“Who does love her – madly!”
“Can you imagine a man loving a woman so much that he’d marry her when she was in love with someone else?”
“Oh, if I could only find such a man!”
“If I did, I wouldn’t reject him when he embraced me!”
“She rejected her husband? Why?”
“You said you didn’t want to hear what happened in the latest chapter.”
“She doesn’t know anyway. Still a big mystery.”
“Did she get her music back?”
“DON’T TELL ME!”
Josephine could barely keep up with the running commentary flying back and forth across the room. She didn’t get the Cornhill Magazine, but she could see she needed to start a subscription – and get her hands on back copies. This serial had quite the following in this group, and if they were talking about it, no doubt the rest of London was. Her trip to France followed by her stay in Bath had obviously deprived her of knowing about this latest literary sensation, but she had the curious suspicion she had read about the main points of it in her letter from Dahlia.
Chapter 81
James made good use of his time while in Glasgow. He liked the architects with whom he met, talked, argued, and collaborated. He continued his plans for the renovation of the castle, and, now that the worse of the winter weather and spring rains were over, he ordered supplies and had them shipped to Tarbet along with his instructions. He paid for them with some of the funds from his uncle’s “wedding gift.” They also paid for his expenses in the city. He lived very frugally, focusing entirely on what he had to do to put his family’s home – and his marriage – back in order.
Dahlia still did not write to him, but he had regular correspondence from his mother, grandfather, and Matty to keep him informed of how and what she was doing. James had instructed Dristan to give all letters addressed to him to Matty to forward to Glasgow. This included two letters from her father, though neither contained any further information about Edward Standford’s whereabouts. Squire Talbot did indicate that any rumors concerning Dahlia’s abrupt departure from Cirencester and her marriage to him had died down, especially when he had been able to positively confirm that she was not pregnant. No one seemed to know the truth about why Alyce killed her brother, for most could believe that she did it purely as a result of his abuse all those years.
By the end of April, James started to make plans to return to the castle. He could no longer stay away; they would need the remainder of the summer months to complete the replacement of the roof and other structural reinforcements. He had hoped that his absence would have caused Dahlia to regret his going away. Her lack of correspondence, though, did not give him much hope.
Two day before he left, a letter arrived via Matty from Miss McElroy. Curious, he took the letter to the pub where tables had been put out on the sidewalk. The weather was fine and he ordered a pint as he opened the letter. By the time the drink came, he was engrossed by her words. He dropped the letter and immediately went to the clippings she had enclosed.
An hour and two pints later, James had finished reading all of the chapters published to date on ‘The Mystery of Lily of the Valley.’ The Highlander, indeed, he thought, angry with MacTavish – for he knew that was the source of the serial. Who else could it be? He was the consummate storyteller and never hid the fact that he travelled to learn new stories. James had always thought he meant learning about new legends and myths and local gossip, but apparently he retold stories of the lives of real people. He could recognize the fiction MacTavish had added to round out the story, but the tale was based on facts of his wife’s situation – and his, including information that only three other people in the castle knew about. James doubted his mother or grandfather would have said anything to MacTavish. That left Matty. He couldn’t believe she would have told her husband the most intimate details of what had happened to Dahlia, not with all the care they had put into concealing them. He would believe that MacTavish eavesdropped, however. Regardless, he had cobbled together enough information to at least be headed in the direction of the truth and to present the right questions for all of London’s readership to join him on that journey to the truth. Now, more than ever, James needed to be back in Tarbet to stop him.
James threw some coins on the table and gathered up all the clippings with Miss McElroy’s letter, stuffing them into his coat pocket as he got up. He was so distracted that he bumped into another of the pub’s customers.
“Sorry, mate,” he mumbled to the patron. The man waved dismissively. James took one step, then whipped his head around. Looking back at him was Edward Standford.
-----
Dahlia re-read James’ last letter from Glasgow. He would arrive tomorrow, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. That’s not true, she thought. Her first response had been pleasure, a momentary flash of excitement to see him before remembering why he had left in the first place.
His grandfather was planning a cèilidh to celebrate James’ homecoming. She hadn’t known what a “cay-lee” was but Anna and Elspeth explained that it was basically a big party and they would invite the whole village. Many of the villagers had visited the castle over the past few months, so Dahlia had met quite a few. All of them had been excited to meet her, and made her feel welcome simply because she was James’ wife. Dahlia was grateful that none of them seemed to have any inkling of what had transpired at the castle during the winter – or even of her accident.
The lawn in front of the castle’s main entrance had been laid out with rows and rows of tables, as well as a wooden stage. Seeing the preparations, Dahlia couldn’t help but think of the Roma banquet. Like the rest of the ladies in the castle, she had been busy for days making ready for the hundred or so people that would descend on the castle the day after James arrived.
Dahlia was in the parlor with the ladies when they heard a commotion in the foyer. Rory flew out of the room, and Dahlia knew James was back. She stood up with the other women, and went to greet him, her palms wet. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, but she was. What would she say to him? What would he say to her? All of the sudden she felt very bad for never having written him. What must he think of her? He had apologized in the letter he left for her, and reminded her he loved her in every letter since. She had been silent as the grave, not accepting his apology or telling him how she felt – the good or the bad. She walked towards the foyer certain they’d have it all out later, when they were alone. For the moment, all she had to do was greet him.
For that, she had to wait. All of the castle’s clan seemed to be between her and her husband. Everyone was hugging him or patting him on the back in welcome. Finally, his eyes caught hers. The room quickly quieted, and Dahlia felt very self-conscious knowing all eyes – not just his – were on her. She stepped forward and he said, “Dahlia.”
“Welcome home, James,” she replied. She put her arms around his neck to hug him, but when she pulled back from the embrace, he kissed her full on the mouth.
“Yeah!” cried one of his cousins. “They’re not mad anymore!”
The laughter that erupted broke the tension of the moment, including for Dahlia. She smiled at little Patrick, then went into the parlor with everyone else, James’ hand resting in its customary place at the small of her back.
For once, Dahlia was happy to have a throng of people around her for she didn’t have to say much. Everyone asked questions of James, and he asked questions of them. He learned the materials he had ordered arrived, and the work he had planned had begun. She watched him, and the feeling of pride she had felt at the beginning of the year surfaced again. His grandfather was the head of the clan, but James had become its heart. They did not have the means or the know-how to save the crumbling buildings on the grounds. James had both and gave both freely for the benefit of his family, and they loved him for it.
His charisma remained as it always was: magnetizing. Dahlia found herself staring at those brilliant b
lue eyes. From time to time, he would catch her looking at him, and reward her with his equally brilliant smile. Each time, she would look away, torn between desperately wanting things to be right again between them and a stubborn determination not to let go of her anger and hurt – and shame.
The homecoming continued late into the evening, and Dahlia finally excused herself and went up to bed. She was surprised that James did not try to follow her, then chided herself for being disappointed. It was just as well, she convinced herself as Matty helped her undress. She was far too tired to have a serious discussion with him tonight.
The reason James let Dahlia go, knowing Matty would go up with her, was to have some private time with Trevor. “Can I have a word, MacTavish?”
“Of course. Come. Let’s go to the library.”
When they arrived, James pulled out the clippings from the Cornhill and laid them on the table.
“Oh,” said Trevor. “Ye’ve seen the serial.”
“Aye. You’ve written about Dahlia.”
“Well, not exactly. ‘Tis a work of fiction with some bits of truth.”
“There’s more truth there than I’d like to see. A friend of Dahlia’s in London recognized the character and wrote to me about it. The story is quite popular and she was afraid of Dahlia’s family hearing of it.”
“Popular is it? That’s grand!”
“MacTavish!”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have done that. Why did you have to write about Dahlia?”
“Come, James. Ye said it yourself. She’s a fairy queen with magical musical abilities. How could a true bard not use her as a heroine? And forgive me, but this whole bit about her falling off a horse and losing her memory is quite a tall tale.”
“Did Matty tell you the truth?”
“What is the truth, James? ‘Cause your question alone leads me to believe ye haven’t told the truth.”
Exasperated, James leaned back and rubbed his face. This would have been how Trevor got snippets of information out of Matty. He couldn’t blame her, as he had just as much admitted something was amiss in the web of lies they had spun around Dahlia and her coming to Scotland. James remembered Dahlia herself calling him a spider the first night they met. How ironic.
Trevor waited patiently, knowing he was on the verge of hearing the real story.
“For that, I need a drink. Go tell your wife to join us. Tell her I found Edward.”
Chapter 82
Dahlia and James did not have a chance to talk before the cèilidh. He had returned very late, and slightly drunk, from his conversation with Matty and Trevor. He had gone straight to his office, not wanting to face a locked door. He fell asleep on the couch in his clothes. In the morning, he noticed his personal belongings were no longer in the office. He tried the sitting room door and found it unlocked. He tiptoed through the sitting room to the bedroom. That door, too, was unlocked. He peered in. Dahlia was still sleeping. He crept in and located his belongings where they used to be housed. He washed and dressed, then went downstairs hoping that finding his clothes in his own closet in their bedroom meant that Dahlia was open to reconciliation.
Because of all the excitement and preparations for the party, James only saw Dahlia in passing during the day. When he finally caught up to her, it wasn’t until they needed to dress for the cèilidh. Matty was arranging Dahlia’s hair, and he changed in his dressing room. When he came out, they were alone. He walked up behind her and stared at her in the mirror.
“How are you Dahlia?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
“We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
“No.”
He nodded. “There’ll be time for that. The short of it is, I missed you very much. I missed you because I love you.”
Dahlia wanted to ask him if he missed her when he was with Mary Gordon, but she held her tongue. She heard the sound of bagpipes and drums.
“The cèilidh is beginning. There is a parade to kick it off. It’s tradition for everyone to join it with their spouses and families.”
Dahlia nodded, but did not get up immediately. James noted her hesitation and walked towards the door, where he stopped and turned towards her.
“You have a choice Dahlia. You can stay here and come down later, or you can walk with me as my wife with my family in the parade. I promise I won’t take it as an admission that everything is alright between us if you choose the latter, but it would please me greatly to have you by my side.”
Dahlia was frozen where she sat. Once again he had given her a concession – always he tried to make things easier for her. She didn’t deserve such consideration. She had thought about Mary’s words till they haunted her. Why else would he come looking for me? Indeed. Why would a newly-wed seek another woman if not for the actions of the wife? She could not have reacted any differently than she did on Christmas night, but push her husband away she had – literally. Then she had kept him at a distance, afraid of her own reaction. Part of the reason Dahlia had not written to James was she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to say she was sorry for her part in this whole mess. It was easier to blame him. She had been a coward to not face this truth earlier and try to rectify their situation.
The pipes and drums played on, their tattoo marking every second of time. Dahlia jumped out of her chair and ran down to catch up with James.
-----
Dahlia had a fabulous time at the cèilidh. She had run down the front steps so quickly that when she did reach James, she nearly fell into him. He had to put his arms around her to steady her. She looked up at him, rather surprised at her velocity, and they both laughed. From that moment, the tension between them was broken. They danced and ate and interacted with the clan and those from surrounding parts until late in the night.
Dahlia found that the stage was not just for the musicians, but for the dancers who performed something akin to the Spanish flamenco. Matty informed her it was called ‘clogging,’ which sounded a dreadful name for a dance that was so light that the dancers seemed to be floating above the stage except for the staccato tapping of their feet.
As for the bagpipes, they made Dahlia think of Colonel Parkinson and she wondered whether he had ever heard them played so skillfully. The musicians did not play the staid marches that he did, but lively dance music that, when combined with the violin and fiddle and flute, were absolutely delightful. Dahlia did not miss her inner music that night as the air was full of enchanting new sounds.
When Dahlia and James danced, she noted how natural it felt to have her hand in his, how much she had missed that warm, secure feeling of his hand at the small of her back, and how gently but firmly he guided her around in the waltz. She also noticed how much she disliked it when the line dances called for him to switch partners and she watched him put his arms around another woman. She also learned that she couldn’t have things two ways: she couldn’t keep him at a distance and still feel so jealous when she didn’t have him close. She did want to be James wife and for them to be together. If that meant living in a house that wasn’t hers to run, with dozens of other people, so be it. She would learn to love MacFarlain Castle as much as she missed Talbot Hall.
She had already started to love the wild and sometimes dangerous beauty of the Highlands through her excursions on Cerdwyn. Spending days exploring the terrain had shown her how the land could end abruptly and fall a hundred feet in rocky cliffs. She came to trust Cerdwyn’s instincts for, as James had promised, she knew the land well and would balk when she knew she was near a drop-off. When she did this, Dahlia would jump down and continue on foot till she saw the reason for the horse’s hesitation. On one occasion, she found herself at the top of a precipice with a beautiful lake at the bottom with a little stream flowing over the edge to form a waterfall. As stunning as it was, it reminded her of being at the top of the ravine in Cirencester and she went cold inside as she stood near the edge. It was some time after leaving that area before the h
air on her neck stopped standing on end. She also found a path that led around the lake in a gradual slope so she could approach the lake safely and let Cerdwyn drink from the clear, cold pool of water. There, she could sit and gaze at the dramatic waterfall and the cliff without fear.
She continued her journeys after James returned. Sometimes he would join her, pointing out places he loved to go as a boy and showing her hidden glens. He was amazed at how well she had gotten to know the surrounding environs, but there were still unknown treasures for him to share with her. For several Sundays in a row, they both rode over to the MacTavish place to spend the afternoon and dine with Matty and Trevor.
During the week, James was often working from dawn to dusk and later with the renovations. He had hired help from the surrounding locals as the refurbishments required more hands than the castle could provide – and more skilled labor in construction. He was literally rebuilding entire sections of the castle and needed men to raise the steel beams that replaced the former rotten wooden ones, then masons to resurface the outer walls.
In the evenings, Dahlia would often go into his office where he showed her the plans. She really was impressed with the beautiful architectural renderings, and amazed at just how much planning it took to finish a building. There were plans for plumbing, interior floor plans, and structural support and exterior layouts. There were accompanying lists for materials and quantities, time tables, and mathematical calculations scribbled everywhere.
Most nights James just fell into bed, exhausted, and Dahlia would lay there facing him, watching him sleep. Other nights they would talk for hours. James had taken his mother’s advice to heart, but before he ventured into the realm of educating Dahlia in the ways of physical intimacy, he felt he needed to build Dahlia’s trust in him again and for that, they needed to establish an intimacy of a different nature. They talked about her fears and feelings of loss about leaving Cirencester, and he told her his own feelings of uncertainty about entering the marital state under the circumstances in which they had found themselves.
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