I should find a husband.
That was proving harder than it should be. Not because of lack of suitors, but rather because of too many possibilities facing her. Broderick and Amabel, her parents, had placed no burdens on her, leaving her free to choose. Sometimes she wished they hadn't.
I really have no idea how to make such a decision.
Amabel, her mother, had suffered from her great uncle’s scheming and insisted her own daughter would not face that. However, it might have made it easier, Joanna thought a little helplessly, if she had at least given her a narrow range from which to choose!
She leaned back in her chair, contemplating the possibilities. Sean Donahue, Leonard McNeil, Rufus Stewart. Those were three of the most eligible young men in the region, and all three spent time here at the castle at least three times a year.
Dunkeld, the hilltop fortress where Joanna lived, was always the location for parties, the favorite spot of many of the gentlefolk of the region. This meant that potential suitors were almost always in the house. Even now, at the feast for Lammas, there were eight young men at the lower end of the long table, and most of them, she noticed with some annoyance, were sneaking the odd covert glance at her.
Boorish louts, the lot of them! She dismissed them with a sense of impatience. Joanna had already met all of them, since they had been there for just over a week already, preparing for the hunting season with her father, already famous in the region for his hunting parties. She didn't like any of them. Most of them were typical of their type – loud, swaggering, and interested in hunting, fighting and their own importance. Joanna knew many girls would probably like them, but she found them all a bit shallow.
Sean is...acceptable. She noted that particular young man was still stealing glances at her. With his gentle eyes and curly hair, square jaw and muscled form, he was certainly nice to look at. Nevertheless, so far, she had barely managed to exchange two sentences with him. He didn't seem to be interested in anything besides what his father was doing with their estate.
Dutiful, yes, but a bit too much for my liking!
Joanna sighed. She was at fault, she was sure, probably too picky. She should be content to settle down with the first acceptable young man who held her interest.
Maybe I would be, if I had never seen that man.
It was daft, she told herself crossly, reaching across the table to refill her goblet, but the memory of her youthful dream would not desert her.
I'm sure he's not a real person. Just some sort of symbol, like Aunt Alina talks of.
Aunt Alina was her mentor, possessed of the same intuition she had herself. Alina often told her that what seemed one thing in dreams was often another thing in reality – that was the way of it. Joanna had learned to accept the strange ability she herself had to hear another's thoughts, and come to respect Alina's wise guidance in these matters. Still, she could not convince herself the man with the intense, haunting eyes she had dreamed was not real.
In which case, I simply cannot find Sean appealing. No matter how hard he tried to be.
Anyone else was simply too ordinary, compared to that man. The dark haired haunter of her dreams.
“Niece?” Duncan, her father's brother and Alina's husband, smiled at her. His pale brown eyes seemed somehow concerned.
“Yes, Uncle?”
“You look sad. Has aught upset you?”
“Oh! No, Uncle,” Joanna said quickly. “I was just thinking about snow, is all. And how it'll soon be piling up all round the place.” She laughed, trying for a carefree note. She was not about to spoil the party with her melancholy thoughts.
Duncan narrowed his eyes, as if he wasn't sure whether she told the truth. Then he smiled. “Whist! I'd clean forgot about the small matter of the snow. Now you remind me! I'll be out with the men brushing snow off the practice ground every morning soon. What a horrible prospect!”
They both laughed. Across the table, Alina grinned at her husband.
“Now, Duncan! There are some merry things about winter. Candlemas, for instance. Long fires in the evenings...late sunrise.”
Duncan flushed warmly and smiled at his lovely wife. “Yes. I am forgetting those. It's true.”
“And snow fights!” Broderick said cheerfully, speaking up from across the table. Duncan whistled.
“Well, brother! There's a thought. Though you'll beat me hands down. Always do.”
“Snow!” the children chorused. All of them, Joanna's brother Brodgar too, loved snow. At fourteen, he was the second eldest, but still not above the playful wintertime fun they all enjoyed so.
As the dinnertime conversation turned to excited discussions of winter, Joanna found herself lost in thought again. She saw Alina's gaze on her, and wondered what the older woman was thinking. She had a distant look on her face, as if she saw something in Joanna's future. Joanna wondered what it was, and if she should ask her.
“Very well! I surrender!” Blaine, the kind, blunt-faced husband of Chrissie was laughing merrily. Joanna turned to where he sat beside Brodgar, laughing happily. “I'll make a new sled for you. And then we can race them.”
“Don't let him talk you into racing,” Duncan warned. “He's a wily one! He'll beat you even if he has to walk through a furnace for it.”
Blaine laughed. He and Duncan were the closest friends, though anyone who didn't know would think they were bitter enemies, the way they always competed so ferociously.
“I'll remember it, Duncan,” Blaine chuckled, a broad grin on his ruggedly handsome features. “Though I shan't be needing to walk through a furnace to beat you. Not this year, anyhow?”
“Oh?” Duncan said, grinning broadly. “Why? Do you have a plan to defeat my mighty sled?”
They all laughed, Blaine more than all of them. “I do, that. I do...”
“What?”
“Wait and see...”
Joanna joined the laughter.
Broderick stood. “A toast. To all of us here, and all the bairns yet joining us. Slainte!”
Joanna smiled. “Slainte!” Health.
They all drank the toast. Little Amice, Joanna's sister, yawned. Amabel smiled fondly at her where she sat beside Broderick.
“Sleeping already?” Amabel asked.
“No, mummy,” Amice yawned. “I don't need to sleep yet. It's a festival day!”
They all smiled. At ten years old, Amice was the family baby, spoiled and loved by all of them.
The mood settled to mellow talk, and Joanna found herself talking to aunt Chrissie about new dresses for the winter.
“...though we should order in some lace, what think you?” Chrissie said softly. “You'll want to make a gown sometime, I think, yes.”
Joanna bit her lip. She meant a wedding gown. At that moment, a wedding was the last thing she wanted to discuss. She found it only made her miserable, what with all the uncertainty around it.
“I was thinking we should try for velvet,” she said, sidestepping her aunt's comments.
“Yes!” Chrissie said, hands clasped, enraptured, under her face. “I think velvet would be just right. You should have green, I think. And I wouldn't mind a spot of blue. Amabel?”
“Yes, Chrissie?”
“Your daughter was just saying we should order some velvet. Do you think Mr. Strathford will be coming here before winter starts?”
“I should think so,” Amabel said, frowning.
“No, Auntie! You said I could go next...” Alf, Chrissie's younger son, two years Conn's junior and very voluble, said loudly. He had been playing a complex game with Conn using the chestnut shells piled beside his plate, and seemed distracted.
“Alf, dear, I need to answer your mother's question. Yes, Chrissie, he will,” she smiled, shaking her head at the little boys, whose game descended into mayhem.
“Oh, good!” Chrissie said happily. “In which case...”
“My lord!”
They all looked up nervously as a messenger burst into the hall. The man looked
exhausted, Joanna noticed distantly, his jerkin dirty, his face pinched with fatigue and weather.
“Yes?” Broderick, the thane, looked up at him. “What is it, my good man? State your business. Take your time, do,” he added, as the man bent double to catch his breath. “You can get your fill at the kitchen when you've told us.”
“Th...Thank ye, milord,” the man gasped.
As Joanna waited with them to hear his words, she felt a sudden sense of aloofness descend. It was a strange feeling, indescribable even to her. As if she was outside herself, watching the events as they unfolded. She saw, with dreamlike clarity, as Amabel stood, rushing to the man as he collapsed, heard her father tell the rest to stand back, to give him air. Saw Alina's face and knew, just as she did, what the man would say.
“Lord Brien...the thane of Lochlann, is dead. Forgive me, my lady,” he added, turning to Amabel, who was white. Alina, too. Beside Joanna, Chrissie let out a cry, covering her mouth with her hand.
Joanna felt their shock fill her too.
Lord Brien, thane of Lochlann. Her own great-great uncle. He was dead.
That meant Lochlann, mighty fortress, ancestral home of her mother, Alina, and aunt Chrissie, was empty.
There was no thane there. No one left to inherit, either.
Joanna shivered. She put her hand on her chest, seeing overlaid across the banquet room another scene. A vast castle, dark and mist-wreathed. A single torch, wavering in its gloom. A party of people, lost within its depths. Lost, as they all were now, with no clear way.
It was her dream.
It had just come true.
CHAPTER TWO
FEAR DEEPENS
FEAR DEEPENS
The hallway was cold. It seemed to Joanna as if the chill of winter had arrived already, robbing their house of the last of its warmth. She felt cold all over. The wintry weather brought a sense of tension with it, something carried on the eerie howl of the wind in the colonnade outside. It suited the mood of the place, suddenly somber with the news of Lord Brien's death.
Joanna stood just up from the great door of the castle, waiting for her mother to arrive. The morning was black beyond the windows and even most of the servants still slept. They were preparing to leave, to head to Lochlann castle for the wake. It was a journey that would take all day, so they set out early, despite the darkness and the early morning chill.
Winter truly is approaching fast.
Joanna blew on her fingers, which were already cold.
“We should go, daughter,” Amabel said quickly, appearing in the hallway. She wore a long cloak, the hood fur-lined, swathing her auburn hair. She frowned at Joanna. “You are warm enough?”
Joanna nodded. “Yes, Mother.” In a velvet cape so dark it was almost black, a hood lined with fur about her face, Joanna could not have been warmer had she tried.
As it was, the cold had settled inside her, making her shiver no matter what she wore. Ever since that moment when her dream descended, becoming truth, Joanna had been cold.
Another voice broke the silence of the hallway.
“Are we leaving now?”
Alina came out of her bedchamber, a long black dress sweeping the floor behind her. All of them were dressed in black, in mourning: Alina, Amabel, and Joanna. In truth, only Amabel, as the eldest of the cousins, needed travel to represent the family at the wake. However, Alina, for reasons best known to herself, had offered to go as well. Joanna, as her daughter and the eldest of the younger cousins, had asked to accompany her, too.
Somewhere in her heart, she had a sense of what motivated Alina's choice. As healthy and hale as Amabel was, Joanna did worry for her mother, knowing her habit to push herself to exhaustion. Without Joanna keeping her in check, she would exhaust herself trying to set Lochlann to rights. That was her worry, and a glimpse into the dark surface of Alina's eyes told her she felt it, too. They were both worried for Amabel.
“Right!” Amabel said briskly, brushing a strand of coppery hair back under the hood of her cloak. “Are we ready to go now?”
“Mummy?” Amice, Joanna's little sister, suddenly appeared in the hallway, a worried frown on her face. She was dressed in a small black cloak, a small copy of Joanna's own.
Amabel smiled down at the child. As she bent to kiss her, Joanna noticed a sheen of sweat on her mother's face. She felt a stab of alarm.
The winter fever.
“Mother?” she said softly. Amabel looked up at her, green eyes shining. They were, Joanna noticed with a sinking sense of doom, far too bright. She had a fever. She was sure of it. She looked up at Alina, whose tranquil eyes looked gravely back at her. She saw it, too. Joanna felt her heart grow cold. She stood back and looked down at the pair of them, mother and small daughter.
“What, dear?” Amabel said.
She embraced Amice fondly, straightening her little coat carefully.
“Mummy,” Amice said, burying her face in Amabel's shoulder. “I feel sleepy.”
Amabel tensed. Joanna saw it.
“Sweetling, your head is hot,” Amabel said. “You're not feeling odd, are you?”
“I'm sleepy,” Amice insisted. She was, Joanna noticed, swaying slightly where she stood. Her skin, too, had a waxen sheen to it. Her eyes were bright.
Amabel looked at Joanna, a frown on her face.
“I don't like the look of that, dear. I think we should...”As she spoke, she stood up and, as she stood, she fell.
Joanna shouted in alarm.
“Mother!” she ran forward.
Amice looked frightened. She, too, ran to their mother.
“Mummy! No! Mummy!” Her little hands shook their mother's shoulder, her face crumpled with worry.
Joanna bent down to their mother, heart beating fast. She put her hand on her chest, feeling for her heart. Her pulse was racing, thready with fever. She was, Joanna realized with some shock, extremely ill.
How could she have hidden this from all of us? Foolish, stubborn...she wanted to shake the dear, wretched, determined...
Footsteps filled the hallway.
“Father!” Joanna looked up, feeling suddenly relieved. Alina dropped down to Amabel's side, joining Joanna, her long, tapered fingers on Amabel's brow. Her eyes were closed and she looked as if she slept, lips parted.
Broderick leaning forward, concerned. He hunched over to join the three women. He put an arm around Amice, who was sobbing quietly. She buried her face in his shoulder and he stroked her hair.
“What's happening?” he asked.
“She's fevered, Broderick,” Alina said.
“Yes. So is Amice,” Joanna agreed quickly.
“Yes. She is. Well done, Joanna,” Alina added, fixing her with a strong gaze that, despite the circumstances, made Joanna flush with warmth.
“Thanks,” she said. “Father...?”
Broderick didn't need to be asked. He was already lifting Amabel. He carried her back to their chamber. Alina bent down to hug Amice, looking into the little girl's tear-soaked gaze.
“Mummy,” Amice wept. “What's happening, Aunt?”
“Your mummy is ill, dearest,” Alina said. “And you're not too well either,” she added. “The best thing you can do for your mummy is come and get back into bed. Let me come with you. I promise, the moment your mummy wakes up, I'll call you. Sound good?”
“Very well,” Amice said softly. She was weaving unsteadily as Alina led her away, and Joanna felt her heart go cold. Alone in the hallway, her heart was numb with worry.
Let them be well.
When Broderick came back, his handsome face was stiff with his own pain. “I've sent Blaire to send a guard for the physician,” he said. Blaire was the ladies' maid. “But I think...”
“She cannot go to Lochlann this way,” Joanna finished his sentence.
He sighed. “Wise words,” he agreed. “My dear. Your great-great uncle's legacy should be discussed. I cannot go – I need to be here to look after your mother. Alina, too. No one knows more of heal
ing than she does. I need to ask you...if you...”
“Yes, Father. I will go to Lochlann. Alone.”
Her father gave a ragged breath. “I do not want to do this,” he said.
“I know, Father,” Joanna said quietly, “but it's required. None of us made this happen, so maybe it is destined to be this way.”
Her father looked into her eyes. His own clear, brown gaze was unwavering.
“You are a wise woman,” he said gently. “Be safe. Come back soon.”
He kissed Joanna's forehead. Joanna, swallowing hard, nodded.
“I'll try. You too, Father. Stay safe.”
He gave a chuckle, though his eyes sorrowed. “I'll be just fine, dear.”
Joanna smiled at him. “I trust you.”
They both laughed, though it was somehow sorrowful. Joanna walked to the end of the hallway, not wanting to linger, lest she start to cry.
When she turned at the end of the hallway, she saw him look away, going back to the chamber. Knowing he had watched her leave, she felt her heart bruise as if struck.
I love Father. And Mother. And Amice. And Alina and...
She sighed. Please. Let them be safe.
Hurrying down the hallway, she reached the stairs and, going down, went through to the front door of the castle. She passed through the great doors, heading to the gate where the coach waited.
Her luggage was already strapped to the roof. She shouted up to Angus, the coachman, to take the other trunks back – the ones of Amabel and Alina's clothing. Then, swinging up into the body of the coach, she settled down in the seat to try to sleep.
The journey to Lochlann took all day. It was night by the time they arrived.
Joanna, roused from a scant hour of daytime sleep, blinked, trying to clear her vision. She stared through the window.
It was dark outside, a deep blue sky over behind the hills. Ahead of them, a broad peak loomed. At its summit was a castle.
A vast, dark castle.
Joanna bit her lip. Was it her dream?
Shivering, she waited for the coach to reach the top. Only time would tell, now.
The Cursed Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 2