THE REVELATION IS LOVE
BARBARA CARTLAND
www.barbaracartland.com
Copyright © 2010 by Cartland Promotions
First published on the internet in October 2010 by Barbaracartland.com
ISBNs
978-1-908411-62-4 Epub
978-1-908411-63-1 Prc
978-1-908411-64-8 Pdf
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.
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THE REVELATION
IS LOVE
“A bowl of one of your soups a little later, Duncan, would be great, but I think Miss Stirling and I should start our search right away.”
Rupert looked at Celina.
“Should we start at the top or the bottom?”
“The top,” suggested Celina briskly.
She was feeling uncomfortable at the closeness of this man and the light in his eyes as he looked at her.
Not even Hamish had stirred such a complex set of emotions in her.
If only he was not a Fitzalan!
THE BARBARA CARTLAND PINK COLLECTION
Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.
She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.
Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.
Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.
The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.
The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.
The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.
If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :
Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.
240 High Road,
Harrow Weald,
Harrow
HA3 7BB
United Kingdom.
Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520
Titles in this series
These titles are currently available for download.
1. The Cross Of Love
2. Love In The Highlands
3. Love Finds The Way
4. The Castle Of Love
5. Love Is Triumphant
6. Stars In The Sky
7. The Ship Of Love
8. A Dangerous Disguise
9. Love Became Theirs
10. Love Drives In
11. Sailing To Love
12. The Star Of Love
13. Music Is The Soul Of Love
14. Love In The East
15. Theirs To Eternity
16. A Paradise On Earth
17. Love Wins In Berlin
18. In Search Of Love
19. Love Rescues Rosanna
20. A Heart In Heaven
21. The House Of Happiness
22. Royalty Defeated By Love
23. The White Witch
24. They Sought Love
25. Love Is The Reason For Living
26. They Found Their Way To Heaven
27. Learning To Love
28. Journey To Happiness
29. A Kiss In The Desert
30. The Heart Of Love
31. The Richness Of Love
32. For Ever And Ever
33. An Unexpected Love
34. Saved By An Angel
35. Touching The Stars
36. Seeking Love
37. Journey To Love
38. The Importance Of Love
39. Love By The Lake
40. A Dream Come True
41. The King Without A Heart
42. The Waters Of Love
43. Danger To The Duke
44. A Perfect Way To Heaven
45. Follow Your Heart
46. In Hiding
47. Rivals For Love
48. A Kiss From The Heart
49. Lovers In London
50. This Way To Heaven
51. A Princess Prays
52. Mine For Ever
53. The Earl’s Revenge
54. Love At The Tower
55. Ruled By Love
56. Love Came From Heaven
57. Love And Apollo
58. The Keys Of Love
59. A Castle Of Dreams
60. A Battle Of Brains
61. A Change Of Hearts
62. It Is Love
63. The Triumph Of Love
64. Wanted – A Royal Wife
65. A Kiss Of Love
66. To Heaven With Love
67. Pray For Love
68. The Marquis Is Trapped
69. Hide And Seek For Love
70. Hiding from Love
71. A Teacher Of Love
72. Money Or Love
73. The Revelation Is Love
THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND
Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.
Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.
Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health and cookery. Becoming one of Britain's most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public appearances.
In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her work for humanitarian and charitable causes.
Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best remem
bered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for everyone that made her truly unique.
“The moment you know you are in love – and you will always know instinctively – you are closer to Heaven than at any other time in your life.”
Barbara Cartland
CHAPTER ONE
-
1897
The foaming sea was as wild as an untamed horse and the decks of the transatlantic liner travelling towards England were empty – except for one hardy passenger.
Rupert Fitzalan was caught up in the excitement of the turbulent sky, the power of the waves and the tossing of the ship.
No bucking bronco could be any more unsettling, he thought, remembering the time he had tried for success at a rodeo in the Mid-West of America. He had stayed on the animal longer than most, including himself, had expected, but had been thrown in the end.
Now he stood with spray lashing him and found the exhilaration of the storm matched his own.
Rupert Fitzalan was going home to Scotland!
The last time he had been home was twenty-three years ago when he was eight years old, before his father, Malcolm Fitzalan, had quarrelled with his proud and irascible parent, Lord Fitzalan.
Malcolm was not the first. His two elder brothers had already fallen out with the cantankerous Laird and left Scotland.
Unable to take his father’s bullying ways for a second longer the youngest son, his wife and son sailed to America.
Soon after their arrival, Rupert’s beloved mother had died from typhoid, leaving his grieving father who, ignoring his young son, devoted himself to building up a successful railway empire.
The deck door behind Rupert opened and a Steward caught him by the arm.
“My Lord, we cannot allow any passengers outside on deck whilst the sea is this rough.”
It was still a novelty to be addressed as, ‘my Lord’.
In the years since Rupert’s family had left Scotland both his uncles had died, one had drowned after being forced to leave a sinking ship, the other in a fatal riding accident. Neither had left sons.
Two years ago his father had suffered a fatal stroke and Rupert was left in sole control of the railway company.
Last month had come the news that Lord Fitzalan, Rupert’s grandfather, had died and the title and estates had come down to his last male descendant.
Rupert was now Lord Fitzalan.
He smiled at the Steward and came inside.
“Can I provide your Lordship with a brandy?”
“Why not?”
Rupert went through to the empty Saloon and chose a seat commanding a fine view of the huge waves.
As he waited for his drink, Rupert conjured up his memories of the ancestral home of the Fitzalans.
To eight year old Rupert, Castle Fitzalan held all the drama and atmosphere of its bloody history. He remembered his grandfather recounting tales of feuds with other Clans and dastardly attacks his doughty ancestors had repelled.
Rupert’s father had scoffed at these tales.
“That’s all in the past. Our future is in America!”
So it had proved.
Many a time, though, Rupert had recalled the erect figure of his grandfather, so full of pride and belligerence and wished he could see him again.
His father had often suggested to Lord Fitzalan that they visited, only to be repulsed.
Now Rupert was returning to Scotland and whether or not he would leave America permanently was a decision he was happy to leave for another day.
Just as he had left the question of marriage.
One of the most eligible young bachelors in New York, he had earned the nickname, Rupert the Rock, for it was said that no girl had managed to break his heart.
He had squired some of the loveliest girls around, most of whom had made it clear they would be delighted to become his wife. He had been bored by even the most intelligent of them.
His father had been upset.
“We need to consider the Fitzalan inheritance,” he had counselled his son just before he died.
“Plenty of time yet, Father.”
“Just what is it you are looking for, son?”
“I simply want to be as much in love with the girl I marry as you were with my mother.”
“I was blessed, but I can see plenty of girls who are beautiful and have sufficient character and intelligence for you to fall in love with.”
“None of them moves me, Father, and none of them has that special something – and please don’t ask me to define what that is, because I only know I will recognise it when I see it.”
With that his father had to be content. Would he, he now wondered, find a Scottish girl who could command his heart the way his beautiful mother had commanded his father’s?
He savoured the fine cognac brought to him by the Steward and dismissed all thoughts of marriage.
It was enough that soon he would have fulfilled his long-held dream of returning to his ancestral home.
It was sad that his grandfather would not be there and even sadder that his father was not inheriting, but even these regrets could not prevent the excitement building up at the thought that soon he would see Castle Fitzalan again.
*
A few days later, Rupert hired a horse in Pitlochry, the Highland town he had reached by rail, having arranged for his luggage to follow him and armed with directions to Castle Fitzalan, he set out on his way.
Little white clouds scudded swiftly across a bright May sky. Fresh lime-green young leaves were on the trees, golden stars of celandine peeked out through grass verges.
Then the land grew starker as the road rose higher and higher becoming little more than a dirt track.
For some time now there had been no hint of any habitation and Rupert began to wonder if he had lost his way. He took out his compass and, not for the first time, checked his direction.
Then, suddenly right ahead, he saw rock rising sheer above the track with above it, Castle Fitzalan.
‘Nearly there,’ Rupert thought joyfully as his horse blew through his nose and shook his head, as much as to say, ‘you can’t expect me to climb up that sheer face’!
They followed the path as it climbed steeply round the rocky outcrop until it reached heavy studded oak doors set in impenetrable stone walls.
Rupert dismounted and hammered on the doors.
Nothing happened.
He hammered again hard and wondered if the letter announcing his arrival had gone astray. True, he had not been able to state any definite date and time, but surely the Castle staff must be aware he could turn up at any time?
A small window high up in the Castle was thrown open and the barrel of what looked remarkably like an old fashioned blunderbuss poked out.
“If ye’ll not stop yer yammering, I’ll let ye have it in the face – so help me if I don’t!”
Rupert stepped back and, grasping his horse’s reins with one hand, held up the other in a gesture of surrender.
“I’m no enemy. I am Rupert, Lord Fitzalan.”
After a moment a face replaced the blunderbuss in the window.
“It’ll no be that young Malcolm’s boy? Wait ye off there awhile.”
The face disappeared and the window closed.
Rupert waited as his horse cropped grass at the side of the pathway.
Soon there came the sound of a heavy lock being opened, then, slowly but smoothly, one of the great doors was drawn back and Rupert entered into his inheritance.
No sooner had he and his horse moved inside than the door was pushed shut again by a stooped figure with bandy legs wearing an aged kilt.
The doors secured, the figure turned and grabbed one of Rupert’s hands. Watery eyes that had once been a bright blue looked ha
rd into his face.
Then the wrinkled face broke into a broad smile.
“If it isn’t Master Rupert come back to us! Man, but you’re a real sight for sore eyes. I thought ye’d never get here.”
Rupert searched his youthful memory for his name.
“It’s Duncan, ye ken? I used to ride with ye when ye were nobbut a lad.”
With a shock he recalled his grandfather’s favourite servant who had accompanied him everywhere.
Twenty-two years ago Duncan had been upstanding at six feet with a fine head of dark hair. Now, not only had he shrunk to this stooped figure, but his hair was wispy thin and yellow-white.
Rupert returned the grasp of the hands that held his.
“Duncan, of course, I remember you. Did you not receive the letter I sent announcing my arrival?”
Duncan gave a cackle of laughter.
“The postie doesna get up here. I go out and collect what there is from the village store when I can, but it’s not often I get awa. It’s only me and the lad now, ye ken?”
“The lad?”
“That be me, sir. Walt, sir,” came a small voice at his elbow. “Will ye no let me take yer horse, sir?”
Walt was a half-starved looking youngster with a huge thatch of dirty straw-coloured hair and an even more raggedy kilt than Duncan’s.
“He’ll need a good rub-down and water and oats as he’s carried me from Pitlochry and it’s a longish journey.”
“Pitlochry, a fair mile indeed,” said Duncan. “And I think you could do with a dram and some nourishment yerself. Come awa’ in.”
Duncan led the way over a courtyard where weeds were growing between flagstones.
Everywhere there were signs of neglect.
The stone façades needed repointing, the windows were filthy and several were broken. What had once been a lawn now had chickens scratching over it.
“I’m sorry I could not be here for the funeral,” he remarked, following Duncan into the Castle.
“Aye, it’d have done yer heart good to see the many folk who came to honour the Laird. Sit ye down there.”
Rupert let his aching limbs down into an armchair.
Weekly hacks in Central Park were obviously not enough to keep him in condition for the sort of ride he had undertaken that day.
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