Elusive

by Linda Rae Blair

  Claire: A Woman’s Journey – NY Heiress – Chicago Madam

  A sweeping yet compact saga that traces one woman’s life from wealth and affluence to a Chicago brothel, as she learns to rely on herself in the face of numerous obstacles and challenges…Blair’s literary writing style is appealing.

  Kirkus Discoveries

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  She had caught him completely by surprise. What the hell was she doing here and why now? He walked into the bedroom and unfastened the tie he had had to suffer with throughout dinner. Then he drew out the sapphire links at his wrists and tossed them onto the antique dresser. He was disconcerted that she crept back into his mind. He raked his long fingers through his thick black hair in frustration.

  Now that the so-called uncle was dead, he had thought she would give up on the scam, or whatever it was that they had planned. He was glad his contacts had gotten word to him of the old man’s sudden death so that he could get a close look at her during the funeral, without having to actually meet her. His reaction to seeing her had surprised him, but then he did appreciate beauty. And God knew she was a beauty. But he had thought it was over and he would never have to deal with her.

  Finally able to collapse onto the feather bed, he closed his eyes and damned if he didn’t dream of her. He awoke in the morning feeling drained and aching with a reminder of the dreams.

  Don’t miss other books written by Linda Rae Blair

  The Chicago Trilogy

  Intersections - Love, Betrayal & Murder

  Where is Harry?

  Claire: A Woman’s Journey - NY

  Heiress – Chicago Madam

  Richard: It’s in His Blood

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  Elusive

  By Linda Rae Blair

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  The characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialog in this novel are either the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Smashwords Edition Published by Linda Rae Blair

  This book is also available in print on Amazon or the author’s web site.

  Copyright © 2010 Linda Rae Blair

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1449581358

  EAN-13: 9781449581350

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright owner.

  Visit the author’s web site at http://lindaraeblair.vpweb.com

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  Dear Readers,

  Because my mother was orphaned as a very small child she knew little of her history. I shared that much with you in Part 1 of Intersections – Love, Betrayal, Murder, my Chicago Trilogy.

  My paternal family’s history is deeply embedded in Scotland, Ireland and England. I was fortunate that my father’s family came from sturdy and historical stock on both sides. The history of Scotland and her people is wonderful to explore, although the Scots didn’t make that exploration easy.

  My paternal grandmother was an Alden—yes, as in John Alden and Priscilla Mullens who came from England on the Mayflower. Theirs is a story very thoroughly documented and, I’m afraid, somewhat fictionalized. I had a lot of fun growing up with this background, especially at Thanksgiving. Mother had at least one conversation with a school principal over my “story telling” (I believe he called it “lying”) about my lineage at Thanksgiving. Ah…to get that apology was a victory for an embarrassed elementary school student!

  Through my paternal grandfather we are descended from sturdy Scots-Irish who emigrated from Scotland to Ireland, then to America and settled in North Carolina and Tennessee. Many Scots emigrated from their homeland due to famines, disease, English persecution and the desire to make a fresh start where they could practice the religion of their choice. Some went to Ireland, some to France. I am thankful that Robert Blair brought his family, including his Irish bride, here to America where my forefathers fought in the Revolutionary War to keep the freedom they worked so hard to get.

  I hope you enjoy the story of these fine, strong Scottish folk.

  Linda Rae

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To the strong Scottish women of the past, I offer my thanks. It has been a pleasure finding out more about you.

  To the immigrant Blairs of the 1700s, thank you for making me who I am today and for helping our fledgling nation survive with law and honor.

  Once again, my thanks to Jane Vincent and Pat Borror-Stier who have diligently—with humor and patience—kept my writing efforts of higher quality. Added to their ranks on this book was Lori O’Connor who faithfully kept things rolling while Jane furthered her education. Welcome to the team, Lori! Their editing is much appreciated.

  I would also like to acknowledge the wondrous tool that was not available for research during the era in which this story took place—the internet—and then there are those marvelous search engines. Thanks for taking me to Scotland now and Scotland then—for showing me how the Scots looked, how they lived, and the social issues of their time—despite the many differing opinions.

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  FORWARD

  Whether good or bad, family and heritage—our links from past to present—have a huge impact on our lives. No matter how much or how little of it is known to us, we must each decide whether to stay on the same path or take another into the unknown for the benefit of our future generations.

  Scotland suffered through wars, famine, English rule, bigotry, and religious conflict. They were deemed to be a crude, uncivilized bunch of ruffians to be held down, controlled, and certainly incapable of ruling themselves. Thus they were forced into the Union with the English in 1707.

  The final efforts of the Jacobites to reinstate the Stuarts to the Scottish, Irish, and English thrones resulted in disaster at the Battle of Calloden in 1746. After losing the battle, Scots were banned from wearing their tartans (the plaid patterns from which their clothing was made), and the clan system was disbanded (physically perhaps, but some things could not be controlled—such as the Scottish spirit). The link to one’s clan is still an important part of a Scottish heritage today. The language—which continues to be changed and disputed today—was claimed by the English to be an inferior form of the English language.

  During the two-hundred years between 1700 and 1900, Scotland lost more and more of its native population due to emigration to other countries. Despite the close ties between the Scots and French, those who escaped to France found their lands and possessions confiscated. It was just one of the ways France let them down.

  In America, Scottish immigrants once again had to fight for their freedom from English rule during the Revolutionary War.

  By the end of the nineteenth century, Scots were almost an endangered species in their own country—approximately only one in nine actually being Scots.

  Researching for this book I found that the Scots did not have a strong written history until the twentieth century. The women of old Scotland played an important role in preserving what history we do have. But if you do any research on your own, you’ll find that one expert will say this—another will say something different—a third will offer even another opinion. Even when it comes to language and clothing, there is a wide variety of opinions out there.

  Women, it seems, had little value other than honoring and serving the males, and assuring that they themselves remained unseen and unheard otherwise. If they veiled their faces during one era, they must be harlots; in another era, God-fearing women were forced to stop wearing them
over their heads in church because they were caught sleeping behind them during church services. Women just could not win! Their key role was having a happy husband. Scots would never have acknowledged such common terms as “mother country” since this would not apply to their male-dominated society.

  I found it strange that a woman could rule Scotland (Mary, Queen of Scots) but, in most cases, were not permitted to learn to read, lest they obtain opinions from other sources than their own husbands. If a woman spent much time in Europe, she might have returned to Scotland with the ability to read and write and share that knowledge with her children but, without that advantage, she was unlikely to understand the written word.

  Without written history for many centuries, women were, however, key in passing on the history of their clans and their nation through their songs, and only much later in their poetry and writing. It wasn’t until World War I that they pulled themselves out of many of the old stereotypes.

  Any errors in the 1700s Scot Inglish and Scots languages used in this novel are mine and mine alone. It was fun trying, even if it isn’t perfect. Then again, since the experts can’t even agree, maybe I didn’t do so badly after all!

  Any variance from history found herein is given in the true spirit of artistic license, and frankly, not knowing which experts to trust with what information! I am just thankful I write fiction.

  In creating this story, I have used many words and phrases from the languages in which the characters would have spoken. To assist you in enjoying this story, I have provided the French & Scottish Terminology & Pronunciation Guide up front for easy reference. My suggestion is that you read it briefly before reading the story.

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  French & Scottish Terminology & Pronunciation Guide

  Absolutement (ab so LUTE moi) French; absolutely

  Aiden (AE den) diminutive of Aodh, Celtic god of fire

  Alban Arthuan The Light of Arthur, also called Yule, was a Celtic feast celebrated on the longest night of the year, December 21st.

  Bretagne (BRIT ah nee) French; area known in English as Brittany

  Caena (KEH na) fair one

  Chér, Chéri (SHUR, SHUR ee) French; darling, dear

  Claymore (KLEI more) Scottish Gaelic; claidheamh mòr, “great sword,” a two-handed sword with a cross hilt whose guards are usually turned down, was used by the Highlanders of Scotland. Claidheamh da laimh, “two-handed sword”; a heavier, basket-hilted broadsword adopted in the 16th Century, which is still worn as the full-dress sword in the Highland regiments of the British Army.

  Dinna (DIN nah) do not, don’t

  Dirk (DURK) a small thin dagger in a scabbard worn at the left hip of the kilt

  Earasaid (ehr uh suhch), also arisaid; female version of the Great Kilt; a belted cloak worn in a variety of ways from a head-to-toe cloak with the extra cloth used as a hood; to a skirt with the extra cloth pinned or belted in such a way as to allow freedom of the arms; never made of clan tartan, sometimes white with lines of varying colors. As women did not wear kilts, the earasaid was worn over a dress or chemise of plain cloth.

  Finnean (FIN yan) white-headed

  Fiona (fee OH nah) white, fair

  Flashes (FLASH ez) colorful ribbons worn at the top of the mid-calf high stockings worn with kilts

  Gillie Brogues (GIL ee BROOGS) leather shoes worn with the man’s kilt

  Great Kilt the historic long kilt worn by men from the 1600s until the mid-1700s when the short kilt we now think of came into fashion. The cloth was sized approximately 60” wide; hand pleated before each wearing. Belted, it could form a longer skirt with the extra cloth able to be used as a hood or, in warm weather, bustled up behind the wearer. Some experts say it would never have been of tartan plaid; others disagree.

  Hae (HI) have

  Hornie (HOOR nee) the devil

  Iseabail (ISH uh bel) God is my oath

  Je me fiche pas mal de l’argent! (ja me feesh pa mal dee LARJ an) French; I don’t give a damn about the money!”

  Je t’aime (ghe tem) French; I love you

  Ken know

  Laird (LAYRD) lord, address used for the title of Earl; his wife would be addressed as Lady and her title would be Countess.

  Macrath (mahc RA) son of prosperity

  Mahoun, (ma WHUUN ) the devil

  Maigny (MA nee) French; a location near Bretagne

  Mairi (mah REE) Mary

  Me tenir le plus, Chéri (may ten EAR le plue, SHUR ee) French; Let me hold you, dearest

  Meadhbh (MAEV) she who intoxicates, Meave, Maeve

  Mère (MARE) French; mother

  McDonnough (Mc DUN nah) the son of Donnach (Duncan), able to defend

  Mon chéri (MOAN SHUR ee) French; my dearest

  Mordag (MOR dak) sea warrior

  Oui (WE) French; yes

  Père (PEAR) French; father

  Petit ami (PA teet ah me) French; sweetheart

  Ròs (ROES) rose flower

  Slainte (SLAW tcheh) health

  Sòlas(SOH lus) joy, comfort, solace

  Taog (TOOK) poet, philosopher

  The McDonnough would be used when referring to the Laird of McDonnough. “The” was used with any clan name to indicate the Laird of that clan.

  Viens faire l’amour (vee en fare la mow) French ; Let’s make love.

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  For my grandchildren and great-grandchildren—may you find honor in your past, joy in learning more about it, and a lifetime of pleasure sharing its stories with your children.

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  As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

  So deep in luve am I

  And I will luve thee still, my dear

  Till a’ the seas gang dry.

  Robert Burns

  1759-96

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  Prologue

  Donnach Castle – 1726

  They rehearsed this process three times during Caena’s (KEH Na’s) lying in, and all knew exactly what to do and when. Finally the day arrived and Caena’s pains began. Once she was close to giving birth, she drove the rest of the maids from her rooms, screaming at them, insisting that only her maid, Ròs (ROES), attend her. Not wishing to anger her and make her pain any worse, they all scattered hastily and left the pair alone.

  Sòlas entered from the rear of the room, just as she had left her rooms to meet him nine months earlier. He watched her face as he walked toward her. Ròs guarded the door while he said his farewell. Despite her growing discomfort, Caena looked at peace. She smiled up at him, and he saw the beads of moisture on her forehead and above that pouty mouth he loved so much. Suddenly the pain ripped through her, and she grabbed for his hand. He was amazed at her strength and just let her hold his hand tightly as the pain rolled over her and then faded.

  “Sòlas,” she whispered. “Don’t fail me, my love.”

  “Never would I fail you, my dearest lass. Never,” he said, as he kissed her cheek and felt the tears now streaming down that creamy skin.

  “You had best leave the room in case one of the others should decide to check in on me,” she smiled up at him as the next wave hit her.

  He so desperately wished he could stay with her to help her through the pain, but he knew what was at stake. Instead, he gave in to her wishes and retreated to the chapel behind her sleeping quarters.

  Minutes later Ròs rushed into the chapel where she found him pacing. She placed the small wriggling blanket into his arms. “You must go quickly before the child’s cries are heard,” she urged him. “The sounds will only be muffled by her blankets for a brief time. She will hunger immediately and then only her nursing will keep her quiet.”

  “A daughter,” he smiled down at the small babe. Then, looking back up at Ròs, “Your mistress is alright?” he asked.

  “Aye, Sir! She will be fine once you have taken the child to safety.”

  Ròs’s widowed daughter who had given birth a few months earlier
would be traveling with them and was waiting in a wagon just outside the castle gates.

  As Sòlas took the child into his arms Ròs said, “Here, this is for you to read after you and the babe are safe,” and she handed him the letter her mistress had given her. She watched as his face reflected the sorrow of having to leave Caena behind.

  “Go quickly!” Ròs whispered as she gave him a gentle push toward the door, and he was gone. Returning to her mistress, she took care of what was needed, and then removed all the linens, handed them off to her husband, who removed them from the castle to burn them.

  Once everything was handled, Ròs left the room and went to the Laird’s quarters where she found Macrath scowling and pacing in front of his father’s fire.

  “Well, woman? What news?” he demanded.

  “My Lord, the child was stillborn; a wee girl, my Lord—much too small and early to have lived,” she said. Her countenance reflected how sadly she really felt while she bowed before him.

  Instead of raving and sobbing in grief as one would have expected a father to behave at such a time—or expressing concern for his wife—he simply turned his back on her and quietly responded as if there had been nothing of importance lost. Her mistress had judged him accurately, it seemed. Since the child was just a girl, it was not a loss worthy of his concern.

  “Well,” he said, as he poured himself another goblet of wine on the heavy table before the fire. “Another time then,” he mumbled drunkenly as he waved Ròs away and almost fell off his chair.

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  Chapter 1: In The Old Tradition

  Scotland - 1975

  There they sat in front of her. Such a beautiful sight they were, these children of her children. They were huddled together on the floor between her and the massive fireplace with its roaring winter blaze. It was Christmas Eve, 1975, and she was well into her eighth decade.

  Each year she had told the story they longed to hear. Due to their varying ages, she had always adapted it, of course, in accordance with their ability to understand its meaning. Though their parents still wished to deny that their babies were now nearly adults—they were most of them in their teens. This year, she had decided after much soul searching, she would tell it all. She would tell of even the harsher moments she had not shared previously. Yes, it was time it was all told before she was unable to do so. It was her responsibility to pass it on—even the ugliest parts of it.