Within half an hour of Hamilton's departure, Elizabeth jumped out of bed and got dressed. Five minutes later she was singing and tickling baby Jamie who lay on the big bed, kicking with delight. She danced across to the windows and dragged back the curtains to let in the pale winter sunshine. "Emma, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse . . . saddle an' all."
"I don't know about horse, but perhaps we could arrange to have _donkey_ put on the menu," Emma teased.
"Oh, the dear little donkeys! I haven't seen them for weeks. When Jamie has his nap, I'm off to the stables for a visit." She picked up her baby and kissed his nose. "Let's go to the kitchen."
As she descended the stairs she saw her mother. Bridget was talking to a plump young woman with dark hair and rosy cheeks.
"Elizabeth, this is Nan Douglas, the wet nurse His Grace asked me to arrange for." She set her shoulders, ready for a fight.
"Thank you, Mother. How will I ever manage without you?" Elizabeth asked sweetly. The implication that she would be without her soon was not lost on Bridget.
"Nan, are you a cousin of the duke's?"
Nan shook her head. "Nothing so fancy. There's hundreds of Douglases hereabouts, Yer Grace."
"No, please don't curtsy to me. Would you like to come to the kitchen with us and have something to eat, Nan?"
Inside the vast kitchen, Elizabeth sat down at a scrubbed table and motioned for Emma and Nan to sit. "Nell, I'm ravenous," she told the head cook. "The delicious smell is making my mouth water."
"That's mutton an' barley broth." The cook beamed, ladling out a bowlful for each female then cutting up a fresh-baked loaf.
"Do you have a baby, Nan?" Elizabeth asked between spoonfuls.
"Aye, my mam is mindin' her. I'm tryin' tae wean her, so I should have lots of milk fer the wee lordling."
"No need for that, Nan. I have my own milk. I don't need a wet nurse, but I am looking for a good nursemaid. You can keep your baby with you if you like. I have Jamie's cradle in my own chamber right now, because I can't bear to part with him, but I'm going to turn the adjoining room into a nursery."
Cook poured two beakers of milk for the new mothers. "I've got the kettle on fer yer tea, Miss Emma."
"Do ye really mean I can keep my bairn wi' me, Yer Grace?"
"Of course. It's cruel to keep a mother from her child. When you've finished eating, go and get her and bring her upstairs. It's nap time." She gazed down lovingly. "He's already asleep."
A short time later, Elizabeth put on fur-lined walking boots, a warm hood and cape, and walked to the stables, humming happily.
She knew she had three glorious hours to herself before Jamie would need feeding again and planned to enjoy the invigorating outdoors. "Queenie!" she cried with joy as a black-and-white streak rushed across the courtyard. "I've missed you so. We'll go for a long walk after I've said hello to the donkeys."
Inside, her eyes widened with delight. "You have a baby too!"
She scratched the donkeys' ears and peered down at the woolly little bundle suckling its mother. "When did the baby arrive?" she asked a stableman.
"Christmas, ma'am. A right surprise fer all of us. Winter's an odd time fer foalin', but donkeys is strange beasties at best."
She rubbed the baby's head. "You're a sweet beastie. Your fluffy coat is soft as thistledown . . . I'll call you Thistle."
She spoke to the mother donkey. "I will bring my baby to see your baby one day soon." She pictured a little boy with black curls sitting on the back of a donkey. "They will be great friends."
After Elizabeth talked with the ponies, she and Queenie went for a walk. There was a light covering of snow on the ground, and along the riverbank she saw the distinctive prints left behind by deer, lynx, and otter. They followed the deer tracks back into the woods where rabbits and game birds scattered as Queenie flushed them from their snowy evergreen cover.
When she returned to the castle her companion trotted beside her like a faithful friend and she decided to let the dog come inside. Queenie walked warily, ears pricked, sniffing the unfamiliar objects that lay in her path, yet trusting enough not to cower. Elizabeth was not surprised when she heard her mother's shout of outrage.
"Who the devil let that dirty dog in here? Get it out, quick!"
Elizabeth stepped through the archway into the chamber where Bridget and Queenie stood transfixed. Both had raised hackles.
"_This_ bitch stays, so long as she minds her manners."
"Are you calling me a _bitch?"'_ Bridget challenged.
"I am indeed." Elizabeth pushed off her hood and shook out her hair. "You have intimidated me all my life, Mother, but at last I have lost my fear of you. Like Queenie here, I will be wary, but I will never cower again. I would caution you too to mind your manners, for in the Duke of Hamilton's absence, I am the authority here at Cadzow."
Bridget immediately backed down and capitulated. "I'm glad you found your backbone."
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. At Bridget. At herself. At the irony of how simple it had been.
The next day, the Douglas steward who had been promoted introduced her to the new inside steward. Mr. Burke proved to be a quiet, competent head servant who ran the household smooth as clockwork. Elizabeth was wary of him because he often appeared silently out of nowhere, and she wondered if he had been hired to spy on her. When she mentioned it to Emma, her maid said, "Oh, I don't think so, Elizabeth. It wasn't the duke who employed him--it was the Douglas steward. The housemaids are all mad for him, and he's even charmed your mother."
"What about you, Emma? Do you like him?"
"Well, I must admit the attractive devil of a man plays hell with my imagination!"
As one day folded into another, Elizabeth had never felt happier in her life, and she began to glow with health. January was bitter cold, though only light snow covered the hard frozen ground. The entire household predicted that the weather would deteriorate in February but told her that the worst month in Scotland was usually March.
The snowstorms and blizzards held off, allowing Elizabeth to walk each day, and sometimes, if there was no wind, she carried Jamie across to the stables to show him the animals. "This is Thistle, your very own pet donkey." She knew her baby was too young to understand, but she wanted him to learn the smells and sounds of animals so he would get used to them.
Some days she ventured out on her favorite pony, with Queenie at their heels, and sometimes she flew a hawk from the mews. Often she visited the hunting lodge and stood gazing in awe at its pristine, isolated setting where the only human footprints were her own.
Almost every day of February brought a fall of snow, but still no massive storm. During the last week of the month, Elizabeth began to think about spring. She wished the winter could last forever, wrapping her and Cadzow in its safe cocoon, but she was realistic enough to know that wishes would not make it so. Too soon her idyll would be over, and she would have to go back to London. She knew she would have no choice and that one day Hamilton would return to get her. She prayed for heavy snow to keep him away, but finally, reluctantly, at the end of February she decided it was time to start weaning Jamie.
*Chapter Twenty-Eight*
On the first day of March, Elizabeth had a visitor. Tom Calder's carriage arrived at Cadzow, and Mr. Burke invited the coach driver into the castle kitchen to warm himself with food and a seat by the fire. He then ushered Calder into the library for his visit with the Duchess of Hamilton.
"I thought I'd come before a March blizzard makes the roads impassable, but I had no idea the duke had returned to London. I was eager to show him the layout plans I've designed for the two thousand acres he so generously donated."
"My husband will most likely return by the end of the month, Tom. I believe he had urgent business with the king. Actually, he considers this more my project than his." _It's only a small lie. I am the one who considers it my project_.
Tom Calder spread the plans across the desk. "Much of the preserve w
ill be left in its natural state, but part of it will be accessible tae the public by means of nature trails. Most Scots are avid hikers, so I've incorporated some steep hills that'll ha' tae be climbed. Rustic benches will be provided at the summits where folk can sit an' look out o'er some breathtakin' vistas." He pointed to a spot along the trail shaded in blue. "Yer polar bears' pen is an acre wi' a natural spring that forms a pond. We've stocked it wi' fish an' built them a wee cave fer shelter."
"These are wonderful plans, Tom." Her finger traced the lettering at the top of the parchment. "Why have you called it Hamilton Park? I think it should be named Calder Park. It was all your idea, and you are the one who will carry it through to completion. You have done the lion's share of the work, and you should receive the credit."
He was so flattered he was speechless for a moment. "The committee thought it prudent tae name it after Hamilton."
"I shall write to the committee and suggest Calder Park." _Once it's a fait accompli, Hamilton will hardly embarrass himself by insisting it be called after him_. "You will stay for lunch, Tom?"
Elizabeth excused herself and found her mother. "I believe I can persuade Mr. Calder to give you a ride to Glasgow when he returns. It isn't London, but after Cadzow's isolation I warrant it will be a welcome respite to visit the shops and theaters."
Bridget jumped at the chance, as Elizabeth had anticipated.
"I'm heartily sick and tired of being buried alive in the country."
Elizabeth hid her smile. _Bless you for your visit, Mr. Calder. Let us hope that tomorrow brings snow up to the eaves_!
During the next fortnight, Elizabeth did not get her wish, but her days were happily focused on Jamie, getting him used to taking nourishment from a bottle. Taking advice from the women of Clan Douglas who lived at Cadzow, she made a mixture of milk, barley water, and honey that her son drank greedily. He was a happy, roly-poly baby with fat pink cheeks, who seemed to thrive on the attention lavished on him by all the females in the household.
By the end of the fortnight, her milk had decreased. She surveyed her breasts in the mirror. '_Tis untrue that feeding a baby ruins a woman's figure. Mine look exactly the same as before . . . none will ever know my secret_.
Mid-March arrived with suddenly lowered skies, and everyone predicted that the annual March storms were about to descend with a vengeance. Mr. Burke even said he could smell the approaching blizzard. Servants brought in extra wood for the fires, and the shutters were closed across the windows before the household retired for the evening. During the night it began to snow and the wind picked up, but when Elizabeth arose and went downstairs to let Queenie out, she concluded that the brunt of the blizzard had missed them. "Don't you go far. I heard wolves howling in the night." She went upstairs to give Jamie his morning bottle then turned him over to Nan in the nursery while she went for her walk.
Elizabeth pulled on her fur-lined boots and donned her sable cape with its warm hood rather than the wool cloak she usually wore to visit the stables. She called Queenie, but the dog did not come. She called again and waited, then she heard some sharp barks coming from the direction of the stables and decided to investigate. Though a path had been cleared from the castle to the outbuildings and stables earlier, the blowing snow was rapidly obscuring it.
When she got closer to the stables she could see Queenie jumping about in agitation, then she heard the braying of a donkey between the dog's barks. She found the stable door open just wide enough for the female donkey to get her head through. Apparently the latch was broken, and a stableman had rolled a small boulder against it to keep it closed--but unfortunately not closed tight enough. Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized a predator might have gotten inside.
Elizabeth's hands stuck to the icy boulder, peeling off bits of skin as she moved it aside, and she regretted leaving off her gloves. When she opened the door to go inside, Queenie immediately herded the donkey back to her box stall. It was dim inside so Elizabeth called out to see if anyone was there. When she received no answer she lit a lamp and cautiously searched the large building to see if a predator had slunk inside for a quick meal.
She returned to the box stall and gasped aloud when she saw that the baby donkey was missing. She raised her lantern to search for Thistle, but her sinking heart told her that the little donkey's mother had been trying to follow her baby outside.
She was furious at the stablemen's carelessness and annoyed that the stables were deserted. Then she acknowledged that anyone with any sense would be inside near a warm fire on such a dreadful day.
She blew out the lantern and headed for the door. "Come, Queenie. We must find Thistle!" This time she used her boots to roll the boulder against the door, making sure it was shut tight.
When she turned around, the sight that met hers eyes was hard to believe. The thick snow was blowing sideways, obliterating not only the castle but even the closer outbuildings. Any tracks the little donkey had made were long gone, along with her own prints, but Queenie loped across the snowdrifts as if she was tracking an animal, so Elizabeth pulled her hood closer against the biting wind and took a calculated risk, trusting the dog's instincts.
She walked with her head down against the blowing winds and thick, wet flakes that clung to her fur cape, turning her into a snow-woman. Each time Queenie became invisible, she called her name and the dog returned to her. It was slow going because the drifts seemed to be getting deeper by the minute. At first she thought she knew which direction she was heading, but when she stopped and tried to pinpoint her location, it was impossible. The entire world had turned white.
As she struggled along, she heard ear-splitting cracks from the towering Douglas firs and realized that some of the frozen tree limbs were breaking off as they became weighted with heavy snow. At length Elizabeth knew she must give up her search. Common sense told her that she must turn about and try to find her way back through her own tracks, which were quickly being erased.
"Queenie! Queenie! Come, girl. We must go home!"
This time the dog refused to return. Though Elizabeth could not see her through the blinding blizzard, she heard her exited barks, as if she had found something. Again, Elizabeth weighed the odds and decided to trust the Border collie's instincts. By the time she slowly plowed her way through the drifts to where Queenie was going berserk, she felt exhausted and lay down on the snow to catch her breath. She was freezing cold, but her lungs were afire.
After a minute's rest she crawled on hands and knees beneath the tree where Queenie was frenziedly digging. She looked down into the hole and saw Thistle's huge soft brown eyes, fringed with long ice-caked lashes, staring up at her in stark terror. Elizabeth knew if she didn't free him, the little donkey would be eaten by wolves, dead or alive. Frantically, she began scooping away handfuls of snow with fingers that were blood raw.
A crack as sharp as a gunshot made Elizabeth stop digging and look upward. To her horror she saw a huge limb, packed with heavy snow, come hurtling down upon her. Then everything went dark. Her world instantly turned from blinding white to obliterating black.
John Campbell awoke, threw back the thick eiderdown, swung his long legs from the bed, and padded naked to the window. When he saw that visibility was nonexistent, he gave a low grunt of satisfaction that his Highlander instincts about the approaching blizzard had been right on the mark.
He thought about the recruits he'd sent to London. _If they managed to avoid bad weather, they should have arrived by now_. Then he thought of the confidential letter he'd received in Glasgow from the Duke of Cumberland asking that he bring any and all Scottish recruits without delay, as the king was on the brink of declaring war. _My first duty was to let my father know that war with France was imminent_. Campbell had dispatched his Highland recruits with his officers then ridden back to Argyll with the pressing news. He'd left Inveraray almost immediately, hoping to catch up with his men, but just south of Glasgow the ominous pewter clouds moving in from the Atlantic had to
ld him a March blizzard was inevitable.
Since it was late afternoon and the light was fast disappearing, he'd known he must seek refuge. He'd thought of Cadzow Castle but dismissed it immediately. Seeing Elizabeth was dangerous. He'd never be able to control himself, especially if Hamilton was absent. Then he remembered Chatelherault Hunting Lodge and knew he'd solved his dilemma.
He strode from the bedchamber he was occupying to the lounge, which boasted comfortable, masculine furniture and a huge granite hearth. He built up the dying fire, thankful he'd had the foresight to chop wood before the blizzard hit. Then he dressed and put on his fur-lined doublet so he could beard the storm and tend his horse, Demon, the lone occupant of the stables.
When he opened the front door, the wind almost tore it from his grip. He fought to close it then lowered his head and struggled through the deep snow to the stables, which were attached to the lodge. There was plenty of oats and hay and even horse blankets.
"Sorry you have to wear a blanket of Douglas plaid, old man, but you know the sailors' addage: Any port in a storm."
Demon whickered in reply.
John waited until a bucket of snow melted, then gave the horse a drink. "Think I'll steal a few oats. Porridge will keep my guts from growling if there's no other food about." He rubbed Demon's nose. "Looks like we're stuck here for at least the next twenty-four hours."
Outside, before he returned to the lodge, he trudged through the snow to the edge of the trees where he'd set a couple of snares. The first was empty, but he'd caught a coney with the second. Back inside he removed his doublet but kept on his boots as he made his way to the kitchen to look for food. He found dried peas, lentils, and barley in a cupboard, alongside some flour and yeast. On the spot he decided to spit and roast the rabbit legs and make stew with the rest of it. He'd also bake some flat bread. John unsheathed his knife and began to skin and gut the rabbit.
He had just set an iron cauldron on the fire to simmer the ingredients for his stew when he heard scratching at the front door. Curious, he strode over and stood listening. When he heard what sounded like a dog's whine, he opened the door.
Undone - Virginia Henley Page 33