by Karen Ranney
It was Mrs. West who pushed Mercy outside this morning.
“It’s a fair and lovely day, Miss Mercy. Go and take a walk through the glen, see the wildflowers. Greet the sun with a smile and Ben Uaine with a nod.”
She had taken the housekeeper’s advice and now she was glad she had. It truly was a lovely day.
According to what she’d been told, the road acted as a barrier between Macrory land and that belonging to the Caithearts. Although wide and paved, it was barely traveled. Her carriage had probably been the only vehicle for days.
Now she crossed the road slowly, following the glen that sloped down to the loch. The earth was almost wild here, with deep gullies and rolling hills that hid the rest of the scenery from her. The loch, shiny silver in the morning light, stretched out before her like a crooked finger, disappearing into the horizon. On the far side, thick woods hid any settlement from view. On this side of the loch, Duddingston Castle guarded the land at one end while the mountain they called Ben Uaine was the sentinel to her left.
Lennox had flown from that mountain like an enormous eagle, swooping down on her carriage. She could still hear Ruthie’s screams.
It had been the act of an insane man, yet everything she’d heard about Lennox made her believe that he was as sane as anyone. Did no one realize that he was simply a man of science? Why, though, had he changed from studying to be a physician to trying to fly?
What the Earl of Morton did was none of her concern. An admonition she’d told herself often enough in the past week. The truth was, however, that the Scottish earl fascinated her much more than he should have.
Every night at dinner he was a topic of conversation. She’d learned that he was considered a hermit by the villagers, rarely traveling away from Duddingston Castle. He never asked for help. Nor did he ever participate in village events. The castle, once known for its entertainments, especially at the holidays, was now dark and somber. People weren’t invited there and those who had occasion to visit told a tale of being kept at the door instead of being asked inside.
At least she’d seen the interior of Duddingston Castle, or the Clan Hall and the kitchen.
Why was Lennox living nearly alone? None of the conversations at dinner mentioned a sweetheart or a wife.
Her interest was innocent enough. She wouldn’t be remaining in Scotland long and a little curiosity about a Scottish earl didn’t seem amiss.
Still, it wasn’t something she was going to mention to her Scottish relatives. Flora would ask her how she could possibly want to know something about another man when she was due to be married. Her grandmother’s words would be even more cutting.
No, it was better if she kept her questions to herself.
Chapter Sixteen
The morning was bright and sunny, the breeze off Ben Uaine smelling of growing things and Loch Arn. For some reason the wind was always stronger in the morning than the afternoon.
As a child Lennox had played on Ben Uaine, disobeying his parents as he pretended to be the conqueror of the world. Robert had come in search of him, lecturing as was his habit. It hadn’t worked. Lennox had explored all sides of the mountain, including the south face where he stood now.
He’d always come to the mountain to think. Ben Uaine gave him distance, lent him perspective, and healed him.
There was a spot near the top that was hollowed out as if God had reached down with a giant fist and scooped out part of the rock. He often sat there watching as the clouds skidded across the sky. Most of the thorny questions of his youth had been pondered there.
When his parents had died he’d come here, looking out over Caitheart land. He’d felt the pull of history in this spot, something that had oddly comforted him at his loneliest. The mountain had been the first place he’d come to when he’d moved from Edinburgh, reluctantly taking over his role as the Earl of Morton, assuming the yoke of Duddingston Castle with grave reservations, knowing that he wouldn’t be as good as Robert at preserving and protecting their ancestral home.
Somehow, he’d managed. Over the years he’d learned to anticipate problems, seeing the castle like it was a diseased organism, something needing to be healed. He’d repaired the roof over the Clan Hall himself, cleaned out the chimneys in the intact wing with Irene looking on in terror. He’d removed dozens of years of refuse from the courtyard so he could use the space to build his airships, and had generally been as good a steward for his home as he could manage.
From here Duddingston Castle looked almost whole, a four-hundred-year-old fortress standing resolute and strong against any invader. The castle was impotent against time itself, however. The eroding years had done their damage. The Caitheart home would never be what it had once been.
Perhaps that was right and good and proper.
He could not reverse time or circumstances. If he could, he’d bring Robert back to life. He would transport himself to Edinburgh except for periodic visits home. Perhaps he would have still been fascinated with the idea of flying and his inventions. Or the press of his work might have pushed those other interests to the back of his mind.
“You’re all for doing this, then?” Connor asked, helping him push the airship to the edge of the pad.
When he’d originally thought about launching one of his airships, he’d remembered this area of Ben Uaine. It was like the Almighty had flattened part of the mountain, leaving a wide square that was a perfect takeoff point.
“I am,” he said. “I know this is a new design, but it’s stable. I don’t think it will fight the wind and it should be easy to pilot.”
Connor still looked skeptical, but that was fine. He didn’t have to approve.
“You haven’t worked on this one as long as you have the other.”
He clapped Connor on the shoulder. “You worry too much. I promise not to crash into any carriages.”
They’d put up a barricade on the road, wide enough to stop a vehicle if one were turning toward Duddingston Castle. In that way he was reassured that he wouldn’t cause another accident.
Connor didn’t say anything further, probably because he knew it would be a waste of time.
He’d taken precautions. After all, he had no wish to die in the name of science. Yes, there was always an element of risk in doing something few men had tried. Other men interested in flight had recruited either their servants or volunteers to fly their airships, but that seemed like a cowardly move. If he’d built his airship right and used the correct calculations, he’d be fine. If not, no one else would have to pay the price but him.
He climbed into the basket. Using a tool he’d created for just this purpose, he reached up and turned the wheel holding the upper sails, relieved when it rotated easily. Two massive square sails jutting out on either side of the airship would act as stabilizers while the fins on the tail would allow him to change direction. He was hoping that the rotating sails would keep him aloft for longer, but the idea was currently unproven. He’d discover if he was right—or wrong—with this test flight.
“I’ll be fine, Connor.”
The other man didn’t say a word. If the only thing Connor had to say was a warning, then maybe it was better if he kept silent. Irene had already scolded him for being too adventurous.
Was he supposed to sit in his castle, surrounded by goose down for fear that he might hurt himself? Even as a physician he would be in occasional danger—from a disease he couldn’t cure or an epidemic that would rage out of control despite his best efforts.
“It’s time,” he said.
The aircraft was close to the edge of the platform. The basket was equipped with wheels on the bottom, less for landing than for the takeoff. All it would take was a small push and he would be airborne.
Leaning forward, he gave Connor the signal. The next second, he was over the edge, into the air, excitement overwhelming any nervousness he might have felt. In that space of time, that long minute or maybe two, he was more than a man. He was Icarus, a godlike creature chall
enging nature itself.
His stomach dropped a little as it always did, but the feeling was also accompanied by a surge of exultation.
The airship descended, a little faster than he’d anticipated, but at least the upper sails were catching the air.
A second later he glanced up, realizing that the wheel wasn’t turning. None of the side sails were billowing, either. The airship wasn’t gaining grace in the sky. Instead, it was lumbering toward the ground like a wounded creature.
He pulled hard on the right paddle that controlled the tail, anticipating that he would be turning slowly right, heading for the road. The airship didn’t respond. He could hear the sound of the wind in his ears, the creak of the wood as it strained to obey.
If the right paddle didn’t work, maybe the left would. He pulled hard on it, saying a prayer at the same time, hoping that God would forgive his arrogance or whatever stupidity he’d demonstrated. Somehow, he’d made a mistake. Otherwise, the design should have worked.
The side sails finally caught the air and his rate of descent lessened a little. He held on to the paddle with both hands, pulling with all his strength. The airship responded in infinitesimal degrees.
The snap, then crack of one of the upper supports was something he almost expected. The feeling of plummeting to earth wasn’t.
The airship swung slightly to the left, heading for Loch Arn. A water landing was preferable to hitting the ground so hard that the airship shattered. At least he stood a chance of surviving.
Something flickered at the far left of Mercy’s vision. She turned to see what had attracted her attention, but all she saw were tall grasses and a punch of orange, purple, and pink from the occasional flower.
There it was again.
Turning, she faced Ben Uaine. Maybe it was a bird. No, she wouldn’t have been able to see a bird from here unless it had a massive wingspan.
Not a cloud marred the perfection of the clear blue sky. As she stood there, the wind blew her hair back from her face.
There it was, slightly to the right of Ben Uaine and growing nearer.
Frozen, she watched as the airship came closer. This one was different from the one Lennox had piloted a week ago. This creation was ungainly like a many-tentacled monster.
The sails weren’t catching the wind. Nor was the airship soaring with the current like a bird. Instead, it was descending too fast.
Mercy couldn’t look away.
She’d never thought to see someone fall out of the sky, let alone someone she knew. She wanted to do something to help him, but short of having the power to levitate objects or render the earth as soft as a feather, she was powerless.
For the first time she wished that screaming came easily to her. Or fainting. Anything but standing there and watching as Lennox crashed to earth.
Her hands were clenched at her waist and she felt too close to nausea.
Nothing seemed real, just like the accident a week ago. Everything was taking longer than it should. Yet the sensation of time slowing didn’t prevent the disaster from unfolding in front of her.
Lennox had to do something. He couldn’t crash.
Suddenly, pieces of the airship began to fall, a few of them hitting the ground vertically with such force that they looked like swords spearing the earth. Another piece fell. Then another. As the airship neared her, she grabbed her skirt and began to run, trying to avoid the shards of wood.
If she wasn’t fast enough she wouldn’t be just a witness to Lennox Caitheart’s crash, but a victim in the disaster.
Chapter Seventeen
At first Mercy thought Lennox was going to hit the ground not far from where he’d landed a week ago, but then he slowly began to turn, heading for the loch. Another piece of wood fell off the aircraft, missing her by only feet. It looked as if his invention was going to come apart in midair.
He was over the rocky shore now, only inches from impact.
The craft hit the water almost soundlessly, sliding beneath the surface with only broken pieces of wood marking where it landed.
The rocks on the shore were large but rounded and not sharp enough to cut her shoes. She made her way to the edge of the water, her gaze fixed on the spot where Lennox had gone down.
He hadn’t surfaced.
She toed off her kid slippers and removed her two petticoats, wishing her dress didn’t have such full sleeves. Her skirt would also drag her down, but she was a strong swimmer. After tossing her petticoats onto the rocks, she entered the water, propelling herself forward, feeling the drag of her skirt and sleeves. The lake was surprisingly clear here, a calming blue-green color. Twenty feet out she could finally see the wreck, a collection of wood pieces and waterlogged sails that was sinking fast.
Lennox still hadn’t surfaced.
Fear made her kick hard as she dove.
A few seconds later she realized why he wasn’t leaving the airship. His hand was caught in one of the ropes. She followed the rope to a wheel that had come loose and was under the craft. Uncoiling it, she grabbed the end of the rope and showed it to him, then pointed upward.
A few moments later they got to the surface together.
Connor was suddenly there, reaching for her.
“I’m all right,” she said, her lungs straining for air. “Help Lennox.”
She watched both of them as they made it to shore, taking care to stay close. Lennox looked to be a more experienced swimmer than Connor. By the time they made it onto the rocks, she couldn’t tell who was helping whom.
A few minutes later she made her way gingerly over the rocks, reaching the grass between the loch and the castle. She sat there, her arms wrapped around her knees. It might have been July, but the waters of Loch Arn had been frigid. The tower loomed over her, casting a shadow.
Neither Lennox nor Connor was talking, so she could only assume that they were as out of breath as she was.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on just breathing for a few minutes.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up to find Lennox standing there, his hand outstretched toward her. His face was cut in a dozen places. There was a wide red spot over his left cheek that she suspected would be a bruise later. His shirt was torn and it wasn’t until she took his hand and stood that she realized there was a nasty gash running from his shoulder to his elbow.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
He looked at his arm. “I am at that. We need a fire and some whiskey, not necessarily in that order.”
She pushed her wet hair away from her face. “I’ve never tasted spirits before.”
“Well, I don’t know a better time than now to start,” he said.
Connor was on one side and Lennox the other as they walked toward the tower, as if the men were suddenly afraid she would collapse. Lennox stopped beside a door so short that she had to duck to enter. Straightening up, she looked around her, the space illuminated by the small slitted windows.
She’d expected to be able to see to the roof of the tower, but the stairs built into the curved wall led up only a short way. There was a floor directly above her.
“The tower was converted to a bedchamber,” Lennox said. “A change made by my father.”
What a pity that she wouldn’t be able to explore further. A single woman did not ask to see a man’s bedchamber.
“I’m dripping through your house,” she said as they entered a carpeted corridor and headed toward the back of the castle.
“We all are.”
“I’ll go fetch us some towels,” Connor said.
Lennox nodded and led her to the kitchen. He headed toward the massive fireplace on the opposite wall and began building a fire.
For long minutes they didn’t talk. She simply stood there watching him as he knelt in front of the fire, his wound dripping blood on the stone floor.
Connor entered the room with an armful of towels and handed her one. She thanked him, then dried her face and blotted her hair. There was no
thing she could do about her dress, but she placed the towel in front of her in an effort to maintain some type of modesty.
Lennox had seen her bare legs. She hadn’t been able to keep her skirt from billowing around her hips in the water. In those seconds underwater, she’d been as close to being naked as she possibly could be while still clothed. Even worse, when she’d emerged from the loch her dress had been plastered to her body.
She sat at the table, grateful that the fire had caught. She felt cold from the inside out.
“I’ll be going to change,” Connor said, placing the rest of the towels on the end of the table.
She wished she could do the same.
Unlike Connor, Lennox didn’t leave to change his clothes. Instead, he went to the cupboard and took out a leather bag she recognized. He placed it on the table before turning to her.
“I need your help,” he said. “My arm needs tending to.”
It was bleeding freely now, turning his white sleeve red.
She had helped her mother’s garden club roll bandages. She’d even knitted a credible volume of socks, mittens, and scarves for the troops, but she’d never been a nurse.
“You’ll do fine,” Lennox said, as if he heard her thoughts.
She doubted that.
“Couldn’t Connor help?”
“He gets a little green around blood.”
So did she, but there wasn’t a choice. Someone needed to help Lennox.
“We need some whiskey,” he said, going to another cupboard, retrieving a bottle of whiskey and returning to her side. “Medicinal reasons,” he added, placing it on the table.
Pulling out a chair beside her, he sat and emptied the bag of its contents, then pushed the squares of cloth and a small brown bottle toward her.
“Now you get to reciprocate for any discomfort I caused you.”
“What do you mean?”
She was in the process of reaching for the cloth when he asked, “Can you sew?”
Horrified, she stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”