Three Little Secrets (26 page)

“Welcome, my lady, to Castle Kerr,” he said coolly. “I hope you will make my home yours.”

He did not sound as if he quite meant it.

Merrick was conferring with Phipps about the baggage. Madeleine noticed that his heavy, raven-colored hair had grown too long since they had left London. Today, dressed for the Scottish countryside, he looked very different. Beneath an unadorned waistcoat, he wore a plain shirt of a heavier, softer cloth than Madeleine was accustomed to. No cravat or stock circled his collar, and instead, it lay open at the throat. He wore his snug buff breeches and tall brown boots, and on the whole, he looked every inch a rural Scottish laird.

Just then, Phipps nodded and stepped away. Merrick came forward, speaking first to Geoff, then to the others. Introductions were made to Alasdair’s wife. The young lady looked far younger than Sir Alasdair, and she appeared to be a Scot as well. Her name was Esmée, and Madeleine was surprised to learn they had been wed but a few weeks.

The surprise was forgotten when the elderly woman came forward to greet them. Lady Annis MacGregor looked even more unyielding when seen up close. With little regard for the others, her grandsons included, she went straight to Geoff as if drawn by a magnet, kneeling ever so slightly.

“Aye, this would be the one, would it no’?” she said, looking the boy straight in the eyes.

Merrick joined them. “Granny, this is Geoff,” he said. “Geoffrey Archard, her ladyship’s son.”

The old woman set a hand to the boy’s cheek, and her eyes flared wide.
“Sac trom air a’ chois chaoil!”
she whispered.

Merrick gave a nervous cough. “Granny, we’ve little Gaelic.”

Her hand still on Geoff’s cheek, the old woman turned to look at her grandson. “’Tis as you said,” she answered. “And a heavy load for a slender leg.”

Over the boy’s head, Merrick and Madeleine exchanged glances. The old woman stood. “This one maun come w’ me,” she said firmly, taking Geoff’s hand. “Alasdair, will ye take everyone intae the armory for tea?”

Madeleine shot a questioning glance at Merrick. He inclined his head ever so slightly. He was right, of course. There was no harm in Geoff’s going away with the old woman. They had already vanished into the shadowy entrance to the castle when Alasdair’s wife touched her lightly on the arm.

“Will you wish to bathe and change from your traveling clothes, my lady?” she asked politely. “I should be pleased to show you to your rooms.”

Madeleine looked about. Phipps was helping Eliza take down the hand luggage. “Yes, thank you.” She returned her gaze to Lady MacLachlan. “That would be most welcome.”

The young woman led her up the steps and into the house. “I hope you will call me Esmée,” she said, starting up a twisting staircase to their left.

“You are very kind,” she answered. “And I am Madeleine.”

Madeleine took in her surroundings as they turned corners and traversed small corridors. “Do you know where Lady Annis will have taken my son?”

“Up to the Tower Room, I daresay,” said Esmée. “It is the castle office, and her sitting room, too.”

“Is that far?” she asked, trying not to sound anxious. “Either the house is terribly large, or I am disoriented.”

“You are disoriented,” she said, smiling at Madeleine over her shoulder. “The castle is small by English standards, but very rambling. There is one staircase which goes nowhere, and a couple of doors with nothing but walls behind them.”

They had turned into a long room hung with portraits. “My, I have never seen so much stone in one place before,” Madeleine mused. Like the rest of the castle, the place looked to be made of little more than granite, including the high, vaulted ceiling.

Esmée laughed. “Medieval, is it not?” she said. “This is the old billeting hall, but it is used now as more of a drawing room. It was built in the fifteenth century, and little changed. I am afraid the MacLachlans have never believed in wasting money on decor.”

The entire house had a certain charm, a Scottish charm, she supposed. Were the house an English one, it would surely have been paneled and plastered long ago, but so far, Madeleine had seen no paint, no pilasters, no pier glasses, indeed, not so much as a lick of gilding. Save for the exquisite Turkey carpets and still-brilliant tapestries, the castle appeared to have been left untouched for about four hundred years.

After passing through the billeting hall, they reached another flight of stairs. Eventually they came out in a short flagstone passageway which, even at this hour, was lit by flickering sconces. Esmée paused at a short, wide door, lifted the wrought-iron latch, and gave the door a little shove with her hip. “Old houses,” she said apologetically, as the door scraped, then swung inward.

The room was not large, but it was glorious. Shaped like a half-moon, the chamber was fitted with a fine old four-poster bed with woven wool hangings and a matching counterpane. One wall was hung with tapestries, whilst the concave wall was set with a deep window fitted with an embroidered window seat. The window was clearly a recent alteration.

Madeleine went to the window, threw back the draperies, and looked out. The effect was dizzying, for the room gave the impression of being almost suspended over the loch. Esmée appeared at her elbow. “Breathtaking, is it not?”

“I have never seen the like,” said Madeleine.

The loch could be seen in its entirety from this vantage point. It was shaped like a perfect oval, with a tiny, tree-filled island dotted in the center. She watched the shimmering water for a moment, then reluctantly turned from the window. Esmée was staring at her.

“Is something amiss?”

Her hostess shook her head as if to dispel a dream. “No, I am sorry,” she said in her faint Highland accent. “You must excuse me. It is just…well, just seems so strange to have you here. I’d no notion until yesterday…well, that Merrick even
had
a wife.”

Madeleine opened her mouth to say that she was not his wife, that their union had long ago been torn asunder. But she was no longer sure that that was truly so, not legally—and on her part, not even emotionally.

She was saved from blurting out such a foolish response by a noise at the door. A servant in woolen breeches and a long, leather vest was carrying in cans of water. Eliza followed him in with two portmanteaus.

Esmée moved to the door. “I should leave you now,” she said. “I shall see you downstairs shortly. Do make yourself at home.”

Dinner that evening was served at six, and for Madeleine, it was an awkward affair. Because the only other child in the house was Esmée’s sister, Lady Annis decreed that Geoff was to dine with the adults. Somewhat cowed by the new faces, the child said little. Merrick, too, was quiet, but more than once Madeleine felt the heat of his gaze upon her. Between Mr. Frost and Sir Alasdair, who was in his usual charming form, the dinner conversation carried on reasonably well. Lady Annis seemed content to observe, but she watched much as a hawk might watch its prey.

Madeleine wondered what excuse Merrick had given his family for their unexpected visit. Of course, everyone save Geoff and his tutor knew that Madeleine had once been Merrick’s wife. Sir Alasdair was only too well aware. Though polar opposites in both looks and temperament, the brothers had always been close, and Alasdair obviously blamed Madeleine for the ruined marriage.

After dinner, the family retired to the drawing room for cards, save for Lady Annis, who pleaded the infirmities of old age and retired to her sitting room on Merrick’s arm. Mr. Frost, Esmée, Alasdair, and Geoff made up a table for whist, whilst Madeleine retired to a corner by the windows.

Across the loch, the sun was finally setting, casting a purplish shimmer across the water. Gazing at it, Madeleine was seized by the sudden urge to be out of doors. To row upon the loch, or swim in it, or merely stroll around its shore. Anything to be closer to its splendor, and to draw nearer to the amethyst mountain rising up beyond. She leaned forward, and for an instant, her hand hovered at the glass as if she might touch the beauty.

“It is called Beinn Donachain,” said a quiet voice at her elbow.

Madeleine started. Merrick had returned to the room.

“Beautiful, is it not?” He was leaning over her, one hand braced on her chair arm.

She held his gaze uncertainly. Seeing no discord there, she relaxed. “And that one?” she asked, pointing further beyond.

“Beinn Eunaich.” His tongue seemed to caress the words and lace them with a hint of the Highlands, which made her shiver.

“And there? What is that one?”

“Beinn Larachan.”

“Beinn Larachan,” she echoed. But from her lips, the word did not fall so beautifully. “Their names are lovely,” she remarked. “What lies beyond?”

Merrick sat down in the adjacent chair, and propped his chin on his fist. “More mountains?” he answered, as if it were a question, and not an answer. “Loch Etive. Loch Linnhe. And on to the Isle of Mull, I suppose.”

On impulse, Madeleine leaned nearer. “And this loch,” she said, her voice coming out too softly. “What is it called?”

“Loch Orchy,” he said. “But as lochs go, it is a mere pond.”

“It seems enchanted,” she said. “Indeed, this whole place seems enchanted. Your brother is most fortunate.”

“Aye, he is,” said Merrick with a muted smile. “And I think perhaps he is finally beginning to realize it.”

Madeleine looked at him quizzically. “Did he not do so before?”

Merrick’s expression grew more serious. “I think he was blinded by the pleasures of town for a time,” he answered. “My grandmother has been left to steward the place—not that she has objected.”

A ruffle of laughter broke out at the game table. Madeleine looked up to see Sir Alasdair tossing his cards into the air, scattering them across the carpet. Geoff fanned his hand across the table triumphantly. Inwardly, Madeleine smiled. Geoff was enjoying his new liberties. But in truth, the boy had begun long ago to seem old beyond his years.

She was recalled to the present by Merrick’s light touch on her arm. “My grandmother wishes to see you,” he said quietly. “May I show you to her rooms?”

Madeleine felt a flash of trepidation. “Yes, of course.”

Merrick rose, and escorted her from the room. This time their path through the house was more direct. After climbing the circular stairs again, Merrick paused at another of the too-short doors and rapped softly with the back of his hand.

At her answer, he pushed the door open. Lady Annis, MacGregor sat in an ornately carved armchair by the hearth, and a low fire burned in the grate. She motioned Madeleine forward. “Come, my dear, and sit,” she said. “I hope ye will no’ mind the fire. This time o’ night, I do feel my years.”

Merrick was pulling the door shut. Her head swiveled around. “Pray do not leave us, Merrick,” she said a little sharply. “I would speak with ye as well.”

With a look of reluctance, he ducked beneath the lintel and came in. He did not sit, but instead took up a spot by the mantel and crossed his arms over his chest, a stance Madeleine well recognized.

Lady Annis turned her attention to Madeleine. “I welcome ye most belatedly, my dear, tae Castle Kerr,” she said. “I had hoped tae see ye long ere now.”

It was a subtle rebuke, cloaked in politeness. Madeleine managed to smile. “I thank you, Lady Annis,” she answered. “Your home is lovely.”

The old lady tapped one fingernail on her chair arm, which was carved, somewhat appropriately, in the shape of a hawk’s claw. “Young Geoffrey is a fine, fair laddie,” she said at last. “Alas, I fear he has oftly been an unhappy one.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Aye, near enough,” she answered. “Though ’twas unnecessary. The burden—and the responsibility—which he bears is great.”

“You believe in this business, then?” asked Madeleine. “This…clairvoyance which Merrick speaks of?”

“Oh, aye,” she said quietly, her gaze turning uncharacteristically soft. “I have seen it too long and too well. ’Tis in the blood, both MacGregor and MacLachlan.”

Merrick laughed. “Aye, for we’re all cousins, one way or another.”

The old lady inclined her head almost regally. “Aye, so we are.”

Madeleine could not entirely hide her skepticism. “And so you can just…see into the future? Whenever you wish? Is that it?”

The old lady shook her head. “Ye mistake what it is, my dear,” she said. “There are nae gypsies here polishing balls of crystal. It is, for some, as the Bible says.
Unto you is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom, but to others in parables; that seeing they might not see, and hearing they might not understand.’
And there are many, lass, who do not understand.”

“I am
trying
to understand,” said Madeleine a little stridently. “Are you saying that he…he can predict the future? That he can read people’s minds?”

The old lady shook her head. “No’ that, my dear,” she answered. “He sometimes spaes visions of what’s tae come, aye, but in flashes. And the lad is in tune to the emotions of others, to the truths of their nature, and to things which even they may no’ ken. But it is no’ a’tall like mind reading.”

“What is it like, then?” she asked. “I truly wish know.”

The old lady narrowed one eye, and leaned forward in her ornate chair. “How d’ ye know, Lady Bessett, when a room is cold?” she asked. “Explain it tae me.”

Madeleine opened her mouth, then closed it, lifting both eyebrows in befuddlement. “Well, I…I feel a chill. On my skin.”

“Aye? And what is a chill?”

“Well, it—it is the sensation of coldness.”

The old lady shook a finger in her direction. “Weel enough, sae far is it goes,” she said. “But what if I were a creature capable of feeling nither heat nor cold? Then your explanation would make no’ a drop of sense tae me, would it? What young Geoffery feels is like that. ’Tis a knowledge which comes no’ by the seeing, nor the tasting, nor the smelling, nor the hearing of it, but in another way altogether. And if ye do na’ share it, then ye have nae words for it.”

Already confused, Madeleine now felt a sense of dejection. She wanted to understand; she needed to be able to talk with her child about what seemed to her a terrible affliction. But she was beginning to comprehend that that might never be possible. “Do—Do you have words for it, Lady Annis?”