One Man's Love
Page 31
After they passed slowly around the necklace of rocks, the captain gave the order for full sail. As they left the cove, Ian glanced behind him, grateful to discover that the villagers of Gilmuir, Leitis included, were huddled in a tight group. They would not see what he had just noticed, Sedgewick’s broken body lying on the far side of the tallest rock.
Once past the barrier, the danger lessened. Even if they were seen by the troops at Fort William, there was no likelihood that they could be overtaken. In less than an hour they would be at Coneagh Firth and quickly out to sea.
He stepped away from the bow, only to be approached by the captain.
“Sir, if you could accompany me for a moment, I think I have a solution to your destination.”
He glanced in Leitis’s direction. The group was still talking, and from the looks of it, it was an impassioned gathering. But then, anything involving Hamish was destined to be fiery.
Curious, Ian followed the captain to his quarters in the forecastle, and watched as the man pulled a large rolled map from its case. He spread it open on a small square table, placing a prism on either side of the map to prevent it from curling.
“Here, sir,” Captain Braddock said, pointing to an area on the coast of the colonies. “It’s a place called Maryland. I’ve taken passengers there before.”
But a small spot far to the north captured Ian’s attention, instead. He traced his fingers across the shape of it. The coastline, jagged with inlets and firths, reminded him, oddly enough, of Scotland.
“No,” Ian said, beginning to smile. There it was, written right on the map. A sign, an omen, if he believed in such things. “There,” he said, pointing to the place. “That will be our home.”
“Are you certain?” Captain Braddock asked, frowning.
“I am,” he said.
A moment later he left the captain’s quarters. Hamish stood in the hatchway, both hands fixed on the bulkhead on either side of him.
“You’ve been elected laird,” Hamish said bluntly, a grin deepening the lines on his face.
“What?” Ian asked, dumbfounded.
“You’re laird now, Ian,” Hamish said, grinning and following him to the forecastle.
Leitis stepped out of the crowd and came to his side. They linked their fingers, content at the moment for only that. And the space between them was acceptable, too, as long as he could touch her in some manner, look in her eyes and see both the past and the future.
“He can’t be serious,” Ian said, glancing warily at Hamish.
“I’m afraid he is,” she said, reaching out her hands to him. “The people of Gilmuir think it fitting that the grandson of Niall MacRae should lead them.”
He wished he knew what to say at this moment. But words were puny things, incapable of holding thoughts of such importance.
“I don’t know anything about being a laird,” he said, the confession an awkward one.
“Yes, you do,” she gently chided. “Everything you’ve done, every lesson in command has led to this moment.”
“And if I fail them?” he asked, looking at the milling people.
“Did you fail your troops? Or the men you rescued from Inverness? Or me?” she asked, smiling.
“Did you vote for me, Leitis?”
“I did,” she said, smiling. “It was nearly unanimous.”
“Let me guess,” he said sardonically. “Hamish disagreed.”
She shook her head. “He was the one who suggested it,” she said. “Peter was the lone dissenting vote. He said you were too bossy.”
“Does that amuse you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “For you to make an impression on Peter, it must have been a fierce scolding you gave him.”
“I don’t remember even speaking to the man.”
“That’s even worse,” she said, laughing.
He glanced back at the ruins of Gilmuir, shielded by the advancing darkness. “Do you think my grandfather would have approved of my being laird?” he asked her, thinking of the ghosts he’d imagined.
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “And he would have been the first to leave,” she added, surprising him. “He believed in people more than places.”
Ian knew that he would always remember her just as she was at this moment. She was smiling, her face relaxed and beautiful, the breeze over the loch gently stirring her hair. It felt as if he’d been traveling for years to come to this one place, this one woman.
The image of her as a child was replaced with the woman’s face. Leitis, laughing, or smiling tenderly at him. Or with her beautiful eyes flashing her irritation. Leitis, with her hair blowing in the wind, her hand clenching her skirt as she raced across the glen.
He turned to address the people on deck, raising his voice so that he could be heard.
“There’s a place across the ocean called Nova Scotia,” he said, telling them what he’d discovered. “New Scotland.”
“I like the name,” Malcolm said, and several other voices agreed.
“Near it is an island,” Ian added. “A place not unlike Gilmuir. I think we should go there, but it is not my decision alone. We must all agree. Who’s for New Scotland?”
“Wherever you decide, sir,” Donald said from the rear. Standing beside him were Harrison and his new bride, each of them holding the other. Harrison only smiled his approval.
The vote, including Peter’s grudging assent, was unanimous.
Ian glanced down at Leitis. “And you, my love? What do you say?”
Leitis studied the far horizon. “I think,” she said, finally, her smile luminous, “that wherever you are is home.”
Epilogue
A n hour later, Leitis and Ian were married by Scots law, an agreement binding by the sincere, mutual consent of the participants. The words were simple, each spoken by one to the other.
“I will have you as my husband, to live with as long as God decrees,” she said. “Before my clan I promise this.”
“I will have you as my wife, to live with as long as God decrees,” Ian said. He turned and looked around him. Those on deck were, in varying degrees, smiling back at him. An act of welcome and approval that he seemed to understand. “Before my clan, I promise this,” he finished.
He opened his arms and she walked into his embrace. But a moment later, he pulled back. Reaching inside his waistcoat, he withdrew a length of plaid.
“You took it from the loom,” she said, surprised. She clasped it in her hand, the wool still warm from his body.
“I’m afraid I did so with less care than you would have shown,” he admitted, “but I wanted you to have it.”
Her arms reached up and encircled his neck. They kissed through most of the journey through Loch Euliss.
Finally, she lay her cheek against his chest, hearing the thudding beat of his heart and feeling a dazed delight. A month ago she had no future and the only emotion she could feel was grief.
Now she stood with the man she loved and her clan. The world seemed a special place now, one in which they could write their own destiny.
Above them in the rigging men shouted at each other, while the first mate bellowed orders from the forecastle. Children laughed, a woman asked a question, a mother’s soothing voice calmed a querulous complaint.
The day bade farewell in hues of purple and indigo, a riotous display of color as if fearing the sun would never come again.
The sound of the pipes came faintly at first, then grew louder until it swelled through the air. Not a defiant tune, but a call of forever and home and the soul’s longing for itself.
Leitis sighed, lay her cheek on Ian’s chest, feeling the spike of tears.
It wouldn’t be the last time she heard the pipes, but never would it again be with Scotland echoing the sound back from craggy hills and thickly green glens. Shadows draped the earth as if to gradually hide it from their view and ease the parting.
It was a farewell Hamish played, the twilight mist adding a soft and sweet be
nediction as if the notes comprised a hymn. The world fell silent around them. Not one person on deck spoke, but more than a few wiped their eyes.
Ian’s arms were around her, holding her tight as Leitis recalled the MacRae Lament. The words were oddly fitting for this moment, and this place.
Here is our island, here is our pride.
We are a past never to die.
In good times or bad we’ll always endure
In the home of our hearts—Gilmuir
Afterword
W illiam Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, was actually known as Butcher Cumberland because of his cruelty following the Battle of Culloden. Cumberland’s decree that a soldier could be hanged for aiding the Scots is, regrettably, historical fact.
Gilmuir and the island that housed it are loosely based on a location governed by the MacRaes. It was fascinating to discover, after I had imagined Ionis the Saint, that the real island had also once been a site of pilgrimage.
Fort William was similar in fashion to other English fortifications built in Scotland at the time. Fort George was actually constructed between 1748 and 1769 and was one of the largest building projects in the Highlands. Ironically, none of its impressive cannon were ever fired.
The Scottish emigration to Nova Scotia began in earnest around 1750, when the ship Hector arrived from Scotland.
About the Author
KAREN RANNEY began writing when she was five. Her first published work was The Maple Leaf, read over the school intercom when she was in the first grade. In addition to wanting to be a violinist (her parents had a special violin crafted for her when she was seven), she wanted to be a lawyer, a teacher, and, most of all, a writer. The violin discarded early, she still admits to a fascination with the law, and she volunteers as a teacher whenever needed. Writing, however, has remained an overwhelming love of hers. She loves to hear from her readers—please write to her at karen@karenranney.com or visit her website at www.karenranney.com.
Karen Ranney lives in Texas.
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ONE MAN'S LOVE. Copyright © 2001 by Karen Ranney. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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