Isobel married the Laird’s son just before the ’45 uprising. It was said that she was a rare beauty. She had the auburn hair and green eyes particular to the Grants. She and John were married less than a year, when Prince Charles landed in Scotland, and called the clans. Her husband, who was Laird by then, was one of the first to answer. He was a staunch Jacobite. Isobel never saw him again. He was taken prisoner at Culloden, and later executed in London. It was assumed that she grieved for him and jumped off the tower. However, her maid, who was a bit slow, said that Isobel disappeared. She claimed that some things were missing, including her mother’s pearls.
The body was never found, and she never turned up anywhere. Some folk said they saw her walking the battlements at night, but I don’t put much stock in such fancies. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for what happened to her.” Mrs. Wilson finished her tale and took a sip of tea. I was amused by her no-nonsense attitude to the legend. A romantic she was not.
Danny and I stayed a little bit longer, then said our goodbyes and headed to the car. Danny came back to give his grandmother another hug, and I heard her tell him that I’m a lovely girl, despite the fact that I reek of whiskey. He was still laughing as he came up the path behind me.
“Where to, my lady?” he asked starting the car.
“I think I’d like to go back to the inn now.” I was tired, my head ached, and I didn’t relish the prospect of calling my mother.
“How about some dinner? I know a lovely place that does a good haggis.”
“Haggis?”
“You haven’t dined in Scotland until you’ve had sheep guts, my dear.”
“Thank you, Danny, but I think I’ll leave that culinary delight for another day. I’d just like to be alone for a while, if that’s all right,” Danny looked genuinely disappointed and I promised him a rain check. He dropped me off at the inn, promising to call me the following day. I went inside and almost collided with Linda, who gave me my messages and offered to send up some dinner when I told her I wouldn’t be joining them in the dining room. I trudged up the stairs feeling like I was about to face the Inquisition.
I decided to call Sophia first. I needed a bit of cheering up before talking to my mother. I dialed her number and she picked up on the first ring.
“Finally! I thought you’d been trampled by cows or got blind drunk at your distillery. So, what happened?”
“You’re not that far off the mark, as usual, and no, it wasn’t cows. It was the whiskey that knocked me on my butt.” I described my conversation with Mrs. Wilson and waited for her words of wisdom.
“I’m speechless,” she exclaimed. “I’m trying to reconcile the image of your cute Highland grandma as a pretty young thing getting it on with twins. It’s very difficult, but I’m equal to the task. Oh, wait, it’s not her; it’s me I’m picturing with twins.”
“Why do you think she got it on with twins?” I was a little offended by that analysis.
“Your grandmother was sharp as a tack till the day she died. Do you really think that she had no idea that the guy having sex with her wasn’t James? They might have been identical, but you can always tell the difference. They couldn’t have made love identically. I think she knew.”
“But do you think she agreed to it, or simply went along once she found out what they were up to?” I mused.
“It’s hard to tell. We’re looking at this from the moral viewpoint of the twenty-first century. If it was now, I might have said that she was secretly attracted to Angus, and this was a way not only to get a baby, but to secretly live out a fantasy. However, this was in the 1930s, and she might have been ashamed to admit that she knew, even to herself. She might have pretended not to notice the difference because she wanted a baby so desperately. That might have been the reason that she fled when Angus confronted her. She was ashamed.”
“That’s a very valid point. I guess we’ll never know, but what should I tell Mom? Which version would be less hurtful to her?”
“I don’t know. In one scenario her mother agrees to sleep with both brothers, but still has control of the situation. In the second, she’s duped by the man she loves and his brother, whom she trusts. Which would you prefer?”
“Well, looking at it from the twenty-first century viewpoint, I would say that I’d prefer the scenario where she’s in control and does this by choice. Thanks, Soph. I knew you’d help me reason this out. I have to go call Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I reluctantly dialed my parents’ number and waited for Mom to pick up. We skipped the usual talk about the weather and the details of my day and went straight to Mrs. Wilson’s account. Mom listened carefully without interrupting.
“That’s quite a story,” she said with a sigh.
“Are you upset?”
“I’m not upset with your grandmother. She did whatever she thought was right, and I’m thankful for the life she gave me. I am upset, however, that I never knew my father. If Angus was really the one, I would have liked to get to know him. Ned was a wonderful stepfather, but I always dreamed of my real dad.”
After that we moved on to other things, like my disastrous visit to the distillery. My parents hadn’t asked me what I was planning to do, but I knew they were wondering. I was wondering myself. My initial plan was to come to Scotland, sell the lot and come home, but now I wasn’t so sure. My grandfather had spent his life building up his business. It felt a little disloyal to just sell up and leave.
I turned to the smug face of Bonnie Prince Charlie on the mug by my bed, thoughtfully provided by Linda in case I wanted some tea.
“What would you do?” I asked him.
I turned off the lights and crawled into bed. The window was open, and a fresh breeze was blowing off the mountains. In the distance I could hear the whinnying of the shaggy Highland ponies I’d seen grazing by the fence. I suddenly realized that I didn’t even miss New York. This life was so different, but I felt a sense of peace here that I never experienced at home. Whether I decided to sell or not, I now had the means to leave my hated job and do something else, but what? I was still thinking about the Will when I drifted off to sleep.
The insistent ringing of the telephone woke me up around 3 a.m. My heart was thundering in my chest as I picked up the phone. No one ever called in the middle of the night with good news. It was my mother.
“Katie, I’m sorry to wake you. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I couldn’t go to bed until I told you.” She sounded a little anxious, but not panicked, and I began to relax.
“It’s okay, Mom. Told me what?”
“I was telling your father about our conversation earlier, and something popped into my head. I haven’t thought of this in years, but once I remembered I had to tell you.
My mother didn’t agree to sleep with Angus and there was no plan. They didn’t trick her — he did.”
“Did she tell you about it?” Now we were getting somewhere.
“No, but I remembered a man coming to see us when we lived with Aunt Grace in Prospect Park. I was about six at the time. He was introduced to me as Uncle Gus, and he brought me a stuffed bear wearing a kilt and a bonnet. I used to love that bear. Uncle Gus had dinner with us, then I was sent to bed. It was a small apartment, so I heard them arguing.
I remember my mother yelling at him, calling him a “deceitful swine” and swearing that she would never forgive him for what he did to her, and more so to James. She said “You will never see her again. Is that understood?””
“He was gone in the morning, and when I asked my mother what a deceitful swine was, she just told me that he was a bad man and we would never see him again. So, you see? She didn’t know and neither did James. They must have thought it was a miracle. That’s why she never forgave him. I think the reason he left everything to you was to make amends. He must have known that your grandmother had died, but he wanted to do something for his only surviving family.”
“So why didn’t he leave it to you? You ar
e his daughter, after all.”
“He didn’t know what my mother had or hadn’t told me about him, and was afraid that I’d reject it out of hand, so he left it to you, hoping that your curiosity would at least bring you to Scotland where you could find out about him and his life.” She seemed relieved now that she’d told me.
“Makes sense, I guess. We’ll never know with 100% certainty, but the theory seems to fit the facts. I am glad you remembered, Mom.” I put my hand over my face to stifle my yawn. My mom laughed.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Stay away from the whiskey, Katie.” With that she hung up and I went back to bed. Well, that was one mystery solved — sort of — now I wanted to find out what happened to Isobel.
July 1745
Chapter 32
When morning came, Isobel and Rory didn’t head back to Kilmaron. There was no rush to return to the castle since no one knew they had left Grant, and they decided to spend the day together.
The rain had stopped during the night, and everything smelled clean and fresh. Rory left the horses to graze in the meadow, and called to Isobel to come out. There was a stream in the clearing behind the house, and she took a drink of the clear, sweet water before wading in to wash. The water was refreshing, and she called for Rory to join her. He picked her up and held her on the water’s surface. Isobel spread her arms and allowed herself to float, looking up at the summer sky above, and Rory’s face watching her tenderly. Her hair floated all around her, making her look like a water sprite. Eventually they came out of the water and lay down in the shade of an old oak. The sunlight was filtering through the leaves, the gentle breeze caressing their faces as they made love again.
Before they knew it, it was late afternoon, and they were starving. Rory made a spear, and waded back into the stream to try and catch some fish. After much splashing and laughing, he managed to get some trout, and they built a fire on the bank and impaled their fish on sticks, holding them over the fire.
Rory and Isobel sat companionably by the stream waiting for their fish to cook over the leaping flames. The purple shadows of twilight were gathering around them, the first stars appearing in the dusky sky.
“Rory, tell me about yer childhood,” Isobel asked. She knew very little about his early life. “Alan had told me that ye are his son,” she added, just in case.
“Aye, that I am. My father, Arthur that is, married my mother when she was already three months gone with me. He dinna have to do it, but he loved her, and hoped that in time she would come to love him too. He loved me as much as any man can love a son, and I was named for his best friend who had been killed in a hunting accident at the age of fifteen.
I saw things through the eyes of a child, but my parents seemed happy to me. They laughed a lot, and my father always asked my mother to sing him a song after supper. She had a beautiful voice, and used to sing me to sleep when I was a bairn.
They longed for another child, but my mother had two miscarriages afore finally carrying a bairn to term. I was so excited. When the labor pains came, she sent me to fetch the midwife, and all I could think of was that I would be playing with my brother the next day.
Well, the next day came and there was still no brother. I could hear my mother’s screams echoing through the house, so I hid in the kitchen, putting my hands over my ears to muffle the screams. The babe was breeched; the cord was around its neck, so neither one of them ever stood a chance. It took my mother three days to die, and my sister died with her. My father and I were shocked to find ourselves alone, and it took a long time for my father to learn to smile again.
He never told me that I wasna his son. He dinna want me to think ill of my mother, so it took a while for me to understand why John hated me so intensely. When I learned the truth from the factor’s son, I beat him to a pulp, calling him a filthy liar. I came home furious, with a black eye, complaining to my father of the horrible injustice of such an accusation.
He told me the truth then. I was shocked and angry with him and my mother for a long time. I dinna care about being the next Laird, or about Alan. I just felt betrayed that my beautiful mother could have been so wanton with another man, and had lied to me all those years; my father along with her.”
“Did ye forgive her?” Isobel could see the old hurt in his eyes.
“Of course. As I got older I understood the nature of love. She loved Alan, and took from him what she could. I picked some wild flowers, and went to her grave and begged her forgiveness. I think she heard me.” He smiled at the memory.
“My father died a few years later, and I came to live at the castle. Alan never publicly admitted that I was his son, but I think everyone kent the truth. They never mentioned it out of respect for Alan and my dead parents. He had me share John’s tutor, which John resented bitterly. Alan pitted us against each other all the time, in the schoolroom and outside of it. He gave us sword fighting lessons, and had us fight each other. John always lost because his fury made him careless. He would have liked to kill me, I think.”
“Did ye hate him as much as he hated ye?” Isobel asked.
“Aye, I did for a time. But then I began to pity him.”
“Why?” Isobel was shocked by the idea of John being an object of pity.
“Dougal and I became fast friends when I came to the castle. He was an apprentice to his father, Simon. I used to spend a lot of time at the forge, partly because of Dougal, and partly because of Simon, because he reminded me of my own father. Sometimes, when the weather was fine, Simon would take us fishing after he finished up for the day. He never caught much, but he enjoyed being away from the bustle of castle life, sitting on the riverbank, the wind rustling in the trees and the birds singing their hearts out. We often talked.
I told him once how much I hated John, and he told me that John deserved my pity. I think I was actually speechless for a moment. Simon said that despite the circumstances, my parents made the best of their marriage, and created a loving and stable home for me. Alan was as proud as Lucifer, and never even tried to make amends to his wife. She was bitter and angry, and used the only weapon she had against Alan — John. She made sure that John knew the truth and hated his father. John never got much affection from either parent. All they taught him was hatred.
I realized that Simon had been right and decided that I would forgive John his animosity, but would keep my distance nonetheless.”
Isobel sighed. “I suppose if ye look at it that way, ye can see how he turned out such a bastard.”
Rory broke off a piece of fish, and promptly dropped it, blowing on his burnt fingers. He licked them and pronounced supper to be ready. The fish was a little burned and bland without any salt, but to Isobel it was the best meal she ever had. Sitting in the gathering dusk with Rory, she felt unbearably happy, and wished this moment could last forever. She still felt terrible about Mary, but there was nothing to be done. She was sure that her father would do right by her, and either find her a man to marry, or make sure that she and the bairn would be taken care of. Mary’s mother and sister would care for her in the meantime.
She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at the sky. The sky was going from purple to inky-blue, and the moon cast a silvery light on the stream and the woods around them. Rory lay down next to her, and pulled her close. Tomorrow they would have to return to Kilmaron, but they still had tonight, and she refused to think about what lay ahead.
Chapter 33
Isobel twirled her finger through Rory’s curly chest hairs. His body was so beautiful. She liked the feel of his muscular thighs against hers, and when his strong arms encircled her, she felt like nothing in the world could hurt her again. For the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to be a woman, and the wedding vow “with my body I thee worship” finally made sense. She lifted her head from Rory’s shoulder and looked at his face. The face in question was looking at the moldy roof of the cottage, deep in thought. Isobel was about to ask what he was thinking ab
out, but she already knew. They couldn’t stay in this broken-down shack forever. They’d had two days of bliss, but they had to return to Kilmaron, and decisions would have to be made.
“Rory, what shall we do about John?” she asked almost afraid to hear his answer. Catholics didn’t divorce, even if proof of adultery or cruelty existed. There were only two ways to end a marriage — annulment or death. John might be willing to obtain an annulment, since it would permit him to marry Joan, but there would need to be sufficient grounds and proof. The only reason that Isobel knew of that guaranteed an annulment was failure to consummate the marriage, and that certainly wasn’t the case. Besides, the marriage was contracted to end the feud between the McBrides and the Grants. Having it annulled wouldn’t do much for clan relations, in which case, her father would never let her marry Rory and she would probably be forbidden to ever see him again.
“Kill him,” Rory said simply, and flipped her onto her back as he rolled on top of her. “This time he’s gone too far. I’ll call him out, and we’ll settle this matter once and for all.” He silenced her protest with his lips, and Isobel was only too happy to put murder out of her mind for the moment. She hated John, but she didn’t necessarily want to see him dead. She knew that Rory had meant what he said. He would fight him, and this time it would be to the death.
They approached the castle in the afternoon, and even from a distance they could see the commotion within. The gates were wide open; everyone seemed to be rushing around, a sense of great excitement permeating the air. No one paid attention to them as they trotted through the gates. There were wagons being loaded in the courtyard, and clansmen seemed to be pouring into the castle. Everyone was armed to the teeth and battle-ready. The women were scurrying through the courtyard, bringing supplies to the wagons, and babbling excitedly as they went about their tasks.
“What’s happened?” Rory called out to Dougal, who seemed to be besieged by men needing him to mend something in a hurry.
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