“I understand what you are saying,” the Earl replied, “of course I do! But it’s difficult for me ever to see you alone and there is so much I want to tell you, so much I want to say.”
“But you must not say it,” Fiona said quickly. “Please be careful! I know it is dangerous for you to show any interest in me as a woman.”
“As I have eyes in my head and a heart in my body can you expect me to do anything else? God in Heaven! I never expected in my wildest dreams to find anyone so beautiful surrounded by the walls of Rannock Castle!”
The way he spoke made Fiona give a little laugh.
Then, as they reached the entrance to the courtyard, they both saw to their surprise a familiar figure coming down the steps from the front door.
It was the Duke and he had changed from the tartan trews he had worn while riding, into his kilt.
He walked towards them, looking extremely handsome and at the same time so overpowering that Fiona felt almost guilty, as if she had been caught committing some indiscretion.
“You are back very early, Aiden!” the Earl exclaimed.
“When you left me, I decided it was too far to go on alone,” the Duke replied, “so I followed you home.”
“I have been telling Miss Windham how my horse went lame.”
Fiona saw the Duke glance first at the Earl, then at her and she could read without words the suspicion in his mind.
“I must go and wake Mary-Rose, Your Grace. She has been resting,” she said and quickly walked past him to enter The Castle.
She ran up the front stairs as if there were somebody after her, aware that she was in fact feeling very uncomfortable because of what she sensed the Duke was thinking.
‘I have done nothing wrong,’ she told herself, ‘and my private life is my own.’
At the same time, because she loved Mary-Rose, she was afraid.
The child was still asleep when Fiona went into her room, so she walked into the sitting room that had been arranged opposite their two bedrooms.
It was a large and pleasant room and Mr. McKeith had provided it with a piano which was Mary-Rose’s delight.
She already played extremely well for a child of her age, which was not surprising as her mother had been such an exceptional musician.
Fiona enjoyed playing, but she had none of her sister’s genius.
Music could bring her tranquillity when she was upset and was an escape from anything that made her feel apprehensive.
She sat down now at the piano and began to play softly, trying to ease away the little constriction in her heart that she knew was in reality a touch of fear.
‘It is absurd for me to be afraid of anybody,’ she told herself and thought it was something that she had never felt in the past.
But the Duke was certainly awe-inspiring and what really made her fearful was the knowledge that suddenly she might be ordered to leave The Castle and go South.
Even before she had learnt what the Earl had just told her about the Duke, she had thought that she could not desert Mary-Rose and now it seemed even more impossible.
What sort of life would the child have there without friends and without companions of her own age?
Fiona remembered now how Ian had told her that, when he was young, there had always been all sorts of interests that they shared with their neighbours.
There had been Highland games and gymkhanas and shooting parties over the moors, besides the English game of cricket.
Ian told her that his brother Aiden had been an extremely competent bowler.
“We used to beat all the local teams!” he had said boastfully.
How could Mary-Rose grow up seeing nobody but her uncle, Lady Morag and occasionally the Earl?
It was an impossible situation, but Fiona was not quite certain what she could do about it.
*
That evening she broached the subject of Mary-Rose learning to fish.
“She has been told by Donald how he helped her father to catch his first fish when he was her age,” she said. “Perhaps it would be possible for her to have lessons with a light trout rod.”
“I imagine the rod both Ian and I used is somewhere in The Castle,” the Duke replied.
“Then can Donald take her to the river?” Fiona enquired.
Lady Morag, who was dining with them, interposed,
“Personally, I think Mary-Rose is much too young, Aiden, and besides, fishing is a boy’s pursuit. Surely Miss Windham can find something more feminine for her to do?”
Fiona’s lips tightened.
She had an idea that Lady Morag was being obstructive only because fishing was something that she had suggested.
“I see no reason why Mary-Rose should not be taught to fish,” the Duke said after a moment. “Unless I am mistaken, she will soon find it boring unless she catches something.”
“She will be very lucky if she does that!” the Earl exclaimed. “I fished for three hours yesterday without a single rise.”
“You were unlucky,” the Duke laughed.
“That is what I want to believe,” the Earl replied, “but I have an uncomfortable feeling that the reason you caught two salmon in the same amount of time is that you are more skilful.”
“I think actually it is because I know these waters better,” the Duke smiled.
For once he looked quite human.
Then the smile faded and he said,
“You can tell McKeith, Miss Windham, that Mary-Rose can go fishing with Donald.”
“And may I go too, Your Grace? As it happens, your brother taught me to fish for trout and it is something I greatly enjoy.”
“Oh, really, Miss Windham!” Lady Morag exclaimed before the Duke could speak. “There is no end to your versatilities and such unexpected ones! First you are a witch with herbs, now you are a fisherman and, as I understand it, you are quite skilful at the piano as your sister was. But she, of course, was a professional performer.”
There was no doubt that Lady Morag intended to be unpleasant and it was with difficulty that Fiona managed to say in a deliberately sweet voice,
“How very kind of you to be so flattering!”
She heard the Earl give a little choke of laughter beside her and she thought that perhaps she should not have answered at all.
Then, as she met Lady Morag’s eyes, she knew that she had made an implacable enemy and it would be wise to be on her guard.
Because she had no wish to make things worse than they were already, as soon as she and Lady Morag left the dining room, Fiona made some excuse to retire, knowing that the older woman was only too delighted to see her go.
She peeped into Mary-Rose’s room to see if she was asleep and then went into the sitting room.
She wanted to play the piano, but she thought that it might be a mistake in case the sound was overheard, for it would seem rude to have left the Duke’s presence for any reason except that she had retired to bed.
She found a book that interested her and sat for a while reading it, then went to her bedroom.
She undressed and, after continuing to read for some time, blew out the candles and closed her eyes.
She was almost asleep when there was a soft knock on her door.
For a moment Fiona thought she must have imagined it and then the knock came again.
She sat up in bed, feeling for the matches.
The main rooms of The Castle were lit by lamps, but candles were used in the bedrooms and Fiona liked their soft, gentle, romantic light instead of the hardness of gas, which they had used at The Manor.
“Come in!” she called out.
The door opened as she lit the first candle and then she saw Mrs. Meredith.
“I’m real sorry to disturb you, miss,” she said apologetically, “but Jeannie’s awful bad and I thought you might be able to help her.”
“Jeannie?” Fiona exclaimed, sitting up in bed. “I wondered why she did not attend Miss Mary-Rose this evening.”
“She
complained of having a wee cold yesterday,” Mrs. Meredith explained, “but this mornin’ she was almost speechless and now she has a fever.”
“I’ll come and see her,” Fiona said.
“’Tis very kind of you, miss, and I don’t like to give you any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Meredith,” Fiona reassured her. “Just give me a minute to find the herbs I want. Or better still, go back to Jeannie. Tell me where she sleeps.”
“Go straight to the end of the corridor, miss, and you’ll find a staircase which’ll lead you up to the next floor. I’ll listen for you.”
Having spoken, Mrs. Meredith paused.
“’Tis not right, I shouldna be a-botherin’ you with comin’ up to Jeannie’s room at this time of night. Let me come back for the herbs when you’ve found them, miss.”
“No, I would rather bring them myself,” Fiona answered. “If you want to help, you can boil a kettle of water, which will make it easier for me to treat Jeannie as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll do that, miss, and thank you.”
Mrs. Meredith hurried away, shutting the door behind her. Fiona climbed out of bed to find her case, which contained the herbs and she chose those which she thought would be suitable to treat a fever that had obviously started with a head cold.
She could not be certain until she had seen Jeannie and taken her temperature exactly which herbs would be the most efficacious, so she chose several packets.
Then, slipping on a dressing gown that was of blue silk to match her eyes, Fiona opened the door to the passage and saw with relief that the candles in the huge silver sconces that bore the Duke’s crest were still alight.
The passage was covered with the Rannock tartan as a carpet and, as soon as Fiona had passed what she knew were the main rooms of the house, one of which was occupied by the Earl, it became narrower.
Fiona circumnavigated the curve of the walls and went on into what she knew was the oldest part of The Castle, which had not been renovated.
She found the narrow twisting staircase that led up to the next floor and, when she reached the top of it, Mrs. Meredith was waiting for her.
Jeannie was in a small but comfortable bedroom and Fiona saw at once that she had a high fever.
It was almost impossible for her to speak and her eyes were so bright that it was difficult to know if she recognised anybody.
Mrs. Meredith had the kettle ready and, when Fiona had mixed two powerful herbs together, the housekeeper lifted Jeannie up in her arms so that Fiona could persuade her to drink it.
When they laid her down again, she muttered something incoherent and snuggled down against the pillows.
“She will go to sleep and may not wake for many hours,” Fiona said in a low voice. “I will come and see her in the morning. By then I expect the fever will have broken.”
“’Tis wonderful what you can do, miss, with stuff that looks like nothin’ more than bits of grass,” Mrs. Meredith said admiringly.
“It’s the herbs that are wonderful,” Fiona answered. “God gave them to us, but we don’t always have the intelligence to use them.”
“That’s true enough, miss. I was rememberin’ just now that my mother used to believe in dandelion wine when she was feelin’ poorly.”
“I am sure Jeannie will be better in the morning,” Fiona said. “Go to bed and don’t worry. I very much doubt if she will wake up and disturb you.”
“I’m ever so grateful – I am indeed, miss,” Mrs. Meredith said.
Fiona smiled at her and started to descend the staircase.
As she reached the passage, she saw that, since she had gone up to the next floor nearly all the candles had been extinguished.
There were, however, two or three left at the far end where her bedroom was situated and it was therefore not difficult for her to find her way towards the light.
She was walking along, not hurrying but thinking of Jeannie and hoping that she would recover quickly, when suddenly at the other end of the passage she saw a tall figure.
For a moment, because there was so little light, it was difficult to distinguish who it was and yet with a frightened leap of her heart Fiona guessed who it was.
She did not slacken or accelerate her pace and only when she had progressed quite a bit farther down the passage was she sure that it was the Duke she could see ahead, but for the moment he had not seen her.
Then, as she wondered whether it would be better to hide in the shadows of a doorway or continue to advance, she was aware that he was looking at her.
In that second she suddenly became self-conscious, knowing how strange she must look in her floating blue robe with her fair hair hanging loose over her shoulders.
‘Perhaps he will think it unconventional for me to concern myself with one of the housemaids so late at night,’ she thought.
Then a second later she came within a few feet of him and unless he stood aside to let her pass it would be impossible for her to proceed.
She looked up at him and could see, or thought she could in the indistinct light, that he was angry.
It was impossible to walk on and they faced each other squarely on the tartan carpet, Fiona feeling that in contrast to herself, the Duke, in his evening kilt, elaborate sporran and lace jabot at his throat, looked overwhelmingly resplendent.
‘He must be wondering what I have been doing,’ she thought, but before she could say anything he spoke first,
“Where have you been, Miss Windham?”
He spoke so harshly, indeed roughly, that she was startled.
Everything she had been about to say seemed to go out of her head.
“I have – ” she began and thought that her voice seemed thin and rather incoherent.
Then the Duke interposed,
“Don’t bother to lie! The answer to my question is obvious! I thought you were different!”
Fiona lifted her head to look up at him questioningly.
“I – don’t – ” she began again.
But now the Duke asked furiously in a voice that seemed to vibrate with anger,
“Have you had enough lovemaking for tonight or are you looking for more?”
As he spoke, to her astonishment in one swift movement he pulled her roughly into his arms and, as she gave a little cry of protest, his mouth came down on hers.
He kissed her brutally with lips that were hard and possessive. Though they hurt her, for the moment she was too surprised, too shocked, even to struggle.
Then, as she attempted it, she found that the Duke had imprisoned her arms to her sides and it was impossible to move or even to take her lips from him.
Her mouth was captive and she wanted not only to struggle against him but also to strike at him – to free herself as violently as he had taken her.
But she was unable to move.
Fiona had never been kissed by a man. She did not know how helpless a woman could be in a man’s arms or when his mouth took possession of her.
His lips still hurt her and yet strangely the fury and the fear she had felt at first were now less intense.
Now the pain had gone and instead his lips were more gentle and yet still possessive.
‘I must free myself! I must struggle!’ Fiona thought feverishly.
Then, even as she tried to do so, she felt as if something strange that she had never known before was happening to her.
It was as if a warm wave inexplicably, indefinably rose through her body, passing through her breasts, up her throat and into her lips while they were still bruised from the intensity of the Duke’s kiss.
It was such a strange and totally unexpected feeling that for a moment Fiona could think of nothing else, conscious that in some extraordinary manner it was intensifying, deepening, becoming more insistent.
She felt the Duke’s arms tighten round her and yet instead of making her afraid she felt as if they gave her a security, something which swept away fear.
It was impossible t
o analyse and yet it was there, while the feeling in her throat grew into something wonderful, something incredibly like a rapture that seemed to encompass her and ripple through her like the waves of the sea.
It was an emotion she could not understand, but she was no longer fighting against the wonder of what she felt.
She savoured it, felt it envelop her until her mouth was soft beneath the Duke’s and her body was no longer tense in his arms.
It was then that he raised his head. She was free and yet she could not move, could not speak, could not even think.
“God damn you!” he muttered hoarsely and his voice seemed to come from the very depths of his being.
Then, as violently as he had taken her, he left, walking quickly down the passage, his kilt swinging behind him.
Fiona almost fell and yet somehow she managed to reach out and hold on to a piece of furniture that stood against the wall.
For a long time she just stood there, trying to realise what had happened, trying to understand what she had felt, striving to think coherently –
Then slowly, so slowly that every footstep was an effort, she reached her room and threw herself face-downwards onto the bed.
*
In the morning light Fiona found it even harder to believe that what had happened was not just a figment of her imagination or some strange unaccountable dream.
Last night when she had finally taken off her dressing gown, she had crept into bed to lie sleepless, trying to understand not only that the Duke had kissed her in anger and what she supposed was jealousy, but also that it had aroused in her a rapture which even now did not seem credible.
Yet it had happened and no amount of introspection could alter the realisation that she had not been able to fight against the manner in which he had possessed her.
Instead she had acquiesced, finding an ecstasy that she had not expected, a rapture she had never imagined was possible.
‘Perhaps I am mad?’ Fiona questioned, but she knew that that was not the explanation.
It was difficult to rouse herself to give Mary-Rose her breakfast and to answer her chattering questions coherently.
“Yes, your uncle has said you may learn to fish.”
“Yes, I will see if we can possibly do it this morning.”
60 The Duchess Disappeared Page 8