The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4)

by Helen Susan Swift

  'You can get yourself home now, Mary.' Alexander was not in the least interested in Lady Emily's antics.

  'There is no rush.' I watched with considerable satisfaction as Lady Emily continued to gain her revenge on Isabel.

  'No,' Alexander said. 'There is no rush. However, I do think we'd be better out of the rain.'

  'Yes.' I waited until the entertainment had finished and both coaches rolled away, the prisoners in front and Her Ladyship following behind, as an escort, no doubt.

  For some reason, I felt quite melancholic that the Captain Ferintosh episode had finished. I doubted that I would ever experience anything so exciting again. My future life as wife to Mr John Aitken would be achingly dull in comparison. When I returned to Cauldneb, this period would be in the past. I felt too young to enter my decades of dullness.

  'Let's go into the house,' I said. 'Lady Emily won't mind.'

  'The servants locked the doors before they took her away in the coach,' Alexander said. 'There are stables.'

  'A stable it must be,' I said.

  I was glad not to go home yet and glad I had such comfortable company with which to spend my time. As the excitement of the day wore off, I felt momentarily dispirited, and then another, more unfamiliar excitement took over. I could not identify it, although I recognised that it was even more significant than the fleeting adventure of knowing Captain Ferintosh.

  Shaking my head and telling myself not to be foolish, I followed Alexander into the stable as the rain hammered down upon us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  'It's drier in here,' Alexander said.

  We looked out at the teeming rain, looked at each other and sat down on bales of straw.

  'We have a choice,' Alexander said.

  'We have,' I moved aside to dodge a persistent drip that came through the roof.

  Alexander nodded. 'Yes, Mary. You'd better move before you get wet.'

  I looked at the puddle forming around my feet. 'I think it's a bit late for that.' We laughed together. 'Look at the pair of us. We're like a pair of drowned rats. Tell me your choice, Alexander.'

  'We can stay here until the rain moderates,' Alexander said, 'or we can ride through the storm.'

  I looked out of the half-open door. The rain was bouncing from the quickly spreading puddles. Ahead, the clouds concealed Lammermuir, with tendrils of grey probing into the lower ground.

  'We're already wet,' I said. 'We can't get much wetter riding home.'

  'Are you in a hurry?' Alexander stood up and walked to the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints. 'I'm not.'

  I did not wish to admit that I felt very relaxed in Alexander's company. After all the recent excitements, it felt good to sit, do nothing and feel safe. I looked up suddenly. That was true; I did feel safe with this man.

  'If we sit here like this we'll both end up with a fever.' My words contradicted my desires. 'We'd better get home and into dry clothes.'

  'Why not dry our clothes here?'

  'We'll need a fire for that,' I did not object. I had no desire to ride a wet horse through pelting rain. Also, and probably very selfishly, I wanted to find out more about Alexander. I found him endlessly, refreshingly intriguing.

  'That is not a problem.' Alexander said. 'There are stone slabs on the ground and plenty straw and lumber.'

  'We have no flame,' I pointed out helpfully. 'You don't smoke so you won't have a flint.'

  Alexander smiled. 'Now how do you know I don't smoke? Have you been spying on me?'

  'I happened to notice,' I said.

  'I do have a flint,' Alexander said. 'Fire is useful when I stay out overnight.'

  'You stay out overnight?'

  'I prefer the outdoors to the indoors. Let's get the fire going first.' Alexander's smile widened. 'I've done this before. We'll have to make space to ensure the fire does not spread.'

  We worked together, pushing back the bales of hay from the slabs. We also brushed away any loose straw so that sparks could not ignite something we could not control. I watched Alexander from the corners of my eyes. He worked with energy, whistling as he did so. As he bent to his work, his wet breeches clung to his legs and bottom like a second skin. I smiled, averted my gaze and, guiltily, looked back again. I felt the colour rush to my face, wondering what Catherine would say.

  I had no idea that Alexander was so skilled. He collected a pile of dry straw, took his pistol from his saddle, emptied the powder and scraped a spark from a tinderbox. When the powder ignited with a loud whoosh, the straw was instantly alight.

  'That was clever,' I edged closer to the flames. Although gathering combustible materials had warmed me up slightly, I was still shivering.

  'We'd better get out of these wet things,' Alexander said. 'It's not healthy.'

  I stared at him. 'We can't sit here without clothes on!' The prospect both appalled and, strangely, beguiled me. I pushed away the thoughts that came to my mind. I might recall them later when I was alone.

  'Look,' Alexander stepped away for a moment, returning with heavy woollen blankets folded over his arm. 'Horse blankets. They are not the most comfortable things to wear, but they'll cover us and they'll be warmer than what we have.'

  He was right. 'Where can I change?' I peered into the gloom.

  'You change beside the fire,' Alexander said. 'I'll go over there.' He indicated a dark corner. He touched my shoulder. 'It's all right, Mary. I won't look.'

  'I know,' I said. I watched as Alexander lifted one of the blankets and walked into the dark. Turning my back, I struggled to remove my wet clothes. Hooks, eyes and buttons can be awkward, especially when dampness has swollen the material. Twice I turned abruptly to check that Alexander was not looking. He was as good as his word. The first time I saw him removing his waistcoat. The second time I had a flash of white flesh and looked away quickly, only to again turn back in guilty inquisitiveness. Although I just had a back view, I saw that Alexander was slim and muscular. I lingered for a few seconds before my conscience propelled me to concentrate on my undressing. The Elysian image remained with me.

  'Are you ready?' Alexander's voice floated from the corner of the stable. 'May I come over?'

  'Nearly ready.' Dragging off the last of my underclothes, I stood there with the fire roasting my front half and a draught chilling my back half. I had a most mischievous urge to call on Alexander now and allow him to see me in all my glory. I shook my head. It would be grossly unfair to embarrass the man in that manner. However, the tingle remained for a moment as I hauled on the horse blanket.

  'I'm ready,' I said.

  'Good,' Alexander walked over with his blanket like a rough coat. Piling his clothes on one of the bales of hay, he grinned to me. 'Well now, Mary. Isn't this an adventure to tell your grandchildren?'

  'Yes indeed.' It was easy to smile to Alexander, even when wearing nothing but a blanket that itched most abominably. 'We'd better spread our clothes out in front of the fire.'

  'Indeed, yes,' Alexander mirrored my words. 'I'll fetch some more wood.'

  I watched as he moved to one of the stalls and destroyed it, hauling at the wood until the nails parted. He carried over lengths of timber and piled them beside the fire. 'Lady Emily won't like us breaking up her happy home.'

  'Lady Emily can whistle.' I said.

  The fire dispersed light as well as welcome warmth around the stable. That gloomy place became quite homely as we spread out our clothes beside the flames. I had no concern that the sight of my underthings should inflame Alexander. He seemed too well balanced a man for such nonsense. I felt entirely secure in his presence as if I had known him for years.

  'There we are then.' Alexander said. 'All cosy and warm.' He scratched at his shoulder. 'These blankets are damnably uncomfortable though.'

  'Damnably,' I said solemnly, and we laughed together.

  'That rain seems as if it's on for the night,' Alexander said.

  'I think so.' I said. I did not mind. I did not care one fig if it rained all n
ight, all the next day and all the night after that. At that moment I was quite content to sit there beside that cheerful fire with a man who was not concerned that I wore a horse blanket for clothing while my hair was a shocking tangle, plastered to my head and dripping water down the back of my neck.

  'Are you hungry?' Alexander broke what had been a surprisingly comfortable silence.

  'I had not thought about it.' I said. 'Now you mention it, perhaps a little.'

  'I'll see what I can find.' Alexander said. 'You wait here.'

  'No, Alex.' Using the familiar diminutive, I shouted after him. 'Don't go out into the rain. I'm all right.' I may as well have tried to stop the tide. With his horse-blanket held around him like an opera cloak, Alexander padded bare-foot into the storm.

  I sighed, watching the play of flames around the wood and listened to the batter of rain on the roof. Alexander was back within half an hour, water dripping from him but his arms full.

  'Here we are,' he said. 'Nothing exotic.' He laid his treasures before him. 'We have two leaves full of bramble berries; the last of the crop so past their best but they will provide sweetness. We have half a basket of apples from Lady Emily's orchard. We have two trout from the burn, and half a dozen potatoes gleaned from the fields.'

  'How did you catch the fish?' I looked at these various foodstuffs with some amazement. 'You've no rod or line.'

  'I guddled them,' Alexander said. 'I had to discard the blanket first.'

  'You guddled them? In the pouring rain?'

  'Fish rise in the rain.' Alexander said.

  I had a delightful vision of Alexander, naked as the day he was born, lying in the mud beside a frothing dark river, waiting with his hands in the water for a fish to swim close. That is the art of guddling, you see, catching the fish by hand and lifting it from the river. 'I'd like to have seen that,' I said with a wicked smile.

  Alexander shook his head, smiling. 'It would not be the most attractive sight in the world.'

  I thought of the brief view I had enjoyed of Alexander's nether regions. 'I'm not sure about that,' I said, and rapidly changed the subject. 'You'll be soaking.'

  'I'll soon dry.' He pulled his blanket closer.

  For one moment I contemplated offering to towel him dry. The thought was disturbingly delectable. I shook my head. Don't be ridiculous. This man is Alexander, the eccentric plant collector.

  'Now,' Alexander lifted the trout. 'I have a knife in my jacket pocket,' he said. 'If you could pass it over, I'd be much obliged.'

  As I pulled out the clasp-knife, Alexander's pocket-book fell out, to land on the ground at my feet. I handed over the knife and lifted the pocket-book. It had opened as it fell, with half the contents spilling out. I scooped up sundry silver and gold coins and a folded piece of parchment. About to replace it, I saw Alexander's look of agitation.

  'I forgot that was there.' Alexander had left the circle of light from the fire to split and prepare the fish.

  'What is it? May I look and see?'

  'It's not worth it,' Alexander sounded more agitated than I had ever known him. 'It isn't worth it.'

  Curious to find out what disturbed this most placid of men, I opened the paper. Inside, faded and pressed but still recognisable, was a single pink rose. I gave a subdued gasp. That was the dog rose I had presented to Alexander at Garleton Castle. I thought he would have laughed and thrown it away. Instead, he had preserved it within his pocketbook.

  Why?

  I could not ask him.

  'I'll just put it back then.' Carefully refolding the rose within its paper, I replaced it in Alexander's pocketbook. That little rose must have meant a lot to Alexander for him to preserve it as he had. Why? It was only a wild flower. I looked up as Alexander returned. 'You are a strange man, Alexander,' I said.

  'I've been called worse than that.' Alexander poked about on the wall of the stable. Finding what he sought, he returned with a large flat stone. 'Here's our griddle,' he said. 'It won't be the best cooking you'll have tasted.'

  'I am sure it will be sublime.' I watched as Alexander built the fire up further, placed the flat stone on top and the cleaned fish on top of the stone. 'Don't burn yourself, now!'

  'Too late,' Alexander said and sucked at his wrist.

  'Oh, you silly boy! Let me see.' I held his hand, studying the angry red burn. 'Stay still.' Purely by instinct, I bent my head and kissed the burn. 'Is that better?'

  Alexander stared at me as if I had sprouted wings. 'Yes.' His voice was small. 'Thank you.'

  'It was only a healing kiss,' I withdrew rapidly.

  Alexander stared at his wrist. 'I've only ever been kissed once before.'

  'Only once?'

  'When you kissed my forehead.' He touched the spot as if it was something sacred.

  I tried to make a joke out of it. 'Surely your mother kissed you?'

  'She was not an affectionate woman.'

  'I see.' I said no more. What could I say? My mother was the opposite. She had hot emotions and showed them vividly. When I was younger and had earned praise, I got it in spades, together with kisses fit to drown a whale and hugs that would scare the most hugging of brown bears. I resolved, there and then, that I would never deprive any child of mine of kisses or affection. It was a good resolution.

  I do not know what sort of oil Alexander used on the trout if indeed he used oil at all. I do know that they tasted as delicious as any fish that Cook ever produced, if a little smoky. Perhaps it was the novelty of the surroundings that enhanced the taste, or maybe it was the laughing company. I only know that I enjoyed every last morsel of that soft white flesh, with Alexander sitting opposite me in his blanket and the steam slowly coiling from our clothes.

  'What's next?' I licked the grease from my fingers without a trace of embarrassment. 'You produced fish out of nowhere. What miracle are you going to do now?'

  I had not seen Alexander push the potatoes into the base of the fire. Now he produced them.

  'Here we are. I've no salt, I'm afraid.'

  I looked at the blackened and charred lumps. 'We can't eat them,' I laughed.

  'Watch.' Lifting the first potato, Alexander placed it on his knee and carefully cut away the blackened skin. He handed the white and tender interior to me. 'Try that.'

  I did. 'It's edible,' I said with some surprise. 'No, it's even quite tasty.' It was good to see his smile of relief.

  We ate side by side, saying little. I was as relaxed as I ever had been outside Cauldneb. 'I wonder what you're going to make next,' I said.

  'Apple and bramble mush,' Alexander said. Once again he called his knife into use, peeling the apples, cutting them into small pieces and piling them, together with the bramble berries, onto the famous flat stone. I watched as he pounded them together and mixed them up. Balancing the mess on top of the fire for a few moments, Alexander lifted it down. He blew on his fingers as he placed the stone-plate between us.

  'We eat with our fingers,' Alexander said solemnly. 'Dive in.'

  I dived in. Looking back, we must have made a surreal picture, a young woman and a young man, dressed in nothing but horse-blankets, sitting around a fire in a draughty stable eating a makeshift meal with our fingers. It was a meal that I will never forget. That was the strangest time I had ever spent with a man. I compared it to Captain Ferintosh's sumptuous feast. There was no comparison. I had enjoyed Alexander's simple, experimental fare better. I still recall those few happy hours with a wistful smile. For a short time, fate had lifted the shadow of John Aitken. That shadow would soon return.

  It was my destiny to wear the wedding ring of John Aitken. The darkness awaited beyond the stable doors. One cannot escape predetermination with a simple fire and a shared smile. Fate must have its way.

  'That rain's getting heavier,' I said as the wind threatened to blow the roof from the stable.

  'So it is.' Alexander did not seem concerned. 'We'd better stay here a little longer then.'

  'Maybe we had,' I agreed without a
qualm.

  It was strange that I was quite content to sit quietly with Alexander. There was no need for conversation. When he spoke, I was equally happy to listen.

  'I have never spent so long with a girl,' Alexander said.

  'What do you normally do?' I avoided the girl subject. 'Hunt for plants?'

  'Yes.' Alexander said. 'I gather plants, then identify and catalogue them, hoping to find a new variety.'

  'Are the plants not pretty well known?' I was genuinely interested. 'I like gardening, particularly vegetables and fruit. Our gardener tries to teach me about varieties and such like things. I thought he knew them all.'

  'Our Scottish plants are probably all well known,' Alexander's eyes lit up at this rare opportunity to discuss a subject close to his heart. 'I like to search for stranger plants, flowers, and what we call weeds that have come here from overseas. The more trade we have, the more likelihood there is of non-native plants arriving on our shores, maybe falling off a sack from Hindustan, or attached to a log from North America.'

  I smiled at his enthusiasm. 'Wouldn't you like to go to Hindustan or Africa or some other foreign part to see what they have there?'

  'I already have,' Alexander said.

  'Have you?' I had not expected that reply.

  'I spent two years in the Americas,' Alexander said. 'While the wealthy were off on the Grand Tour, I took ship for New York. I wandered the forests and mountains there.'

  'When was that?' I had no idea that Alexander had travelled.

  '1782 until 1784,' Alexander said.

  'There was a war on then,' I pointed out.

  'Yes,' Alexander agreed.

  'You were fortunate not to get involved,' I said. I could not see Alexander carrying a sword and leading men into battle.

  Alexander stared into the fire. 'There were a few occasions when I met the armies,' he said. 'I mainly managed to avoid them.' He looked up. 'That land is vast, Mary, much vaster than you can ever imagine. There is so much there, so much potential. I don't understand why men kill and maim for political ends when there is room and resources for us all.'

  I looked at him. I had been a teenager when the last war had ended back in 1783. Since then there had been rumours of a new war with France. Half the young men in East Lothian had rushed to don scarlet uniforms and had strutted around like peacocks, boasting of the great deeds they would do. As far as I could see, all their great deeds would mean killing other young men exactly like themselves, except their uniform was a different colour and they spoke a foreign tongue. I had not been impressed. Alexander was the first young man I had ever met who did not either bore me or try to awe me with boasts of martial glory.