by Amanda Scott
Chapter 12
When Lady Chisholm greeted Bab warmly, hope soared for a moment that her ladyship might indeed help her find a way out.
“What is it, my dear?” she said, gesturing toward the stool beside her. “I trust your mother is not ill again.”
“No, madam,” Bab replied, taking the indicated seat. “She is fully immersed in plans for this wedding of hers.”
“Yes, so I have imagined. I must say that her energy amazes me.”
“It surprises me, too,” Bab said, hoping this might provide an opening. “I promise you, madam, I knew nothing about this plan until recently.”
Lady Chisholm chuckled. “I do not doubt you were dismayed.”
“Had you heard aught of such an agreement?” The thought that she might have was dizzying, and Bab had all she could do to retain her composure.
“No, my dear, not until Arabella mentioned it. Apparently, Chisholm and Sir Gilchrist did discuss some sort of a union between our families, but due to your father’s sudden death, they never drew up a contract. But I must tell you, I am delighted that your mother intends to see the matter through. I cannot imagine a better wife for our dear Alex, particularly since he tells me your brother has frequently made his approval plain to him.”
“I… I fear I am not yet ready to marry,” Bab said, seeing nothing to gain by trying to persuade her ladyship that Patrick had been teasing Alex and that Alex was probably taking revenge for the pewter mug by pretending to approve now.
“Many young women marry much younger,” Lady Chisholm pointed out.
“My age is not what concerns me,” Bab said, striving to sound reasonable but feeling her temper stir.
“You are nervous, of course, my dear. All brides are nervous of marriage, because it is such a great step to take. It is so great, in fact, that most sensible young women leave all the arrangements to their parents.”
“But surely, all brides do not leave the matter of the groom entirely to others,” Bab said. “I want to have some say in that.”
“I see how it is,” Lady Chisholm said. “Indeed, my dear, I have a little feared that you might try to take the bit between your teeth.”
Bab swallowed but managed not to look away. “If I have offended you, madam, I do sincerely apologize. That was not my intent.”
Patting her hand, Lady Chisholm said reassuringly, “Don’t be a goose. You have done no such thing, but I hope you will not mind if I take advantage of the closer kinship we are soon to enjoy to say that I have noted from time to time a certain independence of mind that has concerned me.”
“My parents and brother have generally allowed me to think for myself.”
“Yes, and generally that is a good thing,” her ladyship replied. “However, in important matters, those in which a daughter owes both a duty and her obedience to her parents or to the head of her family, that independence of spirit may cause her heartache where none should be necessary. It becomes worse if she develops a habit of independence that may lead her to defy her husband. That will not do, my dear.”
Bab remained silent, not trusting her unruly tongue to express her feelings without landing her in trouble again.
“I hope that I make my point,” Lady Chisholm added gently.
“Yes, madam,” Bab murmured. Inhaling deeply in another attempt to ease her frustration, she added, “My mother asked me to discover a time when you and she can discuss the matter further. She is resting, but she suggested that tonight after supper might be suitable.”
“I am entirely at her disposal,” Lady Chisholm said.
Taking her leave, Bab slipped her hands into the folds of her skirt to conceal the fact that they were clenched into fists. She had understood Lady Chisholm perfectly. Since Patrick would not disapprove of the marriage, if Chisholm approved, his lady would do nothing to help Bab defy her mother’s wishes.
There was clearly only one course left to take, and that was to seek help from Chisholm himself. If he and Sir Gilchrist never signed a contract, surely nothing could prevent his calling the whole thing off, although she knew she would be on firmer ground if she could say she disliked Sir Alex or could accuse him of cruelty. She could do neither. She liked him, but she did not want to spend the rest of her life submitting to his wishes and putting up with his silly affectations and indolent behavior. She feared that Chisholm would be unsympathetic, though.
She was unable to speak to him until after supper, but as soon as her mother and Lady Chisholm rose to retire to the latter’s bower, she asked if she might speak privately with him.
“Of course, lass. Come upstairs to my private chamber.”
She saw him glance at Sir Alex, and noted a lurking twinkle in Alex’s eyes that told her he had guessed the topic of their discussion.
That twinkle firmed her resolve, however, and as soon as Chisholm had shut the door of his private room, she said, “I do not want to marry Sir Alex, my lord. No one ever asked me if I did. Please, can you not help me straighten out this coil?”
“Sit down, Barbara,” he said calmly.
“But—”
“Sit down, lass.”
With a sigh, she obeyed, saying, “I do not mean to be uncivil, sir, but I feel as if I have been trapped into this wedding by forces wholly beyond my control.”
“We will avoid the dramatics, if you please,” he said, sitting opposite her. “Her ladyship has told me that she spoke with you earlier. The plain fact is that this marriage was your father’s wish, and I did not oppose it. Nor do I oppose it now.”
“But Sir Alex himself said there was no contract, sir. Surely he must—”
“I did not say there was,” Chisholm said bluntly. “Alex had departed for the Continent when the particular possibility of his marrying you arose between your father and me. Not to put too fine a point on the matter, we had several times since your birth discussed more than one possible alliance between our families.”
“But if that is the case, why did neither Sir Alex nor I hear of it?”
“Frankly, my dear, there was no reason to discuss it with you or with Alex. Our original discussions concerned a marriage to my eldest son, Robert, because he was naturally your father’s first choice.”
“But I was never contracted to him, was I?”
“Nay, for you were but a babe then, and Rob nearly thirteen. Moreover, I had other plans for him, grander plans.”
“I see,” Bab said, feeling a prick of resentment despite the fact that she would have strongly resisted a marriage to Sir Robert Chisholm. “Who was she?”
“That need not concern you, for she died when she was eleven. I was on the point of arranging another marriage for him when he was killed, but that lass ran off with a most unsuitable lover when she learned of Rob’s death.”
“Mercy,” Bab said.
“She did not enjoy much mercy,” Chisholm said with a grimace. “Her father caught up with them and sent the lover to seek his mercy before God whilst the lass—ruined, as she was—is now contemplating her sins in a nunnery.”
Bab shivered.
“Gilchrist also suggested that you might marry Michael,” Chisholm went on, “but Michael believed he had years ahead of him before he need choose a wife and set up a nursery, and I did not press him. Alex was my youngest, and doubtless Gilchrist therefore thought less of him than of the other two, but he believed a union would be good for both families, and so he did suggest the possibility a month or so before Kinlochewe. I said I had no objection, but I did suggest that we wait to be sure Alex returned safely from his travels before drawing up the contract.”
“But matters have changed now, sir. I should think you would still prefer a much grander alliance for your heir. And since there was no contract…”
He was staring into space, but when she paused, he said, “I have learned that life is too short and real friends too few to ignore their wishes, lass.”
“Then why did you not speak to Patrick at Stirling?”
“Because I could not seem to make myself care about anything,” he said quietly. “Also, as you know, your father died before Alex returned, and since your brother said nothing about the matter when we did meet, I assumed that Gilchrist had not told him about our discussions. Other matters had intervened in the meantime, so until your mother broached the topic, it simply lay dormant.”
Other matters, she knew, being the deaths of his two older sons. She realized then that he had lost a dear friend and two beloved sons within two years. “But surely, my lord,” she said gently, “I should have some say in the matter.”
He frowned. “Do you think your father would have discussed it with you? Recall that he had not discussed our other talks with you, and surely you knew that the day would come when he would arrange your marriage.”
“He nearly always let me have my say in things.”
“In trivial matters, perhaps. He did not hide the fact that he doted on you, lass, but he would have expected your obedience in this of all things.”
She could not deny that, much as she would have liked to. As kind and loving as Sir Gilchrist MacRae had been, he did expect obedience from his children, and she knew it was a father’s responsibility to provide his daughter with a good marriage. Her father would not have allowed her to make an unsuitable one.
Forcing calm, she said, “Nevertheless, sir, in Patrick’s absence, I have grown accustomed to making my own decisions and looking after Ardintoul, as well.”
“Then you must feel relieved that you need no longer do so,” he replied. “Women are not suited by nature to attend to such matters.”
“I did not mind,” she said, refusing to think of all the times she had railed against her lot and wished that someone else—Patrick, by choice—would deal with the more challenging problems at home. There had been many other times, however, when resolving a particular crisis had given her great satisfaction.
“My dear,” Chisholm said, clearly tiring of the discussion, “I know that in the end, as a good daughter and dutiful sister, you will obey the expressed wishes of your parents and your brother just as Alex will obey mine.”
Tempted though she was to tell him that his son had promised he would not force her into a marriage she opposed, she did not. Perhaps it was his stern look or merely his confidence that she would obey, but something made it impossible to fling Sir Alex’s promise in his teeth, so she said nothing.
He stood, indicating that the interview was over, and she made her curtsy. But as she turned to leave, she realized that she could not just walk away like a petulant child, so she turned back, forcing a smile.
“Thank you for taking the trouble to explain all this to me, my lord.”
“Conversation with you must always be a pleasure, lass,” he said, smiling. “You will see. Marrying Alex will not be such a horrible fate, but if you are still determined to refuse, you need only stand up before the priest and all the witnesses and do so. The law will support you, although your friends and kinsmen may not.”
Horrified by the image his words produced, she bobbed a curtsy and fled.
Having no wish to seek out her mother, Lady Chisholm, or Sir Alex, she went to her bedchamber. When she entered to find no hot water awaiting her and realized that Giorsal must still be busy elsewhere, she used cold water from the ewer to wash her face and prepared for bed without assistance.
By the time Giorsal looked into the room, Bab was beneath the covers, and although she was not yet asleep, she did not stir.
Giorsal quietly closed the door without disturbing her, but Bab could not sleep. She could think of no way to stop the wedding other than to demand that Sir Alex keep his promise, but his casual attitude and amiable if cork-brained belief that there was no particular reason they should not marry made her fear he might fail to keep that promise. He had certainly shown no more inclination than his mother to defy Chisholm, unless of course, one counted his continual, albeit detached refusal to pit his wits against the sheriff or the sheriff’s horrid son.
Bab slept restlessly and when morning came, she was bleary eyed and in no mood for Giorsal’s cheerful chatter when the woman bustled in at her usual time with hot water, talking from the moment she entered the room.
“A fine morning it is,” she said, “and not one for a body to be lying abed till all hours, so up ye get and wash your face whilst I fetch out your gown.”
“I’ll want my riding dress, Giorsal.”
“Nay, for ye’ll no want to ride out this morning, mistress. That devil Fox were riding again last night, because his high and mightiness Francis Dalcross ha’ been making mischief again. The man’s a villain and nae mistake, so I for one hope the Fox pulls his ears off and feeds them to his dogs!”
“What has Francis done now?” Bab asked, interested despite her mood. Since she was determined to avoid their ladyships and all talk of weddings, she had not known what she would do with the morning. Now she did, although Francis Dalcross’s name was not the one that had piqued her interest.
Giorsal snorted in a way that she would roundly have condemned had Bab done it and said, “It seems that the grand Sheriff o’ Inverness requires more funds to support enforcement o’ his new laws. Therefore, he ha’ taken the notion o’ taking more from everyone, including the priest in Nigg, who, heaven kens, has nowt to spare. But the sheriff, or more likely that villainous son o’ his, ha’ decided that if the man willna share his funds, he must be punished and the funds taken.”
“But surely Francis cannot do that,” Bab said.
“He did do it,” Giorsal insisted. “His men took by force all that the good priest had, calling everything beyond the amount required a fine for noncompliance wi’ the law, if ye please. As if the Crown ever took from the Kirk!”
Well aware that for centuries there had been a running battle between governments and the holy Kirk over just such matters, and that King Henry of England had certainly taken money from the Roman Church and had for some time been encouraging his nephew to do likewise in Scotland, Bab held her tongue. She knew it would be hopeless to try to explain such matters to Giorsal when she did not understand them herself. Indeed, how Henry could think James of Scotland would ever consent to Henry’s being named head of the Scottish Kirk, she could not imagine, but that was, after all, one of the primary reasons that Patrick and the others were determined to prevent an English invasion.
Instead of engaging in such a pointless conversation, she said coolly, “I do intend to ride today, Giorsal, so fetch my dark green riding dress and pray do not argue. I am in no mood for it, and I shall be quite safe, I promise you.”
Giorsal opened her mouth but shut it after a swift, appraising glance, and thirty minutes later, Bab was in the stables ordering a gilly to saddle her gray.
“D’ye want me to go wi’ ye, mistress?”
“Not today,” she said, hoping no one had given orders to the contrary.
Apparently, no one had thought it necessary, for without further ado, the lad threw her saddle on the gray gelding and tightened its girth. Then, lifting her onto the saddle, he grinned when she thanked him and turned back to his work.
With rumors abounding that the Fox was riding, Bab did not feel certain she would succeed in leaving the castle until she was outside the gates, but no one tried to stop her. Either those with authority to stop her had not heard that the masked rider was in the area, or it had not occurred to any of them that she might dare to ride out alone. Or perhaps it was simply that the lad who saddled her horse did not know that she was to have an escort and the men at the gate likewise did not know.
She remembered only then that Chisholm himself had warned her against riding out alone. He had not actually commanded her not to do so, however. He had said only that for a woman to ride alone was dangerous, but she knew she could not depend upon his remembering it that way. Men, in her experience, remembered such discussions the way they wanted to remember them.
But if she wanted to find the Fox, she would not
do so with an armed escort, and in any event, she did not fear him, because he would not harm her. More importantly, he might help her think of a way to prevent her wedding, and in any case, she wanted to tell him about it if only to see what he would say.
Not having the slightest notion of how or where to find him but remembering that the nearest village lay near where Glen Affric met Glen Urquhart, she followed the narrow track along the fast-flowing River Affric, hoping that one or another of the villagers might have an idea where to seek him.
She soon came to a point where the river gorge narrowed considerably before plunging downhill toward Glen Urquhart. For some distance then the track led away from the rushing water and the precipitous granite walls that confined it, winding through dense woodland until it emerged on a flat, heather-clad moor.
Bab’s thoughts dwelt on images of meeting the Fox and telling him of the wedding as the track sloped down through another patch of woodland. On the other side, she came upon a sight that banished all thought of the Fox from her mind.
Two horsemen had stopped a small boy with a wild thatch of red hair, and just as she spied them on the narrow track, both dismounted. One struck the child across the face and sent him sprawling to the ground.
“Stop that!” Bab shouted, giving spur to the gelding. “Leave that lad be!”
The two men turned toward her as the child sat up holding his head. She did not rein in her horse until she was nearly on top of them, making their horses shy nervously as the gelding came to a plunging halt beside them.
“How dare you brutalize that child,” she cried. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, the pair of you!”
“This be nae business o’ yours, mistress,” the larger of the two snapped.
“It is the business of all good people to protect children. Now go on about your business and leave that child alone.”
“She be a right bonnie lass,” the other man murmured, putting his hands on his hips as he thrust his hips forward and leered at her.
Bab glared at him and clutched her riding whip tightly. “You keep a civil tongue in your head, sirrah,” she warned him.