by Adams, Alisa
"And what do you want in exchange?" Baron McLaughlin leaned back, steepled his fingers and looked at the Laird with narrowed eyes.
Craig McCallum named a sum of money. The Baron blew out his cheeks and shook his head. He was inwardly relieved that the sum was not higher, but the back-and-forth haggling had to be done otherwise his reputation as a shrewd businessman would be ruined. Bargaining for a wife was no different to bargaining for a horse; he wanted to pay the lowest price for the best quality. The negotiations went on for half-an-hour till they reached an accommodation, then they shook hands and the Baron poured them each a glass of whiskey. They drank to each other’s health, but neither thought to drink to Iona's.
Iona McCallum was one of the prettiest girls in Skye. With her shining chestnut hair, peaches-and-cream skin and soft blue eyes she was one of the best marriage prospects on the island. Iona’s best friend in the world was her companion, Andrina. She was a tall thin girl with curly brown hair and merry green eyes.
Andrina was no ordinary companion. She came from a very old family which had lost its fortune through bad investments and had been hired by the McCallums because their fathers were friends. Now it seemed that the McCallum family's fortunes were heading the same way. To say Andrina was scared was a massive understatement. She was absolutely terrified. To be thrown out of the only job she had ever had would leave her penniless and alone. Her family was in no position to take her back, and neither did she want to go. Her only choice then would be to get a menial job somewhere or sell her body on the streets of Portree. She was prepared to pick vegetables or clean floors, but she was not willing to become a whore.
Soon Iona would be married, but she would still need and want Andrina. However, Iona had no wish to marry the husband her father picked for her, the fat Baron of Portree. She would run away first. Iona remembered the day they had first been introduced. There had been no warning. Iona was simply told that her father wanted to see her, so she went downstairs to his office. She had just been out riding and had not changed out of her riding clothes, which were splattered with mud.
"You wanted to see me, Father?" she asked irritably.
As she advanced into the room she saw that there was a man sitting facing her father across his desk. He turned around and smiled at her, and she realized that this was the Baron of Portree and he had come to ask for her hand in marriage.
Oh, God, no! she thought as she looked at the horribly fat creature in front of her, he cannot expect me to marry this thing! I will not do it!
He was just as fleshy as one of the big seals on the beach except that seals were beautiful with their big liquid eyes and the shiny, sinuous lines of their bodies. This man was just ugly, with his double chin and enormous bloated stomach. Looking at him made her feel sick.
Hector Laughlin saw not just a pretty girl in front of him, but a healthy and wholesome young woman. She looked like good marriage material, and he decided there and then that he would finalize the bargain he had struck with her father. The money would be handed over that day, and the betrothal and wedding ceremonies would take place within the month.
Iona curtsied to him since it was the polite thing to do, but she could not hide her distaste when he bent to kiss her hand. Fortunately, he was looking downward and not at her face or he would have seen her lip curled up in disgust.
"Your father and I have agreed that we should marry, Mistress Iona." He smiled at her again, and there was a lascivious look in his eyes. "What do you say to that?"
"I always obey my father," she replied, keeping her eyes cast down. This was her worst nightmare come true.
The Baron, if not exactly cheered by her response, chose to overlook her lack of enthusiasm, thinking that it was the surprise which had made her response so lackluster. It was not every day that a girl met her future husband. "Wonderful! A good girl!" He chortled. "Then I propose we have the betrothal ceremony next Sunday and the wedding two weeks after that. Will there be time for you to have dresses made? I would not like my betrothed to look under-dressed on our two special days."
"I promise you I will not, sir," she said, with no expression on her face or in her voice. "There is time for the dresses. I will have my seamstress start at once."
"Oh, please!" He laughed, setting his chins wobbling. "We are going to be husband and wife! Call me Hector and I will call you Iona." He stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Iona felt like jumping backward, but made herself stand still.
"If you will excuse me, Hector, Father," she said, curtseying again, "I am very muddy from my ride and I must change clothes." She turned to Hector. "Thank you for the honor of making me your bride."
Then she fled.
"Andie!" She cried as soon as she got into her bedroom, "I need to talk to you!" She fell, rather than sat on the bed, putting her face in her hands.
Andrina came out from her little room next to Iona's. She gently took Iona's hands away so that she could look into her eyes. Then Andrina searched Iona's face. She looked scared to death, but underneath the fear was a raging anger. "What's wrong?" Andrina gathered Iona into her arms.
"Father is marrying me off to that fat slug the Baron of Portree," Iona's voice was trembling with fury, "he's selling me, Andie! He's selling me, but I am not for sale!"
For a moment Andrina sat next to her looking stunned. She knew, as a member of the landed gentry herself, that younger women were often married off to older men, and it was frequently very successful, but the Baron of Portree! Even the thought of it made her stomach churn.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, striving to keep her voice normal. "We cannot allow this to happen."
"I am going to run away, Andie," Iona replied grimly. "The betrothal is on Sunday next week, so I will have to be gone by then. I want you to come with me."
"We can talk about me later," Andie answered, "now, we need a plan."
11
Planning
Her decisiveness and calmness under pressure were two of the things that made Iona value Andie so highly. Another was her loyalty. She knew that whatever plan they devised would never leave Andie's lips unless under torture, but her father was quite capable of that.
"Let us think it through." Andie's thoughts were already forming themselves into a logical sequence. "We have several problems. We need a way of getting you out of here. We need to get your horse out of the stables, and we need to find you a place to go."
She paused, thinking. "At any other time, you could have said you were visiting a friend, and pretend you were staying the night," she said and sighed. "But not on the eve of your betrothal."
"I could have an accident," Iona suggested. "I could fall in the burn further downstream where it is deepest and drown, but I would have to do that the afternoon before. I could leave my effects by the stream and send my horseback. Then I would leave Skye forever, but I would be dead to the rest of my family then. And what about you?"
"I will find work somewhere," Andrina replied, shrugging. "Though, I really do not think that pretending you are dead is the right thing to do, Iona. Think of your mother. She will be devastated if anything happens to you Donalda loves you more than her life—Elisha too, and Cameron. He pretends to be a big strong man but your brother is very soft inside. And we cannot tell your mother what we are planning—he would do anything he could to get information out of her."
Iona nodded sadly. "You are right, Andie." She sighed. “I cannot leave you here. You and I both know that my father would torture you to get the secret of my whereabouts out of you. I am not letting you endure that."
They sat for another moment, thinking, then Iona suddenly had an idea. "We can become nuns!" she cried joyfully, then, as Iona began to protest she continued. "Not real ones, but we can enter the convent of St Gertrude as postulants. We will have food and shelter, and it will buy us time until the fuss dies down. My father cannot look for us forever."
Andie stared at her for a moment. "You think this will wor
k?" she asked. Her tone was doubtful and she was frowning.
"I do," Iona replied, "Saint Gertrude is not only a convent, but a refuge."
"Then why not simply go as a refugee?" Andie asked, puzzled.
"Because I want to make the nuns think that I am serious, and I want Father to think I am taking the veil if he finds out I am there. Besides, I will be able to choose a new name for myself, and that will make things even safer."
"But we still need to make our escape," Andie pointed out, "and it will have to be in daytime." She stopped for a moment then smiled at Iona. "What about the carter who comes from Portree with supplies from the village? We can climb aboard while he is being paid and we can hide between his crates and under the rest of his merchandise. He comes on a Saturday afternoon. But we must keep ourselves hidden from him too."
"That is a wonderful idea!" Iona cried. Then she said, "I have thought of something else."
Andie raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
"My father will probably bring his hunting dogs with him." Iona clapped her hands in glee. "But if we go with the carter we will leave no trail. In fact, we should go out for a walk on Saturday morning and lay a false one."
"But the convent is the first place he will look," Andie pointed out.
Iona mulled this over for a few moments. "No, it is a few miles to the convent from here and there are at least two crofts on the way. He will look there first, and maybe even in a few other places. He does not want to go near that convent if he can possibly help it," she said at last. "But he will think we are walking. He will not set out until much later since it will take him time to realize we are gone. He will think that we won't be too far away. After all, our horses will still be in the stables. He cannot travel in the dark. The cart is slow, but even so, by the time he discovers we have escaped, we will be in the convent. The cart goes right past it."
They hugged each other.
"I knew we would find a way," Iona said and smiled.
"Careful," Andie warned her, "we have not escaped yet. There is still the matter of how we get past your servants to get into the cart. We do not want to put anyone in danger."
"We can think about it while my beautiful betrothal dress is being made!" Iona laughed.
Iona's seamstress was an expert who had been brought in from Portree at very short notice. Her name was Pauline, and she was a widow of one of the French soldiers who had fought for Scotland against the English. She was an impatient woman with a very sour and uncivil attitude, but Iona was willing to ignore it most of the time because she felt sorry for her. She spoke very bad English but was just about able to make herself understood to Iona, her father and mother, and a few of the upper-level servants like the butler and housekeeper. The lower servants only spoke Scots.
She had come from an aristocratic family in the Burgundy region of France, was not impressed with Scotland or its people. She thought it a crude and barbaric place and despised the local inhabitants because of their strange, guttural mode of speech. She was unused to being treated like a servant and given sleeping quarters more akin to those of a housemaid or being asked to drink ale instead of wine. Mostly, she longed for someone with whom she could speak her own language.
Auguste was making good speed and thought that he might make it to Beglin Castle, home of the McCallums, before the sunset. After that, he would have to find shelter somewhere in a barn or sleep under the stars. There would not be enough time for him to get to Saint Gertrude’s Convent or anywhere else. He was delivering spices but hoped to be able to interest the McCallum family in silk as well, since he knew that there were at least three ladies, Andie, Iona, and Donalda, Iona’s mother. Ladies always needed dresses, the more, the better. He rode up to the castle in the middle of the afternoon and was admitted at once since the staff knew him from earlier visits.
Auguste dismounted and was shown to a small parlor by the butler then requested to help himself to whatever drink he pleased. He was pouring himself out some wine when he heard a torrent of angry French outside the door. He went out to investigate and saw a small dark woman screaming obscenities at a young housemaid who clearly had no idea what she was saying.
"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, Madame?" he asked, frowning. "What is the matter, Madame?"
The woman turned to him with an expression of absolute joy on her face.
"Monsieur!" she cried, "vous parlez Français?"
"Je suis Français, madame," he replied, "I am French, Madame. Et vous? And you?"
"Moi aussi, she replied, "me too." She was almost weeping with happiness. "Je suis Pauline Le Fevre."
"Auguste Chevalier." He bowed. "Enchanté."
Auguste led her into the parlor and gave her a soothing glass of wine, then they began to converse in their own language. Speaking French was a relief for Auguste too since he had not realized how relaxing it was to slip into his own tongue. It was as if he had slipped on a comfortable old jacket which he had worn into shape to fit his body exactly.
"So, Madame Le Fevre," he smiled, "what brings you to Scotland?"
She sighed. "My husband was in the Lowlands fighting the English," she said sadly, "and I followed him, God alone knows why. Anyway, he was killed by an English bowman. I could not get passage back to France so I had to stay here. I am a trained seamstress and I managed by the grace of God to get a job making a dress for a Laird's wife on the mainland. She recommended me to one of her friends and after that, I got steady work." She took a sip of her wine. "What do you think of this country?" she asked, grimly.
"I love it," he replied, "but I did not at first. Scotland is an acquired taste, like snails. I met my wife here, and now we are expecting our second child." Then his tone changed, "but this is a happy coincidence!" He laughed. "Because I am a spice merchant, but I have just expanded my business into the selling of fine fabrics, mainly silk."
Pauline's eyes rounded in amazement. "This is too good to be true!" She laughed in disbelief. "I brought some fabric with me, and there is some here at the castle, but it is of quite inferior quality. Do you have much with you?"
Auguste gave her a very Gallic shrug. "Mostly samples, but I have a few lengths as well," he smiled at her, "but let me greet the Laird first. I must mind my manners."
12
The Dress
Laird McCallum was not at home, so Auguste asked for Iona, who came downstairs and into the parlor to meet him. She smiled at him widely and curtsied at once, offering her hand so that he could kiss it.
"Monsieur Chevalier!" she said, delighted. "Comment allez-vous? How are you?"
"Je vais bien, Mademoiselle McCallum, et vous? I am well, and you?"
"Je vais bien aussi, monsieur," she replied, "I am well also, sir." Then she lapsed back into English. "This makes me sound very stupid. I do not speak French as well as you speak English, I'm afraid!"
"You are forgiven." Auguste laughed.
Iona sat down. "Now, do you have some delicious spices for us today?"
"I do," he replied, "I have some cinnamon, pepper, and ginger for you today. And something else."
Iona clapped her hands. "Cloves?" she asked hopefully. She loved the aromatic taste of cloves.
Auguste shook his head and smiled. "I am branching out," he announced, then took a little box from his bag and opened it. Inside were many little rolls of silk, arranged in a rainbow of colors.
"Silk?" Iona gasped. "This is beautiful!" She unrolled one swatch of the delicate fabric and held it up against the light. It was a pale peach color and glowed warmly in the noonday sun, shining a bright orange light on her face. "But monsieur, why did you start doing this?" She began to pour two glasses of spiced wine, one for him, one for Pauline and looked at him inquiringly.
"I realized that all the places on my spice routes were also on the silk routes," he replied, "and it would be easy for me to bring back silk as well as spice. I have trained two apprentices to sell the spices for me and I will do the silk, but only around the North of Scotland
." He sighed and smiled. "My wife is with child again and wants me to stay at home more, so I tried to find a way of doing so. This way I go no further than Perth."
Iona sighed. “She must be such a loving wife," she said enviously.
Auguste laughed. "She is," he replied fondly.
“How lovely, you must be very happy.”
"Not exactly." Auguste laughed. "We have days when we could kill each other, but I believe most married couples do!" They laughed. "What about your beloved?"
Iona laughed. "It is an arranged marriage, but I daresay we will grow to love each other." Her voice was light and her smile belied the sadness and anger inside her. She drank the rest of her wine then patted his hand. "I am suffering from a severe case of wedding nerves, however!”
Auguste smiled but said nothing. Just then Andrina came in. She curtsied to Auguste. "Monsieur Chevalier!" She smiled. "How good to see you!"
"And you, Mistress Andrina," he replied.
"You will never believe what this man is selling!" Iona pulled herself out of her dejected mood, "Andie, he now sells spices and silk!"
Andrina gasped. "How wonderful!" she said in delight, "may we see what you have?"
Auguste handed her the box. "These are mostly samples. I have a few lengths of fabric with me too, but this is my first trip. Next time I come I will have a better idea of what everyone wants."
Andrina took out some spools of silk thread. "These are perfect," she cooed, then laughed. "This dress is going to be the toast of the Isle of Skye!" She took a long length of dark red satin out of another of Auguste's boxes then she and Iona admired it together.
"What if we ask Pauline to sew another one instead?" Andrina suggested. “Will there be time?"
Iona frowned. "She has cut out the brown one," she mused, "but this is a much prettier color. Shall we ask her?"