A look of surprise and shame covered his uncle’s face. “Oh…forgive me. I didnae mean anything. Sorry, I only meant that…”
“What is it?” Francis prodded.
“That…she’d be proud of ye, ye’re right,” he finally answered.
“That wasnae what ye were going to say, was it?” Francis asked, pushing further. His uncle still looked gravely uncomfortable.
“It’s nothing. Really. Forget I even said anything,” the man replied.
“Uncle Angus, tell me. What is it? What were ye going to say?” Francis insisted.
Angus inhaled deeply, as if preparing to say something extremely difficult. Francis was unsure if he was ready to hear whatever was on his uncle’s mind.
“Just that yer mum, God rest her soul, wasnae always…honest. Mind ye, I ken she was a good lass and I dinnae wish to speak poorly of her, least of all to ye. But I also ken that there are things ye dinnae ken. Things she’d never have wanted ye to be aware of,” Angus said.
“What do ye mean, Uncle Angus? What was she hiding from me?” Francis asked, suddenly very earnest to understand what was being said. He needed to know what secret his mother might have had. Surely a good woman like her could not keep things from her husband and son that Angus knew about. It didn’t make any sense at all. How could she keep secrets?
“Lad, yer mum would be furious at me for ever telling ye this. But the truth is, ye may not have as much claim to the lairdship as ye think ye do,” Angus said, exhaling painfully.
“In what way?” Francis asked, feeling as though he were being slowly crushed under the weight of the truth and not knowing if he could handle it fully.
“Well, yer faither would never wish to speak of it, but yer mum had a…a….a friend. A man who was rather familiar with her. And we cannae say for certain, but…well, it wasnae as big a secret as it should have been. The timing of yer birth doesnae really add up. Yer faither was away often during those days and the…the friend was near,” Angus said.
“Out with it, Uncle Angus,” demanded Francis.
“Lad, ye’re not born into the lairdship. Yer faither isnae who ye believe him to be. The man who claims to be yer faither does so only because he’s no other offspring and it would be a humiliation for a laird of any land to admit that his wife was the woman of another man,” Angus finally said.
Francis could not accept the weight of this knowledge. It was agony. Could it possibly be true? “Are ye certain, Uncle? I cannae possibly imagine that of me mother. Ye’re the first man ever to have said such a thing. What makes ye believe it?” he pushed again.
“Lad…”
“Tell me!” Francis shouted, standing and leaning over his uncle. “Tell me what caused you to believe such a thing about me mum!”
Angus looked at the grass for a moment, reluctant to answer the question. “It’s the truth, lad. Yer mum all but confessed it to me. She asked that I never speak of it to yer faither, but he kens it as well,” Angus answered sadly.
“But I look just like him. Like both of ye!” Francis insisted.
“Yer mum had a type, lad. Maybe she even got involved with him because he reminded her of the laird while he was away. I dinnae ken. All I can say is the truth, that ye’re not the son of the laird. Ye’re a bastard.”
* * *
Withdrawing his hand from the toast and nodding to the Laird MacGowan, Francis took a hard gulp of the whisky at the same time as the other men.
To the future Laird of Inveroch indeed.
Francis looked over at Arabella again, who was laughing at something with Colla. No, he could not allow himself to get close to her. He could never allow her to know the truth of the matter, that he was a fraud, a bastard son of a woman who was unfaithful.
Should anyone ever learn the truth, his faither would be humiliated and his mother’s name would be forever slurred.
A small piece of Francis wanted the truth to come out. Then his uncle could take the lairdship and Francis wouldn’t have to hide anymore. So long as that never happened, so long as he remained in his position as the future laird of Inveroch, he would continue to lie in the hopes that one day, he might be deserving of the title.
Chapter 3
The Hope Brought By Emily
“What do ye think of the rose bush?” Arabella asked, noting that there needed to be a bit of trimming. Where was the gardener?
“A bit rough,” laughed Emily.
Once more, Arabella was with a dear friend who was in the fresh season of early marriage. It seemed nearly unbearable to be around so many happy wives all the time. Would her day ever come?
“Me husband was such a brilliant gardener before,” Emily said sadly, softly touching the rose petals with her fingertips.
“He will be again. Ye said he’s doing very well these days!” Arabella remarked, going back to Emily’s earlier words.
Her cousin had arrived the day before, just as Colla was preparing to leave. Emily needed some time away from the baron’s estate. Ever since the shooting that had taken place there at the wedding months before, he had been spending a great deal of time with his immediate family.
Emily loved her husband, and she enjoyed his family as well, but had confided in Arabella that she wished she could have more time just the two of them.
“Aye. He’s doing very well. But I think it will be some time before he is active in the garden again. He says that it requires too much bending and the clippers are terribly heavy. I ken a man of his station is meant to rely on a hired gardener anyway, but it saddens me, as I ken he really loves to work outside,” Emily admitted.
Arabella remained quiet, not quite knowing how to comfort her cousin. Ever since their wedding, Emily had been more affectionate than ever toward the baron. She took great pains to care for the man and to ensure his comfort at every turn.
This time of visiting Dunmore was a good rest for her, although Arabella well knew that she felt guilty for it.
While she understood that Emily’s plight was far greater than her own, she could not overcome the feelings that had overwhelmed her for the past three days since meeting Francis. That man was an enigma to her.
She had caught him watching her a number of times, but still it seemed that he refused to acknowledge her more than those fleeting glances. For the most part, he was always distracted with more important things than giving Arabella his attention.
No. That wasn’t true. That was what Arabella told herself in order to feel better about the fact that he was simply cold with her. He scarcely spoke to her unless absolutely necessary and even then, it was never more than a few words. He was deeply self-involved.
Why did she care so much? Why should she have any care at all in the world about Francis’ distant behavior? Who was he that she would need his attention? He was simply a man, an arrogant one at that. Had she become so shallow that his appearance was the thing that led her to desiring his attentions?
That thought brought shame to her. Certainly she could not be such a fool as that! No, Francis was merely a man and one that had no importance in her life.
“What is it, cousin?” Emily asked. Arabella suddenly realized that Emily had been studying her, recognizing something to be amiss. Arabella was embarrassed for having been caught in her sadness.
“Oh, it isnae anything at all. Forgive me, my mind wanders sometimes, as ye ken,” Arabella replied with a nervous laugh.
“Dinnae try to fool me, Arabella. I ken ye better than that,” Emily replied.
Arabella was shamed all over again. Why was she so bad at lying? She didn’t want Emily to know what was on her mind. She wanted to hide her shame from everyone.
“Please, out with it, cousin. Ye’re being a fool in trying to hide it,” Emily said, clearly irritated by Arabella’s stubbornness.
“I’m simply…confused…”Arabella said, leaving it at that.
Emily waited. Arabella remained quiet, looking into her eyes without wanting to say anything further.
“I sa
id out with it. Telling me ye’re confused doesnae tell me much at all. So please, cousin, what is it ye’re confused about?” she pushed.
Arabella hesitated, but opened her mouth as if to speak. It took a moment for the words to reach her lips finally.
“There is…someone. Someone I have met recently. I cannae say too much other than the fact that he confuses me. I mean, one moment I will catch him looking me way, but for the most part, it is as if I dinnae exist at all in this world. Or perhaps he would just rather that be the case. Ye ken what I mean? It’s as if I’m nothing, no one at all. And the lad can hardly even acknowledge me presence. I dinnae ken, but I find it maddening,” Arabella finally confessed.
Emily nodded, allowing her to express all that she was feeling.
“I dinnae understand him, that’s all. I dinnae think I shall ever understand a man and maybe that’s more the problem. I mean, this man seems to be so lively and grand around others, but there is something about me that displeases him. I havnae seen him around too many women, but he spoke more with Colla than with me. And she’s wed, so if he’s comfortable with a married woman, why doesnae he wish to speak with a woman who isnae?” she asked, staring at the daisies.
Emily smiled a little at this. “Did ye think that maybe that’s exactly why he was comfortable with Colla? Because she’s married? There isnae any pressure to impress her or any reason to fear that she might misunderstand his communication? It’s certainly possible that he isnae comfortable around women who are available,” Emily said.
Arabella scoffed. “Dinnae say that. He’s a terribly confident man. Beautifully so. I have seen him laughing with the best of men and he has grown more and more of a presence in the last few days. I cannae think for a moment that he would be made shy because of a lass like me,” Arabella explained.
“Ye’re more powerful than ye think ye are,” Emile said softly with a smile. “Ye havnae any idea what it is men really think of ye. And in many ways, that’s what drives them even more wild,” she added.
Arabella didn’t know if she could believe that. It seemed impossible. Especially for a man with the liveliness of Francis.
Still, it was a nice thought.
“More than all of that, Arabella, it’s rather common. Ye ken that men are a species of great pride. They cannae show any form of weakness. If they feel a sense of it, or of anything or anyone that might make them weak, they push it away. No man wants to fall prey to the wiles of a woman.
“Whether it’s women in general or ye in particular, ye can trust that this man is likely using his aloofness as a means of hiding his interest. I guarantee ye that has to be it. So many men do the same as that. They believe that if they appear indifferent, they appear strong. It’s a silly tactic that comes naturally to them. Almost as naturally as worrying comes to women,” Emily said with a laugh.
Arabella considered it further. It would be nice if it were true. Could it be true? Was it possible that Francis really did think that of her? Was it possible that he was truly using aloofness as a means of hiding his feelings?
“Perhaps…” she said.
“Honestly, it’s not a ‘perhaps’. That’s just how they do it,” Emily said confidently.
A deep satisfaction warmed Arabella. If that was the truth, then she no longer felt such rejection and sadness. If it was true, then she was incredibly pleased with things and the perceived rejection she faced from Francis might actually be a compliment.
Arabella smiled, then immediately replaced it with her look of disbelief. No, she could not allow herself to believe Emily’s words. Not until she saw a different behavior from Francis. Or at least not until she was willing to be hurt if it were not true at all.
“Now here’s me favorite flora of them all!” Emily announced as they walked upon their land’s greatest gift.
“Thistle? It’s lovely, but I cannae say it’s me favorite. I mean, it’s a weed, Emily,” Arabella said with a laugh. “And it’s sharp as hell.”
Emily looked at her knowingly. “Indeed it is. It’s a weed that grows up out of nowhere, unbidden and not necessarily wanted. And then it pricks and hurts us, aye?”
“Aye,” Arabella agreed, nodding her head.
“Does that description remind ye of anything else?” Emily asked.
Arabella looked at her cousin with confusion. “What do ye mean? Ye described a thistle and it reminds me of a thistle. Do ye mean a rose bush? They’re the only other thing I can think of that pricks like that, but it isnae a weed.”
“I’m not talking about a flower, Arabella,” Emily replied, annoyed that her analogy was falling on deaf ears.
“Then what do ye mean?” Arabella asked.
“Love. Love grows without us planting it, without us placing the seed in our hearts and attempting to nurture it in our own way. It grows wildly, painfully. It pricks us from every side. We see something beautiful and then we’re stung by it. But then, once it takes root, we become known by it, just as Scotland is known for her thistle. It becomes a part of our very identity,” Emily explained.
Arabella listened to her cousin’s words and was moved by them, against her better judgment. How true it was! Frustratingly so!
“Silly analogy, that is,” Arabella replied bitterly, as if it meant nothing to her at all. She pushed aside the painful truth of it.
“Silly and agonizingly accurate, aye?” Emily asked with an eyebrow raised and a penetrating look at Arabella.
“I’ve found the love of me life,” Emily continued. “I’ve found him and I’m still wounded by him. I’m wounded by the fact that I hurt with his hurt and he is not recovering as well as expected from the shot. I’m wounded by the fact that he is always with his family and I am often left on the outskirts of it all. I am wounded by much, Arabella. But I wouldnae give up me thistle of a husband for anything in this world.”
Arabella ached from the passion of Emily’s words. Could Francis be the thistle that was growing, unbidden and unnurtured, within her? Did she want him to be? Or was it still just that part of her that feared loneliness?
Furthermore, was she willing to be rejected by him constantly? She couldn’t imagine allowing herself to live a life like that. It was not in her nature to be so weak and rely on the attentions of a man.
If Emily was right, as Arabella deeply hoped she was, then Francis McNeil was going to be a man that just might change her life forever.
The warmth continued within her even after she and Emily parted ways. There were a great many appointments Emily had that day, as she was rarely at Dunmore and she was greatly beloved. Arabella wanted to keep her cousin’s company as long as she could, but knew well that there were others who would envy that time and she could not put Emily in such a position as that.
Finally, Arabella decided to go to her sewing. She had much to do and things she wished to have already finished, but it would be a good distraction to stay busy and not have to face Francis. She could spend her time thinking about whether or not Francis might have an interest in her and she could daydream about a future in which he did.
Arabella knew that dreaming about such a thing was senseless and she would only find herself in a tizzy, obsessing about his interest or lack thereof. Nevertheless, she could not help herself. She had always been a woman of imagination.
Finally, she sat in the drawing room and picked up a piece she had left off yesterday, sewing what would eventually be a blanket for her uncle. It was a surprise for him and it bore the colors of the clan tartan.
Eyeing it, Arabella wondered if the quality was high enough that she could present it to the laird in the presence of important men, including Francis.
The very thought frustrated Arabella. Would Francis infect every aspect of her life now? Was he to be present in every plan, every moment?
Oh, indeed, she wished herself stronger than that.
Arabella then heard a sound through the door. Was there a fight? What on earth could be causing such chaos?
Sh
e set down her work and stood, making her way toward a door that led into a greater area of the gallery, where she was immediately taken aback by the sight before her.
Chapter 4
A Bit Of Swordplay Between Friends
“Point for me!” cried Hamish, the guard, jabbing Francis in the side with his tipped sword. Hamish gave a small bow, pointing the tip to the floor and leaning into it. The sword, made purely for sport, was thin and caused Hamish to wobble, giving Francis the upper hand in his laughter.
“Right ye are. Point for ye, Hamish!” Francis added as the guard gave him an embarrassed smile.
“Oh who cares anyhow, if I’m clumsy enough to fall on me own sword, then I suppose the point belongs to ye,” Hamish added.
“Let’s go again and see who’s deserving of the next point rather than dwelling on who received the last?” Francis suggested.
“Ye’re only saying that because I rightfully got the last,” Hamish replied.
“Clearly, but I still wish to try again,” Francis conceded.
The men smiled with every thrust and block. Francis loved sparring. It made him feel a thrill that little else could give him. The fight was exciting, energizing. In addition, Hamish made for an excellent partner.
With each twist, Francis felt a surge of power that gave him more motivation to show his strength. Even thoughts of his illegitimacy and the fact that he was undeserving of his title were motivation to prove himself further. He deserved this. He deserved to win. He could prove his worth. He could prove that he was better than his enemies and better than the bastard child he knew he was.
He pushed and thrust and finally, watched the tipped end of the sword jab Hamish right into his left rib.
“Ah!” Hamish exclaimed. “Quite the point that was.”
Francis looked at him apologetically as Hamish rubbed just under his heart. He seemed to have been in pain actually and Francis felt bad, but he also knew that this was a part of the game. The only mercy in sparring was the fact that they kept the foils covered and there would be no stab wounds.
Love Saves A Highland Spy: Ladies of Dunmore Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 3