by Megan McCoy
“No, it’s not like that.” She stood up, coming over to him. “I was just trying to understand.”
He brushed her off, too angry and betrayed. “Understand? What I have worked so hard to silence for the past eight years, you dare to unleash for the sake of a trinket. You’ve been all over the village asking questions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you go to see Andrew Brown and Prune Campbell to spread Christmas cheer, as you put it, or to glean information about the past?”
She looked down. “For information.”
“Tell me you’re joking?” He felt his heart shrinking. News would spread fast through the glen. It would stir up memories best forgotten.
“I wish I were, Ian.”
He saw her bottom lip begin to tremble.
“God. What have you done?” he said. The brokenness in him grew.
“They’re just letters. I’ll put them back.”
“You can’t just put them back. It’s like Pandora’s box. Your utter disregard for the consequences is what I don’t understand.” He rubbed his forehead, his voice cracking. “Do you resent me that much?”
“What consequences? No one else has read them and of course I don’t resent you.”
“You know I never wanted this title. I never wanted to be a duke.” He felt his ribcage grow tight, as the weight of eighty years of lies restricted his breathing. “But there are others involved, reputations to consider, and it goes well beyond just us. There is the village and tenants. You married more than just me, you married into a legacy and now this will affect our son.”
“Ian, tell me the truth, please.”
His turned his back to her and his voice dropped as he spoke. “I’m not a duke, I’ve never been one. I’m the son of a bastard, who should have never had the title in the first place,” he said, slamming the door to the attic on his way out.
Ailsa stood there heartbroken. Her mind was reeling from everything he’d said. She had seen Ian upset before and even angry, but she had never seen him so utterly hurt. The letters sat in the box, innocent in their words and ignorant to the tremendous troubles they caused. She packed the box back in the trunk and looked at the picture of Malcolm McLennan, Ian’s true grandfather. There was no mistaking the resemblance now. It was more than just the eyes. It was the clenched jaw, straight nose and tilt of the head. This was a man who commanded respect and would never back away from a fight or a challenge.
Closing everything up, she turned the light off and made her way down the stairs. When she passed the nursery, she could hear Ian in there with Robbie, quietly talking to him. Ailsa grabbed her coat and softly opened and shut the front door. She had ruined everything and somehow, she needed to make this right.
The air outside was frigid, having dropped in temperature rapidly. Ailsa parked the car and knocked on Andrew Brown’s door.
“Duchess,” he said surprised. A gust of wind blew by her, straight into the small cottage.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brown. I wasn’t sure where else to go.”
“Come in, my lady.” He saw her in and seated by the fire with a cup of tea. “I assume this has something to do with your earlier visit?”
“Do you remember when Cora arrived at Glen Torridon exactly?”
“Does Ian know you’re here, lassie?” he asked slowly. The fire was smoldering, and he added another chunk of peat, the earthy pungent smell of moss, filling the air.
“He knows enough. I don’t think he’s happy with me right now.”
“Aye, I see.” He squinted in thought. “I told you I was just a lad. No more than ten or eleven.”
“But you lived at the estate?”
“Aye, my father was the duke and duchess’s chauffeur.”
“Do you remember the night she arrived?”
He nodded. “It was Christmas. Black Christmas it would come to be ken as. Word had come through on the radio that Hong Kong was lost to the Japanese. The duke and duchess hadn’t heard from young Malcolm in several months. The news from the British government was grave, the soldiers not killed outright were taken into internment camps. Either way it was a death sentence.” Andrew stopped, rubbing his knuckles across his mouth. “Janet had refused to have Christmas dinner served. All the decorations were put away and the tree was taken down. It wasn’t a widely celebrated holiday back then anyway, it had been banned for nearly four hundred years for religious reasons. But the McLennans were Catholic and still secretly celebrated.”
He took a sip of his own tea before continuing. “Cora knocked the door in the middle of the night. She was exhausted and starving and nearly collapsed on the doorstep. My mother worked as one of the duchess’s personal maids, she was awoken from her sleep to come and attend the poor girl. Janet would have thrown her out immediately, it was the duke who insisted she stay.”
“And the baby?” Ailsa asked bluntly.
Andrew raised his brows, setting his cup down. “The baby was taken away to the nursery. Hidden.”
“And Cora?”
“She claimed she and Malcolm were married, though Janet didn’t believe her. There were no records, no proof. Malcolm had never written to them of her. So many buildings in London had been demolished during the Blitz. Cora had no way of legitimizing the marriage and Janet was convinced she made the whole thing up. It was the duke who took a fondness to her and the bairn.”
“And Donald? How does he fit in?”
“They received word in January that young Malcolm had been sent to Argyle Street Camp. It was a Japanese prisoner of war camp in Hong Kong that mainly held officers. He was sick and had been severely beaten. Dysentery was rife in the camps. He didn’t make it the first week before passing away.” Sorrow laced his voice, the memory still raw even after all these years. “Maybe it was the timing, or maybe grief, or maybe it was just Cora’s undeniable spirit, but the duke insisted she stay at least through the spring.” He pulled a worn handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. “It wasn’t long before Donald fell head over heels for her. I mean we all did. She was like a magnet, so full of life and perseverance. You felt better about everything just being around her. They were married a month later. I think the duke thought of it as a way to keep the babe close to the family. Janet was horrified, the stain on the family would be irreversible. It was her idea to hide the date of wee Malcolm’s birth and had Donald raise him as his own. I think it was her hope with the war going on and everything else, that people would overlook a great many things and they did.”
“And Cora went along with it all?”
“Cora was a fighter. She understood the devastation of the war better than anyone. She also had wee Malcolm to think of. Don’t get me wrong, there was always a quietness to her, especially after the news of Malcolm’s death. He was her true love, she would never forget him, but she had to move forward for the baby. Donald became her friend and ally. She threw all her time and energy into the commando training center.”
Ailsa set her cup down. “Did Donald not think she was using him?”
“There are different kinds of love, you ken, my lady. They both needed each other and maybe both used each other, but in the end, I think they found love.”
“But shouldn’t the title of duke have gone to his son Arthur? Everything since then has been based on a lie. Ian’s title?”
“Aye, it should have and Arthur could still claim it if he found out the truth, but what good would that do now? Maybe Donald felt he owed it to his brother? I guess we’ll never know.”
Ailsa stood up to leave. One thing still nagged at her. She pulled the coin from her pocket. “Mr. Brown, do you know how this coin would have come to wash up on the shore of the loch in a wooden George Zee chest?”
The color left his face. “I think you should sit back down, my lady.”
Chapter 10
Sitting at Andrew Brown’s kitchen table, with a dram of whiskey in front of her, Ailsa listened as the old man went on to explain the rest of th
e story.
“When the war ended, and the training center was shut down, Cora became withdrawn. It seemed as if she lost her purpose. The duke had fallen ill and was bedridden and the duchess did not make life easy on her. But she had the children, three of them now - Malcolm, Flora and Arthur - and managed to do her best, and Donald stood steadfast by her side.”
He took a sip of his own whiskey, closing his eyes as he savored the effects. “Then on a cold day, a week before the Christmas holiday, a soldier came by, Tam Ferguson. He and young Malcolm had served together in the war. Tam managed to stay alive in the camps. He brought a chest for Cora with Malcolm’s belongings. It sat in the sitting room at the Big Hoose for a week, unopened. I imagine it was too painful for Cora. The duchess had grown impatient and insisted it be opened on Christmas day. It had been four years since Cora arrived. On Christmas Eve Cora came to us - myself, Prune and Alec - and asked us to take the chest and bury it on the island in the loch. The island had been one of young Malcolm’s favorite places as a lad and Cora had found some solace there, visiting it often. You know it was her one wish to be buried there?”
His eyes had a far-off look as if the day were just happening. “So, the three of us took the chest. Prune kept it at her parent’s croft until evening-”
“Prune Campbell?” Ailsa asked, interrupting.
“Is there another Prune?” Andrew laughed. “She had a mighty crush on young Malcolm when she was a wee lass. I know it’s hard to imagine. There weren’t many young people on the estate and we stuck together. Anyway, when evening came, the three of us went across to the island and buried the box. When the duchess found out the box was missing she was in an uproar.”
“And no one else knew?”
“No, just us and as far as I ken the island has never been visited since Cora was buried there. I’m not sure how the box came to be on the shore of the loch.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” she said, swallowing the last of her whiskey. It burned as it went down, lighting a fire in her stomach and igniting her determination. She knew what she needed to do now. She stood up to leave.
He touched her arm on the way out, stopping her. “Don’t be too hard on Ian. He’ll have found out about the title and his grandfather on the night his father died. There aren’t many of us who ken the true story anymore and those that do would never speak of it. Don’t be too quick to judge him.”
“I won’t, but I’m afraid I’ve made things worse for him.”
Ailsa started the car up and drove back home. It still didn’t make sense as to who dug up the chest. It wasn’t Andrew, and Prune couldn’t see two feet in front of her, let alone row a boat to the island. That left one person. She found him in his office in the outbuilding.
“I thought you’d be in with Ian getting ready for supper,” Alec said as he opened the door.
“Have you seen Ian?” she asked pointedly.
“Och, not since this morning.” He ushered her in, shutting the door from the onslaught of cold wind.
“I know about Cora and Malcolm and the chest and the title,” she said it in a rush and it came out a bit harsh.
He looked up at her, frowning. “I’m not surprised. You’re a smart lass and determined.”
“Were you the one who dug the box up from the island? I know it wasn’t Andrew Brown or Prune.”
His blue eyes, normally bright, suddenly lost their luster, obscured by what looked like anguish. He shook his head. “I love that lad like he’s my own. I would never see him hurt.”
She stood there silent, his comment sitting uneasily in her mind, provoking her own shame.
“I haven’t been on that island since we took the box there and buried it. As for Ian, I was there with him after his father’s death on his own Black Christmas when he lost the last of his family and he insisted on knowing the truth.”
Tears filled her eyes as she backed up. She had been wrong. Alec would never betray Ian and she felt small and shallow for thinking it.
“I was the one who convinced him to keep quiet about the title. He wanted to come out with the truth right away. I was the one who convinced him, year after year, to let it go. He was meant to be the duke and laird. Arthur would have squandered the money away and ruined the estate. Ian was born to be a leader like the men before him. I promised his father I would make sure he accepted it.”
“I’m sorry, Alec. I should never have thought otherwise.”
“Och, never mind,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “Go to him, lass. He’ll need you more now than ever.”
“I think it’s too late. I don’t think he’ll ever trust me again.”
Ailsa left the outbuilding and walked down to the water’s edge along the loch. It was Christmas Eve, she should be home with her family, sitting by the tree and celebrating. Instead she was unsure how she would ever face Ian again. She knew he would denounce his title and with it, Glen Torridon. Christmas really did seem to be a curse for the McLennans. How could the pure and simple love of two people cause so much strife and turmoil? But the better question was how could she fix it?
Tiny flecks of snow began to fall as the late afternoon sky, cold and unforgiving and the color of lead began to turn to night. Ailsa pulled her coat tight around her and continued down the path until she came to a small dock with several small boats tied up to it. She knew Alec and Ian used them to fish for salmon. The island stood off to the side not more than two hundred yards away. As the trees swayed in the wind, their branches resembled the curl of a beckoning finger. The island was calling to her. Voices from the past carried on the wind, spurring her to come. Her hand went to her pocket where the coin sat. It wanted to go home.
Chapter 11
The snow picked up as Ailsa rowed toward the island. White caps formed on the water’s surface, knocking the small boat off balance as it lifted and dropped with each wave. She dug the oars deep into the water with each stroke until she finally made it to a small rocky shore. On shaky legs, she got out and dragged the boat up on the beach, hefting her knapsack onto her back. The snow continued to come down at a steady rate as it blanketed the ground. Ailsa hurried into the shelter of the trees, unsure of what to do now. A fierce blast of wind assaulted the island and the crack of splintering wood, crashing down through the forest, shook the very ground. She ran out of the trees, rethinking her rationale for coming over, just as the boat slipped back in to the water on the outgoing tide. She ran after it, splashing into the frigid loch, to no success. The boat had already disappeared into the night. Shivering from the cold, her feet now wet and numb, she looked back toward the mainland, indistinguishable in the conditions and her heart sank. She had no way back and no one knew she was here.
The island was small, from one end to the other it couldn’t be more than fifty yards. She knew she needed to move fast before the storm turned any worse. A light flashed amongst the tree line, and giving her surroundings a cursory look, she decided to continue inland toward it and risk her chance with broken branches. She stumbled over rocks and tree roots, inching her way forward with each step. The light caught her eye again, now a steady beam, as if someone were carrying a lantern.
“Help,” she cried into the darkness. No one answered back. The trees began to thin and she found herself in a small clearing, the light had all but vanished, a pale dot in the distance. A headstone, overgrown with grass and white heather, sat under a rowan tree. Ailsa set down her knapsack and pulled out her phone, she had no service to call Ian and she was beginning to panic as the snow continued to fall. What if she never saw Ian or their baby again? She clicked on the light and held it up to the stone. Cora Eleanor McLennan - The Lord watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another. She had found Cora’s grave. A patch of upturned earth and a shallow hole sat next to it.
“Who’s out there?” she shouted towards the light. “Help me.”
“Ailsa,” a voice called in the distance.
“I’m here.” She stood up, turning tow
ard the sound.
“Ailsa.”
“I’m here.” She could hear footsteps breaking through the brush. “I’m here.”
The light from a torch lit up the clearing and Ailsa found herself in Ian’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She cried into his chest, overcome with fear and relief.
“Shh, darling. You’re safe.”
“I’m so sorry, Ian” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, it’s okay. All that matters is you’re safe.” His hand came behind her head, pulling her mouth to his, as he kissed her deeply. “I thought I’d lost you.”
She kissed him back, her fear turning into a frenetic lust. She undid the button on her jeans, pulling them down and lifted the hem of his kilt. She needed him, and she needed him now.
“Christ, lass,” Ian said, pushing her against the tree and pinning her arms above her head. “Slow down, it’s freezing out. We need to get you home.”
“Ian, I need to know you’re real. I need to feel you. I thought I was going to die out here.”
“It’s the shock, darling. You’re not going to die.”
“Please,” she begged.
He lay her down in the heather, entering her in one thrust. It wasn’t gentle, and she didn’t want it to be. He moved her on her side, smacking her bottom as he continued to bore into her with a carnal intensity. “Don’t disobey me again.” The primal terror of death arousing his own sexual desires.
She caught him off guard, biting him on the shoulder and rolled over so she was on top. Then she began to ride him hard. Her back arched as her climax came brutal and fast, overwhelming her senses as the reality of everything hit her all at once. She pulled up her jeans, sitting next to him and began to shake uncontrollably as she was suddenly left vulnerable and raw. “How did you find me?”