The Revelation is Love

by Barbara Cartland

  She exclaimed, dismayed at having damaged such an ancient record.

  “Not much harm done,” Rupert calmed her, picking the book up and gathering up the pages before returning it to the shelf.

  “But this seems to have come adrift.”

  Celina picked up a sheet of paper from the floor.

  Rupert glanced at it and opened the book again.

  “This is written in a different hand. I don’t think it belongs here,” he puzzled, showing her the creased pages.

  “And, look, the paper is quite different. I think it must have been tucked into the book for some reason. Can you make out what it says?”

  His closeness and the rapport that seemed to have developed between them while they were working together for a moment prevented Celina from looking properly at the sheet in front of her.

  Then a sensation of betrayal towards the MacLeans rose inside her and she forced herself to try and interpret the difficult-to-read handwriting.

  All the time she was conscious of Rupert leaning against the shelves and looking at her in a way that made her pulse race.

  At last she raised her eyes from the document.

  “It’s all in French and beyond my command of the language. I think that it’s been written a long time ago in medieval French, as I don’t recognise many of the words and phrases.

  “But, look,” she called out, suddenly excited, “here it talks of ‘le trésor de la Croisade’. ‘Trésor’ is obviously ‘treasure’. Do you think ‘Croisade’ could be ‘crusade’?”

  “Not a word I came across in my French lessons, but it sounds likely. I haven’t seen a dictionary here. Can you make out anything else?”

  “No, but I do know who could. My Aunt Margaret. She has French ancestors and has always been interested in history. She has studied French archives and I am sure she could translate this for us.”

  He smiled at her.

  “I like your use of the word ‘us’.”

  Celina blushed.

  “We are working together over this business of the heirloom, is that not what you said?”

  He nodded.

  “Then let’s take this piece of paper to Lady Bruce and ask if she will be so kind as to give us a translation. It is, after all, the first piece of evidence we have come across that this mythical heirloom might after all actually exist, even if no one knows where or what it is.”

  He left the room calling to Duncan for the trap to be harnessed.

  “I hope you will not mind travelling this way,” said Rupert, helping Celina into a small trap.

  “It seems ridiculous for Duncan to have to drive us and Molly is tired after the trip to and from Drumlanrigg.”

  He stroked the neck of a sturdy brown horse.

  “This is Jessie – she is younger and stronger.”

  “I am well used to travelling in this fashion,” she replied, realising that she was pleased Duncan was not to drive them back to Drumlanrigg.

  Rupert then climbed up beside her and set Jessie in motion.

  “Tell me, my Lord, about life in America. From all I have heard it seems a very primitive place.”

  He gave an uninhibited laugh, then apologised.

  “Please forgive me, but a comparison of New York bathrooms with those I have so far seen over here, which I must say are very few and far between, would reverse that judgement! But you are so right, once you start travelling West, life there can really be wild.”

  She settled back and listened with great interest to his tales of life in California and travelling around America helping his father build up his successful railway.

  *

  Dusk was falling as they reached Drumlanrigg.

  “Now I very much hope you will stay here tonight, Lord Fitzalan,” said Lady Bruce, welcoming them back. “You cannot find your way in the dark. Come in and tell me about what you have found – I can see that you are both excited about something.”

  Sitting in Lady Bruce’s drawing room with a glass of whisky, Rupert recounted the results of their search.

  “And we are hoping that you can help us,” added Celina, bringing out the precious piece of paper.

  She had carefully placed it between two sheets of card for the trip.

  Lady Bruce studied the document.

  “Yes, I don’t see any trouble with this. Judging by the handwriting, it was most probably written in the sixteenth century.”

  She looked up at Celina.

  “If I may abandon you, my guests, for a little, I will attempt a translation. Celina, my dear, you might want to change for dinner. Lord Fitzalan, since you have come unprepared, you may be excused from changing, but I am sure you will want to refresh yourself after your exertions today. I will have you shown to your room.”

  He rose and gave his hostess a small bow.

  “You are most kind, Lady Bruce. We left Castle Fitzalan in something of a hurry. I was anxious to reach here before the light gave out.”

  Lady Bruce smiled at him then grew serious.

  “My dear Celina, I have to tell you that I have had a visit from Hamish this afternoon. Since you sent for your clothes and possessions, your presence in my household is known to the MacLeans. Normally I would have given you this news when we were alone, however I feel that, under the circumstances, Lord Fitzalan should hear what he had to say as well.”

  Celina felt herself grow pale.

  “I am afraid that Hamish was quite intemperate and accused me of being a bad influence on you. He finished by saying that as you have now had long enough to recover from your hysteria – his word – and you should return at once to Beaumarche. Oh, yes, and he left your engagement ring here for you.”

  Lady Bruce indicated where it sat on a side table in a silver dish.

  Celina became angry.

  How dare Hamish behave in such a manner?

  How dare he suppose she would forget how he had behaved and meekly return to him?

  “That ring can stay with him, Aunt Margaret. My engagement to Hamish MacLean is over. What did you say to him?”

  “That you were my guest for as long as you cared to stay and that you were presently out visiting, but would no doubt send word if you wished to see him.”

  “Oh, Aunt Margaret – that was perfect!”

  “However, I do feel that young man may well take matters into his own hands – ”

  She looked at Celina and Rupert.

  “I have asked my retainers to keep a watch for his presence on the estate. If he does appear, they are to inform him he should leave. Celina, I think you should not venture off Drumlanrigg for the time being and, you, Lord Fitzalan, will need to take extreme care when leaving us. We cannot be certain that Hamish MacLean does not receive word that you are visiting me.”

  Celina looked across at Rupert in alarm.

  He gave her a reassuring smile.

  “I am sure what Lady Bruce has said is for the best. I have taken the precaution of bringing my grandfather’s shotgun with me. I shall not use it unless forced, but it may make young Hamish pause if he does try and accost me.”

  Celina gave out a small cry of distress and left the room.

  She went to change with her emotions in turmoil.

  How could she convince Hamish she would not in any circumstances renew her engagement to him?

  And what would he do if he found out that she had spent the day in the company of Lord Fitzalan – and that he was to stay the night under the same roof?

  Would he believe that it was only to hunt down the wretched heirloom the MacLeans claimed as theirs? Or that she hated and despised Lord Fitzalan?

  She limply sat down on her bed.

  No, she really had to admit to herself that today had taught her that Lord Fitzalan was certainly someone she could respect and even like.

  When, however, had a Highland feud ever ended in anything but bloodshed?

  *

  After dinner, Lady Bruce produced her translation of the document Celina had
discovered.

  “It is the first page of a sixteenth century letter that was never sent, written by a Lady Fitzalan who was French, to her sister in Paris. It was at a time of much fighting between the Clans and her husband was embroiled in a bloody feud, though not, it seems with the MacLeans.”

  She smiled at Celina and Rupert.

  “The letter writer was worried that Castle Fitzalan would fall in an imminent attack and concerned that they needed to hide the ‘Crusade Treasure’.”

  Celina gave a small cry of delight.

  “Does she say what it was?”

  “No, she just refers to it as the ‘Crusade Treasure’. She goes on to write that it was to be hidden in an island tower in the loch below Castle Fitzalan.”

  Lady Bruce looked up from the document.

  “I think I know that loch on the Fitzalan estate. The island is quite small, but there is a tower on it.”

  “Does Lady Fitzalan describe exactly where it was to be hidden?” asked Rupert.

  Lady Bruce shook her head.

  “The letter breaks off. There is nothing to say if the attack actually took place or even if the ‘Crusade Treasure’ was indeed taken to the island.”

  “We know the Castle wasn’t taken,” mused Rupert, “but was the treasure hidden?”

  “At least we can be certain that it exists,” breathed Celina excitedly and then wished she had not spoken because Rupert added coldly,

  “How are we to be sure? There is nothing to say it did not disappear after this letter was written – ”

  Celina felt a sense of depression come over her.

  The rapport she had felt in the muniment room and on the ride back to Drumlanrigg seemed to have vanished.

  Once again he was suspicious of her.

  “However, this island and its tower must be closely searched. Lady Bruce, do you have a map of its location?”

  A map was quickly found.

  “It seems to be no further than a couple of hours’ drive from here. I will go and explore it tomorrow.”

  “And I will come with you,” stated Celina firmly.

  “No!” replied Rupert even more firmly.

  “Is that wise, Lord Fitzalan?” asked Lady Bruce.

  “If you return and then declare the treasure was not there,” Celina now turned towards Rupert, “Lord MacLean and Hamish will never believe you.”

  “You mean you will not believe me,” he countered.

  “Surely you don’t mean that!” she cried, a wave of disappointment at his attitude flooding through her. “But you must see that a witness to whatever is, or is not, at that tower is essential.”

  Reluctantly Lady Bruce and Rupert finally agreed that she should accompany him.

  *

  Early the next morning, Celina dressed herself in warm clothes and before breakfast she packed a drawstring bag with everything she considered essential for the trip.

  She had been surprised and shocked at how much she was disturbed by the realisation that Lord Fitzalan did not trust her.

  She was determined somehow to prove that, while her deep loyalties might still belong to the MacLeans, she would not betray him.

  When the trap was brought round, Rupert placed a shotgun within easy reach beneath a piece of tarpaulin,

  They had left Drumlanrigg behind and were passing a wood when, suddenly, a group of riders emerged making eerie cries.

  With mounting horror, Celina could see that Lord MacLean led the party.

  He fired a shot that whistled past Rupert’s head.

  He whipped the horse into a faster pace and Celina seized the shotgun, brought it to her shoulder and pointed it at her uncle.

  “Fall back,” she cried.

  He only laughed.

  Her finger started to pull the trigger – but she found that she could not shoot at the man who had taken the place of her father over the last nine years.

  In a moment the party had surrounded the trap.

  Hamish leapt onto Rupert and Lord MacLean took the gun from Celina.

  “Let him go, he is trying to find the heirloom,” she howled, tears of frustration falling down her cheeks.

  Several moments later Rupert was lying lifeless on the ground and Hamish had control of the reins.

  “You are mine,” he grated triumphantly to Celina as he brought the trap to a halt.

  Lord MacLean swiftly dismounted and turned over Rupert’s body.

  “He’s dead,” he trumpeted. “He caught his head on one of those stones.”

  The world went dark and Celina knew no more.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Pain shot viciously through Rupert’s head.

  At first he imagined that he had been attacked while walking home from his New York office.

  Then realisation began to seep through.

  He was not in New York. He had come to Scotland to take up his inheritance. But what was he doing lying on the ground, feeling as if his head had been battered in?

  Memory gradually floated back.

  He and Celina had been attacked on their way to try and locate this accursed heirloom that was causing all the trouble between him and the MacLeans.

  She had taken up the shotgun and at first he thought that she was going to shoot her uncle, but then she had lowered the gun. Hamish MacLean had jumped upon him and that was the last thing he remembered.

  Managing to ignore the pain that seared through his head with the slightest movement, Rupert sat up.

  Bright sun made his eyes ache, but it indicated that the trap stood nearby, the horse calmly cropping the grass.

  For a moment he wondered why the MacLeans had gone, then realised that they must have left him for dead.

  Celina Stirling must have gone with them.

  Had she betrayed him?

  Was her declaration last night that she no longer wished to be engaged to Hamish MacLean just a ruse?

  Had she somehow managed to inform her relations where they were going?

  He tried to dismiss this idea as nonsense, but found that it would not go away.

  How long had he lain unconscious?

  Looking at the sun, Rupert realised that it was at its height and several hours must have passed since the attack.

  He staggered to his feet and managed to reach the trap. He held on to it for a while to allow his legs to regain some strength and then looked about him searching for a stream he had noticed just before they were attacked – it was a little way off to his left.

  Feeling stronger, he went over and thrust his head into the cooling water. Blood still oozed from his wounds, but it did not seem all that serious.

  He must be growing used to being assaulted!

  On his way back from the stream, a flash of colour took him over to a gorse bush.

  Tangled in it was a tartan scarf – it was Celina’s and he carefully disentangled it to find that it was torn.

  He felt both relief and anxiety.

  Relief because surely the tear and the fact that the scarf had been abandoned indicated that she had not betrayed him, but had been taken by force.

  And anxiety that she too could have suffered injury.

  Finding the scarf decided him.

  He must rescue Celina from the MacLeans.

  Jessie welcomed him with a friendly whinny and seemed not to have suffered in any way.

  Rupert stood and stroked her neck whilst he tried to form a plan.

  They had been attacked not far from Drumlanrigg, so he was familiar with the lie of the land, particularly after studying Lady Bruce’s map the previous evening.

  He reckoned that he could find Beaumarche Castle as well without too much difficulty.

  The shotgun had gone from the trap, but, thanks to Duncan, he was not exactly unarmed.

  Jessie seemed quite happy to set out once again and trotted rapidly along. Finding the way, however, proved to be not as easy as Rupert had anticipated and he soon had to seek directions from a crofter before eventually reaching his des
tination.

  Once at Beaumarche he had no difficulty in finding the place where Celina and he had emerged from the secret tunnel after she had rescued him.

  As he tied Jessie to a convenient tree, he was more than ever certain that she must be in grave danger from the MacLean family.

  Rupert felt a jolt of pain surge through him that had nothing to do with the blow he had suffered.

  He could not bear to think of the beautiful girl, who had released him from that dreadful dungeon when he was in the power of her vicious relatives, being in trouble.

  A vision of her glorious red hair and the way her wide green eyes crinkled up when she smiled came to him.

  He imagined her locked up in Beaumarche, perhaps even in the dungeon where he had been incarcerated, and felt physically sick.

  He had to get to her as soon as possible.

  He soon discovered the end of the tunnel behind the waterfall and opened a small iron grille and with difficulty entered the narrow passage, finally rising to his feet with relief as its height increased.

  The pain in his head had now dulled into a nasty throbbing.

  He reached the dungeon where he had been locked up and forced himself to look inside and realised with relief that it was empty.

  Celina must be held elsewhere.

  Moving as quietly as he could, Rupert climbed up the stone steps into the main part of the Castle and emerged behind the screen in the Great Hall.

  The serving area that led to the kitchens was empty and Rupert stood still listening for any movement.

  All seemed quiet.

  In the dark distance he could hear the sounds of a drinking party. No doubt the MacLean’s were celebrating a successful end to their expedition.

  Well, soon Rupert would show them what crossing a Fitzalan could mean!

  He peered through the carved screen into the Great Hall.

  As he did so, a huge snore suddenly shook the air and he saw Lord MacLean and Hamish both slumped over the long refectory table.

  Empty wine and whisky bottles were scatted around the two recumbent men and they had obviously celebrated the capture of Celina and his ‘death’ all too heartily!

  He wondered where Celina might be held.

  As he turned round and looked up a stone staircase that led into Beaumarche’s tower, a servant came down the stairs, carrying linen over his arm.