Duncan’s father lay snoring when Duncan left the next morning. On his way to the door, his mother awoke.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’ve something to do.” His terse answer discouraged further questions. At the door, Duncan turned back with a softening look. “Dinnae fash yourself, Mum. I’ll take care of us.”
He closed the door and started toward the byre, as he muttered, “But I dinnae know how.”
*
A few miles from the cottage, Duncan arrived at a burn with steep banks lush with foliage. He tethered his horse by the water and walked along the bank, soothed by the sound of rushing water. As a child, he had come here with his father. Brodie had told his young son that he came here for the aqua vitae, but the words meant nothing to young Duncan. All he cared about was the fun he had climbing the banks of the burn and playing pirate of the high seas. Large boulders were ships. He had many adventures while his father was busy. The tall trees lining the burn made for exciting adventures. Duncan paused to recall and then walked on, pulling branches out of his way.
Since he had returned, his father had disappeared during the days, and returned in his usual staggering condition. It was a familiar pattern, but now it would stop. Duncan spied a familiar tree and the rocks that had served as his ships. There it was. Inside the cave’s entrance was the same old homemade distilling equipment: a brick still with a tube that led to a condenser. Attached to that was a pot to collect the distilled whisky. Behind that was a sight Duncan had not expected. In the back of the cave, there were dozens of barrels, each one marked with the date in black charcoal numbers. So this was what his father did instead of working the farm to ensure that his wife had a roof over her head and some food to eat. Duncan’s first impulse was to take an axe to them. Since he did not have an axe, he picked up a barrel. It was heavy, but Duncan was strong and angry. At the mouth of the cave he heaved it onto a sharp-edged rock. Some splashed on him. He now smelled of whisky, but that was the least of his cares. Duncan sniffed the scent of smoked peat and oak from the barrels. His father might be a drunk, but he made a good whisky. His anger now spent, Duncan sat down not feeling nearly as satisfied from his anger as he had hoped. He could smash every one of the barrels, but he still had no money for rent. He had lost his love and would soon lose his home.
Duncan looked to the future, and it was bleak. He could get by on his own, but his father would be more of a burden than he was now. Most of all, he worried about his mother. The years with Brodie had been hard on her. She did not move without pain. How would she manage to wander from town to town on foot? They would need to find lodgings and money for food before the cold weather set in. But to do that, they would need work and wages. Duncan buried his face in his hands. “If bloody whisky were money, we’d be rich.”
Duncan sat up straight and glanced back toward the cave. “But it could be.” He got up and went to the broken pieces of barrel. A small bit of whisky was pooled in a curved wooden piece. Duncan lifted it to his lips for a taste. He looked back at the barrels. By the time he was finished counting them, a broad grin lit his face. “Well, Da, perhaps you’re not entirely useless after all.”
*
Jenny glanced back at her house to make sure no one would see, and then followed a footpath into the woods. It was shady and peaceful. A twig snapped and leaves rustled. Fearful, Jenny turned. “Duncan!” She smiled in relief, but he did not smile back.
“What are you doing here, Jenny?”
“I might ask the same.”
“I was on my way home when I saw you.”
Jenny hid her disappointment. She had thought he might have come here hoping to see her on the path they had so often walked together.
“It isnae safe nor right for a young lady to walk alone in the woods.”
She could not disagree. All that she could offer was a weak defense. “I wanted some time to myself.”
Duncan stiffened and gave a curt nod. “Aye, well I’m sorry I intruded.” His voice dropped off at the end. Sorrow was the last thing he felt.
Realizing that he’d misunderstood her, Jenny reached out to touch his arm. “You are not intruding.” He shot a look at her hand on his arm. Jenny pulled her hand back. She had touched him without thinking, as she once might have done. She went on talking to cover the tension between them. “I needed to get away from everyone at home. All they talk of is–” Jenny caught herself. He did not need to hear of the wedding.
Duncan watched her squirm. “Go on.”
“It’s blether.” She could say nothing now to dispel the tension, so she exhaled and stared at the ground. In truth, she felt alone and adrift. Her once beloved home stifled her now that the wedding drew near. She had to get away so she could breathe. But she could not say that.
Duncan’s tone softened. “May I help you with that?” Without waiting, he took her basket and gave a nod. “Shall we?” He smiled the same smile that had filled her with warmth for as long as she could remember. “It might help if you told me what we’re looking for.”
“Pine roots.”
“Aye?” He nearly smiled. They were surrounded by pines.
“To burn as candles,” said Jenny.
He smiled as he glanced about. “I suppose we might find one or two.”
From there, they lapsed into the easy manner of past times. But as the basket grew full and the time came to part ways, they could no longer pretend things were as they used to be. They arrived near the edge of the woods and stopped.
“I should go home,” Jenny said.
“Aye.” Duncan took a step, but Jenny did not follow. “What is it?” asked Duncan.
Troubled, Jenny softly said, “I should go on alone.” Her expression softened. “I’m sorry.”
Duncan forced a smile. “No, you’re right. We’d best not be seen walking together.” Gently, he slipped the basket handle over her arm and let his hand linger with it for a moment. His fingers brushed the inside of her elbow.
Jenny looked at his hand, strong and marked with scratches and scars, some of which were new to her. She touched one gently.
A moan escaped. He tried to conceal it by clearing his throat, but the pain showed in his dark look, and it made her heart ache. The next instant, it was gone, his eyes blank. Jenny opened her mouth to say something. She did not know what.
Duncan looked at her parted lips. Abruptly, he turned and walked back into the woods. There he would wait, as he always had done, until he could emerge without anyone linking him with her.
Jenny walked home, her eyes shining with tears that she would not let spill. She had nearly told him the truth. Had she done so, she was sure that he would have swept her into his arms. He would have taken her back and thought later of how he would care for his parents. Jenny wished that he would, but she knew from having dreamt of it so many times, that it never could be. They might be happy for a time, but the burden of merely surviving would weigh them all down. Then the guilt would set in, and soon after, resentment. She always arrived at this impasse. It was hopeless unless she could persuade her father to change his mind.
*
Jenny stood outside the door to her father’s study. She had postponed this all day, for she knew that it would not be easy. But there was nothing else to be done, so she took a deep, fortifying breath and walked in.
“Jenny?” He smiled, but his lined face looked strained. She could see that this was not a good time, but there never would be for what she had to say. She stepped inside and quietly spoke. “Father.”
His quill remained poised in his hand as he stared expectantly at her.
With tentative steps, Jenny walked to the desk. She sat down across from him and thought through the words she had practiced. She recalled Duncan’s face watching her dance with Tavish. Her betrayal had burned beneath his dark brow. She could no longer bear it.
“Jenny, if you’ve something to say, please be done with it. I’m busy, and haven’t the time.”
> With a reflexive nod, she said, “Yes, well, the truth is...” Jenny paused. She should not have looked at him directly. With one glance, he reduced her to a timid young child. Jenny knew that he would. She had steeled herself for it, but beneath her strained confidence was a withering spirit. The strong declaration she had practiced came out as a muted woe. “I cannae do it.”
“Do what,” said her father, his mind elsewhere as he perused a few papers and then set them aside. With a sigh, he regarded her. “Cannae do what?”
“Marry Tavish.” When he was silent, Jenny repeated, “I cannae marry Tavish. I dinnae love him.”
“You’ll not be the first to marry and fall in love later.”
“No, but I cannae do it.” Then it all spilled out. “I willnae marry him, father. I love someone else. I love Duncan. I always have, and I always will. And if you put Duncan’s family out, I’ll go with them, with Duncan, if he’ll have me, which he may not after the pain I have caused him.” Jenny glanced down at her trembling hands and then back at her father. She clung to what was left of her courage, and softly said, “Either way, whether Duncan forgives me or not, I cannae marry Tavish, for I dinnae love him, and I never will.”
With complete attention, Andrew listened until she was finished. From his stern scrutiny rose an unsettling smirk. He got up and poured himself a glass of whisky. When he returned, he sat on the edge of his desk, facing her with a chilling smile. “My dear girl, you have grown into a lovely young lady.” With the pride of a father for his child, he lifted her chin and gazed. “But it’s time to let go of your childish notions. You dinnae have to love him.” His voice grew even quieter. “But you do have to marry him. And you will. I’ll hear no more of it.” With a kiss on the forehead, he took both her hands and drew her from her seat. “Come, let’s see where your mother is.”
Her protest came out almost as a whisper. “No.” She paused in the doorway. “It’s no use. I love Duncan, and I’m certain he loves me still.”
He stiffened. When he turned to face her, he showed none of the anger that Jenny expected. All he offered was a cold stare.
“The matter is settled.”
Jenny raised her voice. “No, it is not. I cannae live without Duncan.”
“Very well. If you must have him, be discreet about it. Go and roll in the hayricks with your cotter, but first you will marry Tavish MacLean.”
“I could not marry Tavish and be Duncan’s mistress.”
Her father had a look in his eye she had never seen before. “You’d be surprised what you can do.” Andrew turned and went back to his desk.
*
Jenny left the house. She could not bear to be in it or near anyone having to do with the wedding. Her father had never been unkind or harsh to her, so the thought of disobeying had never before crossed her mind. But she could not marry a man knowing that she loved another. Nor would she be anyone’s mistress. Even as she told herself that she would not, she knew in her heart that she loved Duncan enough to do anything that she could to be with him. If their love had not changed, she would fight for it, no matter the cost. If being his mistress was all that she could have, she would be that, but she knew it would not be enough.
She had no time to spare. On the morrow, the banns would be called for the first time. She would find him and force him to listen to her. There was nothing else to be done but to tell him the truth. He would know what to do. Even if her father cast out Duncan’s family, they would find a way to survive it together. They had to.
Jenny walked up to the door of Duncan’s cottage and started to knock, but a sound from inside made her pause. Duncan’s mother was crying. Jenny could guess at the cause. Elspeth had not drawn an easy lot in life, although few ever saw the burden she carried. Just yesterday, Elspeth had come out of the study and nearly collided with Jenny. Jenny had thought little of the muted apology when she had brushed past to slip out the door. But she must have been crying, as she was now. Jenny stared at the door. How many more tears would she shed after losing her home? Being with Duncan would come at a terrible cost. She should leave, she decided. With a turn, she found herself facing Duncan.
“Jenny?”
A sob from inside the cottage drew a dark glance from Duncan.
Jenny said, “This is not a good time. I’m sorry.” She started to brush past him, but he touched her shoulder to stop her. A rush of desire took her breath. From the way he pulled his hand back, Jenny saw that he felt it, too.
He glanced toward the door. “Come inside. It will lift her spirits to see you.”
He reached past her to open the door, but Jenny touched his arm gently to stop him. “I came to see you.” When she dared look up past his clenched jaw, sadness welled up within her.
“No,” he said. “When I saw you earlier, I was reminded.” His face nearly masked his emotions, but his fierce eyes betrayed him. He was as miserable as she.
“Reminded of what?” she asked, fearing the answer.
“Of how much we have lost.” He clenched his jaw.
“Aye.” Whatever else she might have said was caught in her throat.
“By your choice,” said Duncan. His bitter glance pierced her. “I’ll not deny my mother the company, for she loves you like a daughter.” He stopped and swallowed. He shook his head, but could not speak until he looked away. “But dinnae come here to see me again. Ever.” He turned and walked to the byre.
Jenny followed him. Inside the byre, Duncan busied himself to avoid her. When he could take no more, he stopped in his tracks with his back to her. “Why will you not go?”
“I cannot.”
His stance softened, but he would not turn to face her.
A year’s worth of longing and sorrow rushed to the surface. “Please, look at me, Duncan.”
“Why?”
“So I can tell you I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” A bitter laugh trailed off. “I am, too.” He did, at last, turn with a blistering look.
Jenny flinched. “I had to do it for you.”
“Did you, now? For me?” His eyes darted about as though searching for something.
Jenny mistook the quiet that followed for calm, until he turned his searing gaze to her and said, “I have despised you for months.”
His words struck their target, but she could not blame him. He had every reason to hate her. She said softly, “I love you.”
Without even a glance, he said, “I have seen love. For months, I watched Callum’s Mari and saw what love was, and I knew then that I did not have it. She loved him with a strength few men possess. And the more that I saw her, the more I knew that your love was false.”
“Not false. I loved you.”
“Once. But your love was weak. Worse–it was cruel.”
“No. Dinnae say that.”
“It was. Mari nearly lost Callum, but she never wavered an instant.”
“Mari? What has Callum’s Mari got to do with us?” Jenny stopped, stunned by the answer that came to her mind. “You loved her.” She peered into his eyes. “You love her yet.”
“Och! You’re a fool! Can you not see that I love–” Duncan paused to measure his words. “That I…loved Mari’s devotion to Callum, and the way that she cared for him–for us all. She was kind and good. Her heart was his, and it always will be.”
“And what of your heart?”
“My heart? Before or after you pledged yourself to Tavish?”
“Why can I not make you understand?”
“You cannae make me do anything, Jenny, including not love you.”
Her heart pounded as she whispered, “And I love you.”
When he spoke, his deep voice was unnaturally calm. “Go home to your man.”
“He’s not my man.”
“But he is. You are promised to him as you once were to me.”
Jenny shut her eyes. A tear slipped free from her lashes. He reached out and touched her moist cheek with his thumb. If that had been an impulse or kindness, t
hen holding his hand there was not.
“Jenny.” His voice was fraught with both longing and anger.
Jenny leaned into the warmth of the palm of his hand where it lay on her cheek. Her lips parted at the base of his thumb. With that touch, Duncan flinched and pulled her to him. The kiss that came next was impulsive and greedy. She molded her body to his. It would not be enough.
His lips brushed hers as he murmured, “I hate you,” and kissed her again.
Jenny clung to him as he clutched her against his hard body and caught the force of their weight with his hand as they slammed against the stall. Her breath quickened as Duncan yanked her skirts up by the handful and hoisted her legs up to circle his waist.
Jenny’s hands ran freely over his powerful back and hard muscles. She could not reach him with words, but she would with her body. She had longed for the feel of his skin against hers. She would have him, no matter the cost, for her love had gone past reason or restraint. What once was shared joy now was anguish, but they were no longer apart. And so there, against the byre stall, they took what they could have of each other in desperate thrusts and forced exhalations until their bodies were spent. But their hearts would not be assuaged.
*
Afterward, they were still. Duncan held her against him, as the sound of their breathing grew quiet.
“I love you,” she said in a breathless whisper. “I’ve always loved you.”
Duncan’s voice faltered. “But you will marry him.” He set her down and let go.
“I dinnae want to. I never did.” Cold silence hung between them. Jenny peered into his eyes. “My father arranged it.”
He scoffed as he pulled his trews on and fastened them. “Do you think I dinnae know that? But you went along with it, when you should have said something.”
“What was there to say?”
“No!” Duncan lowered his voice, but his anger still burned. “You could have said no.”
“He left me no choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
Highland Soldiers: The Betrayal Page 5