs.
MacFarlane!" she said, walking forward, hand outstretched. "I heard you
had been unwell. I am so glad you came to me. Is there some way in
which I may help you?"

The emaciated little woman sprang up to take her hand shyly
and drop a curtsy. Her own fingers trembled as she said in short
nervous gasps, 'Ye-ye have always been sae… sae verra good tae me. I
tae come find oot—how the poor gentleman goes on."

"How kind. Will you not sit here beside me? There, now we can
be comfortable. Major Craig remains the same. There is—no change, I'm
afraid." For an instant a look of desolation crossed that beauteous
face. Then Yolande bit her lip, raised her chin a little and, putting
aside her own sorrow, asked, "How is your little girl?"

"Och, sae much better, miss. She'd like fine for Miss Josie
tae come and see her, if it's nae forward tae ask it."

"But of course it is not." Yolande searched her face; it
seemed calmer. "Maisie is—quite better?" she asked, wondering at this
new demeanour.

"Aye. Thank you. But if ye fear Miss Josie might catch it, we
could wait a wee while."

"No, no. I expect Josie was exposed when they played together
at all events. She might already have had measles. I only wondered… you
seem less, er—"

"Troubled, Miss? Well, I am. I've come tae—" She drew a deep
breath. Almost, thought Yolande, as though she were nerving herself for
some tremendous task. "I'd not thought tae ever do this," Mrs.
MacFarlane said, gripping her bony hands.

"Likely I'd nae be doing it the noo, but—ye've been sae good.
And even with your man lying there, ye came doon, thinking I had need
of ye. I felt fair horrid, and I could nae—" She broke off with a gasp,
her frightened gaze darting to the open doorway.

Yolande glanced around. Devenish stood there. His fair curls
were disarrayed, and he looked out of breath as though he had come in
haste, but in his eyes was an expression she had never thought to see
there again, and that brought hope to brighten her heavy heart a
little. So it was that for one of the very few times in her life.
Yolande Drummond was so discourteous as to completely forget a visitor.
She stood, saying eagerly, "Dev… ? Oh, Dev—have you forgiven me, then?"

"No," he replied tenderly, reaching out to her. "For the only
one who needs forgiveness is this hot-tempered idiot."

With a glad little sob, she flew to take his hands and then
allow herself to be enveloped in a hug.

Devenish closed his eyes for an instant, savouring to the full
that bitter-sweet embrace. "Lord," he said, his voice low and husky
with emotion, "what an ill-grained clod I am! The most important
challenge of my life, and I was so unsportsmanlike as to lose without
grace—without honesty; having the unspeakable arrogance to suppose that
merely because I so love you, it must follow that—"

She put up one soft hand to silence his words, then said very
gently, "I do love you, Dev. I always have. That is what made it so
very hard. But—it wasn't in… in just that very special way, do you see?"

The same cruel lance was piercing him, but he managed a smile.
"I do—now. And if I cannot have you for—my wife, I… I hope I may still
have you for my friend."

She blinked tears away. "Always, Dev. Dear Dev. Always."

"It's as well you agreed," he said shakily. "Else I might not
have told you." Her lovely brows arched enquiringly. How he longed to
kiss them… Instead, he took his handkerchief and carefully dried her
tears. "There is a curst great clod of a Colonial upstairs," he
imparted, "of whom I have, unhappily, become quite fond. That starched
Amazon of a nurse tells me that—he is calling for you."

Yolande uttered a gasp and, paling, put a trembling hand to
her throat. She searched his face and as he nodded, she sped to the
door. Watching her, Devenish's fond smile faded into a wistful sadness.
He had to replace the smile very quickly when

Yolande paused and spun about, but she had seen that changed
expression and suffered her own pang. "Dev," she said timidly. "Will
you—come? I'm… afraid…"

He went at once to her side. "Silly chit," he said.

They entered the room together. Montelongo stood beside the
bed, beaming. Craig's eyes turned to them eagerly, but saw only
Yolande. With a glad little cry she went to take the hand he raised and
clasp it between both her own. For a few moments, neither spoke a word,
but looking from one rapturous face to the other, besides grief and
yearning, Devenish experienced a sense of awe.

"Oh, my dear," breathed Yolande at length. "You have come back
to me at last. How are you?"

"I feel… splendid," he said, faint but radiant. "Only—a touch
pulled. What a clunch to have gone off like that, yesterday."

Devenish chuckled, and his cousin's eyes flashed to him. "It
wasn't yesterday, gudgeon. It was eight days since. And if you doubt
me, feel your chin!"

Tyndale's hand wavered upward. He touched the thick beard and
gasped a disbelieving, "
Eight… days
… ?"

"Slugabed," said Devenish, and thought, "Lord, but he looks a
rail!"

Briefly, bewilderment held sway, then remorse rushed in on
Tyndale. He started up. "Dev! Yolande—what she said in the castle—I
mean— There was nothing ever— She didn't mean…" The words trailed off,
and he gave a helpless gesture.

Devenish said with a wry smile, "Do you tell me I have so
nobly stepped aside for no cause? If you do not want the lady…"

"
Want
her… ?" Tyndale gazed at Yolande
with total adoration. "There are no words. But—" Again, his hollow eyes
turned to Devenish. He said with sober intensity, "I swear to you—I
have done nothing—said nothing, to betray you, Devenish. Nor to bring
dishonour upon her."

" 'I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honour
more…'?" Devenish quoted softly. He walked to the bed and looked
squarely at Tyndale. "You are in that bed, cousin, because you took
something meant for me. It was bravely done, and I thank you."