“Green eyes?” asked Maggie.
“Aye, and beautifully shaped they are. They reminded me slightly of a cat I once had…”
“She has cat’s eyes?”
“Let her finish, Maggie,” Mary scolded, very eager to hear the description of Dahlia.
“And reddish hair that framed her heart-shaped face. A lovely creature she is. Her skin, where not marred by bruises, is like the finest porcelain. Her hands are very fine; her fingers slender. And such an engagement ring!”
“How tall is she?”
“Oh, hard to tell as she was sitting down with her feet up. Perhaps about the same height as Matty, but slighter. Master Jamie picked her up as if she weighed nothing.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed at hearing this. “Sitting with her feet propped up, Jamie carrying her about, and everyone else waiting on her hand and foot. Sounds like she thinks she’s quite above us all!”
“No,” Grace refuted with a tisk. “Said please and thank you and was very gracious when introduced to MacTavish. Doesn’t treat Matty as anything other than a friend, like an equal.”
This fine account of Mrs. James Kent grated on Mary. She wanted her to be plain and unpleasant to ease her conscious and to give Jamie an excuse to succumb to her advances.
“Will she be abed much longer?” Mary hoped the answer was yes. It would give her more opportunity to interact with Jamie away from the eyes of his wife.
“That, I don’t know,” Grace admitted. “I do know that she sleeps in it alone,” she said mischievously.
“Alone?”
“Aye. When I took the breakfast tray up this morning, Master Jamie had already left. He hadn’t put up the quilt and pillow from the couch, though.”
“Why on earth would he be sleeping on the couch?” Maggie wanted to know.
“Probably so as not to disturb the girl, injured as she is.”
There were nods all around the table, but Mary had helped make up the room when they heard the couple was arriving. That bed was big enough for a whole family. Jamie wouldn’t disturb his wife if he jumped up and down on his side. Her outlook brightened. If the young Mrs. Kent couldn’t attend to her husband’s needs, all the better for her to do so.
“Maybe because she is pregnant already – more pregnant than a month or so,” Mary said meanly. “That would explain their sudden marriage.”
Gasps escaped around the table, but Grace shook her head. “Don’t be so mean-spirited Mary Katherine Gordon! Mrs. Kent is not pregnant. She asked me to bring her her things for that time of the month at the beginning of the week and I’ve been helping her every morning when I bring her tea up.”
That ended the speculation of the group decisively, and there was a brief lull in the conversation as this path of gossip was ended.
“What does she like to do?” Maggie asked, still curious about the newcomer. “I saw Matty and Master Jamie bringing books and paints and whatnot up to her.”
“Tis not my place to ask about her hobbies. I did hear Master Jamie tell MacTavish that she was a very fine singer and could play the piano forte exceptionally well. Jamie suggested that when his wife was well enough, they should play together. There’s something there, though. For some reason, Mrs. Kent didn’t seem to relish that idea.” Grace took a sip of tea, thinking on this.
“Oh! Perhaps she doesn’t like sharing the stage.”
“Maybe she’s afraid her talents won’t stand up to those of our MacTavish!”
“No. There’s a secret there,” Grace said, taking another sip of tea to prolong the suspense. “She and Matty exchanged a look that seemed to speak volumes. Master Jamie saw it and looked uncomfortable that he had made the recommendation.”
This quieted the group while they all imagined what the secret could be.
Chapter 70
Trevor had noted the looks Matty, Dahlia and James had shared, too, and was trying to ferret out his own answers. He worked with James replastering one of the rooms that was no longer used due to a leak in the ceiling. They had repaired the piping shortly after James had arrived and had had it scrubbed to remove the moldy grime on the walls and floor. Now, it had dried to the point that new plaster could be applied.
“Ye’ve caught yourself a beautiful woman, Kent. How did ye do it? Scrawny thing that ye were when ye left Scotland.”
James laughed. “I learned how to speak proper English and stopped eating haggis! You do that and the women will flock to you.”
Trevor laughed. “My brogue seems to be working just fine with Miss Matty. I’m serious though. Your Dahlia has a fairy quality about her.”
“You should hear her when she sings. Between her eyes and her voice…I was lost immediately. She’s an enchantress, that one.”
Trevor jumped on the opening James offered him. “She didn’t seem too keen on singing with me or for me,” he said with an eye on how James reacted. He caught what he expected – James seemed to be startled that Trevor had picked up on the exchange he, Matty and Dahlia shared the evening before.
“Due to her accident, no doubt,” James responded without looking at Trevor, trying to make light of it.
“How’s that then?”
“Cracked her ribs in the fall. Probably will be painful to try to sing for some time yet.”
“Hard to believe such a slight creature could handle a stallion,” Trevor pressed on in a different direction. He had definitely overheard the word ‘attack’ in the hushed conversation between James and Matty. This made more sense to him as he had never seen such facial bruises from a fall from a horse – only a fist fight. Faded as they were, their location and extent was apparent.
“Dahlia is unique,” James said simply, feeling he was in dangerous territory.
Trevor noted his guarded response. “She seemed to enjoy herself last night. No doubt she’ll mend quickly now.”
This had the desired effect. James smiled. “She did enjoy it. Her family is quite lively and entertain their neighbors often. To be confined to bed for so long is making Dahlia a bit anxious to be out and about. Especially in a new environment with so many of my family yet to meet.”
“I thank ye for introducing her to me after your mother, then.”
“Aye, well, you’d have been further down on the list if it weren’t for your interest in Matty,” James joked.
“Ah, Matty. A gorgeous creature…with a very fine arse.”
James looked at him sharply. “What would you know about that?”
“I told ye the opportunity to meet her fell in my lap. That was a wee bit of a stretch to the truth. She sat in my lap.”
“Sat? In your lap?”
“Well, admittedly, she didn’t mean to. Had her nose in a book and I was in the far corner of the library – the one that is always dark because of the shelving. She sat right down on my lap. She was only there for a split second. I was gentleman enough to advise her of my presence immediately.” He laughed, remembering her reaction. “Hopped up like she had sat on a fire.”
James smiled as he imagined this. “Just make sure you keep your hands off her arse!”
“Ooooh, but tis our nature to want to – especially when the inducement is sooo fine!”
James chuckled. “You don’t change, do you?”
“Haven’t found a reason to as yet.”
“We’ve both had our luck with the ladies, MacTavish, but,” he said pointing a plaster-covered finger at his friend. “Matty is not to be toyed with.”
“And who said anything about toying with her? I’ve learned from ye, Kent. When you see something special – like your fairy queen – ye take her to the alter, not to the barn for a tumble.”
James laughed, amused as much by his friend’s description of Dahlia as by his logic.
“Your wife’s accident happened shortly after your wedding, I understand. No doubt you’re as anxious for her full recovery as she is, eh? Spending your first month of married life apart must be driving ye crazy.”
Trevor saw
a shadow fell over James’ face that had nothing to do with the fire light from the hearth dancing about the room. It was not the reaction of a young man who had experienced the delights of his new wife for a brief time, only to be forced to abstain from them so soon afterwards. Another mystery. He quickly decided against restraint to press for the answer.
“I was only joking, James. Did I say something to offend ye?”
“No,” James said, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t. It’s just that, well, it is driving me crazy, but not for the reason you imagine.”
Trevor waited patiently while his friend collected his thoughts, and his patience paid off handsomely.
“It’s just that, well, you see Dahlia lost her memory as a result of the accident. She was unconscious for days. The doctor said that in these cases, it is not unusual to forget periods of time just before the injury. Dahlia…she remembers nothing from several weeks before the accident.”
“Including your wedding and your honeymoon,” guessed Trevor.
“Aye.”
“I see. Well, ye know I’ve never been married, but from what I hear the wedding night can be a nerve-wracking experience for both parties.” He chuckled lightly. “Think of the positive in this situation. Whether or not she remembers your – relations – ye both know that ye’ve gotten past that difficulty and will be more relaxed when they resume,” he said delicately. “And it is probable that Dahlia will be able to better…appreciate…her first time with a man, so to speak.”
This time, his words did not have the effect he expected. Trevor watched James carefully. Pain clouded his expression again, then his eyes took on the dark look of anger. Unknown to Trevor, his mention of ‘the first time’ provoked in his friend both the pain of imagining Standford forcing himself on her and his fury at the injustice of it.
Trevor was trained to read people’s expressions. He gauged his success at storytelling by reading the reactions of his audience and determining how well he lead them to feel what he wished to convey. He watched James and knew what he was feeling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why.
He could smell a story here yet to unfold as surely as his Spaniel could pick up the scent of a quarry in the field. He wouldn’t jeopardize his friendship with James, though, to flush it out. He had learned over the years that just as the telling of a good story could not be rushed, so, too, the unveiling of one needed patient cajoling rather than force.
He also knew that when one source of information went dry, to try another. Trevor was therefore doubly pleased to find that Matty had come down for dinner that evening. He had missed seeing her during the week she had been sick, as the time he had spent with her the prior evening reminded him. He made sure to escort her to her seat, and hold her chair for her as she sat down. He was rewarded with a charming smile as she looked up at him to say ‘thank you.’ Familiar as he was with love stories and poems and songs, words could simply not convey the thrill of seeing the woman you cared for looking at you in a way she looked at no other person in the world. In that instant, Trevor’s instinct was to grab her face with both hands and kiss her. He felt, rather than saw, James’ scrutiny, however, and forced himself to sit down.
After dinner, the family dispersed to two adjoining rooms for various forms of entertainment and relaxation. James’ sister Ursula was playing the piano while the remainder of his siblings played games with their cousins. James was speaking with his several of his uncles, and his mother and aunts took up their needlework. No one seemed to notice when Trevor and Matty continued down the hallway to the library – alone.
As engaged in their conversation as she was, Matty herself hadn’t noticed that they had left the group behind. It wasn’t until their discussion of the differences between the Irish and Scottish legends surrounding standing stones had ended that she observed the sudden quiet. She looked around, wondering how she had arrived at the library.
“Are ye well Miss Kincaid? Ye look a bit piqued.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Come,” he said, taking her arm and walking her to a small bench. “Sit.”
She did, feeling grateful until he sat down next to her. Given the short length of the bench, he was so close that his thigh rested against hers. This distracted her as much as his clean and earthy smell.
“And how is the young Mrs. Kent today? Last night was not too much for her, I hope.”
Matty was reassured by this safe and neutral topic. “Yes, we spent a good amount of time together today talking. She is doing very well. Thank you for asking.”
“Good.”
“She enjoyed your company very much,” Matty said, remembering their conversation.
“I trust she wasn’t the only one.”
“What? Oh,” Matty said, blushing. “No. I – we all enjoyed the evening.”
“Jamie mentioned Dahlia is quite fond of music but she did not seem to like his suggestion that we play together when she is well. You have heard me sing and play. I hope you did not find my talent lacking and tell your friend that I was beneath her standards.” Gentle prodding…
Matty looked genuinely distressed that he would think that of her or her friend. “No! Not at all. It’s not that.”
“What, then, caused her hesitation?”
Matty looked away, unsure of what to say – or whether she should say it.
“Did she feel Jamie overestimated her own abilities because of his affection for her?” A little cajoling…
“No,” Matty laughed. “Miss Dahlia’s musical talent is absolute genius. She has the voice of a siren and can play any instrument you put before her. Her whole being is about music!”
Trevor gasped. “She didn’t forget how to play, did she?”
Matty looked up quickly. “Why would you say that?”
“James told me she lost her memory – as a result of the accident.”
“Oh,” Matty said, slightly relieved that she would not be the one to reveal that bit of information. “I don’t think she has forgotten how to play since she has done that since she was a child. The real problem is not hearing the music.”
Trevor did not know what to make of this. “She seemed to hear fine last night.”
Matty laughed at his stupefied expression. “No, her ears hear fine. It’s the music in her mind that is gone.”
Trevor sensed that he had uncovered something of importance, but why it was important still eluded him. “The music in her mind?”
Matty realized that James had told his friend about her loss of memory but not the loss of her music, and was suddenly unsure of whether or not she had said too much. Many people knew about Dahlia’s ‘inner music.’ That was no secret. Granted, she only told family and close friends as she was afraid people wouldn’t believe her, but it was not something associated with the real reason they had come to Scotland. Feeling more confident, she explained Dahlia’s gift.
“So she composes music, just like that, in her head?”
Matty nodded. “At some point, James convinced her to write all the compositions down. I don’t read music, but there are dozens and dozens of songs written down. We brought them with us from Cirencester,” she added, as if to substantiate her story. “What I do know, is that she plays the most extraordinary pieces that I’ve never heard anywhere else.”
Trevor had spent years teaching himself how to play a few instruments, and just as long struggling to compose his own tunes. To hear of this ability – to know that there was a person who just thought up music – filled him with wonder, and no small amount of jealousy “Amazing! But, now she can’t do that anymore?”
“Not since the accident.”
To have such a gift – an ability that brought forth music as easily as pouring wine from a pitcher! Trevor could barely think of it without a pang of longing as he imagined having such a gift and then losing it. He could easily imagine the magnitude of Dahlia’s sense of loss. No wonder the furtive glances of the night before!
Ma
tty was watching his face. “You understand, now.”
Trevor turned to look her in the eyes. “Yes, I do. My apologies for bringing up an issue that would have caused your friend concern or discomfort. I’ll not do it again.”
Matty was relieved that he did seem to believe her, understand her, and appreciate what it meant to Dahlia. “How could you have known?”
“Indeed.” Well, a story he did find, albeit not one he ever could have dreamed. The distant sound of the piano from the other room filled the silence of the library. “How do ye think she’d react to others playing or singing.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I know her appreciation of music was such that she would definitely appreciate yours. Perhaps hearing the ethereal beauty of your flute will help her hear the music in her mind again.”
Trevor smiled at the compliment. “Only if ye’re sure it would not cause her anguish,” he said, sincerely.
Matty smiled at him. “You’re a good man Mr. MacTavish.”
He looked back at her, studying her lovely face and earnest expression. “Not always, Miss Kincaid.” Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Chapter 71
The rhythm of the keep’s daily activities was infused with the excitement of Christmas preparations. Furniture was rearranged to make room for the Christmas trees, boxes of decorations were retrieved from storage, and all the children were on especially good behavior to ensure the annual visit from Saint Nicholas did not pass them by. From her room, Dahlia could hear the sound of axes cutting the tree trunks of the fragrant firs and the wood stands to hold them erect under the weight of their forthcoming gilding.
Dahlia did her part by hosting the castle’s younger inhabitants to create paper garlands. Together with Matty and nearly a dozen of James’ siblings and nieces and nephews to whom she had been introduced the previous day, they were all gathered in her circular sitting room. Groups of threes and fours dotted the floor. Some cut the paper strips; others pasted strands together which were taken by Matty to yet another group to link together. Elspeth, James’ oldest sister, sat with her cousin Tamara on the settee. The two reminded Dahlia of Victoria and Adelaide of the Gaggle back in Cirencester. Both were older than Dahlia, but seemed very impressed by her married state and seemed to defer to her for having achieved it at just fifteen. They maintained a constant chatter of commentary about other girls their age and their potential lovers, couples, and scandals – both real and imagined – in the county.
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