by Karen Ranney
He was running out of ideas. “At the moment, I don’t know.”
“There’s always elopement.”
He eyed Ned with some disfavor. “If she would go, I’d take her from here tomorrow.”
Ned nodded. “It would solve the problem.” A moment later he spoke again. “Will you be leaving, then?”
“I’ve no wish to stay and see Riona wed,” James admitted.
“But you’ll tell the lass before you go? I wouldn’t want her to wake one morning and find you gone.”
“I’ll tell her,” James said, not anticipating the meeting. Or the leaving.
Chapter 25
T he foot races done, the horse fair finished, the final ceremony of Lethson required the appearance of those from Tyemorn Manor. James watched as the line of villagers formed, thinking that this was not so much a pagan ritual steeped in tradition as a solemn observance.
Most of Ayleshire’s inhabitants were lined up behind the parson, who was to walk at the head of the procession. Another example of the present meeting the past. Mr. Dunant’s appearance didn’t necessarily grant the approval of the church, but his attendance kept Lethson from straying off into pagan paths.
There was a hint of pageantry about the night. Geldings, he’d been told, were the only horses used to pull the peat wagons. They did so slowly, their bridles decorated with flowers. Behind them, young girls walked, crowns of flowers in their hair and ribbons trailing down their backs. Instead of laughter and jocularity, there was a solemnity to this procession.
The villagers’ spirit appealed to James. They made no pretense about being who they were, and what was important to them. They believed their home touched with magic, and perhaps it was.
Ayleshire and Gilmuir felt oddly linked. In other places, the English might have made inroads in altering Scottish culture, but in this village tucked among the hills, and at a golden fortress, traditions were valued, honored, and observed.
Placing his hands on Riona’s waist, James boosted her up to sit on the saddle of his horse. Her legs draped over one side, her soft yellow gown flowing over the saddle. In her hand she held a nosegay of sorts, woodland ferns that she’d gathered that evening at the edge of the forest.
Fingering the edge of her skirt, he covered Riona’s shoe, unconsciously smoothing the fabric over her ankle before realizing what he was doing. He had caught himself in such absent gestures before, as if his body knew he had a right to touch her, stroke a hand over her arm, or brush a wisp of hair from her cheek.
“Why were you in Edinburgh?” she asked, glancing down at him. He turned his head slowly.
He’d returned only the night before, and had been waiting for the question all day. She’d surprised him by waiting until now to ask.
He remained silent for a moment, wondering if he should tell her the reason for his journey.
“I went to see Harold McDougal,” he said finally.
“Why?” She looked startled. As well she might be. It had turned out to be a foolish errand.
“To free you from this idiotic marriage.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing to say,” he replied stonily. “McDougal refuses to release you.”
“I could have told you that had you but asked me. He wants my fortune more than me.”
He’d underestimated McDougal’s greed, while Riona had evidently never been in doubt of it.
“You look wonderful together,” a female voice said. He turned to see Susanna attired in a gown not unlike those of the village girls, with puffed sleeves and a skirt barely coming to her ankles. Around her head was a coronet of daisies.
Without warning, she bent forward to kiss his cheek. Stepping back, she smiled brightly. “It’s Lethson, my dear. I have a right to kiss that handsome face.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, looking, he thought, like an inquisitive wren. “Pity that the English took the kilt from us. I’d give a goodly sum to see you attired in one. As your Uncle Fergus was fond of saying, there will come a time when Scotland will once more be into her own. I can only hope that it’s in my lifetime.”
With a wry grin, James realized that Susanna had been tippling.
“I claim a dance later as well,” she said, smiling.
“As do I.”
They both turned to see a clean-shaven stranger with graying brown hair standing a few feet away. Something about the eyes hinted at humor. An instant later, recognition came to James, but it took longer for Susanna to realize that it was Old Ned who stood before them.
A man who didn’t look nearly as ancient as his appellation.
Her mouth fell open as she continued to stare.
“Well, woman,” Ned said impatiently. “Is that a yes or a no?”
She nodded. A moment later she found her voice. “Your beard.” She pointed at his face.
“I shave my beard every other year, or did no one tell you?” His smile indicated that he knew quite well that she hadn’t known. There was a bit of mischievousness in Ned, James thought, eyeing the couple with interest.
She shook her head.
“I’m a good dancer as well. You’ll find that out on your own.”
Wordlessly, Susanna nodded again. He extended his good arm to her and she took it, evidently still dazed at his appearance.
The procession began, led by Mr. Dunant and his wife, who tucked her hand into her husband’s arm and appeared entirely contented. Together, they began to walk up the path across the hills to the first place the fires would be lit.
The pit at the Roman wall was being set ablaze. The villagers milled around, cheering wildly when the fire was lit. A few moments later, the crowd was on its way, following the path to the Witch’s Well where another small blaze was lit. At the abbey ruins, a bonfire was placed at the edge of the abutment overlooking the farms of Tyemorn. The fire illuminated the solitary wall, casting elongated shadows over the arches. The cheer this time was less effusive than before, no doubt in deference to the once religious nature of the old ruins.
Leaving two lads behind to guard the blaze, they all turned, following the track downward again. Here the villagers separated, their paths clearly delineated with torches as each walked to a separate field.
“Where are they going?”
Riona, silent until now, answered him. “Remember my telling you of the dragons?” He glanced up at her, nodding. “Every man who owns a bit of land is expected to participate in this part of the ceremony. If not, his oats will grow thistles, and weeds will choke his barley.”
“Quite a threat.”
A smile was her only response.
One by one, young boys separated from the crowds, beginning to beat at the crops.
“What are they doing now?” he asked curiously.
“Daring the dragon to show himself.”
“And the torches?” He placed his hand on the saddle, near where she sat. If they had been alone, he would have helped her dismount, taken her into his arms, and kissed her senseless.
“To intimidate the beast, of course,” she said, smiling. “Once he sees how bright the blaze is, he runs away, and the crops are safe for another year.”
“And who shall I summon to do the beating for me? Am I allowed to select a woman?” he asked.
“I don’t think it’s ever been done.” Her fingers trailed over his cuff. He captured her fingers in his, stood looking at their joined hands. The day had been long, the emotions pummeling him ranging from anger to delight. Now, however, he felt a yearning to be alone with her.
“As our representative,” she said, her lips gently curving into a smile, “you can choose anyone you wish.”
“Rory then,” he said, looking about for the young man. He found him standing near Abigail and her family. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the young maid, his feelings only too clear.
“He fancies himself in love, I think,” James said, smiling fondly.
“She is a good girl, a good worker, and comes fro
m a fine family,” Riona told him.
He signaled to Rory and explained what he needed.
“But only if you feel well enough.” Susanna had released him from his bed just a day ago.
“I am. I’m not as fast as I could be, sir, but I can make it around the field.”
“I don’t even want you running,” James said. “Just stand in one place and beat the crops.”
Rory grinned. “I can do that well enough.”
James led his horse across the footbridge. Those villagers who had already completed running their acreage followed them, as well as those who owned fields to the north of Tyemorn’s farms.
Standing at the corner of one of the largest pastures, he reached up, placed his hands on either side of her waist, and slowly helped Riona descend.
“I should learn to ride,” she said, her voice sounding oddly breathless. She stood so close to him that her breasts pressed against his shirt. Once again, he wished they were alone, that the celebrations were finished. Or at least that he didn’t have a hundred or so witnesses.
“I could teach you.” Prudently, he stepped back from her. A diversion was what he needed, and this custom would serve as well as anything else.
“There’s not enough time,” she said. “I’ll be in Edinburgh soon. It won’t matter then.”
He pushed back her braid from where it had fallen, then watched as she impatiently batted her hair over her shoulder. Neither of them spoke of Harold, but his name lingered between them as if he stood there.
Nodding to Rory, he took the torch he held aloft. James waited until the boy preceded him, beating at the crops. Slowly, he began to run, increasing his pace as the villagers began to cheer. By the time he had reached the end of one field, James was racing to the sound of their voices. The wind and the sputtering of the torch sounded not unlike a dragon’s roar, propelling him backward hundreds of years when this ritual had first been performed.
He felt almost pagan, his blood stirring at the sound of cheers and yells and shouts as Rory beat against the sheaves of barley.
James realized abruptly that he was having fun. His childhood had been filled with laughter and this ceremony seemed to summon memories of similar times when he was filled with merriment and excitement.
Raising his torch still higher, he waved it in an arc above his head as he rounded the final corner, returning to the original starting place.
Riona stood at the front of the crowd, her face wreathed in a smile. Impulsively, he grabbed her hand without slowing his pace. Instead of pulling away or protesting, she grabbed her skirts with her other hand and raced with him.
Chasing dragons.
Chapter 26
“W ould Mrs. Parker approve of this celebration?” James asked an hour later. Lanterns were strung on poles around the green, illuminating the dancers. From maid to innkeeper, stable boy to merchant, every inhabitant of Ayleshire seemed to be in the square.
They had danced the first dance and were now resting on the sidelines, watching as the other villagers joined in the gaiety.
“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But she has left Ayleshire, and so we’ll have no way of knowing.”
“Good riddance.”
“She’s a very respected member of Edinburgh society,” she said in the silence.
“Used to getting her own way,” he said dryly.
“She can be rather overpowering,” she said, “but I’m sure she means well.”
They exchanged a look laced with humor.
“You’re more charitable than I,” he said. “I am grateful the woman has taken herself off to Edinburgh.”
“She doesn’t truly mean to be so difficult, I think. She’s considered quite proper, although I have never measured up to her standards. Mrs. Parker believes I should be less enthusiastic, I believe she said. And more circumspect.” She glanced at him. “Did you know I have the laughter of a braying ass?”
“Mrs. Parker evidently speaks for herself and not for a man. I, for one, like your laugh.”
They shared another look. “Thank you,” she softly replied. “If you had a marriageable daughter, you would, no doubt, think differently of her.”
He raised his eyebrow again. “I cannot think of sending a child of mine off to the care of that woman. It would be like sending a tiny fly off to be boarded with a spider.”
“She wasn’t all that bad,” Riona protested. “I was a very poor student.”
“What could she possibly have taught you?”
“How to attract a suitor, for one. How to walk with a gliding gait, how to greet all manner of people. In short, my manners needed to be polished.”
“I have no doubt that you would have done equally as well without her tutelage.”
“I also learned to dance,” she said. “Even though I admit to having no liking for it.” Glancing at him, she smiled again. “There, I’ve told you one of my deepest secrets. I have no grace, Mrs. Parker says.”
“The woman is a fool,” he said brusquely. “You’re a magnificent dancer. You do everything well. Why do you feel the need to defend her when she so obviously disliked you?”
She said nothing for a moment, then finally answered. “Perhaps because I feel sorry for her. I wouldn’t like her life at all, spending her time arranging marriages for everyone else while being alone herself. It seems to be an unbearably sad existence.”
He didn’t say anything, stripped of his irritation toward Mrs. Parker by Riona’s artless words.
He pulled her behind a wagon and bent his head and kissed her, giving in to an impulse that had been present all night. Although it was a light, teasing kiss, it hinted at more.
“Besides,” she said, her lips curving in a smile when they parted, “you truly cannot blame her. She was only trying to render me more marriageable.”
Mrs. Parker hadn’t known what to do with her, he suspected. Riona spoke in a voice that sounded like poetry, was forever impatient with her hair. She smiled when there was no reason for it, and her thoughts were years ahead of her speech, leaving him in ignorance and delighted confusion until she shared her musings.
A woman who suited him more than any other.
He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. There was a scrape on her left thumb. “How did you do this?” he asked.
“Cutting the cake.” She stared ruefully at the small wound.
“It looked like a very good cake.”
“Luck was on my side. It’s the first time I’ve baked one that didn’t fall.”
“Perhaps it was because of the midsummer dew,” he teased.
“More like it was all the whiskey I used to soak it in as it aged,” she said, smiling back at him. “Between it, and the raisins, nuts, and fruits, there wasn’t much cake to taste. But what was there seemed to please the elders.”
She tilted her head and surveyed him.
“Are you sorry you’re not an earl, instead of your brother?”
“Where did that question come from?” he asked, amused.
“Because you look like a prince,” she said, her gaze not veering from him.
He smiled at her words. “I wouldn’t take the position. I think the only reason that Alisdair agreed to be Earl of Sherbourne was in order to rebuild Gilmuir. The undertaking will cost a fortune.”
“Do you think there was once a house on the abbey land? A house as old as Gilmuir with memories of its own, where people laughed and loved?”
“Before the monks arrived and imposed a cloistered silence?”
“For some reason I have difficulty seeing Scottish monks as severe in their religion,” she admitted with a smile. “I think they probably wore kilts and sipped whiskey between prayers.”
“We Scots do everything to excess. I doubt we were any different in religious devotion. Unfortunately, I can envision more austerity than high spirits.”
“Do you think you will be able to expunge their memory, then? Replace it with something happier?”
If he di
d, another ghost would take their place. A lass with a gray-eyed glance and a teasing smile.
Perhaps it would be better if he left this place entirely, found some other corner of Scotland to call his own. But as Gilmuir called to Alisdair, Ayleshire called to him. Its history was fascinating and its people warm and open and welcoming.
“Perhaps that is the magic of Ayleshire after all,” he said. “That it can grow and transform itself while never losing its past.”
“You do the same, James,” she said. “Changing from sea captain to builder to landowner.”
Her smile was too tempting, almost inviting a kiss. But there were other people around them. He caught sight of Rory and Abigail, each smiling at the other as they danced.
“Will you come with me, to bless my land?” he asked, picking up her hand and bestowing a kiss on it. There, a gesture that he could make in public.
“It would be an improvident act on my part.” She allowed her hand to linger in his, her fingers to entwine with his. Neither of them was behaving with strict propriety. He wanted time alone with her.
“Will you come?” he asked again. “Improvident or not?”
She nodded.
They were the loveliest couple, Susanna thought, watching as James kissed Riona’s hand. Riona’s face was warmed by a blush, and James’s bruises had faded completely.
She should have interrupted, perhaps, but she couldn’t begrudge her daughter this night. There would be time ahead for her to be as proper as a matron. Perhaps memories of this time would make marriage to Harold palatable.
“You’re looking lovely tonight,” a voice said. Susanna turned to find herself face-to-face with Ned. His appearance still disturbed her. Who would have thought that beneath that white-bearded exterior lay a handsome man?
Or one who knew her quite so well?
How horrible to recall all those moments when she’d confided in him, told him things she’d never divulged to a soul, only because she thought of him as an uncle.
“Why do you wear that ridiculous beard?” she asked, annoyed. “To make everyone think you’re so much older?”