by Flora Kidd
Nancy had a fleeting memory of someone blonde and athletic with a deep guttural voice who had escaped from difficult situations in a recent mystery serial by using Judo technique.
‘Of course, you can never tell with Logan,’ continued Mrs. Maclaine. ‘He hasn’t a very high opinion of marriage because of the failure of his parents to make a go of it. Heavens, I must fly! I promised Keith I’d take a sandwich to him. He’s fishing the North Loch, you know.’
Nancy didn’t know, but she smiled and nodded as if she did.
‘I’ll see you before we return to Edinburgh, dear. Keith is in law, you know. Goodbye for now.’
Still smiling, Nancy watched the estate car reverse, shoot forward and disappear over the bridge. Then she went into the house to put away the food. It had been kind of Mary Maclaine to bring it. She decided she had better cook the beef as the best way of keeping it since there was no refrigerator, and that made her look at the fire.
It was almost out. Hurriedly she crossed to the stack of peats and choosing several, she began to place them round the small glow. Then she swept the hearth.
‘Hello, anyone at home?’ She recognised the voice at once, but although she stiffened she did not turn round or stop sweeping as she called out,
‘Yes. Come in. I’m in the kitchen.’
There was the sound of someone dropping rubber boots on the stone step and then the soft slither of stockinged feet on the linoleum.
‘Never in my wildest dreams have I imagined Cinderella with red hair,’ commented Logan Maclaine.
Although surprised by his remark, Nancy did not show her surprise. She hung the hearthbrush on the hook provided for it, rose to her feet and after regarding her visitor for a moment replied,
‘Nor have I ever imagined a Prince Charming wearing a kilt, but then I don’t believe in fairy stories.’
He was leaning against the door jamb. A dark turtlenecked sweater emphasised the darkness of his hair and eyebrows and contrasted with the red and green of his kilt. He glanced down at the kilt and murmured, ‘I wore it specially for the benefit of your romantic sister, but she doesn’t seem to be here. I hope the smell of mothballs isn’t too strong. It’s some years since it’s seen the light of day.’
Nancy couldn’t help laughing at his honesty in admitting that he did not normally wear a kilt, and he showed his appreciation of her mirth with his charming crooked grin.
‘Linda and Don have gone to see you, to collect the livestock,’ she said. ‘Your cousin has just been here. She brought us some food. She told me you were on your way with the cows.’
‘And the goats.’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered...’
‘So Mary came. I thought she might out of sheer curiosity.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us your name, who you are, when you stopped to help us?’
His glance was enigmatic.
‘Sometimes it’s more interesting to remain anonymous. Would it have made any difference if you had known?’
‘Yes, of course it would.’
‘In what way? I suppose, knowing you, you would have been less forthright, less honest.’
‘Not at all. But it would have made everything more ... more understandable. As it was—’
Nancy paused, realising that what she was about to say bordered on the personal and was really the result of knowledge about him which Mary Maclaine had imparted to her.
‘As it was?’ he prompted.
‘I’m not going to tell you.’
‘You see,’ he accused triumphantly, ‘already you’re being careful about what you say. What have you been doing to that fire?’
With a colourful swirl of his kilt he swung across the room and knelt down at the hearth.
‘I’ve mended it,’ defended Nancy. ‘I want to heat the oven to cook the meat.’
He looked around and found some old bellows with which he blew up the fire. Then he showed her how to adjust the damper so that the heat from the fire was directed towards the oven.
Nancy watched him and wondered. He’s a very wealthy man, Mary’s words whispered through her mind. Then what was he doing in her kitchen mending her fire? Prince Charming come to seek out Cinderella? Nancy shook her head slowly as she looked down at his dark head.
‘Not a bit like Prince Charming, nor like Mithras. Much more like Pluto,’ she murmured, speaking her thoughts aloud as she remembered a book of myths she had possessed as a child in which there had been a drawing of the dark king of Hades.
He glanced up sharply, his grey eyes wide, unveiled.
‘Who is Pluto?’
‘You’re like him. You’re dark ... and ... and...’ She searched vainly for the right word.
‘Dour,’ he offered dryly as he stood up and faced her. ‘Perhaps you fancy yourself as Proserpina. Are you expecting me to kidnap you and take you to my dark and gloomy underworld to spend the winter there, or is that another fairy story in which you don’t believe?’
For a tense moment he was very close to her and she was mesmerised. There was a strange tight feeling in her breast and her heart was beating unusually fast. Fear plus excitement, she diagnosed. Fear because he had her almost believing in his underworld and excitement because she was intensely aware for the first time of his attraction. He wasn’t handsome in the accepted sense like Rod, but the combination of swarthy irregular features and light far-seeing eyes plus a compact muscular physique made him a person she could not dismiss easily.
Warm blood crept into her cheeks and she looked down quickly. She had thought she could stand her ground with anyone, but now she was actually turning pink, and she wasn’t given to blushing normally.
‘The roof leaks,’ she squeaked. Anything to break the tension.
‘I know.’
‘Oh. You knew last night and you didn’t warn us.’
‘I didn’t think it would rain. Did you get wet?’
‘Yes. And so did Don. It was then that he remembered where he had seen you before ... in the newspaper, after the crash.’
His face closed immediately. It became a polite mask which covered all expression. He moved away from her towards the door.
‘I’ll go and look at the ceilings in the bedrooms,’ he said curtly, and left the room.
Why, oh, why couldn’t she hold her tongue? Why did she have to blurt out tactlessly, hurtfully?
She followed him upstairs and into the first bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room and stared up at the ceiling.
‘It doesn’t do, you know,’ she said. ‘To brood, I mean, about what’s happened. Especially about accidents. It wasn’t your fault anyway.’
He turned to look at her.
‘How do you know?’
She didn’t know, of course. She only knew what Mary had told her that morning and what Don had said last night.
‘Mary,’ he guessed, and contempt grated in his voice. ‘You will oblige me by forgetting anything she may have told you. It’s none of your business anyway. I’ll send someone to mend the roof to-morrow ... that is if you’re still thinking of staying.’
‘Why shouldn’t we be staying? We haven’t come all this way just to go back again. This croft is Don’s by right of inheritance as long as he is able to pay the rent. Mr. Roberts the lawyer said that you wanted to persuade Don to give up his claim. I suppose you want the land for yourself, although what four acres can possibly mean to you when you already own umpteen, I can’t think.’
He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her in a rather pitying way which did nothing to quench her temper.
‘You have it all mixed up,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want the land. As you so succinctly put it, I own umpteen acres already. It’s Ian Macrae who wants it. He’s brother to Duncan at the garage and he’s young and ambitious. He’s taken over several abandoned crofts. When the old people die the young ones don’t usually want to come back from the cities to claim the crofts, so they deteriorate and the cottages fall into ruins. It is
better if the unworked crofts are taken over by people like Ian who are willing to stay and work on the land. Gradually he will have enough land to make a farm. This particular croft has been decaying for several years because your grandfather could not work it any more. With the arrival of your brother Ian has lost the opportunity to gain another souming.’
‘That’s why Duncan Macrae resented us?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But whatever is a souming?’
‘The number of sheep a crofter has a right to put on the common hill grazing. Your grandfather had the right to two hundred, but in the end he had only twenty. It’s difficult for an old man to keep sheep, and I’m wondering if your brother can do any better.’
His voice was cold and abrupt. The expression on his face was stern and Nancy had the impression of deep concern for the land and little liking for those who did not treat it with respect.
Accustomed to defending her brother, she faced Logan fiercely across the expanse of the old faded patchwork quilt which covered the bed. ‘Why shouldn’t he? He’s always wanted a place of his own. He hates the town and the rat-race of industrial life.’
‘A drop-out, is he?’ The words were loaded with scorn.
‘No, he is not! Oh, how can you understand? Don was only fourteen when our parents died.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘A fire. We all escaped, but Dad remembered something he wanted to save and he went back into the house. Mother went after him. We didn’t see either of them again.’ The expression in his face softened slightly.
‘I see. And you’ve tried to be mother ever since,’ he remarked quietly. ‘I gather that Don has missed having a father at an important time in his development. Didn’t your grandfather ever visit you?’
‘He came to the funeral, that’s all. My father never talked about him or Lanmore. I always had the impression that he had quarrelled with his father and that he had left home as a result.’
A faint smile quirked Logan’s mouth.
‘It was not difficult to quarrel with Hector Allan,’ he commented dryly. ‘On the other hand, your father may have rebelled against the crofting way of life, for it is a way of life. A crofter has security and a home, but he can’t make money unless he does what Ian has done, and that has only been possible recently. You will find that most crofters these days have a sideline as well as their crofts. Some do seasonal work like road mending, others like Ian and Duncan are motor mechanics or carpenters. Some have shops in the village.’
‘Perhaps Don could find some sort of job.’
‘What can he do?’
Nancy did not answer at once. Don could do very little, but she had to make it clear to this man, who was far too observant, that although Don might not seem very dependable, he was good and kind and that placed in the right environment he would flourish.
‘The town was stifling him. When the letter came about the croft it made such a difference to him. He likes animals and he loves the countryside. Living here in this lovely place, working with animals close to nature is surely the answer for him. It has to be,’ she added quietly, almost desperately. She turned away to look out of the window in order to hide her feelings. She was not normally the confiding type, but in her attempt to convince Logan that Don must have his chance on the croft she had unconsciously revealed the burden she had carried since her parents had died.
‘You’ve had a difficult time these past few years, haven’t you?’ he remarked. Surprise spun her round. He was watching her in the same way as he had last night when she had been so tired. It was almost as if he could see into her mind. Inherent pride coming to her aid, she was able to return his stare coolly.
‘I admit it hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to keep the three of us together and to preserve the feeling of family. The chance to come here has made all the difference to Don and I won’t let anyone part him from this croft until he’s had time to find out if he likes living this way. You needn’t think you’re going to put us off. You tried yesterday through your lawyer and then not warning us about the leaking roof. It will take more than that to drive us away. We’ll manage to live here even if we aren’t used to oil lamps and peat fires!’
This fiery speech made no impression on him. He continued to survey her in a maddeningly knowledgeable way as if he was observing the antics of a species with which he was extremely familiar.
‘There are oil lamps because your grandfather was too stubborn to have electricity. He said he couldn’t afford it.’ he replied smoothly. ‘The roof leaks because the last gale lifted some of the slates off and I wanted to be sure someone was going to inhabit the house before repairing it. You don’t have to use peat. Coal can be delivered if you’re prepared to pay for it. Alternatively once electricity is installed you might prefer to have an electric cooker and fire, provided of course you can afford them. Your grandfather could not ... and I’ll tell you why. The money which he left to Don he saved by doing without. I suppose he intended originally to leave it to your father, to whom he had not spoken for years. That’s pride for you. How often it’s allowed to spoil what should be the best of human relationships.’
There was a touch of bitterness as if he had experienced the effects of too much pride in his own life. Nancy had nothing to say and after a quick amused glance at her haughty face he added thoughtfully,
‘I can see you have inherited more than your fair share of Allan pride too, as well as the red hair and temper ... and that in spite of the arrogant off-putting behaviour of the local laird, you intend to stay.’
‘I didn’t say you were arrogant,’ gasped Nancy.
‘No. But you implied it.’
‘Well, you weren’t exactly welcoming,’ retorted Nancy, bouncing back. ‘Come to think of it, perhaps you’re worried because Linda and I are here as well as Don. Well, you needn’t worry. We shall stay only for a few months to help Don settle in. He asked me to come and I’m glad I did. Already I love the place ... the stillness and the silence, and the spirits of the past.’
‘Wait until a westerly gale lifts more slates off the roof ... it won’t seem so still and silent then,’ he remarked cynically, but his narrowed glance was sharp. ‘As for the spirits of the past, they can be strangely disturbing to one who’s not accustomed to them.’
Nancy felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle, but before she could ask him what he meant he turned towards the door as if impatient to leave the room, asking over his shoulder,
‘So you’re going to sacrifice some more of your life for your brother.’
‘Four months only,’ replied Nancy sharply. ‘I shall return to Dulthorpe at the end of August, as I intend to marry in the autumn.’
‘Another form of sacrifice,’ Logan murmured. He leaned against the door jamb and looked back at her. ‘Have you no desire to lead your own life, go where you please and do what you like without reference to any other person?’ Nancy tilted her head to one side, a habit she had when she was thinking.
‘I suppose because you’ve always lived like that yourself you find difficult to understand that for some people life is being involved with others. I don’t think I’m sacrificing myself because I want to help my brother or because I’m going to marry a man I respect.’
‘You’re right, I don’t like getting too closely involved with other people.’
‘Isn’t that rather cowardly?’
‘In what way?’ he asked sharply, and she suddenly remembered Don saying that Logan Maclaine had been accused of losing his nerve when he had given up racing. Perhaps he had been called cowardly before.
‘You’re afraid of loving and of being loved. Love makes demands,’ she replied.
‘I know,’ he said quietly, and his quietness rebuked her. ‘But how do you know you’re not making a mistake in promising to marry this man whom you respect? Tied to Linda and Don as you have been you can’t have had much opportunity for the normal pleasant pursuits of youth. Will it be wise, do you thin
k, to tie yourself down before you’ve achieved a measure of freedom? Are you sure it isn’t fear which is motivating you too?’
Nancy was bewildered. She hadn’t known fear, until she had met this man.
‘Fear of what?’ she asked.
‘Fear of being left on your own when Don and Linda don’t need you any more.’
She had not considered this view of her acceptance of Rod’s proposal. It made her feel slightly uneasy. But she wasn’t going to betray her uneasiness. Tilting her chin in the air once more, she asserted grandly,
‘I wouldn’t marry for such a despicable reason. I’m marrying Rod because he’s good and clean and decent ... and has helped us a lot.’
‘A father figure who offers security,’ interjected Logan rather scoffingly, and she found it difficult to return his sardonic glance. ‘It will be interesting to see whether you’ll be able to leave Lanmore at the end of the summer to go and marry your “perfect gentle knight”,’ he added obscurely, and Nancy felt an odd touch of alarm as the story of Pluto and Proserpina sprang into her mind. Pluto had kept Proserpina in his underworld for six months of every year. Quickly she shook it out of her mind as being a ridiculous and uncharacteristic flight of fancy. Lanmore and Logan Maclaine certainly affected her peculiarly. ‘Nancy, where are you?’
A strident shout from Linda was a welcome intrusion. Relief caused Nancy to relax visibly and it lilted through her voice as she called,
‘Upstairs, Lin!’