Rose In Scotland

by Overfield Joan

  But however cold he might be during the day, there was no faulting the warmth he showed her each night. They didn’t always make love, but he would hold her in his arms, tenderly stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort until she drifted into an easy sleep. It had been years since anyone had shown her such tender care, and she reveled in the time they spent together.

  Four days after leaving London, they pulled to a halt before a row of cramped town houses looming over the narrow Edinburgh street like brooding giants. But such was Caroline’s relief at not having to climb back into the racketing coach that she wouldn’t have cared had she been expected to enter a stable.

  “I must warn you again about Aunt Egidia’s temper,” Hugh cautioned, gently helping her down from the carriage. “I took the precaution of sending a messenger ahead with news of our arrival, but there’s no saying we haven’t beaten him here.”

  “I’m sure all will be fine,” she soothed, amused that a querulous old woman could set her formidable husband to quaking in his boots. “She can be no worse than Uncle Charles. At least she is not trying to put me in a madhouse.”

  “Aye, that is so,” Hugh chuckled as he tucked her hand in his arm and guided her up the uneven granite steps. “Although ’Tis to a madhouse she’s likely to drive you, with her lectures and her scolds. Do not say you were not warned.”

  Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door was thrown open, and a young woman with bright-red hair rushed out to throw herself against his chest.

  “Hugh! You’re home!” she cried, hugging him enthusiastically. “We’ve been looking for you since last evening! What kept you?”

  “The roads.” Hugh laughed, dropping Caroline’s hand to give the young woman who was obviously his sister a hug. “ ’Tis a long way from London, little one, and we came as quickly as we could.”

  The young woman drew back from him, her emerald eyes growing cool as she turned next to Caroline. “You must be the Lady Caroline,” she said, dropping a graceful curtsy. “Welcome to my aunt’s house and to the clan MacColme. I am Mairi MacColme. Beannachd Dhé leat—may God’s blessing be upon you.”

  The polite greeting paled in comparison to the warm reception afforded Hugh, but it was no more than Caroline expected. “Thank you, Mairi,” she said, offering the other woman a warm smile. “I should like to say as much in your own tongue, but fear I don’t know the proper words.”

  Mairi’s lively features betrayed her surprise, and there was a thaw in her reserve. “Thoir buidheachas,” she supplied, her lilting accent making the words sound like the sweetest music. “But don’t think we shall expect you to speak Gaelic. At least,” she went on, her eyes sparkling mischievously, “not until after we’ve given you a cup of tea with a wee drop of whiskey in it to help loosen your English tongue.”

  “Wheest! What are ye aboot, standing on the steps and kimmerin’ like a pack of old women?” a wizened old man with hazel eyes demanded sourly. “Into the house wi’ ye, before ye’ve the whole of the town knowin’ our business!”

  “Och, Gregors, you are shaming us for certain,” Mairi responded, surprising Caroline by taking her hand and pulling her forward. “Is that a proper way for a butler to be greeting his new mistress? And she the daughter of an earl, and accustomed to the fine-mannered servants of London. For shame!”

  The butler’s disapproving gaze settled on Caroline. “When the daughter of an earl conducts herself like the daughter of an earl, she’ll be greeted as such,” he said dourly. “In the meanwhile, the mistress is in the parlor waiting for ye. Just the lassie, mind,” he added, his thin lips twisting in a crafty smile. “She’s wantin’ a word wi’ the new bride.”

  “And if that’s not enough to send you running for the border, then my brother’s nae done his duty by you,” Mairi murmured, her arm still linked with Caroline’s as she guided her forward. “Or has he warned you already of our aunt’s temper?”

  “He has mentioned her character is … strong,” Caroline said, choosing the most diplomatic word she could think of.

  “Strong?” Mairi threw back her head and gave a rich laugh. “Aye, strong as an ox, is Egidia Sinclair, but there’s no harm in her harping and cutting at you. Cut back, if you want my advice. She’ll think the better of you for it.”

  “That’s enough, Mairi,” Hugh scolded, slipping his arm about Caroline’s waist. “I’ll not have you scaring my wife with your wild tales. And I’ve no intention of leaving her to Aunt Egidia, either. We shall go in together.”

  Mairi gave another laugh. “You’ve been too long gone from home, brathair, to think Auntie will talk with you if she wishes it otherwise. Poke your nose in there when it’s nae wanted, and she’s likely to bite it off.”

  “It’s all right, Hugh,” Caroline said quickly, not wishing to cause any discord. “I’ve survived London’s most fearsome grand dames; I am sure I can survive your aunt as well. Besides,” she added, giving his nose a playful tweak, “I’ve grown rather fond of this nose of yours, and I should hate to see it damaged.”

  He smiled at her words, a look of undisguised relief stealing across his face. “Very well, my lady,” he said, capturing her hand and carrying it to his lips. “But if she should turn too fearsome, call out, and I promise to come dashing to your rescue.”

  Even though she knew he was but teasing her, Caroline’s pride rebelled at the idea she would be so poor-spirited. “I won’t call out,” she said, straightening her shoulders with resolve. “I am a Burroughs, and we do not quit the field so easily. Take me to your aunt. I am anxious to make her acquaintance.”

  Her bravado lasted until Hugh escorted to a room located at the back of the house and rapped on the closed door. When an impatient voice from inside called out and querulously bade her enter, her courage failed her, and she shot him a panicked look. To her surprise he answered with an encouraging smile.

  “You’ll do fine, leannan,” he said, brushing a soft kiss over her mouth. “Only mind she doesn’t devour you whole; I’ve plans for you later this night.” He gave her a lascivious wink and then walked away, leaving her alone to face the dragon.

  The sight that greeted her when she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her was hardly terror-inducing. A tiny bird of a woman wearing a hideous wig and a gown many years out of fashion was perched on the edge of a faded chair, regarding her over the bridge of a hooked nose with obvious distrust. She looked like nothing more than an ill-tempered fairy, and the sight was so incongruous Caroline could not help but smile.

  “Well, dinna stand there grinning at me like a daft!” the older woman snapped, her thick brows meeting in a disagreeable scowl. “Come closer so I can have a proper look at ye. Unless ye’re so plain of face as to prefer the shadows.”

  Inexplicably, the astringent comment appealed to Caroline’s sense of the ridiculous. “Actually I am accounted a passingly pretty female,” she said, wisely hiding her amusement as she moved gracefully toward the woman. The light of the tallow candle fell across her features, and she smiled again as she met Mrs. Sinclair’s dark gaze. “I trust my appearance meets with your approval, ma’am,” she added, dropping a low curtsy.

  Color flooded the heavily painted and powdered cheeks, but Caroline thought she detected a flash of approval in the bright eyes before the older woman lifted her great beak of a nose and gave a disdainful sniff. “Hmph! Full of pride, aren’t ye?” she grumbled, sounding vaguely pleased with the fact. “And not without some cause, I’ll grant ye that. Although ye’re too small-boned for my liking. MacColmes need strong women to bear them strapping sons, and ye dinna look equal to the task. Are ye breeding now?” Her gaze fastened on Caroline’s narrow waist.

  Caroline’s amusement grew thin at the audacious demand. “As we have been married for scarcely a fortnight, Mrs. Sinclair, I should think that most unlikely,” she said coolly.

  “Fah!” Mrs. Sinclair dismissed her objection with a wave of her gnarled hand. “A man like my nephew could give y
ou a babe the first night of yer marriage, did he desire it. Ye are laying with him, are ye nae?”

  So much for the legendary Scot prudishness! Caroline wished Hugh had warned her of his aunt’s utter lack of discretion as well. “That, Mrs. Sinclair, is a private matter between Hugh and myself,” she said, feeling decidedly pressed. “I prefer not to speak of it, if you do not mind.”

  “Ye’re laying with him,” Mrs. Sinclair said, nodding wisely. “Ye’re too bonny of a lass for him to keep away from yer bed, and ye’ve the look of a woman who’s well-loved by her man. Why did ye marry him?”

  Caroline seated herself on one of the chairs facing the older woman. “What?” she asked, fighting the urge to scream and laugh all in the same breath.

  “If ’Tis gold ye’re after, then ye’ve been played for a fool,” Mrs. Sinclair warned, her jaw jutting out as she leaned forward. “For all he is a laird, Hugh has nae a groat to his name, save for what he earned as a soldier. And dinna be thinking to inherit from me when I pass,” she added, indicating the shabby parlor with another wave. “ ’Tis promised to Mairi.”

  After so many years of being ruthlessly courted for her money, Caroline found being called a fortune hunter a diverting novelty. “I didn’t marry Hugh for his money,” she said, raising her chin with cold pride. “And that is all I am prepared to say. If you wish to know anything else, you may ask him.”

  “Hmph! As if that cowlie would tell me aught,” Mrs. Sinclair muttered, folding her arms across her chest and pouting like a thwarted child. “Closemouthed as a clam, he is, and stubborn as a block of stone. Although I suppose that is something ye’ve already learned for yerself, eh, lassie?” she added, ducking her head and shooting Caroline a sly look.

  It was the sly look that won Caroline over. “There are times when I could cheerfully throttle him,” she agreed, dropping her wariness and settling back in her chair. “He is also very fond of issuing orders and expecting them to be carried out with the greatest dispatch, I’ve noted.”

  “Aye, and for keeping things secret from ye because he’s trying to protect ye,” Mrs. Sinclair sighed. “But dinna be thinking ’Tis some failing of Hugh’s that makes him act so. All men are equally doltish. They think we women weak, ye ken, and because it pleases them to believe so, we let them.

  “Now,” she continued before Caroline could respond, “if ’Tis married to Hugh ye mean to be, then ’Tis best ye were learning how to handle the devil. Tell me what else ye’ve learned of his shortcomings, and I’ll tell ye how to correct them. Consider it my wedding present to ye,” she added at Caroline’s shocked stare. “Ye’ll have need of it, I promise ye.”

  “Hugh? Are you busy?” Mairi poked her head into the cramped room where Hugh was sitting. “I have something for you.”

  Hugh glanced up from the letter he had been perusing and sent his sister a warm smile. “I’m never too busy for you, dearest,” he said, folding the letter and putting it aside. “What is it you’ve brought me? Some tea? I could do with a cup.”

  “No.” She came in, a look of apology on her face. “I tried getting some from that beast Gregors, but he said we must wait for Aunt Egidia, and she’s still shut away with your wife, the poor lamb. Don’t you think you ought to be rescuing her? You did promise to save her should she have need of it.”

  Hugh smiled, although he was also beginning to grow alarmed. Caroline had been alone with his aunt for the better part of an hour, with not a sound from her. He didn’t want to dwell on what that might portend.

  “I’ve heard no shrieks nor the breaking of crockery,” he said, seeking to reassure himself as well as Mairi. “If they are much longer, we can always send Gregors in to check. Unless you want to go?” he asked, shooting her a hopeful look.

  Mairi made a rude noise as she joined him on the settee. “Me? Do I look that big of a fool? I’ve lived too many years with Auntie to interfere when she’s interrogating a prisoner. If they’re not out in a quarter hour’s time, we’ll set fire to the drapes. The smoke will drive them out.”

  Hugh scratched his ear as if considering her plan. “Done,” he said, and then gave one of her bright-red curls a playful tug. “Now what is it you wish to show me?”

  In answer she took his hand and placed a familiar-looking object in the palm. “For you,” she said, her eyes shimmering with tears as she folded his fingers over the locket. “I’m returning it to you, just as you bade me to. Welcome home, Hugh.”

  Hugh slowly opened his hand, his throat growing tight as he traced a shaking finger over the etched silver case. “Mother’s portrait,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I never thought to see it again.”

  “I kept it hidden away,” Mairi said, resting her head on his shoulder and lightly touching the locket. “When I heard the others say you were likely dead and lying in some forsaken grave, I would run up to my room and take it out, and I would hold it tight in my hand and say your name over and over again. I told myself you could hear me, and if you heard me, I knew it meant you were alive. Alive,” she repeated, and threw herself into his arms with a sob.

  “I heard you, luaidh,” Hugh whispered brokenly, pressing his lips to his sister’s head. “Sometimes I would be so cold, so weary from the fighting I did not think I could go on, and ’twas then I would hear your voice, calling my name. It kept me alive, Mairi. It brought me safely home again.”

  “Oh, Hugh.” Mairi tightened her arms about his neck. “Why did you never write? I understand about Father, but why could you nae have written me? For years I waited for some word, some message from you, but there was nothing. At first I feared you dead, or captured, and then I thought mayhap you’d forgotten about us, or that you hated us. That you weren’t coming home because you didn’t want to.”

  Her anguished words were more painful than the lash of the whip all those years ago. “No, dearest, not that, never that!” he said, holding her tightly. “How can you think such a thing?”

  “Because you didn’t write!” Mairi cried, raising tear-filled eyes to study his face. “What else was I to think when you didn’t write?”

  Hugh gathered her against him again, unable to speak for the pain of his memories. He didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t write for the simple reason he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Thoughts of Scotland and her were so hurtful that he learned to push them from his mind. He’d survived his exile by pretending he had no home, no family; he’d lived from one day to the next with no thought save survival. It had kept him alive, and at the time he’d thought ’twas enough; now he wasn’t so certain.

  “If I could go back and undo what I’ve done, kempie, I would,” he said, his voice shaking with regret. “I would write you so many letters you’d groan at the sight of another one.”

  She gave a weak laugh and wiped at the tears staining her cheeks with an impatient hand. “As if I would ever do that,” she said, levering herself away from him. “Now, tell me when you will give this to Caroline. Tonight?”

  Hugh didn’t answer at first, his emotions in too much of a whirl to think coherently. “No, not tonight,” he said, opening the locket and gazing down at his mother’s face.

  “I like her,” Mairi said, surprising him with her candid confession. “I was determined not to, you know, but she seems a nice enough sort, for an Englishwoman.” She tipped her head to one side and studied him with bright eyes. “And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why the devil you married her within a day of your arrival in Bath, either. Or more to the point, why she married you.”

  Hugh closed the locket and slipped it into his pocket. “ ’Tis a long story, Mairi, and one I promise to tell you later,” he said, helping her to her feet. “But in the meanwhile I think I will rescue my bride. You can help.”

  “Me?” She was laughing as he led her from the room. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Create a diversion,” he said, feigning a lightheartedness he was far from feeling. “An old military tactic I learned in America. Marchi
ng in to get what you’re after just gets you shot, so you send in a unit to distract the enemy and while they’re shooting at them, you nip in and get what you want.”

  “Which sounds a fine thing, unless you’re the one drawing the fire,” Mairi retorted, pouting as they stopped before the closed door. “You know Aunt Egidia will skin me alive for this.”

  “I know.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “But remember: you’re a MacColme, and we die proud.” Without waiting for an answer he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  His gaze flashed to Caroline, and he noted with relief that she seemed relatively unscathed. “Ah, Aunt Egidia, there you are,” he said, dragging his reluctant sister forward. “Mairi has something she wishes to discuss with you, and I need to have a word with my wife.” And while Mairi was busy stammering an apology to their irate aunt, he grabbed Caroline’s hand and made good their escape.

  “That was really too bad of you, Hugh,” Caroline chided several hours later as she cuddled against his chest. “Your aunt and I had almost finished our discussion; there was no need for you to sacrifice poor Mairi.”

  “Complained to you, did she?” Hugh asked, wincing as he shifted his cramped legs. “I thought better of her than that.”

  “She did not complain,” Caroline corrected, giving his bare shoulder an admonishing slap. “She didn’t have to. I saw the black looks she cast you, and I cannot say that I blame her.”

  “Needs must where the devil drives,” he muttered, repeating a quote he had often heard as a lad. “The devil or Aunt Egidia, which is much the same thing if you want—damn!” He swore furiously, tossing back the covers and climbing out of the bed.

  Caroline also sat up, gathering the covers about her to cover her nakedness. “What is it?” she asked, gazing up at him in alarm.

  “What do you think it is?” he demanded ill-temperedly, snatching up his robe from the floor and shrugging into it with a scowl. “ ’Tis that instrument of torture Aunt laughingly calls a bed! I’ve slept on ground strewn with rocks as big as my fist and been more comfortable!”