“My father sat us in front of her and told her our names. She muttered something about me being an ugly one, then glanced up at my father with a look, as I said, that was not one of respect andthat said clearly enough that I had inherited my looks from him. Our father left the room. I stood in front of her trembling in my boots.
“Slowly a smile came over her face. It was a hideous smile, and her old wrinkled lips were mumbling about the beautiful little girl. I was happy enough to keep as far away as I could. I didn’t want to get close enough that she might try to touch me. But I needn’t have worried—her only thoughts were for my sister. She took Olivia in her arms and asked if she would like to sit in her lap. Olivia didn’t seem repulsed by her peculiar ways. Actually, Olivia seemed drawn to her just as Granny was to her. She climbed into her lap and Granny began speaking strange things to her, all the time with that hideous smile on her face. She gave her something, some object, I don’t remember, a little carving or one of the statuettes that was nearby, and put it in Olivia’s hand and continued her mumbling, almost as if she was praying or chanting some old ritual or some such thing. I could make nothing of it. I think it may have been in Gaelic.
“When we finally left and returned home, my chief emotion was enormous relief to be away from her. But now that I think about it, Olivia was quiet for days after that, and I occasionally heard her mumbling things—they may have been little rhyming ditties. It may indeed have begun with the old witch-woman from Skye.”
Chapter Fifty-three
Formal Differences
Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, how can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant ye little birds, and I sae weary, fu’ o’ care?
Ye’ll break my heart ye warbling birds, that wonton through the flow’ry thorn,
Ye mind me o’ departed joys, departed never to return.
Oft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon, to see the rose and woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o’ its love, and fondly sae did I o’ mine.
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose, fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover stole my rose, but ah, he left the thorn wi’ me.
—“Ye Banks and Braes”
Alasdair’s plans for a yacht voyage of more than a mere afternoon spread throughout Port Scarnose the way news about the duke probably always did.
How it got out was a mystery. Gwendolyn was still living with Olivia Urquhart and she was certainly not talking.
Olivia, in fact, from all I could tell, was furious and would have stopped the planned excursion if she could. Whatever Iain had said continued to exercise its powerful influence over her. But the expression on her face told me that she hadn’t given in. She was merely biding her time.
Once when I came for Gwendolyn a man dressed in an expensive business suit and carrying a briefcase was leaving the Urquhart home.
“What is a solicitor?” asked Gwendolyn as soon as we were alone.
“Why do you ask?” I said.
“That’s what that man said he was.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked me a lot of questions about Daddy. He said I did not have to go with you if I didn’t want to, but I said I did.”
In private I reported what she said to Alasdair. He was obviously concerned.
“I had better accelerate our plans for the trip,” he said, “before Olivia gets an injunction to prevent Gwendolyn accompanying me.”
“Could she do that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But if there is any way she can legally complicate my life, she will not hesitate to do so.”
“But why?” I said. “I still do not understand it. Gwendolyn is obviously happy and wants to be with you.”
“Some people cannot let go of the past. Hatred is a powerful emotion. Strange to say, people enjoy hanging on to it. What can I say—she hates me. The thought of my being happy or being with Gwendolyn is hateful to her. She does not even mind making Gwendolyn suffer to feed her own hatred.”
I shook my head. “When I think of all the years Gwendolyn hasn’t been able to know you, when you were right here, so close, it makes me angry. Why would she keep a daughter from her father?”
“She would say because of me.”
“That is ridiculous. I know you, and you are a good father to Gwendolyn.”
“I am trying to be. But in all fairness, perhaps I would not have been ready before now.”
“Still, I can hardly stand the thought of the wasted years.”
“All we have is what is ahead of us. We must make the best of it. In that light, I think we shall leave next week. Will you help get Gwendolyn packed and ready?”
“Certainly.”
Two days before their departure, an invitation arrived for me at my cottage.
The honour of your presence is requested at a special dinner for two at Castle Buchan. Sunday evening, the seventh of September, eight o’clock. Car and driver will collect you at seven forty-five.
Accordingly, the evening before the scheduled father-daughter voyage, I found myself again seated in Alasdair’s black BMW behind a silent Nicholls on my way to the castle.
Alicia showed me to the drawing room, where I was left alone. In classic old-world style, at one minute before eight a gong sounded somewhere. At the same instant a door opened and Alasdair appeared. He was dressed in a kilt in formal old-style evening attire, all the way down to a tiny fresh yellow rosebud in the lapel of his jacket.
He looked so stately and magnificent!
Not a hint remained of the hesitation, timidity, or awkwardness that had been so apparent when I first met him. His confidence had returned. His bearing was so regal, for a moment the sight took my breath away.
He walked toward me, tall, poised, self-assured, smiling but saying nothing, then bowed slightly. I returned his nod with a modest curtsy. He offered his arm. I took it, and he led me away.
As we entered the Formal Dining Room, I was astonished at the sight. Three servants, a man and two women whom I had never seen before, stood like statues around a lavishly appointed table. Candles flickered from the middle of the table.
Alasdair led me forward, released my arm, pulled out a chair for me and helped me to the table, then took his place opposite me.
The moment I beheld the formality and elegance of the setting, the thought flitted through my mind that perhaps Alasdair intended something for this evening beyond a mere farewell dinner before his trip with Gwendolyn. Pangs of undefined emotion raced through me, with the looming question of how I would answer him. But as the evening progressed, I detected no hints in that direction and was able to relax and enjoy myself.
Wine was poured, and soon the servants had disappeared and we were enjoying our dinner and talking and laughing freely.
“Do you think Olivia will cause any trouble tomorrow?” I asked.
“I will not rest until we have loosed our moorings and are floating away from the shore,” replied Alasdair. “If she can stop Gwendolyn from seeing me again, as I told you before, she will. Apparently she has not been successful yet. She has said nothing to you?”
“Not a word. She stares daggers at me, as if I betrayed her.”
“In her mind, you have. She is not thinking of what is best for Gwendolyn, only the injury to her own pride. The worst of it may be yet to come—from her perspective.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If the trip goes well, and if she wishes it, I intend to bring Gwendolyn here to the castle to live.”
“That would be wonderful!” I exclaimed. “I am sure she will want to.”
“We shall see.”
“But what about your sister… Olivia—isn’t she Gwendolyn’s legal guardian?”
“If she wants to take me to court over the matter, she will be free to do so. But at this point in her life, with Gwendolyn’s health precarious as it is, I think the court will weigh her wishes in the matter more heavily than Oliv
ia’s. Unless I misjudge the situation, Gwendolyn will want to come.”
“I’m sure you are right. She dearly loves you, Alasdair. I am so happy for you both. Will you keep her from seeing her aunt?”
“Not at all. Whatever her twisted motives, Olivia has been devoted to Gwendolyn. She probably did save her life after her birth. Gwendolyn loves her, too. I have no wish to separate them. She would be free to see Olivia any time she wished, or to return to live with her if that is her choice. But Gwendolyn is actually very sick—more than people realize. For whatever time she has left, I want her to be happy, and to give her as much of myself as I can. I have a great deal to make up for as her father.”
He paused. A poignant, melancholy look came over his face.
“The dreadfully ironic thing about it,” he said sadly after a moment, “is that Gwendolyn inherited her condition from me, you know. My health is in jeopardy, too. The early teen years are the most critical. I managed to survive them. But I was more hardy than she. The doctors I have spoken with are not sanguine in their prognosis.”
By now the meal was over, capped off with a light strawberry trifle. We had just been served coffee and were again alone.
“I don’t think I ever told you,” I said, “that Gwendolyn spoke to me once about death… her death.”
Alasdair nodded thoughtfully. “She is not the fool many in the village take her for, that much is clear. I think she is aware she is different from other children. But to what extent she is aware of her own mortality, I have no idea. You may be right—she may be more aware where it is leading than we know.”
We were both silent awhile.
“I so want you to hear her play on my harp,” I said at length. “It is the most amazing thing. You will weep when you hear her. And as long as she is where she is, I want to keep it there for her.”
“I am content to wait until we return. Then perhaps I will be able to hear you both play to my heart’s content on the instrument that brought my soul awake.”
I looked across the table, probing Alasdair’s face and eyes for a moment.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” I said. “It is hard to believe since in my own way I was spiritually lost when I came here. But my harp music really did help wake something in you?”
“Do you even need to ask? I am a completely new man!”
I smiled. “I have changed in many ways, too. It is a wonderful thing to wake up, to come alive… to the world, to God, to nature, to the people around you… and to know yourself better than you ever have.”
“I owe so much to you, Marie,” said Alasdair. “There are no words to tell you all that is in my heart, my gratitude that you gave me a chance just to be a real and normal person with you. I, too, am rethinking my relationship to God. I’m not sure where it is leading, but I am open to anything, and I want to grow. Especially I am more thankful than I can tell you for what you did in bringing Gwendolyn back into my life, that you had the courage to go to Olivia the way you did. It means the world to me. More than that, you and Gwendolyn—you both mean the world to me.”
“I really didn’t do much,” I said. “It was Iain who was responsible. Had it not been for him, she would never have allowed me to bring Gwendolyn to you.”
The mention of Iain’s name jarred Alasdair visibly. He winced slightly.
“What does he have to do with it?” he asked.
“He is the one who spoke to your sister. I have no idea what he said, but whatever it was, it made her furious. An hour later, Gwendolyn and I were at your door. It is he you ought to be thanking, not me.”
“Me… thank Iain Barclay!” Alasdair rejoined angrily. “What kind of a fool do you take me—”
Suddenly he stopped himself. He gazed a moment at me. I was shocked at his sudden outburst. He realized he had gone too far. He glanced away. A pall descended over us.
“Look, Marie,” he said after a minute, “I know it is probably hard for you to understand, but sometimes things come between men that women cannot understand. You think you know Iain. You think you know me. Perhaps you do. But there are things you don’t know, too, long-standing things. All I am saying is that you shouldn’t interfere.”
“I do not mean to interfere,” I said. “But if you and Gwendolyn could be reconciled, why cannot the same take place between you and Iain? I don’t see the difference.”
“Reconciled… to Iain Barclay?” he said, his voice again growing heated. “It could never happen. It will never happen. I will never speak to that man as long as I live.”
“But why, Alasdair? Why? What from the past could possibly be worth hanging on to such bitterness and unforgiveness?”
“Are you calling me bitter and unforgiving?”
“I did not say that. But if you refuse to see him, isn’t that being unforgiving?”
“So what if it is, then? Yes, I have no intention of forgiving him. There, have it your way!”
“Alasdair, what are you saying? That isn’t my way. It is because I believe in healing that I brought Gwendolyn to you. She opened her little heart to you, and love rushed in. Why cannot you open your heart in the same way to an old friend?”
“It is entirely different.”
“I don’t see that it is. I think it is just the same. Except that Gwendolyn was willing, and you are not. I think you are being stubborn about it. Can you see that—”
“What gives you the right to preach to me? You’ve been listening to too many of Iain Barclay’s ridiculous sermons! You have no right.”
“Love has its rights, my lord,” I said, hardly realizing what I had said until the words were out of my mouth.
I’d been reading too many books where people used the old terms of address to the aristocracy!
But now that I’d blurted it out, I couldn’t unsay it. I started to cry. I think Alasdair was as shocked to hear what had come out of my mouth as I was.
I stood and ran toward the door.
“Marie… please, wait!” Alasdair called behind me.
I stopped. My eyes were stinging. I was trembling from head to foot. I could not turn around. I heard him push back his chair and stand. His footsteps approached behind me.
“Marie,” he said softly. I felt a hand on the back of my shoulder. Slowly I turned to face him.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “Chalk it up to the dying remnants of the old me. I may be changing, but I’m not there yet. I could never be really angry with you. Please forgive me.”
I nodded and tried to smile. “Thank you,” I said softly. “I know you weren’t angry with me. But that doesn’t change anything. You still have to be reconciled with Iain. I won’t be able to stand it for two people I care about to be at odds with one another. Thank you for dinner. It was a lovely evening. Good night.”
I turned and left the room and walked downstairs and outside.
Then I realized that I hadn’t driven here and had no car. I’d made a scene, left the castle, and now suddenly I was standing alone outside without a way to get home!
I would walk, I said to myself, even though it was after ten and dark. There was enough of a moon.
I started off into the darkness.
I hadn’t gone more than a quarter mile, however, before I heard a car engine behind me. Nicholls pulled alongside, got out and opened the door for me, and then we drove back into the village in silence.
Chapter Fifty-four
Away with the Tide
And it’s oh! but I’m longing for my ain folk.
Tho’ they be but lowly, puir, and plain folk.
I am far beyond the sea, but my heart will ever be
At home in dear auld Scotland, wi’ my ain folk.
—“My Ain Folk”
The Fiona was to sail from Port Scarnose harbor a day later.
The duke’s reunion with his daughter, setting more than a decade of rumors and speculation to rest, had caused such a stir throughout the community that several hundred were on hand at th
e harbor and spread out along the promontory to watch the beautiful white yacht sail with the tide.
By then, along with Gwendolyn’s pedigree, the death of the yacht’s namesake twelve years before, and the estrangement between Iain and Alasdair, I had myself become an equal topic of conversation and question.
As I walked toward the harbor I noticed the solicitor I had seen at Mrs. Urquhart’s, briefcase in hand, hurrying through the crowd. I didn’t know what he was doing there, but I quickly made my way to the yacht and told Alasdair what I had seen. A cloud passed over his face.
“Then we need to get under way as soon as possible,” he said.
A few minutes later, as I stood on the deck saying my good-byes, I knew the whole village was watching.
“I wish you were coming with us, Marie,” said Gwendolyn.
“I know, Gwendolyn,” I said, stooping down until my face was even with hers. “But I can’t.”
“Why, Marie?”
“Because this is a special trip just for you and your daddy, so that you can get to know everything about each other.”
“You will be here when we get back?”
“That depends on how long you are gone. If not, I will see you again. I promise.”
I stood and turned to Alasdair. “I am sorry about last night,” I said. “I had no right to say what I did.”
“Marie, you had every right,” he replied. “I just don’t know if I am strong enough to do what you say. To be honest, I don’t know if I even want to. Maybe my own words about Olivia, about hate dying hard, maybe they are true of me as well. It is something I have not wanted to face.”
He glanced away. When he turned back I saw that he was blinking hard.
I reached out and placed my hand on his arm, and stood for a moment. He took my hand and held it a second or two, then smiled and gave me a profound look of silent gratitude.
Finally I bent down and gave Gwendolyn a hug. At last I turned and walked down the gangway to the stones of the quay.
I knew every eye in town was on me, probably half of thosepresent whispering their speculations about Alasdair and me. But I determined not to think about it. This was a day to rejoice in the healing that had come between a father and his daughter.
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