The Highlander’s Dilemma

by Emilia Ferguson

  “No, Father,” Conn said, hands open as if to indicate he had nothing to hand to do.

  “Well, then,” Blaine smiled. “How about a ride, eh?”

  “We could,” Conn said slowly. “But if you...” he trailed off. His father could only mean that he intended to exercise the new destriers. He swallowed, nervously. The thought of actually riding one of those immense, uncompromising new animals was intimidating. Very.

  “I'd thought we could take them down round the hillside pass,” Blaine said lightly. “It's a nice path, easy, with little to spook them. Sounds sensible?”

  “Sounds very sensible,” Conn said wretchedly. He hated the idea. However, he did want to talk to his father and if there was no other way than to go riding one of those terrifying new horses, he supposed he could do it. It would take only an hour, after all.

  “Right then,” Blaine said with a smile. “We'll go and tack them up, eh?”

  Tacking them up proved easy, and by the time he had finished heaving the heavy saddle onto his mount's back, Conn was already feeling better about them. The two horses might be huge, but they were easygoing temperaments, it seemed. They had been extremely well-taught.

  “But only in French,” his father commented, shaking his head and laughing wryly. “They're cannier than I am! I only speak one language. These blighters speak two.”

  “Two?”

  “French and English, I believe,” Blaine said sadly. “No one thought to teach them the language of the Gael.”

  They both laughed. They spoke Gaelic and some lowland Scots, enough to get by if they had to go further south than Edinburgh for trade. However, English and French were unknown to them.

  Leona taught me some. She taught me “hello” and “go.”

  He patted the horse's neck. “Salut,” he said genially. The horse snorted.

  “Looks like that's rude,” Blaine said, grinning. “Don't want to know what it meant.”

  “Hello,” Conn said, bemused.

  “Well, he doesn't seem to want to say hello,” Blaine chuckled. “Though it's not as if he's hopping mad. Just disconcerted, like.”

  They finished tacking up the horses and led them out. Outside, the day had cooled slightly, the sky pale above the treeline, a breeze chilling the warmed air. They led the horses to the edge of the paddock.

  “Come on,” Blaine said cheerily. “Let's go.”

  He swung himself into the saddle, grunting as he took a seat on the hard leather, and then walked ahead so his son could reach the mounting block too.

  Good that we have one.

  The horses were too tall and broad to allow anything but a mount-up from a slight elevation. Conn, seated on the vast tan colored back, felt awe at the bunched muscle that tensed and flowed, conveying him forward behind his father with fluid grace.

  “They're remarkable,” he said to his father's back. His father stopped, letting him catch up.

  “They are,” he nodded. “Come from Flanders, I believe.”

  “Oh?”

  “Quite so,” Blaine replied. “Not too far from France.”

  Conn nodded mutely. Flanders was, as far as he could remember, part of the Duchy of Burgundy, an offshoot of the French court. It explained why these particular destriers spoke French. Thinking of the place reminded him of his sadness. He blinked, looking ahead of them.

  “Those hills look good and green now,” he commented, pointing at where there was wheat growing in the valley, far across from them.

  “Aye, they do,” Blaine commented, surging ahead as Conn walked his horse forward at a trot. “They seem to suggest abundant harvests.”

  “Good,” Conn nodded.

  “Son, what is it?” Blaine asked. “You're not interested in crops. Not all the years I've known you. Knowledgeable enough to plant a sapling upside down, like me. Sommat's vexin' you.”

  Conn breathed out sharply, not sure whether he was angry his father had seen through his attempt to maintain indifference or glad of it, since it meant they could finally talk.

  “I'm not vexed,” he said tightly. “Just wonderin'.”

  “Wondering what?” Blaine asked. Conn looked into his father's tranquil gaze and felt relaxed.

  “About Leona and...and whether or not she'll wed there. You know...if she meets some lad and he sweeps her off her feet – and it could happen, let's be fair – she'll stay on.”

  Blaine stared at him, and then inspected his knuckles, rubbing a bruise. When he looked up, he gave his son a level stare. “It could happen,” he agreed mildly. “But I doubt it. Have more faith in yersel', Daftie.”

  Conn smiled at the nickname, meaning someone daft. He grinned. “I deserved that.”

  “You did,” he observed mildly. “Now how can you think Leona's going to go all that way and forget about you? Would you forget her?”

  “Of course not!” Conn spoke emphatically.

  “Well, there you go.”

  “But Leona's...so lovely and lighthearted and beautiful,” Conn said sadly. “Of course I'll remember her – I'd sooner forget my name! But me? Why'd she even think of me?”

  “Come on, son,” Blaine grinned. “If you need me to tell you that, then you don't know anything. You're a wonderful person: kind, reliable, funny. You think. You care. You listen to people, even to your old da' when he's talking nonsense. And you have us all in stitches laughin' sometimes. Even when things seem bad.”

  Conn looked at his father, eyes wide. He really thought that? He felt his heart flip with surprise. “Thank you, Da',” he said, voice hoarse with feeling.

  “Don't thank me,” Blaine said gruffly. “You look so sad. I've a mind to cheer you up.”

  “How?” he asked as his horse stepped over an uneven place, lurching him sideways and causing him to grip harder with his knees, feeling shaky.

  Blaine grinned. “These fellers ain't involved,” he explained, grinning. “But I thought maybe you could get away.”

  “Away?” Conn asked, feeling his stomach heave as his horse shied and then stepped back onto the track. “Where to?”

  “Well, I...” Blaine sighed, running a hand through curling hair. “I suppose it's selfish. But I have a dispute I'd like settled. And if you want to go, well... it'd take five days down to Edinburgh and back. And you'd need to stay there. A while, mayhap.”

  “I'd do it,” Conn said, feeling his spirits life. Edinburgh was where Leona headed first. Riding down there would mean he was closer to France – and her. It would also mean that he was not here. Out of Dunkeld, where everything he saw reminded him painfully of her absence. It was good.

  Blaine smiled a little sadly. “You sure, son?”

  Conn nodded emphatically. “I'm sure, Father. I'll leave as soon as you have whatever you need me to take there.”

  “Well, that's easy,” Blaine chuckled. “The disputed bill's in my office. You could go tomorrow. But these things need planning. Mayhap next week?”

  “Next week?” Conn felt dismayed. He would rather leave sooner. He thought he was going to go mad if he stayed here a moment longer. “Sooner, maybe?”

  “Aye, sooner,” Blaine said slowly. “You could go two days hence? Is that good?”

  Conn nodded vigorously. That was good.

  “Well, then,” Blaine smiled. He looked sad, still, brown eyes worried. “Two days hence.”

  “Yes, Father,” Conn nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, dinnae thank me,” Blaine said solidly. “I'm selfish, as I said. I shouldnae be sending you off on such a journey for my own ends, like.”

  “Oh, Father,” Conn said fondly. “I know you.”

  Blaine gave him a lopsided grin. “I really am using you, though,” he insisted. “If not, I'd have tae go myself. An' can you imagine me at court?” he whistled, and then laughed. “I'd offend the daylights outta everyone there in two seconds. Then they'd send me packing with less than I had when I arrived. No, son – you'll do well.”

  Conn laughed. “I think you might ma
nage to make them cross,” he conceded.

  “Cross?” he exclaimed. “I'd be lucky not to get executed! All it takes is one of them to be high-and-mighty with me and I'd land myself in jail. And then what'd happen?”

  Conn laughed. He knew his father – bluff, brash and entirely honest – wouldn't be anyone's sycophant. And if that was what was expected at a court – well, he probably would get slung out. The thought made him smile. He admired his father even as the same traits he admired exasperated him occasionally.

  “Oh, Father,” he said again. “I do love you.”

  Blaine blinked and if Conn hadn't thought it impossible, he would have thought he was hiding tears. Impossible, he thought.

  “Son,” he said heavily, “I love you too. It's good you're happy.”

  Conn smiled. He was happy – more than before. He had something to do. A mission ahead of him. And he would be leaving home, heading south, closer to Leona. And to France.

  It was the best thing he could do at this moment.

  As he rode, he couldn't help wondering where Leona was. He looked up at the sky, and felt his heart full of sadness as he recalled being in the hills with Leona as children.

  I love you as big as the summer sky, he had told her. As big as mountains. Forever and ever.

  She had said it back to him, her sweet voice, childish and lilting, repeating it, a promise.

  As big as the summer sky. As big as mountains...

  As the words came back to him, he closed his eyes, not wanting to let tears fall. He could not let himself remember that sweetness of childhood. Had to bury it deep inside, where it could not hurt him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ARRIVAL

  ARRIVAL

  The view over the hills broadened, growing into a vista of delicate blues and white. Leona stared out over it, her heart touched by the beauty.

  “Are we here?” she asked quietly.

  Danton looked out of the window where he sat in the carriage, nodding. “Another two miles, my lady. Almost there.”

  “Oh!”

  Leona was surprised to feel a sudden wave of excitement pass through her. She was almost there! They had reached the coast at Calais two days ago. They had stayed the night in rented lodging, and then headed up by carriage through the countryside. Stopping at an abbey for the night, they had carried on the next day, barely stopping until they reached this place.

  They were close now.

  Leona watched, entranced, as the delicate blue and white landscape of cliffs and wispy green forest and distant cloud moved steadily backward. She swallowed and felt as if there were little wings fluttering in her stomach. They were almost there.

  “My uncle,” she asked Danton cautiously. “What is he...?”

  “He's a good man,” Danton said hastily. Leona raised a brow. He had barely let her finish the question. It was not like him to be over-hasty. “Just, honorable, steadfast.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Leona said mildly. She couldn't really imagine her uncle very much better now than before, but at least she knew he was a trustworthy person.

  “He is,” Danton continued in a lighter vein. “You'll get along wonderfully.”

  “I hope so,” Leona said quietly. She sat back, fingers clenched tight. She had not realized it before, but she was actually nervous about meeting her uncle. She had no idea what he might be like, and her mother could not help her much in that regard.

  He is much like my father in appearance, but not like him in temperament. That was what her mother had said, Leona recalled. More stubborn, more strong-willed. Fixed in his ideas.

  Leona felt nervous. He sounded like a stern man. She could imagine him finding little merit in his half-wild niece, raised far away.

  What if he doesn't like me?

  She shivered. It would be horrid to try and exist in a place where you were not liked, especially all alone with no one to come to your assistance or to talk to kindly. She had Danton, she reminded herself.

  “You are staying, too?”

  “A month, Mademoiselle,” he said seriously. “I manage your uncle's estate near Aix-sur-la-Lise.”

  “Oh,” Leona said. “Is it far?”

  He smiled, the expression lighting his eyes. “Not too far, Madame. We stayed near there when we stopped at that Abbé.”

  “Oh,” Leona said again. It was a day's ride from here, or thereabouts – if she rode tirelessly. She could do it, if she had to. It was good to know friends were close. “I...will you come back, before I go?” she asked.

  He looked at his hands. “I hope to,” he said carefully. “I would not wish to part without seeing you again.”

  Leona swallowed the lump in her throat. “Nor I you, Danton. You saved my life and,” she added, seeing him raise a hand in protest, “you've been someone to trust. A friend.”

  “Oh, Lady Leona,” he said, batting a hand at her as if to ward off her commentary. “It is nothing. I am...I admire you highly. And you brought me back from my darkness.”

  Leona blinked back tears. “Well, then,” she said, croaking a little as the lump in her throat threatened her breathing, “we have both saved the other.”

  “Quite so, milady,” he said. His voice was also tight.

  They sat silently until the driver, riding up an incline, slowed. “Arrive, Monseigneur,” he called down to them. “Annecy.”

  Leona swallowed the butterflies in her stomach that tumbled, tremulous, there. They were here!

  “Come, let us alight,” Danton said quickly. He was his remote, serious self once more. Leona blinked, drying her last tears, and followed his directive, standing and smoothing down her dress as he lowered himself through the exit and then handed her down.

  What if my clothes are odd here? What if I look strange? What if they don't like me..?

  Leona bit her full lip, jerking her head in impatience at herself. She would have to face them as she was: if they were going to dislike her, they would have to do that. She couldn't make any change to what they thought.

  I just wish I wasn't scared of them.

  “Ready?” Danton asked softly.

  Leona looked up at him, drawing a shaky, full breath. “Ready.” She nodded.

  He smiled fondly. “Brave girl,” he said.

  Leona smiled at him, straightened her back, and walked beside him, head held high. She had dressed in black, since it was a house of mourning, and her pale auburn hair was styled up. She could hope that Allie knew some of the court fashions, as she said she did, and that the courts of France and Scotland followed like ones.

  The two courts are close – both allies against England. They might be similar.

  She would have to hope.

  Glancing up at Danton, she walked resolutely by his side down the slight incline toward the house she had not yet seen. Her grandfather's house. The manor of Annecy.

  She gasped. A tall gray stone building seemed to grow up ahead of them. It had two wings, both meeting at an impressive front door with a pointed arch, steps leading up to it. It seemed to float, reaching taller than any building she had seen. The walls were crossed with column-like structures that Danton pointed to.

  “The buttresses, see?” he explained. “That's why it is so tall.”

  Leona looked at the structure, amazed. It was beautiful. It was elegant beyond any building she had seen. It was her ancestor's home.

  Danton led her up to the door, heading up the steps to a slight platform outside the front door. They knocked and a servant opened it.

  “Leblanc – is the Comte at home?” Danton asked the white-haired man who opened the door – Leona guessed him to be the steward: certainly Danton knew him, which seemed to bode well for her and him.

  “He is, my lord. Oh!” he stared at Leona, then stepped back. “Please, enter. He is awaiting your arrival, my lord; my lady.”

  Leona felt like she would collapse. Her heart was thudding in her chest, fingers and toes tingling and cold and she felt too stiff, like she might cr
ack, like shards of pottery, if she were to move.

  Danton gripped her upper arm, a friendly gesture. They walked in together over the threshold. Leona looked up.

  The roof soared over her head, ending in gloom. Windows, high and slanting light into the interior, soared with it, the dust moving in the shafts of bluish rays. She blinked. Looked ahead. Someone was coming down stairs toward them. The light from the windows had dazzled her so she blinked and the shape resolved itself into a tallish man.

  The man was dressed in black, with a soft cap on his head of black velvet. He walked with a slow step and his shoes were fur-lined, she noticed, the gown lapping the edges of them and the floor as he walked. He had an upright carriage, strong hands which were clasped now for a moment, and pale skin. “Welcome, niece. Danton, I thank you for bringing her so far.”

  “I am at your service, Milord Comte,” Danton said mildly. Leona looked toward him for counsel, but he had stepped to the side, moving into shadows. She stood in the shaft of sunlight, facing the count of Annecy.

  “My child,” he said gently.”Welcome.”

  He spoke the accents of her mother's language with a smoothness that made it beautiful. Leona had never heard it spoken so musically. It stroked over her soul like velvet, surprising her.

  She studied the face of her uncle and had another surprise. It could have been her mother's, rendered male. The long oval face with its aristocratic brow and dark eyes beneath was just like Alina.

  “Uncle,” she said. There was no mistaking him.

  “I have waited many months to have you here, my child,” he said gently.

  “I...” Leona wet her dry lips, feeling at sea. “I am honored, Lord Count.”

  “Oh, don't call me Count,” he said, waving a hand as if all ceremony was tiresome stuff. “Where's my hello, uncle?” His smile was wide and happy, a genial smile that seemed at odds on his regal face. She found herself giving him a nervous smile in return.

  “Hello, Uncle.”

  “There! That wasn't so hard, was it?”

  Leona laughed and he kissed her, first on one cheek, then the other, then the brow. It was a formal reception, for all the watching staff, acknowledging her as his kin.