“Fiddle?” Struan said. “Surely I misheard you.”
The company that had descended the hillside from the castle chuckled, and Struan was too good-natured not to join in. “Nevertheless, his behavior just isn’t on, and I intend to tell him so.” He flapped open a note and looked around at his audience: Calum and his dark-haired wife, Pippa, Arran with tiny, fair-haired Grace at his side, the dowager and Blanche and, of course, the absolutely beautiful, doe-eyed, golden skinned Ella, her youngest babe in her arms and warmly swaddled against the morning chill. Ella’s handsome devil of a husband was at her side. Saber, Viscount Avenall, bore vicious battle scars, but was still so handsome no woman could ever keep her eyes off him.
The family looked back at Struan and movement, a number of movements, caught his eye from above, in the direction from which they’d come. “Drat,” he muttered. “Have you no control over your household, Arran?”
His brother glanced over his shoulder, and grinned. “And have you no control over yours? Or, more precisely, have you no control over your tongue? Possibly if you hadn’t ranted all the way from the lodge to the castle when you got that note from Max, the staff wouldn’t know there was to be an unfolding drama on this hill this morning. And they wouldn’t be attempting to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. You can hardly blame them for their curiosity.”
“Damnable circus,” Struan said, glowering at the straggle of household staff that could be seen hovering in the distance.
“Language,” came the expected chorus from his male relatives.
“You should probably have been harder on Max when he was a child,” Calum said, wincing when Pippa’s elbow met his ribs. “What d’you say, Arran?”
“He’d best not say anything,” Grace announced. “We have a most loyal staff, and they are hoping to witness a happy reunion.”
“I never thought I’d see a daughter of mine married to a man who would allow her to henpeck him,” Blanche Bastible announced. She was especially magnificent in a pink-and-white-striped silk dress. “Stand up to her, son-in-law, do.”
“Mind your own business, Blanche,” the dowager said shortly. She had refused to remain in the carriage in which she and Blanche had been brought from the castle.
“Quite,” Blanche agreed with no sign of ill feeling. “But I am concerned for your health, Your Grace. It is far too early for any of us to be abroad, and quite chill, I might add. Why, I shouldn’t be surprised if you became ill.”
Leaning her slight weight on her cane, the dowager stood her ground. “I have an excellent constitution, thank you, and no time for becoming ill from a little fresh morning air. If you feel a swoon coming upon you do return to the carriage. Are you sure you have the right day, Struan? The right morning?”
“This is the appointed morning,” Struan said, although he began to feel anxious. He longed to see Max’s face, and to hear his voice. Dammit but the boy had come to mean so much to him.
“He’ll come,” Justine told him softly. “Have faith in our son, my love.”
Struan stared into her eyes and drew her into his arms. “I have faith in him,” he said, kissing her cheek. “How could I not when you have so much faith in him?”
Ella held her baby on her shoulder and grinned. When she grinned one saw the familial resemblance to her brother. Saber looked upon her with open adoration, just as he had ever since he’d given in and accepted that she loved him with or without scars on his face.
Max’s almost curt summons had arrived a week previous—with no return address—requesting that his family meet him today, “beneath the skies where Kirsty and I are most comfortable.” Struan had been inclined to keep the reunion intimate, but the dowager insisted that all adult members of the family be present. She had alluded to some premonition “in ancient and wise bones that herald a moment that should be suitably marked.” Accordingly the children of each union had been left in reliable care while the parents traveled to Scotland.
The smile on Ella’s lips wavered. With the slightest inclination of her head she indicated for Struan to turn around. He did so, and saw three figures climbing the hill. Apart from a brief and difficult exchange with Robert and Gael Mercer, he had not spoken with them since the absence of Max and Kirsty had been discovered.
Robert Mercer held his red-haired wife’s hand and approached with a firm step. Niall strode at his mother’s other side, his face serious but not so serious it extinguished hope from his eyes. This was, Struan thought, a wild one, but a brother who adored his sister.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mercer,” the dowager said in ringing tones when they arrived. “You are to remember that your daughter is by no means at fault here. Max is some years older and very persuasive. I’m certain poor Kirsty was defenseless against his sweet words. She is a wonderful girl, a girl I respect and count among those I would trust. And that, my dear people, is a very small number. That rascal Max simply swept her off her feet. But we must put all that behind us and get them married as soon as possible.”
Robert frowned. “If ye say so, my lady. But Gael and mysel’ ha’ somethin’ that needs sayin’. We’ve been wrong. Wrong to our daughter, and wrong t’Max. In the name o’ old notions about the rich and the poor and how they canna exist together as the poor exist wi’ the poor, or the rich wi’ the rich, we made our girl suffer. And we insulted Max Rossmara, one o’ the finest men I know, and a man I had the honor o’ watchin’ grow from a braw boy into that fine man. I’ll be grateful to be able t’tell him as much.”
Amid much clearing of throats and sniffs from all sides, Struan tried to compose himself. Now a line of men and women made their way uphill from the valley. He recognized every face. There were those who worked the land, and those who were villagers. “How does word spread so,” he said through his teeth. “Look at them all.”
“Happiness pulls them,” Justine said, “the promise of happiness. There’s enough of the other readily to hand. Let them all come.”
“Indeed,” the dowager agreed. “Let them all come, and you and I shall put our heads together, Mrs. Mercer, to make sure there is enough merriment to cheer all.”
“Aye,” Gael Mercer said with one of her shy smiles, “we could do that all right. If those two ever come.”
“They aren’t late, Gael,” Robert said, and Niall put an arm around his mother’s shoulders.
Justine’s sharp elbow applied to his ribs stole Struan’s breath, and he looked into her face, perplexed.
“Say somethin’,” she whispered. “Robert has grace and diplomacy. Have you any less?”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, yes. Robert and Gael. Whatever your sin in what was almost a disaster, mine was far greater. I tried to foist a dreadful woman on my son because I thought family pride required it. And I didn’t make sure she was who she said she was. Your daughter will be a greater asset to us all than any other could have been, and I thank you for your patience, and your kindness and generosity in dealing with us.”
“Oh, no,” Gael said. “It was far more our—”
“You were all noddy polls,” the dowager said bluntly. “Now save your apologies for your children. Of course, as the matriarch here, I graciously accept all of your apologies.”
A titter passed through the swelling crowd, a titter instantly quelled by the old lady’s sweeping and haughty glance. She surveyed the half circle, then raised her face to the horizon above. “Our horseman,” she said, and they all turned to see the big man on the big horse, a dark presence against a pale blue sky touched by a soft sun.
“He saved us,” Niall said in strangled tones.
“So we understand,” Struan said. “But then, if rumor is to be believed, he kidnapped Kirsty. We’d best hunt the bas— hunt him down, Arran, Calum.”
“Later,” Calum said. “He presents no threat as long as we are all gathered together here.”
“But—”
“It will wait,” Arran said, placing a restraining hand on Struan’s arm. “I do believe you would do
almost anything to be away from here. But you won’t be able to evade what must be accomplished with your son. Healing.”
Struan scowled at him, but didn’t argue.
“We dinna think that’s your kidnapper,” Robert said. “But we’d not press our opinions, o’course.”
“We do thank ye all for your kind words about our Kirsty,” Gael said. “We’d want to have a feast in the couple’s honor. Isn’t that right, Robert?”
“Right,” he said with the look of a man who longed simply to fly away.
“This is what Max’s damnably rude letter says,” Struan announced. “ ‘Kirsty and I felt it necessary to get away after our very trying times recently. We are both feeling well rested and are ready to return to Kirkcaldy. I am anxious to take up my duties again. If Arran will still have me.’ ”
“ ’Course I’ll have him,” Arran said. “Damn place is falling apart without him.”
“Hush,” Grace said. “Don’t interrupt.”
“Henpecked,” Blanche murmured.
Struan rattled the paper. “ ‘We expect to arrive on the morning of the twenty-seventh, quite early—say around ten—and should like to meet with as many members of the family as can be present on the hill we all know, the one we take between the castle and the valley, beneath the skies where Kirsty and I are most comfortable. We long for those skies and those hills. Your respectful son, Max.’ ” Struan folded the note. “ Respectful. Sneaking away while we were all too exhausted to notice. And taking an innocent girl with him even though he knew he put her reputation in grave jeopardy.”
“Max wouldn’t take advantage of Kirsty,” Ella said. “He loves her.”
“Hmph,” the dowager said. “Mrs. Mercer, we would very much like to have a celebration of the nuptials at the castle. Isn’t that right, Struan and Arran?”
“Quite true,” Arran said. “But I’m sure the Mercers will want to do what we all like to do for our daughters. And we’ll be delighted to take part in your celebrations.”
“The first thing is the license,” Struan said. “Not a problem, though. I’ll give a significant donation to the Bishop in Edinburgh, and he’ll make sure we get it at once. With the right incentives he’ll be more than happy to perform the ceremony, too.”
“Lovely,” Grace said. “Justine should see to the decorations. She’s so good at them.”
“Oh, yes,” Pippa agreed, her beautiful dark blue eyes softly joyful. Struan always thought that she was the most perfect duchess he’d ever seen. She continued, “Justine should also sew the dress. If you’d like to, that is.”
“You know I would,” Justine said. “I have few talents, but that is one of them.”
“Very few talents,” the dowager said of her granddaughter, producing another joint family chuckle which rendered her silent and pinched. The Dowager Duchess of Franchot had always been convinced that Justine was a weakling, to be protected from almost everything. Certainly no extra burden should be placed upon her.
“And I shall paint them a wedding portrait,” Grace said.
Arran pulled her to him. “I’m sure they’ll be honored to own one of your pieces, dear.” He met his brother’s eyes with a look that clearly said he dreaded a wedding portrait in Grace’s representational style complete with no clothes— or should that be, incomplete with no clothes?
“All the invitations have already been made out and are ready for dispatch,” the dowager announced. “Dear Blanche did that—with Mrs. Mercer’s assistance on the list of course,” she said, and Struan promised himself he would kiss the old lady later for being so diplomatic.
Pippa, Duchess of Franchot, pointed, and said, “I see them coming.”
At that the company fell silent.
Rather than on horseback, Max and Kirsty came across the grassy slope on foot. As they drew closer Struan was aware of a restrained murmur in the assembled crowd and he studied them, turning to see first one, then another group, and he knew that such a gathering had never been seen here before. People from every walk of life standing together beneath the sky Max and Kirsty so loved and standing with no sign of the separations of rank and privilege. Even those from the lodge and the castle had gradually moved downward to join the others.
“They’re such a handsome couple,” Ella said, jiggling her baby. “Aren’t they, Saber?”
“Yes,” he said. “And so in love. They would do anything to be together, and that’s how it has to be if marriage is to survive and flourish.”
“Aye,” Gael said quietly. “They’ll do anything for that. We should never ha’ stood in their way.”
“No,” Robert said.
“And they’ll make their own wishes known where a wed-din’s concerned,” Gael continued. “Although I’m sure the chapel would be verra nice if that’s what they want.”
“Well,” the dowager began, but subsided beneath Arran’s hard stare.
Grace clapped her hands, and said, “They’re here. Oh, I can hardly wait to tell them our plans.”
Ella said, “I can hardly wait to embrace them.”
Max and Kirsty arrived, side by side. Max wore his customary somber suit of dark cloth and, as usual, his hair was whipped into unruly curls. His arresting companion’s simple, white muslin dress had narrow lace at the neck, the cuffs and the edges of the tiered skirt. As they arrived before their parents, she grew visibly more shy and held Max’s hand in both of hers. Somewhere along the way she must have stopped to pick wildflowers and tuck them into her hair, which was caught up into a big, softly braided chignon.
Ella rushed to place baby Nigel in her brother’s arms.
“Beautiful,” Max said, kissing the tiny face. “Of course he’s beautiful. But what are you doing here so soon after his birth?”
“I’m as healthy as a horse,” Ella said. “And I wouldn’t miss your homecoming after we’ve all been so worried about you. And Kirsty, dear Kirsty. Where have you been? Where were you last night?”
“At the inn in the village,” Max said. “We’ve walked a long time this morning. Thinking, and planning.”
Struan considered and instantly discarded the idea of chastising his son for disappearing as he had and taking a young woman to whom he was not married—or even officially engaged—with him. The atmosphere was positively convivial, no point in dampening that. “Welcome home, son,” he said.
Max surprised him by enveloping him in a bear hug, and saying, “Bless you, Father. I’ve wanted your approval, and you’ve always given it to me. Hello, Mother, and all of you. Quite the gathering of the clans.”
“This family clan always gathers for important occasions, my boy. You know that.”
“We’re going to have a celebration here and invite the entire neighborhood,” the dowager said. “Aren’t we, Grace?”
“If that’s what Max and Kirsty want.”
“Quite so,” the dowager agreed, somewhat testily. “And Mr. and Mrs. Mercer insist they want to have a, er, wedding feast, also.”
“Such fun,” Blanche cried, clapping her hands. “Let’s set the date and make it soon or I shall die of anticipation.”
Kirsty’s attention was on her family. She took a hesitant step toward them, and her mother held out her arms. While everyone else pretended to be engrossed in other things, the little Mercer family reunited with quietly poignant emotion.
“You were kidnapped, Kirsty,” Ella said, concern in her eyes. Ella had endured her share of violence against her person. “By someone known as the lone horseman. He’s up there on the top of the hill, watching.”
Kirsty frowned. She looked toward the rider and waved. And he waved back. “Not him. It was Horace pretending to be him. He told me.”
Ella looked blank, and said, “Oh.”
“He just sits up there,” Niall said, his voice sounding rusty from his long silence. “As if he needs to see all’s well. He did us all a service, didn’t he, Max?”
Struan didn’t fail to notice the conciliatory note in the young
man’s voice.
Max looked steadily at Niall, and said, “He most certainly did. I think he saved both of our lives, don’t you?”
Niall kept his gaze steady, and said, “Yes. My father encountered him and thanked him. He said he didna want thanks. He was payin’ back a debt to Viscount Avenall and his wife.”
“Ella and Saber?” Pippa said.
Saber rested a hand on Ella’s neck. “I think I know who that would be, dearest.”
She looked up at him. “I didn’t think he would ever return to these parts.”
“He’s Devlin North,” Robert Mercer said. “The gentleman who caused so much trouble to Miss Ella—Viscountess Avenall, that is. But he’ll be away again soon.”
Struan didn’t fail to note the sad expression in Ella’s eyes, or Saber’s faraway look, but those days were behind them.
“We thought the castle chapel,” Justine said. “I would do the decorations. Also your dress, Kirsty, if that would please you.”
Kirsty smiled but made no comment. She looked to her parents, and they exchanged more shy smiles. There was a deal of building to do there, but they’d made a start.
“And we rather like the idea of a really grand affair,” Grace said. “The marriage, then the wedding breakfast, games in the afternoon, a ball in the evening. And Arran’s going to arrange for the Bishop to come from Edinburgh to perform the ceremony. I took the liberty of sending him a little note myself, since we have a long acquaintance.”
If Arran was irritated at the interference, he covered it well.
“Actually,” the dowager said. “I also took the liberty of setting the date. Only because the bishop is such a busy man of course. Next Friday. The fourth. Pure coincidence, of course, but it also happens to be my birthday.”
“And how old will you be?” came the chorus.
The old lady smiled her secret smile, and said, “Very old.”
Struan saw Kirsty nudge Max, saw their eyes meet, and how they became lost in each other. “Yes,” Max said abruptly. “You are all so kind, and so well meaning. But we have decided that this is an occasion for building. It’s an occasion for putting aside old ways, old separations. We had intended to marry in Edinburgh, but Kirsty—” here he paused and smiled at her “—she believes that we can be a sign of building a bridge over the separation between laird and those who work for him. We can respectfully acknowledge the pattern of things. Each of us takes his or her part for the good of the whole—the good of all. But none of this means the lines can’t be crossed.”
The Wish Club Page 39