03 - Dreams of Destiny

by May McGoldrick

  “We fit,” she whispered, the only words she could utter.

  He laughed again. This time, it was the laughter of the satisfied male, pleased with the fruits of his labor. It was a sound that made her insides go soft. Slowly at first, he withdrew a little and then slid back into her, even deeper than before. Again, and then again, he slid back and drove into her, and Gwyneth felt the pulsing thrill begin to build and she answered his thrusts as he gradually sped the tempo of the love dance.

  “Think, lass, of forever,” he breathed in her ear, “and what it shall be like to do this…for as long as we both shall live.”

  ****

  Frustrated and alone, he searched for solace in the arms of a number of willing lasses. Each time, he thought he might satisfy, in some way, the painful need that tore at him. He found, though, as winter gave way to spring, that he was only going through the motions. From Melrose to Peebles, a quick tumble was all that he sought. And he would only bed each lass once.

  The women were young. Some might have been bonnie, he supposed. Strangely, he could not remember their faces. As he made love to them, though, each one looked like Emma. They had the same hair, the same eyes, the same slender frame. They resembled her in one way or another.

  Not one of them meant a thing to him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not pry loose the hook that Emma had sunk into his flesh.

  Each time, he tried to imagine that he was making love to her. He tried to see her face, her smile, but it was no use. None of them brought him the release that could satisfy him. They were not Emma, and he felt cursed to the pit of his very soul.

  CHAPTER 10

  Baronsford was a fairytale castle set in the midst of a grand deer park and with miles of footpaths weaving in and out along cliffs overlooking the river Tweed. A grand piece of architecture, well known throughout Britain, it had been painted many times by famous artists across the continent. The Pennington family seat was a safe haven where a tired traveler or a desperate vagrant could rely on generosity of its owners.

  There were many written and spoken accounts of the place, many glowing descriptions of it by those who had visited or even passed by the stone castle. But there were many faces to Baronsford, and over the years, Walter Truscott believed, the grand house became whatever its mistress wanted it to be.

  As a child Walter had been brought up here by his father--Sir William, a half brother to Lady Aytoun. Immediately drafted into the bands of the three older boys, he and his cousins had terrorized both house and countryside. From the very start Walter had known Baronsford as a welcoming and happy home.

  Years later, and after Emma’s marriage to Lyon and as Baronsford had gone through excessively numerous renovations of the rooms and gardens and furniture, he had watched the castle become a grand showpiece. A distant trophy with opulent looks but no usefulness. During that time, Truscott had thought of the castle as forbidden, hostile, cold. Those were the days that he’d even considered leaving the place and the people and everything he cared about.

  This spring, though, since the new Countess of Aytoun, Millicent Gregory, had arrived at the borders with Lyon, Baronsford was changing again into that safe haven of old. Once again, it was becoming a home—warm and welcoming to all.

  The land clearings of the Highlands were spreading south to the borders. Hundreds of vagrants were passing through Baronsford every month. Most of them were hungry, desperate for work, or ill and wretched like the young woman at Rita and Angus’s cottage.

  The travelers needed ways to feed their families. The sick required care. Others just wanted to earn enough to pay for a passage to the colonies. And Baronsford—the castle folk, the cotters, and the people belonging to it—accepted and sheltered the vagrants. The pattern was begun at the top. Millicent and Lyon set the example, and everyone followed.

  To Truscott, Baronsford had never been as beautiful as it was now.

  The sun had sunk halfway down the western sky when he left his horse at the stables and walked toward the house. The dowager and her friend Ohenewaa were sitting on a stone bench in the rose gardens, and they ceased their conversation to wave at him as he walked up the hill. Walter considered going to them and asking Ohenewaa if she might know of someone fitting the description of the mysterious lass who might just be from Knebworth. Knowing his aunt’s shrewdness, though, and her manner of asking a hundred questions before she allowed one to be answered, Truscott decided against asking now. If Millicent were not available to speak to him tonight, then he would just wait until he could catch Ohenewaa alone.

  The newlyweds, Pierce and Portia, had decided to take a fortnight or two to see something of the western isles. Portia’s mother, Helena, had gone south to visit the beautiful country around Windermere in Cumbria, where she had spent many years before being brought to the colonies. They were all due to arrive back any day, though. This renewed aspect of Baronsford—the sense of liveliness and a family together again—was another thing that added so much joy to the place.

  If they could only hear from David, he thought.

  Truscott found Millicent, Lyon, and little Josephine in the library. As was the laird’s c now., whenever he was not engaged in the business of running Baronsford, they gathered as a family. Joining them there, Walter felt uneasy about mentioning anything distressing. He had no desire to spoil the peaceful mood that surrounded them.

  “Oh, Walter, I am so glad that you are back,” Millicent said brightly, greeting him from her seat on the sofa.

  Truscott walked over and brushed a kiss on her cheek. The countess’s advanced stage of pregnancy showed in her round belly and the swollen ankles that her husband insisted she keep raised on the sofa whenever she had the chance. For a split second, he imagined the young woman at the cotter’s cottage must have been at the same time in her pregnancy when she’d lost her bairn as Millicent was now.

  “You have not joined us for a single meal this week,” the countess admonished him. “You have been working too hard, trying to do everything yourself.”

  A soft pat on his boots made Truscott look down. He smiled at the bairn who had separated herself from Lyon and was right now giving him a toothless grin. He reached down immediately and took Josephine in his arms. The baby began to babble immediately and kissed him sloppily on the chin.

  “If you wish to avoid the scolding you’re taking from these two bonnie lasses, I think we’d better see a wee bit more of you, cousin.”

  Walter glanced at Lyon who was grinning up at him from the floor near the sofa. He’d obviously been enjoying the attentions of the baby before Truscott had entered.

  “Is the lass continuing to improve?” the earl asked, opening his arms as Walter lowered the baby onto his chest.

  Truscott had kept his cousin apprised of what was happening at the cotter’s place during the past days.

  “Is someone ill?” Millicent asked.

  Walter glanced at Lyon first, seeking his permission. Earlier on, when he had first mentioned the pregnant traveler to the earl, they’d decided to keep the news away from Millicent. Then, when she’d lost the baby, they were glad they had done so. Because of her own condition, and the tragedy surrounding the death of Josephine’s mother, they did not want to cause Millicent further distress.

  Lyon reached up and took his wife’s hand. “Walter has been visiting a young vagrant who was left at the door of one of our cotter’s. The lass was with child and very ill. ‘Twas a very similar situation to Jo’s, I’m afraid.”

  Millicent’s back immediately stiffened. Walter saw the look of worry that clouded her face. “Why did you not tell me? You should bring her here. Fetch a doctor and—”

  “Everything that could have been done for her was done,” Walter assured her. “We brought the doctor in from Melrose, and the midwife saw to her, as well. The first night after being left, she delivered her bairn, but the creature died.”

  “How sad?” She sank back against the seat. “How is the girl doing now?”


  “She survived and seems to be improving…physically, at least.” Baby Josephine was crawling on her chest toward him again, so Walter took his cousin’s example and sat down on the floor. “The fever is gone. She is moving around. Today, she was even helping the r’s wife with some chores.”

  “Does she have any kin? Was there any husband?" Millicent asked quietly.

  “She hasn't said anything to that effect. She appears to be all alone, and when her baby was buried outside the old kirkyard over the hill from the cottage, she said nothing.”

  “Has she started talking about where she came from? Has she told you her name, at least?" Lyon asked.

  “She’s said very little to Rita. Mostly, she just answers simple questions. Nothing of a personal nature, though. That is another reason why I continue to worry about her. She might appear to be improving, but she is still mourning her dead bairn. I fear there may be other things that we know nothing about, as well.”

  “Why don’t you try to convince her to come to Baronsford with you?” Millicent said softly. “With everything else that is going on here, she might have less time to think.”

  “Thank you, m’lady. I shall try to talk her into coming here.”

  Seeing Walter as no challenge, the baby was crawling in a straight line toward the door and where she could be sure to get into more trouble. Knowing how Lyon still had some difficulty with his healing legs and knees, Truscott went after the impetuous imp. Handing her, complaining and squirming, back to her father, he sat on the sofa beside the countess.

  Lyon turned Josephine on her back, and she started giggling and screeching happily as he tickled her neck. “You, my wee fairy, move around with more speed than I can possibly match.”

  It was fascinating watching them. The imposing earl, who had always been feared for his short temper and lethal skills, was now the very picture of the devoted father who would do anything to protect his child. Truscott knew he would be equally doting when Millicent gave birth to the bairn she was carrying. It was rewarding to see such happiness between these good people. So different from the disaster that would have occurred had Emma lived long enough to bear her child.

  Truscott’s mood immediately soured at the mere thought. Temper reddened his cheeks. He forced himself to push the image out of his head, but the one that replaced it was not too blissful, either.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw a woman’s small frame bent in desperate unhappiness over a wee grave, her raw, bleeding fingers making marks in the dirt.

  “What is it, Walter?” Millicent asked softly, leaning over and placing her hand on his shoulder. “What is it that you haven’t told us about her?”

  He looked at her. “’Tis something that she has been doing. She has written a circle of names around the grave of her bairn. At the same time, she’s shared nothing of her own name or her history. I do not know why she does it, and it confuses me.”

  “What is it that she is writing? What are some of the names?” Lyon asked. “Perhaps we can identify her with one of the estates to the west.”

  “I stopped today to read them while she was busy with the cotter’s wife. Very little of it remained after the rain last night, but…well, what I could read had nothing to do with any estates in the Borders.” Walter looked at Millicent again. “There was something that appeared to be your name there. And the beginning of what I could only imagine to be Ohenewaa’s. Then, there were names like Mary, Moses, Amina…and Holmes.”

  “Dear Lord!” Millicent shot to her feet abruptly, desperately grasping her husband’s shoulder. “Lyon, could it possibly be Violet?”

  ****

  Numbed by the chill of the approaching dawn, she stared at the name she had scratched into the dirt. Millicent. Tears dripped from Violet’s cheeks and fell on her stained hands. It was so unjust that she herself still lived while her child lay dead beneath this pile of dirt and stone. A soft moan escaped her throat. It was wrong that she had sinned and her daughter had been buried in unhallowed ground.

  Violet knew Mr. Truscott had seen the names. From hearing Angus and Rita talk, she knew who he was. He was kin to the earl himself, and he had become a good friend to the new Countess of Aytoun. He was kind and reliable, and she knew he would do the right thing. Lady Aytoun would see to it that the baby’s body would be moved. The good mistress would understand and see to it.

  And Violet herself would be gone.

  *****

  It was the old earl’s suggestion that Walter accompany Pierce on a grand tour of continent. The second brother had just finished his education at the university, and the old earl believed Walter should see and experience what was happening in the world before he settled down to run the affairs of Baronsford.

  The trip could take as long as a year, and Walter was elated about the opportunity. It meant he would not need to see Emma.

  And surely there was much a young man could forget in a year.

  CHAPTER 11

  The cool breeze of the summer morning brushed over David’s naked shoulders and back. The noise from the bustling village outside the window pulled him slowly out of the enfolding arms of sleep. With his gradual wakefulness came desire—the need to once again join Gwyneth’s body with his own, as they had made love repeatedly during the night.

  Each time had been different, each act of lovemaking even more exciting than the last. Gwyneth’s body was a temple. He could worship every part of it for eternity. And her passion was unbounded. She had been as eager as he when they’d made love in the cold water of the tub after their first time. And around dawn, when David had heard a distant cock crow, he had pulled her soft body beneath his, and she had eagerly guided him inside of her.

  Fully aroused now, he reached blindly for her across the bed, but she was not there. Opening his eyes, he stared at the empty bed. His gaze quickly took in the room. The tub sat by the foot of the bed. The towels had been folded neatly and placed on a chair. His clothing lay beside the towels. The sight of Gwyneth’s small trunk lying openy and plathe window eased his mind. She could not have gone too far.

  David’s stomach growled from hunger. He decided that she must have been hungry, as well. She was probably downstairs getting some food for them at this very minute. Still though, he pushed aside the covers and pulled on his breeches.

  She could not have run off after the night they’d spent together, he reasoned. No, he had to learn to trust her, and before they married Gwyneth would need to know that he trusted her.

  Still, the soft tap on the door was a relief. David cast aside the shirt he was about to pull over his head. A dozen of things ran though his mind to say to Gwyneth as soon as he opened the door. But more than any words, there was one thing he planned to do. He intended to toss her back onto that bed and make love to her in the full light of day.

  He yanked open the door, to only have the serving woman carrying a tray step back. Her gaze, though, immediately fell to the front of his breeches. It only took him a moment to recover from his surprise.

  “Where is she?” he barked, not making any effort to hide his disappointment and annoyance. “Where is the bloody woman who was staying with me here last night?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he pushed by her into the narrow corridor, looking up and down the empty passageway.

  “The mistress came down a couple of hours ago, sir. She asked to have breakfast brought up to yer room now.” The girl held the tray of food toward him like a peace offering.

  He refused to take it. “Where is she now?”

  “I believe she was on her way out, sir.”

  “On her way out where?”

  His shout made her almost drop the tray, but she was able to catch it at the last moment and nervously hold it on one arm. “I dunna ken more, sir, but what she told me. And this…” She searched in her pocket. “This note she left to be delivered to ye with yer meal.” With trembling fingers, she held the sealed missive toward him.

  David snatched it out of her
hand and stalked back inside the room.

  “If ye dunna want yer breakfast, sir, should I send the boys to take away the tub?”

  Glaring at her, he slammed the door shut.

  *****

  After last night, everything she believed about the relationship between a man and a woman went right out the window. Modesty and timidity might as well reside on the moon. Even Gwyneth’s knowledge and understanding of the act of lovemaking had been proven completely inadequate. Within the first few minutes of David’s arrival, she had been educated in ways unimaginable.

  It hadn’t taken long for her to feel so comfortable with him. In fact, being intimate with him felt as natural as eating food or taking a drink. The word ‘no’ had been erased from her vocabulary, despite the acts that she would have previously described as wicked, to say the very least. And Gwyneth had learned there were more sensitive parts to her body than ther were stars in the sky. She could feel that delicious warmth in her starting up again, just thinking of last night.

  And this was only the beginning of why she’d fled this morning. One night had completely overthrown her, body and soul. If she stayed even one more day, her life and David’s would be unalterably changed.

  Her notebooks and her money purse were all that Gwyneth took with her. Staying in Gretna Green and hoping to find Ardmore was out of the question. She could not risk being found by David. She would not be able to face him and defy him, not this soon.

  The journey from Gretna Green to Greenbrae Hall would take a day and a half, if she were to rent a carriage. She could cut that to under a day if she were to ride. The latter was her preference, so long as she did not have to ride sidesaddle. A woman riding unescorted through the countryside would be too conspicuous. For a few extra coins, a young groom at the nearby stables was more than willing to find some clothes for her to change into. Before the sun had completely risen above the eastern hills, Gwyneth was nudging a reasonably good mare into a canter along the road from Gretna Green to Edinburgh.