“I’m sure we’d all be honoured tae stay a wee while longer,” said Murdo, after glancing at Emily and seeing the agreement in her smile. “I should be glad tae see how this all turns out, and if we can give ye any help, then I’ll be the happier.”
“Excellent!” cried Iain, slapping his hands upon the table. “Well, after all this, I am hungry again! I’ll call for some more food…”
As he rose from his place at the table, the conversation was interrupted by a terrible scream, which rang through the hall and made everyone jump to their feet. Flora darted around the table and flung herself at Callan, who instinctively put his arm protectively around her. John Grant took three steps toward the door, but it burst open before he could reach it. A terrified serving-woman was there, white-faced and panting, pointing with a shaking hand back up the corridor.
“A ghost!” she wailed. “’tis a restless spirit! Oh, the Lord save us, the castle is haunted!” Emily MacPherson ran up to her and reached out to catch her just in time, as the frightened woman fainted dead away.
Chapter Four
“What nonsense is this?” said Iain, but he looked a little bit scared himself. “A ghost? Come with me, Callan, and we’ll see what has frightened this poor woman so.”
He glanced pointedly at his daughter, who released Callan from her grip. Callan obeyed the older man, who spoke to him quietly as they left the room and went out into the dark corridor.
“Don’t ye get too close with our Flora just yet, laddie,” he muttered darkly. “Sure as I am o’ ye, and much as I value yer kinship and yer clan’s friendship, I would have ye keep yer hands tae yersel just for the moment, am I clear?”
Callan thought this a little unfair. The woman had flung herself at him, not the other way around. Presumably, if he had not put his arm around her, Iain Grant would now be feeling that as a slight. Callan was again hit by the feeling that he could not win but bit his tongue and bowed his head.
“Aye, sir. I beg yer pardon,” he said. “That was thoughtless o’ me.”
“Hmmm, aye, well, just you mind what yer doing in future. The lassie isn’t yer wife yet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright. Now let’s go and find this ghost.”
It did not take them long. As they rounded the corner in the corridor, even Iain Grant gasped with fright. He took a step back and cursed under his breath.
“Heaven protect us!” he said, and his face went white as he raised his hands to cross himself.
Framed by the darkness of the corridor before them, there stood the figure of a woman. The ruddy light of a flickering wall-sconce lit her snow-white face, which in turn was framed by the plunging lines of her long hair. Her eyes were wide and staring, her mouth moved silently, and both hands were raised before her as she groped forward, her eyes fixed on the two men. Her long, white gown dripped to the floor.
But the moment it took for Iain to step back, Callan had stepped forward, and she had recognised him. She flung herself forward and wrapped her arms around him and he, a little awkwardly, wrapped her in his arms.
“It’s not a ghost, Mr. Grant,” he said over his shoulder, “it’s the lassie from the beach.”
“Good God,” said Iain Grant, with a hand to his chest. He laughed shakily. “I hae seen some things in my time, but that was like tae scare the very life from me! No wonder poor Mrs. MacLeish was scared out o’ her wits!”
“Dear me, dear me, now,” he said, and his face darkened as he saw how close the young woman clung to Callan. Callan, who feared she would slip to the ground if he did not keep his arms around her, tried to shrug. What was he to do? Iain Grant frowned but did not seem about to take Tara from Callan’s arms.
Callan took a deep breath and was struck by her warm, sleepy smell, that still clung to her hair despite her traversing through the corridors. Suddenly, he became aware of the closeness of her body. The white nightgown clung to the curved shape of her body, and her small, well-formed breasts pressed into him through his tunic. He tried not to look too closely at her.
“Let’s take her intae the sitting room,” said Iain Grant, his voice heavy with disapproval. Callan nodded and tried to clear his throat. Iain glared and marched off back down the corridor.
They brought Tara into the well-lit, cosy room, and Alice took her heavy wooden shawl and placed it about Tara’s shoulders.
“We must find the lassie some shoes,” she said to her mother, and the two women rose and left the room while young Flora came and sat beside Tara, putting her arm around the shivering woman’s shoulders.
It took a little while for Tara to pull herself together. She had woken in a darkened room, dressed only in a nightdress and in confusion had got out of bed and left the room, looking for someone, anyone, to explain to her what had happened. She remembered the terrible crash of the boat on the reef, and remembered her father, standing on the deck looking afraid. Then there was a long period of darkness, and she remembered the man and woman who had given her food on the beach. Had that really happened? The memory of the feverish, dream-like state following the terrible swim to the shore made her shudder, but now…
Confusion and disorientation took over her as she wandered in the corridors, her feet cold upon the stone-flagged floor. She nearly cried out, but then she heard faint voices and walked in that direction. That was when the big, white-clad woman had come around a corner. Tara had reached both of her hands out toward this newcomer, but the woman had thrown her own hands up in the air and screamed with fright before running away. Tara’s confusion mounted, but as she groped her way along the corridor the young man from the beach had appeared. She recognised him, that was certain, and she ran toward him.
Callan’s firm grip and strong arms had calmed her, and she knew she had clung to him in a way which, in normal circumstances, would probably have been entirely inappropriate. But he was a familiar sight, a known face amid a confusing and unfamiliar world, and her native propriety had given way to her need to be comforted. He held her, and indeed, she believed that she would have fallen to the ground if he had not.
Now, as she sat in the warm room by the crackling fire and looked around at their concerned, kindly faces, she slowly put the recent events into a coherent order. She breathed deeply and tries to smile. It came out as a grimace.
The handsome young man was sitting a little way away from her, looking at her. The red-haired woman was there too, and she left, soon to return with a bundle of clothing. They dressed Tara warmly and gave her food and wine, and as she ate and felt the warmth from the fire and the woollen garments and relaxed a little.
Finally, she spoke.
“Thank you,” she looked around at them. “Thank you all very much. But may I ask: where am I? And who are you, kind people?”
A heavyset, grey-haired older man stepped forward and made a small bow to her. He had been in the corridor with Callan, she realised. As the older man began to speak, she glanced at Callan, who smiled encouragingly.
“I am Iain Grant, miss, chief o’ the Clan o’ that name. Ye are in my home, Castle Grant o’ the Clan Grant. This is my daughter Flora and my son John, and these are my guests, the MacPhersons o’ Glenoran. Callan and Alice MacPherson found ye on the beach earlier today and brought ye here.”
“And ye may not remember it,” added Callan, “but ye told us yer name, and so we ken who ye are already. Ye are Tara Bright, daughter o’ a Yorkshire wool-merchant, and ye were on yer way tae Balmore estate to wed the Laird’s son there, Ranald Carlisle?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, yes, that’s right.” Now the older man smiled encouragingly, but she looked at the handsome young man and felt… something. Callan. She remembered now. His face, full of concern as he stood over her on the beach, his hand against hers as he handed fresh water to her. Callan MacPherson. She smiled at him, and their eyes met, and at that moment, something passed between them in that warm, crowded little room, and for a moment, everything else faded. She saw his eyes widen a
s he felt it too, and her lips parted involuntarily. A slow smile dawned on his face, and it mirrored on hers. Iain MacPherson coughed loudly.
“Betrothed tae Ranald Carlisle, ye are,” he said firmly, “as my daughter here is betrothed tae this young man.” His heavy hand fell on Callan’s shoulder, evident that he, too, had felt something pass between Callan and Tara, and wished to nip it in the bud.
“I will see that a message is sent out tae Balmore without delay so that Ranald is informed that ye are here. Until then ye are, of course, welcome tae stay here at Castle Grant for as long as ye need.”
Tara became aware that she had stumbled into the midst of careful negotiations between these two families, and she must take care not to offend. Taking a deep breath, she smiled before thanking the old man humbly.
“But we would learn,” said Iain, “just what happened tae bring ye and yer ship ontae the rocks there? Is it, as I guess, that ye were caught in the storm which blew up earlier today and driven in tae be smashed upon the reef?”
The memory, so recent, flashed into her mind, and the word “smashed” caused an involuntary shudder through her whole body.
“It is so,” she said. “It came out of a blue sky and left just as quickly.”
All the Scots muttered and nodded.
“The weather is often so in the Highlands,” said Murdo.
“Were there many others aboard the ship?” added Alice.
“Not many, the captain and crew, a few passengers, and myself and… my father.”
A sudden thought gripped her.
“My father… did you find anybody else on the beach? Where there any other survivors?”
Their sad faces were her reply, but then John Grant spoke up.
“There are many folks down at the beach now, and many small boats out in the bay, salvaging the wreckage. I don’t want tae give ye false hopes, but it may be that they have found others who survived the wreck. Shall I send a messenger down tae see what news there is?”
“I’d rather go down myself if you don’t mind. Would that be possible?”
John looked at his father, whose eyes flicked toward Callan, then to Flora. The old man shrugged.
“If the lassie feels up tae it, then perhaps ye could take her down, John? I’m sure a horse could be found. Can ye ride, Miss Bright?”
“I can, sir, and I feel much better now that I know where I am and have had a little food, by your kindness. If Mr. Grant accompanied me, I would be much obliged.”
Callan looked as if he was about to speak, but Alice cut over him.
“I shall ride down with ye, John, if I may? Then my brother can stay here, with his betrothed. She put weight on the last word and looked meaningfully at Callan. Callan’s smile looked a little forced, and Tara could not help noticing that his eyes followed her as she left the room.
In the stables, a spirited little brown horse was found for Tara. John Grant and Alice MacPherson seemed on very friendly terms, chatting with each other as they readied their horses. Tara wondered if there was something between them. They would make a fine couple, certainly. He was a strong, well-made youth, and she was so beautiful that Tara thought any man might consider himself lucky to wed her. Alice helped Tara to mount, and Tara could feel the strength in the red-haired woman’s arms as she did so.
“Do you know Ranald Carlisle?” Tara asked her companions as they rode at a steady pace down toward the sea. It was late evening by now, but it was July, and in high summer in the north of Scotland the light lingers long into the evening, and some nights it hardly gets dark at all.
John replied, first.
“I knew Ranald Carlisle a little when I was a lad. A fine young man, very active and conscientious, with a strong sense o’ justice and a desire tae do good everywhere he went. His father is no different, a very kind old man. We are blessed tae have them as neighbours, for not all the folk who hae come in tae take lands in the Highlands are so fair.”
Alice was nodding, the expression on her face dark as she listened to the earnest young man’s words.
“Ranald has been at university in Edinburgh?” said Tara.
“Aye,” replied John. “And only just returned. I believe he’s only been back at Balmore for a few weeks at the most. He’s been away for years, and I haven’t seen him since he left. I’m not even sure if I would recognise him, it’s been that long! It’s his father who has arranged the wedding, I believe, and just in time for Ranald tae return tae Scotland.”
“But the father is not well if what we hear is true?” asked Alice.
“Aye, I have heard the same,” said John. “I believe that he took ill almost immediately after Ranald returned. It’s a great pity, for he is a very gallant and kind old gentleman. I do hope he recovers… but for all that, we are all pleased tae see Ranald back home, and we are looking forward tae the wedding. We are keen tae see ye do well in the Highlands, Tara.”
But Tara could not help thinking that if her father were no longer alive, what advantage would be gained by marriage? Would this kind, conscientious young gentleman still desire to marry her? She thought of her brother, still down in Yorkshire. He would inherit, and he would have to be told the news and… she shook herself. Don’t anticipate disaster, she told herself. She had survived, had she not? Perhaps others had, too.
The broad sweep of the beach glowed in the light of the setting sun as the three riders crested the little ridge and looked down upon it. All over the sand figures were moving back and forth, and in the water of the bay, small boats were busy. The tide had retreated, and the beach was scattered with wreckage from the ship. Some distance off they could see a sight which turned their hearts cold. There was a long row of covered shapes at the top of the beach, and small figures moved to and fro among them.
“The bodies,” said Alice, pointing. She looked at Tara with concern and sympathy in her eyes. “We must go there first, I think.”
Their mood was solemn as they rode down the beach toward the row of the drowned. A man approached them as they rode, giving John a weary salute. He was the leader of the men who had been sent to the beach from Castle Grant to investigate the wreckage. John approached him, and Alice and Tara held back a little as the man delivered his report.
“Sir,” said the man, addressing John, “we have recovered nearly thirty bodies from the bay and the beach. Most are sailing men, but there are two women here also, and three men who are not in the clothing o’ sailors.” His eyes flickered toward Tara and Alice.
“Have ye laid these others by separately?” asked John and the man nodded.
“Take us to them, then,” said John. Alice reached over and squeezed Tara’s hand supportively, and the three riders followed the man to the far end of the grim row. There, they dismounted, and Alice walked close beside Tara as they approached. Men who had been working among the bodies stood back respectfully as they approached. At one end of the row, several bodies were laid apart from the rest.
It only took Tara a moment to recognise one.
It was her father.
Chapter Five
Tara fell to her knees beside her father, taken with a storm of weeping. Her noble father, who had raised her kindly and been there for her through the hard years after her mother’s premature death, was no more. His hand was cold as she touched it, and his eyes, which had danced with merriment so easily in life, were closed forever. His mouth was set in a grim line as if he faced a great challenge ahead and girded himself to face it bravely.
John spoke to the man at his side.
“The lassie here is Tara Bright,” he said. “She is betrothed tae Ranald Carlisle o’ Balmore, and this man is her father. Send for men tae bear his body up tae the castle.”
“What o’ these others?” said the man gravely. “We cannot leave them here.”
“No, no, ye are right, we cannot. We must arrange for them tae come up tae the castle, too. Man, this is a black tragedy. The storm must have hit them right as they passed the rocks.
They must no’ have had the chance even tae launch their boat.”
“Aye, sir, it is a tragedy indeed. The whole crew are here, by the looks o’ it, captain, two mates, eighteen crewmen, even the ship’s boy.”
“What o’ the cargo?” asked John.
“We have found a great number o’ boxes and crates, sir, but we have been concentrating on the bodies for the moment. Over there is what we have pulled from the water.”
Fighting For A Highland Lass (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 3) Page 29