by Alisa Adams
“What time of year was it?” Blair asked.
“January,” Catriona answered, sitting up and wiping her eyes. “I was only a child at that time. Father warned them but that...” She stopped herself from saying a foul word. “...That monster was determined. He booked passage on a cargo boat that also carried passengers and they left from Inverness with their daughter Arabel. As Gavina got on the ship I knew I would never see her again. I stood on the quayside and begged her to come back, but she would not. The ship cast off and I never saw her again.” She burst into tears.
“Perhaps we should stop now,” Blair said gently. He knew very little about pregnancy and was afraid that all this weeping and recollection of bad memories would bring on early labor.
“No,” Catriona, with a visible effort, pulled herself together. “I need to know if there is any hope that your sweetheart is any relation to me.”
“Are you sure?” Blair asked, frowning. Catriona nodded, and he went on. “How old was Arabel then?” he asked.
Catriona thought for a moment. “She was four years old,” she replied.
Blair felt a sudden leap of joy, but he reminded himself that many of the facts were still unknown, and he forced himself to say nothing. “What did she look like?” he asked.
Catriona smiled. “She had long, wavy fair hair,” she replied warmly as she pictured the little girl’s face. “And hazel eyes that were just a bit lighter than mine. They looked golden in the sunlight. And she was nearly always happy. I cannot remember a day when she was not smiling, and when she smiled a little dimple appeared on each cheek. We were so close in age, she was like my little sister.”
Blair was astounded. The description sounded just like Tavia, and he was sure now that the little girl Catriona had once known was indeed her, but again he reminded himself to be cautious and not raise anyone’s hopes, because dashing them would be very cruel indeed.
“I think you should come and meet Tavia,” he said firmly. “Even if nothing comes of it, you and your son can relax for a few days and enjoy my hospitality.”
Catriona and Alan looked at each other and he smiled at her.
“That would be wonderful!” She clapped her hands.
“I am going back in three days,” he told them. “And you are coming with me!”
“Wonderful!” Alan smiled. “We will look forward to it!"
“Are you not very close to your time, Mistress Catriona?” Blair asked anxiously. He was not entirely easy in his mind that a woman with child should make such a journey.
“I will be fine,” Catrona assured him. “I think I still have a month yet, although it is hard to be sure. And anyway, I am certain there is a competent and experienced midwife in your village.”
“Indeed, there are two,” Blair laughed. “Tavia and her mother!”
“Is there nothing this woman cannot do?” Catriona cried, astonished.
Blair smiled. “She has a curious nature and she is naturally intelligent,” he replied. “She is an extraordinary person.”
“And you are not in any way blinded by love, I suppose?” Catriona asked mischievously.
Blair was happy to see that her earlier sadness had gone. “Perish the thought!” he answered, laughing.
Blair’s last two days in Inverness seemed endless. He heard, saw, thought about, and dreamed about Tavia. He had made up his mind that he was going to marry her whether her father liked it or not. Archie’s excuse seemed very flimsy, that he did not want Tavia to marry into nobility, lest she be looked down upon.
That made Blair want to laugh. Anyone who looked down on Tavia would not last long. She could out-argue anyone effortlessly, and as far as he was concerned, when they became man and wife they ceased to be two people and became one. Anyone who looked down on Tavia looked down on him too, and he would simply cut that person out of their lives.
As he looked back on his life before Tavia, it seemed sterile. There had been many girls and women, and he had even lain with some, but none of them had lit a fire in him the way Tavia had.
When he went to bed he spent a long time tossing and turning, reliving their last encounter and tormenting himself with it. However, it was a sweet agony, for as he was melting into sleep, she came and laid her head on the pillow beside him, and he buried his face in her hair and kissed her soft lips. She smelled of lavender and the own natural musk of her skin, which was soft and pliant underneath his fingers. He slipped into unconsciousness, smiling.
At last, the day came when they were due to go home. Blair said goodbye to the Weirs, who were going by boat, then mounted his horse and urged him into a canter. He wanted to get back as soon as he could.
After a while he saw the church steeple at Auchnasaig looming in the distance. His horse was tired, and could go no faster, but he had time. He was about to see Tavia, and a few minutes would make no difference.
At last he was trotting down the street, and there was the shop with Tavia standing behind the counter, grinding with a mortar and pestle. She looked up and saw him, and her face broke into a wide, delighted smile. He did not take time to dismount, but scissor-jumped out of the saddle and ran inside. She was rushing out, and their two bodies collided and almost knocked each other over in their eagerness to be together.
There were no greetings, just a passionate meeting of lips on lips as the Laird and his Lady were reunited. They sought each others’ mouths hungrily, then parted and looked at each other, smiling, then kissed again more gently. For each of them being in the arms of the other was like coming home.
After a few moments, they drew apart, breathless.
“Tavvy, I am so glad to see you!” Blair whispered, looking at her lovingly.
“I missed you so much,” she replied, tears of relief filling her eyes as she gazed at him. She dashed them away, then she became brisk. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Ravenous,” he replied, pretending to take a bite out of her neck.
“I only have chicken broth,” she warned him as she led him into the kitchen.
“That was the first meal you ever gave me,” he said fondly as he watched her moving gracefully around the kitchen. She was wearing the same simple gray dress she had been wearing the first time he had seen her, but somehow she made it look like a ball gown.
“I have news for you,” he told her as she set the broth and a bannock down in front of him.
She frowned. “Good news?” she asked warily.
“I hope so,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “But let me finish my food first.”
14
Revenge
Rob was a young man, so his bodily wounds, which were painful but not too serious, began to heal quickly. However, the black and bitter hatred that he felt for his father and Blair was like a cancer spreading out from his soul to poison everything he thought and felt. It consumed more and more of him every day, until he could think of nothing else but his revenge. He could not attack Blair Patterson directly—as Blair’s body was too strong and he had too many men at his command—but he could pose a threat to those he loved, hence the campaign he had begun against Tavia and her family. She was frightened; he watched her as often as he could from a hiding place in the fir trees a little way from her shop. He often saw her step outside, but not without checking the road first to see if he or any of his friends were there.
However, the day after Calum was threatened by Tavia’s father and his poker, Rob decided to intimidate Tavia in another way, by going after her livelihood and that of her family. He had not yet thought of another method since the destruction of the lavender bush had not worked. She could not use the Laird for protection now, for one of his many friends, a guard at the castle, had informed Rob that he had gone away for two weeks.
His campaign was stealthy and cunning. No one could prove a thing and no one knew what he was going to do next. It was an ideal time, and he was taking full advantage of it.
However, there was another matter that needed his attention,
and that was his mother. Whatever his faults, Rob Grant had one redeeming feature; he loved his mother, and could no longer see her being terrorized every day. He knew that if she stayed with his father any longer he would kill her, since his heart was becoming blacker and blacker, so he devised a plan.
“Maw,” he said, three days after the beating. “I am goin’ tae get ye oot o’ here, an’ we are gaunnae sort this beggar o’ a faither o mine oot ance an for a’.”
Cathy Grant looked at him fearfully. She had once been a pretty woman, tall and graceful, with long dark hair and deep brown eyes, but her hair had become gray and her face lined with worry and fear. She was terrified to leave her husband and terrified to stay, and so, like Rob, she was trapped. However, this time Jamie Grant had gone too far.
“I am gaun’ tae send ye somewhere safe,” Rob said grimly.
“He will find me!” she cried, hugging herself. Rob took her by the shoulders. “He has ways, Rob! He will find me!” Her eyes were wild with terror.
“He willnae,” he assured her. “D’ye trust me, Maw?”
Cathy nodded her head mutely and Rob hugged her.
“Noo, Maw,” he began. “This is whit I want ye tae dae, an’ mind, ye must dae exactly as I tell ye. I am sendin’ ye awa’ tae stay wi’ yer brother Davie in Fort Augustus, an’ I think ye hae a good chance of bein’ safe, since his naebosy can get tae the hoose on the tap o’ thon muckle great hill withoot onybody seein’ them. Onyway, Davie is a giant o’ a man, an’ the only reason ye havenae gone afore is ye were too feart, but noo ye cannae stay here ony longer. Dinnae worry. I will tell him a good tale ane he’ll swallow. An’I knaw Uncle Davie will look after ye jist fine. Dinnae fash yersel, Maw.”
Cathy nodded with tears in her eyes.
“Go an’ pack yer bags,” he told her. “Ye are gettin’ on the boat tae Inverness that goes on the next tide. Calum will walk ye doon there, an’ he will make sure Faither doesnae see ye.”
Cathy nodded and went to do Rob’s bidding. When she came back, she found Rob writing on a piece of parchment that bore the crest of the lawyer that his father used to help him draw up legal agreements. He knew that his father always kept a few of these sheets in his desk drawer, and he always kept the keys on his person except when he undressed at night. Unbeknownst to Jamie, Rob had borrowed the keys while he was sleeping and had taken a wax impression of every one of them in his father’s office then had copies made on his last journey to Inverness.
“I am sortin’ ye oot a wee pension, Maw,” he informed her. He had taken a discarded letter out of his father’s waste basket and copied his father’s signature repeatedly until he could forge it perfectly. “So that ye have somethin’ tae live on if onythin’ happens tae Paw or me or baith o’ us.”
“Dinnae say that!” she cried. He put his arms around her. “Dinnae worry, Maw, it’s jist tae protect ye...in case. I dinnae intend tae die for at least fifty years!”
She was trembling inside. “Whit if he finds oot, Rob?” she asked fearfully.
He smiled at her, but his eyes were glinting darkly. “He willnae, Maw. Trust me.”
She looked into his eyes, and although she did not like what she saw, she did trust him, the most beloved of her six children, the only one who cared about her.
“I promise ye faithfully, he will no’ find either o’ us.” He wrote Jamie’s signature then sealed the letter with the Grant seal and gave it to a messenger whom the townsfolk paid to take mail to Inverness and other towns in the area, then he waited two days. He knew the Laird would be back any day now but he was ready for him, and his father.
That evening, when Jamie came in after two days at sea, he was tired, irritable, and ready to lash out at the first person who annoyed him. Since he was very easily annoyed, this was usually Rob or Cathy.
“Where is yer mither?” he asked Rob, looking around him.
“Her brother Davey has died,” Rob said sadly. “A tree fell on him while he was workin’. She had tae go right away.” Rob was an accomplished liar, and this one tripped easily off his tongue. He wanted his mother to have nothing to do with the disappearance of Jamie Grant.
Jamie grunted, but said nothing. Paying one’s respects to the dead was one of those few customs he respected, so he did not complain.
They were very quiet as they sat around the table eating cod, bread, and butter, for it was Friday, a day of penitence and fasting. Eating meat on a fast day was a mortal sin, punishable by eternal damnation, and the rule was rigidly enforced in the Grant household.
Since alcohol was forbidden on a Friday, Jamie Grant always drank milk. He drank it in copious quantities anyway, since he believed that it stopped him from becoming inebriated if he drank it after too much whisky. It had never worked.
After dinner, as was their Friday custom, they said grace and Jamie read out passages from the Bible. This evening it was, appropriately, the parable of the loaves and fishes.
Halfway through the reading Jamie started to cough, and drank more milk. He began to read again, but he was coughing so badly that he could hardly get the words out. When he took another drink, he spluttered and spat it out all over the table, the floor, and the Bible. Rob sat back in his chair, stone-faced, and did nothing.
In a moment, Jamie stopped coughing. He looked up at his son, and Rob could see the dawning realization in his eyes.
“What...have...you done?” he croaked.
“Poured ye milk, Faither.” Rob said with wide, innocent eyes. “Here, hae some mair.” He took the rest of the milk and poured it over his father’s head. Jamie let out a howl, but he could do nothing. He had been attacked by a griping pain in his stomach and he was bent double in agony.
Rob stood up. He was still in pain himself from his father’s beating, but he had enough strength and will to kick Jamie’s chair over. His father screamed as he hit the ground and the heavy wooden chair landed on his lower legs. He tried to get to his feet, but Rob’s foot came down with crushing force on his hand. He heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking and Jamie screamed again.
“Enjoyin’ yersel’ Faither?” Rob asked maliciously. “A wee taste o’yer ain medicine? Aye weel they say the best medicine tastes the worst. Ye knaw whit your medicine is called, Faither? Naw?” He paused to look into Jamie’s eyes to enjoy the expression of sheer terror in them, then he fetched himself a generous glass of whisky and swallowed it in one gulp. “Yer medicine is ca’ed arsenic, Faither. It kills rats an’ mice an’ noo it’s gaunnae kill you.”
“Naaaawww!” His father’s voice was a howl of anguish. “Please son! Dinnae dae this—there must be a cure! I will be a much better faither fae noo on, I promise…” Then his voice trailed off as he began to cough again.
“Faither,” he said reasonably. “Even if I believed that promise, which I dinnae, an’ even if there wis a cure, which there isnae, I widnae lift a finger tae help ye. I hate ye. Maw hates ye, so jist hurry up an’ die.”
Calum came to the door a short while later. “Is he deid yet?” he asked, frowning and sighing. A farm cart with a load of straw in it stood behind him.
Rob shrugged. “Nae idea,” he replied. “I think he is, but, ‘cause I havenae heard ony screamin’ for a wee while.”
They went into the dining room to see the lifeless body of Jamie Grant sprawled on the floor. It was a gruesome sight, but one that gratified Rob enormously. His cruel, abusive, hypocritical father would torment him no longer. In fact, he felt like jumping for joy.
His body lay on its side with knees drawn up to his chest, and the maimed, misshapen hand was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. At some point Jamie had vomited, and the viscous liquid was still trickling from his mouth in a sluggish, stinking flow. His dead eyes were staring sightlessly at nothing.
“Ugh!” Calum said disgustedly, grimacing. He turned to say something to Rob, and saw that he was smiling.
“Aye,” he said with satisfaction, “I think it is safe tae say he is deid!”
Rob was still very sore, but he ignored the pain long enough to wrap his father in a length of hemp sackcloth and help Calum to lift him into the cart. They drove down to the harbor, which, at this time of night, was dark and deathly quiet, with the only sound being the lapping of wavelets against the shore. The moon was obscured by thick gray clouds, and the only light came from a lantern on one of the fishing boats, however, they dared not light a lantern of their own for fear of being seen.
Calum had a rowing boat of his own since his father owned one of the fishing boats, and they loaded the body into it and rowed out into the sea for several minutes, where they knew the water was deep enough to dump their cargo. They stuffed Jamie’s pockets with stones, tied a sackful of them around his waist, then rolled the body over the side. It hardly made a ripple as it sank without a trace.
“Prayer?” Calum asked, grinning.
“Please Lord,” Rob growled. “Send him straight to hell.”
15
Tavia’s Defiance
“Now wait, do not interrupt me, and I will tell you the whole story,” Blair began. “Not a word, now.”
“Not a word,” Tavia repeated. Her eyes grew wider and wider as she listened.
When Blair had told Tavia the entire tale, she sat back, stunned. “And they are coming here?” she squeaked. “What will I say to them?”
“They are going to the castle,” he replied. “And you can say whatever you like, sweetheart, for I know they will love you as much as I do.”
Tavia had stood up to fetch some ale but he pulled her onto his lap and began to kiss her as if his life depended on it. She returned it with equal fervor, and Blair knew that if they were not careful there would be no turning back and they might end up making love on the floor. He had just drawn back from Tavia when Maureen chose that moment to come in.