At one point, Matty looked up abruptly as Tamara exclaimed, “Oh, but wouldn’t MacTavish be more suited to her?”
Dahlia observed that Matty seemed to hold her breath until Elspeth responded dismissively with “Oh no, he’s too old for her.”
Matty had confided in Dahlia about her growing affections for the bard, as well as the fact that she felt her attraction was returned in spades by the intensity of his kisses. Dahlia was at the same time pleased that no one seemed to know of the pair’s relationship – which meant they were being discrete, and the urge to proclaim to the gossiping girls that MacTavish was spoken for. It was not her place to do so, however, and she just gave Matty a reassuring smile.
By lunchtime the younger children had all but exhausted the supplies of paper and paste, which was just as well since the novelty of creating the yards and yards of garlands had worn off. Elspeth and Tamara seemed capable of continuing their running dialogue forever, so Dahlia was relieved when James walked into the room to announce lunch was served downstairs. The children jumped up immediately, only some of them remembering to bid farewell to Dahlia before running downstairs.
James’ sister and her cousin remained seated, asking James if he remembered this person or that. He patiently indulged them for a time while Matty started to pick up the bits of discarded paper that covered the floor like confetti. Standing beside her chair, he rested a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder. As he absentmindedly stroked the back of her neck with his thumb, the girls’ voices melded together in an incomprehensible and rhythmic babble as she lost her concentration and interest. Focused on his warm touch, she leaned her head back slightly towards its source. James looked down at her and took this as a sign she was growing fatigued by the morning’s gathering. He quickly, but politely suggested that the girls join the others downstairs for lunch. Unfazed by the dismissal, they took their leave and walked out, still in full conversation.
James knelt down by Dahlia’s chair. No one would know from looking at her that she had been at death’s door six weeks earlier. She looked as stunning as when he had last seen her in Cirencester in the spring. “Would you like to go downstairs or stay here for lunch?”
“That depends on where you’ll be. Your matchmaker sister is likely to forget you are married and pair you up with someone if I’m not there to remind her!”
James laughed as the distinct possibility of this, knowing his sister. “We’d better stay up here together, then. I’ll ask Grace to prepare us a tray,” he said, standing. Before turning to go, he put his hand under Dahlia’s chin and lifted it, then bent down to kiss her. He meant it to be a brief parting kiss, but as he felt her lips respond to his, he lingered, enjoying the sensation. He pressed his tongue forward gently and found hers eager to meet his. As the kiss deepened, he heard a small moan in her throat. Only his hand under her chin and his mouth were touching her, so he knew it was not a moan of pain. This only left one alternative for the sound and he forgot all about lunch and the world in general around him as he focused on extending Dahlia’s pleasure.
Heavy footsteps and a loud clearing of the throat broke the suspension of time for both Dahlia and James. “Forgive me Master Jamie, Mrs. Kent. Your sister thought you might like a tray brought up. I can see she was right,” said Grace, unperturbed by the scene she walked into. “I’ll just put the tray here, shall I?”
James pressed his lips against Dahlia’s once more before straightening. “That’ll be fine. Thank you, Grace.”
The woman smiled at him and nodded to Dahlia as she passed them on her way out of the room. “As you were,” she called, disappearing through the doorway.
Dahlia felt like she had warm honey flowing through her veins, and wanted to languish in the feeling. She accepted the plate James handed her without any inclination to eat.
James took his plate and sat down on the settee, a boiling, churning feeling in his gut that was assaulted by the icy uncertainty in his mind. The two contrasting sensations intersected in his chest and he commented about something or other in an attempt to hide his inner turmoil. Dahlia reacted to his kiss as if she were ready to move forward, physically and emotionally, with their relationship. He could not forget, however, what she could not remember regarding the attack, and wondered whether or not he was proceeding too quickly. When she kissed him like that, he had flashbacks to the night at the barn and on the top of the tor when he had held her in his arms and she explored the boundaries of the unknown. Such territory was still unknown, but they had led her to believe she had already crossed into those fields and experienced their splendor as a privilege of marriage. He had the right as her husband to forge forward, but also the responsibility to protect her. In addition to the promise he had made to her father, he knew in that logical part of his mind that proceeding with the deception was dangerous. It was too soon. What if their physical union opened the floodgates of her memory to what happened with Standford? Would she then reject him? Hate him? Leave him? He looked at his beautiful songbird across the room. No, it was too soon and he couldn’t – wouldn’t – take such chances. He would keep her in her gilded cage, safe, for now.
-----
Trevor had no such qualms disturbing his enjoyment of Matty’s kisses and embraces. As eager as she was, it was only her prudence that ended their encounters sooner than he wished. He knew full well that Matty’s morals and upbringing would not allow her to succumb to desire before marriage. He found it fascinating how she could disentangle their limbs and her emotions when all his senses obliterated all aspects of reality except her touch. He could be so thoroughly lost in the smell and feel of her skin one moment, and the next she was an arm’s distance away straightening her clothes and smoothing her hair.
So be it, he thought one evening as he watched her walk hurriedly away, claiming somewhere to be and something to do. Marry her he would, if that’s what it took to keep her in his arms longer than a quarter hour! He laughed out loud at himself. He had perfected the art of evasion with many girls who thought to hold back their love until he married them. More often than not, they ended up offering him what he wanted with no promises in return. Matty was not one of them. Instead of moving on as a result of her refusal, he found himself intrigued by the feisty Irish storyteller – and tell a story she could. They worked it out so that they alternated opportunities to enchant the MacFarlain clan, and tried to outdo each other to the delight of their listeners. When he sang or played, he felt the comfort of knowing her eyes were on him at all times. He discovered that Matty was a woman he wanted to be around at all times, not just when she was in his arms.
So he let her go when she insisted, knowing she would be back and enjoying the game they played. When the tension between them became too much for them to endure and she insisted they marry, he would do so gladly.
As it turned out, however, it was not Matty that insisted they marry at all – it was the young Mrs. Kent.
Chapter 72
Dahlia felt that the weeks leading up to Christmas were the most charmed of her life. She woke up happy and with less pain every day. James would arrive late morning to carry her downstairs where she sought and found her place among the castle’s community. The early hesitation and restraint around her soon vanished, along with her earlier feelings of being a recluse when she had been confined to her bed. An ankle and a knee still pained her when she walked, but eased as she did so more often.
Her days were filled with laughter, conversation, and all sorts of activities. James was attentive to her and demonstrative when their paths intersected. At times, she guessed he caused their paths to cross, like when he would cross through the salon where she was working needlepoint with his mother and the other ladies. She knew he could have taken a shorter route to where he claimed he was going. He would greet the women with all the considerable charm he possessed. He would make a point to kiss Dahlia’s hand or forehead before leaving the room while the women’s praises of how handsome, kind, hard-working, and thoughtful he w
as followed in his wake. It made Dahlia feel special, loved, and proud of her husband.
One afternoon, Trevor joined the women in one of the parlors. He drew up a chair by the fire next to Dahlia and started to play his flute. Several of the ladies made requests for various songs that they favored and he obliged each of them.
“Have ye any requests, Mrs. Kent?” he said to Dahlia.
Dahlia smiled, but didn’t answer immediately. How strange that she should be asked that when it was she who had always done the asking. In Cirencester, it was she who normally played for the enjoyment of others as well as for herself. To be asked what song she wanted to hear only reminded her that she didn’t hear any songs in her mind. She found she could get through most days now without thinking about the silence, filled as they were with external sounds and conversations.
Noticing that Trevor was waiting for her answer, she quickly replied, “No. nothing in particular. Perhaps you could play one of your own compositions. I hear you have written some lovely songs.”
This seemed to please Trevor. “Well, I have been working on something new. I was inspired, ye see.” He winked at her and she was sure he meant Matty. To all the women, he said, “If ye’ll all be patient, I’ll play what I have of the new tune and see if I can finish it.”
Dahlia was intrigued by his composition that seemed beautifully happy and melancholy at the same time. She imagined that if she had heard the tune the day James gave her the lace gloves it would have made her daydream of love, but if she had heard it at Lady Sweet’s funeral she would have wept to its rhythms. In the middle of her reverie, however, Trevor stopped.
“That’s as far as I’ve gotten with it,” he explained. He picked up a variation of the tune, then stopped again. He dropped the notes an octave and played them slower, then stopped again.
One of the ladies said, “They are all lovely.”
Dahlia realized the woman thought he was playing various songs. She knew he was not; he had composed various renditions of a theme, but he could not put them all together – to stitch the components into a cohesive, flowing order. Suddenly, Dahlia knew how they fit. She didn’t hear the missing bars, but she could see the notes as if they were in front of her. She put down her needlepoint and went to the desk. Taking out a sheet of paper, she wrote the notes she had heard Trevor play, along with the new transitions she had already seen in her head. She still did not hear them, but was ecstatic that she knew what the notes were – they were there in her head just the same. She wrote furiously, afraid the visions of the notes would disappear just as she had lost their accompanying sounds in her mind.
She had not yet finished by the time dinner was called. As the room emptied, she indicated to the group she would follow shortly. Five sheets later when the song was completed, Dahlia sat back and reviewed the pages. She read the notes as if she read a novel and knew they were right. For once, she felt no frustration at not hearing them in her head. She had proof they were there! She carefully folded the pages and left the room filled with hope that her music would return. If she could imagine the music – as she had just done – surely she would hear the glorious sounds again one day.
As she headed for the dining hall, she found one of James’ young cousins, a boy named Shamus. “Would you be a dear and deliver this to Mr. MacTavish’s room? It’s very important it arrive in his quarters safely.”
The young boy’s eyes widened as she stressed the urgency of his task. “Yes, Miss Dahlia. I’ll take it there right now!” He grasped the folded music and ran down the hallway.
It wasn’t until very late that night that Trevor returned to his room to find the pages. He had just come from the library where he spent time with Matty, and his senses were filled with her. He wouldn’t have seen the pages at all until morning except that Shamus had placed them on his pillow. Thinking it was a love note Matty had left earlier in the day, he brought the candle closer and lay down propped up on his elbow to read it.
The pages contained no words of love; it contained no words at all, in fact. Surprised and slightly disappointed they weren’t from Matty, he leafed through and saw all the pages just contained music. He went back to the first page to make sense of what he had been given. It dawned on him that this was the song he was composing. Today was the first time he had played it for anyone, and someone had heard him play it just the once and transcribed it exactly. As he came to the end of the first piece he saw the new notes. He swung his feet over the side of the bed to sit upright. What he saw astounded him. He had been struggling with the transitions for weeks. In a single hearing, someone had bridged the gaps between the components and variations – perfectly. There were no extraneous notes, but each one was placed in perfect harmony with the ones he composed and tied the whole piece together.
Trevor thought of the women in the room earlier. It had to be Dahlia Kent. Both James and Matty had said she was a musical genius, but he had not believed them. James was in love with her and Matty was her friend – of course they would praise her accomplishments. He also remembered James telling him how Dahlia heard music in her mind – until the accident. She must have recovered it. As her body healed, so must her mind have recuperated its former abilities.
Suddenly, Trevor felt very insignificant. In his hand was proof that Dahlia was, in fact, a musical genius. She had the God-given ability that many, like himself, worked years to achieve. His own level of achievement paled in comparison with what this young woman had done in a matter of minutes.
She had given him the answers he sought, but had not signed the pages or given them to him directly. Her modesty was a credit to her, especially given the magnitude of her talent. He could not thank her, then, for this gift. The only thing he could do would be to acknowledge it by playing it for her.
He did so the following evening as the family gathered in one of the great rooms after dinner. As was customary, everyone split into various groups. Some played cards, some read, and others chatted quietly while someone played or sang. When Trevor played his new song tonight, however, everyone stopped what they were doing. It was a melody that sounded differently to each person, yet captivated all who heard it.
Trevor looked at Matty throughout most of the song, for she had inspired its writing. But when it was over and everyone expressed their acclaim, it was Dahlia to whom he transferred his intense gaze and gave her a quick nod to let her know he knew it was her gift that had allowed him to finish the piece.
Matty noticed how Trevor looked at Dahlia since she watched his attention divert away from her. James, who was seated next to Dahlia, also noted the special acknowledgement given to her. Trevor’s look was so penetrating that he had the feeling that he was trying to communicate something to his wife. For her part, Dahlia merely smiled and clapped with everyone else.
-----
There was enough snow on the ground outside that on one very fine clear day the horses were hitched up to two sleighs and everyone took a turn riding up and down the long drive to the castle. When it was her turn, James carried Dahlia to the sleigh and tucked her in under a thick blanket, then climbed in next to her. She got her first tour of the grounds and views of the surrounding countryside. It was rugged, but beautiful. She laughed as she saw the mountains, remembering how they called the tor behind Talbot Hall a mountain. If placed beside these mountains, it would appear nothing more than a fairy mound. The ride back to the castle let her see the structure in all its glory. The afternoon sun hit it and made it appear to sparkle. As run down as it may be on the inside, it was magnificent on the exterior and Dahlia felt like a princess as they glided over the snow towards the grand entrance.
Dahlia started to explore the keep, with James showing her the areas he was restoring. The children were a huge help in her acquaintance with the myriad halls, rooms, and staircases that at first seemed to have no rhyme or reason in their layout. They even showed her where there were hidden doors that looked like part of the wall paneling, and shortcuts from one locati
on to the next where one could travel without being seen by the majority of inhabitants who occupied the primary living spaces.
It was in one of these hidden corridors that Dahlia found a small room with a single settee and a table. An internal room with no windows, Dahlia decided it was the perfect place to work on her Christmas present for James – secluded from the rest of the living quarters and quiet as a tomb when she shut the door. She had used it several times and was starting to think of it as her exclusive hideaway, until one day she slipped in quietly and found a man and woman on the couch in an embrace. They were oblivious to her entrance, and Dahlia turned immediately to retreat, but something made her look back.
“Matty?”
The two bodies split apart abruptly as Trevor rolled off of Matty. Her bodice was loosened, showing a great deal of her décolletage, and her hair had been pulled out of its bun. “Miss Dahlia!”
“What on earth?” Dahlia exclaimed, as Trevor stood and Matty sat bolt upright trying to make herself presentable again.
“We were just, eh…”
“I know what you were “just eh” doing.” The sternness of her voice surprised even her. “You’ll not be doing “just” this here or anywhere else. How could you consent to this, Matty? Sneaking around to private rooms in dark hallways is absolutely beneath you. Come with me. We need to have a talk.” Matty jumped up and made for the door, but Dahlia didn’t follow her immediately. Instead, she turned to Trevor, regretting in that moment that she had helped him with his music. “I expect James’ll be having a word with you, Mr. MacTavish, but I want you to know I am thoroughly disappointed in you. Apparently, you have only the clothes of a gentleman because your behavior certainly does not recommend you as one.”
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