The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4)

by Helen Susan Swift

  Loneliness is a strange concept. Normally I enjoy my own company best as many people are irritating with their pettiness and only desire to be the same as everybody else. However, there are times that I seek out the warmth and essential congeniality of people, for beneath the façade of bland acceptability most are decent. When I realised that I was alone on that barren track beside these great grassy lumps of hills, I suddenly felt very lonely.

  I did not linger long. After a few moments in which I stared into the night, I turned and strode purposefully in the direction of home. I knew I had a few miles to cover, it was late, I was tired, and somehow I had to replace the key in father's desk and later explain how I managed to get mud on my skirt while sleeping in bed.

  I did not expect to see the man who loomed out of the dark.

  'Where are you going all alone, my pretty?'

  'Who are you?' I demanded, more irritated than afraid. 'Get out of my way!'

  'What have we here?' The voice sounded again. 'It's a woman!'

  The light shone full in my face and a pair of strong arms fastened around me.

  I gasped, with horrible memories of Simmy and Peter coming back to me. 'Let go,' I said. I am not sure what happened next. There was a shout, somebody hit the man who held me and dragged me away.

  'Stay with me.' A man's voice hissed in my ear.

  'Why? Who…?' I got no further in my enquiries as a hand clamped across my mouth. Honestly, the number of times I was manhandled that autumn!

  Pulled backwards, I was led into the darkest section of a field and forced down. For a moment I contemplated the worst type of horrors imaginable.

  'If I take my hand away, will you promise to keep quiet?'

  I nodded vigorously, although I had every intention of screaming the countryside awake if this man did not behave himself.

  'Brave girl.' The hand slipped away as the man whispered. 'Now lie still until it's safe.'

  'What's happening?' I forgot my promise immediately.

  'Sssh!' The hand hovered near my mouth again.

  I shushed. I lay on the chill grass with this strange man beside me. I heard gruff voices echoing through the dark, somebody coughed and swore obscenely. The wind carried the words away. The man beside me shifted.

  'Wait here,' the man touched my arm. 'Don't move until I return.'

  He was gone. I lay alone, not sure what I should do. This night was not going as I had intended. Was it always like this at night, beyond the confines of Cauldneb? No wonder Mother had always insisted that I stayed inside our policies when the darkness crept in.

  'We're safe,' I had not heard the man return. 'Follow me. Don't stray.' I saw the flash of teeth as he smiled. 'Take hold of my coat tails.'

  I did as he said, still not sure what was happening as we trailed across the fields, avoiding the roads. Twice we stopped while my anonymous escort checked ahead.

  'Here we are.' The man stopped at the gateway to our policies. 'I'll leave you here.'

  'Who are you?' I tried to peer through the dark. 'How do you know where I live?'The man stepped back. The breeze pushed the clouds clear of the scimitar moon. For a moment I had a clear view of my companion's features. Even so, I was little further forward for he had taken the precaution of blackening his face. He looked more like a collier than anything else. Only his eyes were clear; they must have been the steadiest I had ever seen.

  'Who are you?' I repeated, but I was talking to empty air. My steady-eyed companion had vanished in the night.

  I had left the side door open so returning into the house was easy. The long-case clock in the lobby said a quarter before four. I had been out of the house for less than four hours; it seemed like days. Waves of tiredness swept over me as I crept upstairs to Father's study. Replacing the key, I threw off my clothes and fell into bed without bothering to don my night things. My mind was in a state of confusion mixed with vague guilt.

  Had I done the right thing in freeing Captain Ferintosh? Who were the men who had tried to grab me? Most of all, who was the steady-eyed man who had guided me home? Would Mother notice the mud on my cloak or could I claim it was from my last walk on Lammermuir?

  Even with my brain in a whirl, I slept like a felled log. Mother had to call me several times next morning before she sent up Maggie, our newest maid to wake me.

  'Oh, Miss,' Maggie giggled to find me au naturel. 'You are all naked.'

  'So are you, under your clothes.' I am not at my best in the morning after only two hours sleep. I threw on the first things that came to hand, shoved my cloak at poor Maggie with orders to get it cleaned and stomped downstairs in a foul mood. I soon realised that my perfect pater was in a temper equally as ferocious as my own. I had often wondered from whom I had inherited my disposition.

  Chapter Seven

  'Escaped?' I heard father's voice from two rooms away. 'How the devil did he escape? He was under lock and key and chained to the wall for God's sake.'

  I kept quiet as I sneaked into the dining room. Mother glowered at me for being late, while shaking her head as a warning not to interrupt Father at his rantings.

  'Somebody must have broken him out,' Elliot and Flockhart had brought Father the news.

  'Let me see.' Father did not bother to pull on a coat as he dashed out of the house. 'Fetch Hector! At once, do you hear?'

  You can only guess how I felt when I saw the consternation creasing Father's face. He was a good man holding his family together while trying to preserve the peace, and here I had increased his troubles. My heart sunk as I watched Father mount Hector and nearly gallop from the policies.

  What had I done?

  'Are you all right, Miss Mary?' Jeannie, the housekeeper, had known me all my life. 'Don't you fret about your father. He knows what's what.'

  'Yes.' I guessed how false my smile must have been. 'Yes, I'm sure he does.'

  'I'm sure your mother will find you something to keep your mind off things.' Jeannie said, kindly. 'You go and find her, now.'

  'Yes.' I stood up. The last person I wanted to see was my mother. I could not face her, knowing what I had done. 'I can't stay in the house. I have to go outside.'

  'I'll tell your mother,' Jeannie said. 'I know how you don't like to be cooped up indoors.'

  Only pausing to thank Jeannie, I slipped on my boots and cloak. I had too much on my mind to stay indoors. Fortunately, Coffee was rested, and in her stable, so I helped the stable lad saddle her and fled Cauldneb.

  I rode blindly, allowing Coffee to pick the road as the wind soothed my guilt and ruffled my hair. I had jammed Father's old hat on my head again, as much for convenience as anything else. Now I pulled it further down and headed north, toward the coast, or toward the Garleton Hills. The first frost of the season nipped my face, freezing the tears on my cheeks, but also kept my mind active as I pondered my actions.

  I came to myself when I saw the old-fashioned coach lumber across the appallingly rutted roads of the Huntlaw Estate.

  Everybody knew that Lady Emily Hume of Huntlaw was eccentric. She would emerge from Huntlaw House at odd times of the day or night, ride around the countryside and return without anybody seeing her face or speaking to her. Her chariot lurched past me as I walked Coffee on the fringes of her land. I lifted a hand to acknowledge her coachman's waved greeting. He looked even older than the coach.

  I reined up nearly at the same spot I had left Captain Ferintosh the previous night. Already it seemed a long time ago. I looked around, wondering how the captain had vanished so completely and where he might be now. How much had happened in such a short space of time with that strange man coming to my aid.

  Lady Emily's chariot disappeared behind a new plantation as I walked Coffee around the borders of the recently ploughed field.

  The man and I saw each other simultaneously. I frowned, recognising Alexander Colligere. I raised my hand, glad to see a face that might prove to be friendly.

  Alexander marched across to me, with a large canvas bag in one ha
nd and a small trowel in the other. 'Good day Miss Hepburn.' He shouted across to me. 'What brings you here?'

  'I'm just out for a ride,' I could hardly say that I was looking for a prisoner I had helped escape. I nodded to the bag. 'That looks interesting.'

  'Oh,' Alexander's smile could not have been broader. 'I'm collecting samples, you see.' He held the bag open for my inspection. 'One never knows what one can find, especially in fields that have been neglected, or down by the coast where ships call from foreign parts.'

  'Samples?' I peered into the bag. Mr Ormiston had been correct, Alexander was a little touched; his bag was full of the sort of weeds that I routinely plucked from our garden and threw into Mr Mitchell's fire.

  'Plant samples,' Alexander said. 'I collect and label them.' He told me the Latin names, pointing out each one.

  'Why do you do that?' I temporarily forgot my mission as I tried to fathom this man. I had never met a man who collected weeds.

  'They are fascinating things.' Alexander sounded genuinely enthusiastic about the green jumble inside his bag. 'Why are you here? Is it something to do with that excitement last night?'

  I had not expected anybody to make that connection. 'What makes you ask that?' I wished this strange man would go and grub for his weeds and leave me in peace to search for Captain Ferintosh.

  'One of the servants mentioned there had been noises around here last night,' Alexander said, 'and you don't normally come this way.'

  'How do you know that?' I demanded abruptly. 'Have you been spying on me?'

  'Good heavens, no!' Alexander smiled at the idea. 'I saw you for the first time yesterday, Miss Hepburn. No, I've been searching for plants in this area every day for the past week, and nobody has come except Lady Emily in her coach.'

  'Oh,' I immediately regretted my outburst. 'I'm sorry, Mr Colligere.'

  Alexander's smile dropped. 'Oh, please don't apologise to me. It was an easy assumption. I should have made myself clearer.'

  Alexander's words made me feel worse, of course. I tried to make amends and succeeded in making things worse. 'What will you do with all your weeds?' Plants! They are plants!

  'They're not weeds,' Alexander defended his collection. 'Or rather I don't consider them as weeds, whatever others may think.'

  'What will you do with your plants?' I amended, wishing I had never started this conversation. Would this man not go away and allow me to look for Captain Ferintosh?

  Alexander grinned, evidently pleased that I was taking an interest in his eccentricity. 'I am storing and cataloguing them,' he said. 'I aim to find all the native plants first, and then see the incomers, those that have arrived here from foreign parts.'

  I found that strangely interesting. 'Why?'

  'To see what can grow best in this soil,' Alexander's enthusiasm was obvious. 'We are in a period of tremendous advancement,' he said. 'Our agricultural techniques are advancing year on year, so why not our horticulture and botany as well? We have little idea what good can come from plants, medicine as well as food. My mother was a healer; she knew what plants healed sicknesses.'

  I had no desire to hear about this man's mother, for goodness sake. 'Father is always trying to improve our farms,' I said.

  'Is he?' I had never seen a man so animated about farming as Alexander Colligere was when I mentioned Father's agricultural engagement. His whole face seemed to become alive in a most curious manner. 'I shall have to talk to him, I am sure we have much to discuss.'

  'I'm sure you would both enjoy that,' I said, resolving to stay well away from the meeting. 'You may wish to speak to Mr Mitchell our gardener too.'

  Alexander did not seem to realise I had insulted him by putting him on the same social level as a servant. Why had I done that? That was the sort of statement my mother would have made when she put somebody in their place.

  'I'm sure we will have a great deal in common,' Alexander was as enthusiastic as if I had proposed a hunt or a ball. I had never met such a man before.

  'Well, Mr Colligere,' I said, 'I will be on my way. Good luck with your plant hunting.' Tapping Coffee with the reins, I pulled past him and walked on, not quite sure where I was going.

  'My name is not…' I had heard enough of Alexander's words to listen to any more.

  Lady Emily's coach passed on her return home. It halted, and for a long moment, I saw the white blur of a face at the side window. Either Her Ladyship was watching me ride around her lands, or she was wondering what Alexander Colligere was doing hacking at her weeds. I shook my head: two eccentrics on the same patch of land; they were well suited to one another.

  It was not until I passed the Garleton Hills that I realised there had been no formality between us. I had spoken to Alexander as if I had known him for years. I shook away that thought. It was far more important that I find Captain Ferintosh.

  I found that Father had the same concern when I returned after a long and fruitless ride. My mood, you may guess, was none the sweeter for my failure.

  'He has vanished like smoke on a windy day.' Father fumed as he dismounted in front of our stables. 'I have alerted the parish constables all over the county, sent intelligence to all the magistrates and ordered his description to be published in the newspapers.' He stamped his feet in frustration. 'I am deeply embarrassed at having such a prize escape from my custody!'

  I said nothing although my guilt must have been evident in my flushed face and averted gaze. I was about to retreat to my room when a whole press of riders clattered into our courtyard, with the sound of the horses' hooves ringing on the cobble-stones and the sight and smell of the beasts reminding me of the olden days of cattle reiving and English invasion.

  'Damn the man!' Mr John Aitken shouted. 'Damn and blast him for an errant rogue.'

  I listened. As Father was not prone to such colourful language, it was quite entertaining to hear a man carry on so.

  'How the deuce did he escape?' Mr Aitken asked when he calmed down.

  'There was no sign of forced entry at the lockup,' Father said. 'He must have a cracksman in his gang, some expert from Edinburgh to pick the lock.' He clenched his single fist. 'I'd like to get my hand on the fellow that released him!'

  'What has he done to have a gang?' I thought it best to change the subject before Father began to ask about keys. 'Who is this fellow that caused you so much distress?'

  'You saw him yesterday, Miss Hepburn,' Mr Aitken said. 'He is the most roguish blackguard in Scotland, fit to match any outlaw, by God.'

  'Pray, sir,' I approached, promising myself that whatever happened, I would not marry this foul-mouthed, blustering old man. 'Does he have a name?' I hoped that they had arrested the wrong fellow, you understand. I hoped that my gallant captain was as innocent of crime as I had been this time yesterday.

  'He has a name indeed,' Blustering John Aitken said. 'He has a name for rascally and impertinence, for illicit distilling; he has a name for roguery and deception, for lies and blackguardism; he has a name for theft and smuggling and even murder I wouldn't wonder. In short, Miss Hepburn, he is a scoundrel of the highest order, a man who deserves a good hanging.'

  'Yes, Mr Aitken,' I thought it politic to agree to John Aitken's assassination of my good captain's character. 'But does he have a given name? Is he Mr Smith for instance? Or is he Angus MacDonald? Or perhaps he is Edward Largelugs?'

  John Aitken's glare should have consigned me to the deepest pit, which was possibly the intention of that choleric gentleman. 'He has many given names as well, Miss Hepburn. Unfortunately, we do not know which one is correct. Some call him Edmund Charleton. Others know him as Galloping Bob. The ladies, I hear, call him Captain Ferintosh.'

  I knew that last name.

  'Oh.' It was true then. Father had not mistakenly arrested the wrong man. My oh-so-gallant captain was a black-hearted villain, by the sound of it, a criminal of the highest order. I took a deep breath, remembering Captain Ferintosh's kindness to me. 'He can't be all bad,' I said. 'There will be some g
ood in him.'

  Father put his arm around me. 'That is typical of my daughter, John. Mary looks for the good in everybody. You will learn to love her as much as we do.'

  The idea of grumpy John Aitken loving me was more than I could bear. The thought of his huge, calloused hands on my body… No! I refused to even contemplate such a thing.

  'There is no good in Edmund Charleton,' John Aitken said. 'He is dyed black as the Earl of Hell's weskit.'

  I compared Captain Ferintosh's elegant manners with John Aitken's foul temper. I knew which gentleman I preferred. I did not care what misdemeanours John Aitken accused Captain Ferintosh of. The captain had always been a perfect gentleman with me.

  'Father mentioned a gang,' I reminded. 'Do you know what sort of gang, pray?'

  'A gang of the worst kind of wicked blaggards imaginable,' John Aitken said. 'It is a gang of thieves and cutpurses, cracksmen and smugglers. Why his very name gives away the kind of men who would be attracted to him!'

  'Edmund Charleton,' I said. 'That does not sound too bad to me.'

  'Galloping Bob or Captain Ferintosh,' John Aitken said.

  Father watched, saying nothing. I presumed that he was allowing John Aitken and I to get acquainted. Well, Father, I thought, I have had all the acquaintance I wish with this fellow.

  'Galloping Bob,' I said. 'That sounds romantic.'

  'It is a fine name for a highwayman,' John Aitken grumbled.

  I agreed. A highwayman, the knights of the road, would be proud of that name. I wondered if my captain had ever been such a gallant, taking his life in his hands, robbing the rich to protect the poor.

  'Captain Ferintosh as well.' I rolled the name around inside my head. 'It sounds Highland, like one of the chiefs who raised these regiments to fight the French in the last war. Ferintosh's Highlanders. It's a name fit to stand beside Fraser's Highlanders who captured Quebec, or Montgomery's Highlanders that fought in the West Indies and against the ferocious Shawnee warriors.'

  I was teasing, of course, showing grumpy John Aitken that I was not impressed by his attack on the escaped prisoner.