Love Joins the Clans

by Barbara Cartland

  Of the battles they had fought in the past, the miseries they had suffered during the Clearances, when they had been turned out of their homes and from the land where they had been born and raised.

  Many of them had been sent cruelly across the seas to Canada, where a great number had died at the hands of the Indians or from starvation because they could not find work and the weather was harsh.

  As he spoke, it all seemed to come back to Clova as if she had heard it all before or else it had been dormant in her mind.

  Now she could remember many things that she had forgotten and which she had never thought about once they had receded into the mists of the past.

  Most of all she could recall the huge Castle with its large rooms and her grandfather, magnificent and awe-inspiring in his kilt, his tasselled sporran and plaid caught on the shoulder.

  Could she really take his place?

  It seemed impossible and she wanted to jump out of the train, leave Torbot McBlane and go back to Paris or anywhere in France which was far more home to her than the bleakness of what lay ahead for her in Scotland.

  ‘I cannot do it,’ she told herself. ‘I cannot face the people who I have nothing in common with, except that I was born amongst them.’

  Why could they not accept her Cousin Euan McBlane as their Chieftain?

  What was wrong with the Clan that there should have been such a sharp note in Torbot’s voice when he spoke of him?

  ‘The whole thing is ridiculous,’ she told herself.

  Yet as Torbot McBlane went on talking, she could not help feeling proud that the McBlanes had fought so valiantly against the English and that The Castle had stood for five centuries.

  The Marchioness of Strathblane!

  Was it possible that that was who she was now?

  It seemed so incredible that she wanted to laugh at the mere idea of it.

  Yet she knew that it was true when they had reached Edinburgh and changed onto the ship that was to carry them to Inverness.

  She knew from the way she was greeted by the attendants that the best accommodation was accorded to her by right.

  For the first time in her life she had become a person of importance, a person other people respected.

  Only when she was alone in her cabin and Torbot McBlane was marching round the deck for exercise did she laugh to herself because it all seemed so absurd.

  ‘If only Mama were here,’ she thought, ‘what fun we should have.’

  Then she knew that, if she was truthful, Lottie would scandalise someone like Torbot McBlane because she would treat everything so lightly.

  She would doubtless poke fun at the solemnity that he spoke about the McBlanes with, their history and the traditions which surrounded the Chieftain.

  “It was all so boring, darling,” she had said often enough to Clova when they spoke of Scotland. “They all take themselves so seriously. No one laughs.”

  She laughed herself before she went on,

  “I fell in love with Lionel because his eyes twinkled and, when your father was droning on about some misfortune that had happened to one of the Clan, I knew that Lionel was thinking, as I was, that there was nothing more deadly than other people’s troubles!”

  ‘No, even if she was the Marchioness, Mama would not have wanted to go back,’ Clova thought now.

  At the same time she would have been in a very different position with money to spend, money that came from the diamond mines of South Africa.

  Money that was hers!

  Clova had not missed the respect that Torbot McBlane had spoken of her new-found wealth with.

  “It is fine that you have money of your own, my Lady,” he said. “Your father found it hard to refuse the many requests for help that came to him, but he was a just man and he did what he could for those who deserved help.”

  Clova could almost see her father and the Elders investigating each case and deciding whether it was a worthy one or whether the applicant should be sent away penniless.

  She had the feeling that, if it was left to her in the future, she would need every penny of the money that Jan Maskill had left her mother and a great deal more besides.

  Almost insidiously the idea came to her that it would be far simpler and far more enjoyable for her to go back to Paris. She could lead a life of her own amongst the French, as her mother had done, even though socially she had been under a cloud for having left her husband.

  ‘I could start without any impediment,’ Clova thought. ‘I could find somebody to chaperone me who was respectable, perhaps an aristocrat who had fallen on hard times and I would soon be invited to parties, balls and Receptions and make new friends and eventually – who knows? I might marry a Frenchman!’

  It was the call of the life she had known.

  The life that had moments of glamour or had seemed so when she was a child, looking at it now from the outside and yet, because she was Lottie’s daughter, as a part of it.

  Then, almost as if Torbot McBlane was speaking to her, she recognised that her duty was to do what her father’s Clan asked of her, which was to take his place.

  She would find people to instruct her and to tell her what was expected.

  Ye, as she journeyed from France to Scotland, it had seemed, as she looked back, that Paris was brilliant with light and laughter, while Scotland was dark, grey, dour and gloomy.

  She drew in her breath.

  Then, as she felt the propellers of the Steamship revolving in the grey waters, she told herself that if the worst came to the worst she would run away.

  At least, unlike Lottie, she did not need anyone to pay for her as she could pay for herself.

 

  Chapter Three

  It took a long time to reach Inverness where they stayed the night before starting out early in the morning by carriage, which was to carry them to Strathblane Castle.

  It was a well-sprung travelling carriage drawn by four stalwart horses, which Clova learnt had been sent to Inverness to await their arrival.

  To her surprise Torbot McBlane did not step inside with her, but on the box with the coachman because, as he told her, he needed some fresh air.

  She had the feeling that he was also rather bored at having to make conversation and was by nature a quiet man who seldom expressed his feelings.

  She felt sure that this was true of all Scots.

  It had been the trouble with her father, who doubtless never paid her mother the fulsome compliments that she had so much enjoyed receiving from the French.

  As soon as they were out of Inverness, Clova began to have her first glimpses of the Scottish countryside.

  Now there were hills in the distance and, as they drove alongside a large expanse of water, she was not certain whether it was a loch or an inlet of the sea.

  It was all very lovely with the trees green against barren rocks and the sunshine touching everything with gold.

  She had the feeling that the sky seemed larger than it had when she was in France and in fact everything had a freshness and an untouched natural beauty that kept her bending towards the open window in case she should miss anything.

  They drove for nearly two hours before they changed horses, which also Clova learnt had come from The Castle.

  Then after a short time they set off again.

  Now the road became narrower and at times very steep, until, when Clova was beginning to feel hungry, they came to a stop after a climb that had made the horses sweat.

  Torbot McBlane climbed down from the box and coming to the carriage door opened it.

  “I thought, my Lady,” he said, “you would like to have luncheon here and rest the horses before we start down the hill that will eventually lead us to The Castle.”

  “How far away is it?” Clova asked.

  “About two hours’ drive,” he replied, “but they will not be expecting you until the middle of the afternoon.”

  He seemed to have it all planned, so Clova was glad to get out of the carriage a
nd stretch her legs.

  It was then that she realised how magnificent the view was that lay beneath her.

  They were high up on a moor and below she could see the coast of Scotland, rugged with its inlets and melting away into a misty horizon.

  The sea was vividly blue in the sunshine, even bluer, she thought, than the Mediterranean and just below, winding through heather-covered banks, was a small river flowing down to the sea.

  It was so beautiful that Clova caught her breath and once again was conscious of that sensation of ecstasy, almost painful in its intensity, which beauty always gave her.

  As she stood, half-afraid that it might vanish in front of her eyes, Torbot McBlane and the two coachmen unpacked a hamper that had been attached on top of her luggage at the back of the carriage.

  They spread a rug against a rough cairn, which they could lean on and arranged in front of it dishes of cold meats, eggs cooked inside baked potatoes and a salad of lettuce, carrots and young beetroots.

  There were scones and a large pat of golden butter besides a piece of cheese that to Clova’s eyes was curiously pink.

  “I thought, my Lady, you would not need much,” Torbot McBlane said apologetically, “as you will be having a large dinner tonight.”

  “A – large dinner?” she questioned.

  “Yes,” he answered, “your relatives will be gathering at The Castle to greet you and tomorrow the Clansmen will come from all parts to pay homage to our new Chieftain.”

  “You did not tell me about this before,” Clova said.

  He gave her an apologetic smile, but there was an undoubted twinkle in his eyes as he explained,

  “I did not want to frighten you!”

  “But I am frightened,” Clova replied, “in case I should do something wrong.”

  “There will be plenty of people to prevent you from doing that,” he said dryly and waited for her to sit down.

  The coachman tactfully drew away and Clova felt that she was now isolated in this strange land, which she had to admit was very much more beautiful than she had anticipated.

  She could not help feeling that there was something familiar about it, something that made her feel that she had come home to where she belonged, although such a thought seemed disloyal to her mother.

  Then she told herself that, if she intended to stay, then the sooner she remembered the importance of her Scottish blood and forgot that she was half-English the better.

  Because she was hungry and had been too tired last night after the long voyage to eat much, she enjoyed every mouthful of the picnic that Torbot McBlane had provided for her.

  He had included for her fresh lemonade while he himself drank a bottle of beer.

  When they had finished, he said,

  “There is no hurry. We reached here quicker than I expected and I don’t want you to arrive at The Castle until they are fully ready to receive you.”

  Clova smiled.

  “In that case I am going to walk a little way over the heather.”

  She knew from the way he settled himself firmly against the stone cairn that he had no wish to accompany her and she walked away finding sheep tracks through the heather, which carried her downhill.

  She was still quite a long way from the river when in the distance she saw a man in a kilt running along the bank and for a few seconds she could not understand the reason for his haste.

  Then she saw that he was carrying a fishing rod, which was bent and realised that he was following a salmon.

  It was over eleven years since she had last seen a man fishing for salmon, yet now it came back to her and instinctively she hurried as quickly as she could down towards the river.

  By the time she reached it the fisherman was no longer running but standing ready to reel in a large salmon that was fighting frantically to escape.

  There was the noise of the reel as his captor drew him steadily in and then, as the fish leapt in the air, Clova saw that it was fresh in from the sea and in her eyes very large.

  She reached the fisherman and stood behind him watching how expertly he handled the fish.

  As it jumped again in a desperate attempt to break loose, he dipped the point of the rod and let the screeching line run out.

  Clova did not speak, but he must have been aware that she was there because, as he started again to draw the salmon towards the bank, he said sharply,

  “Can you gaff him for me?”

  As he spoke, Clova saw that a gaff was attached to his belt, which encircled his waist above his kilt.

  She moved nearer and then realised that, if she had to gaff the fish, she would have to scramble quite a distance down the bank and perhaps even stand in the shallow water beneath it.

  “I am afraid I cannot do what you ask,” she replied tentatively. “I might lose your fish.”

  “Very well,” he said impatiently, as if he thought her extremely stupid, “hold the rod for me and, if he jumps again, don’t forget to lower the point.”

  He passed the rod into her hands without looking at her and taking the gaff from his belt climbed down the side of the bank.

  “Reel him in gently,” he ordered. “Gently! Keep his head up and step back, go on step back!”

  His voice sharpened as she took a second to follow his instructions.

  Then leaning out he thrust the shining silver point of the gaff into the side of the salmon and lifted him out of the water.

  He landed the fish on the bank and then climbed up to hold it down where it lay thrashing its tail on the rough grass and hit it sharply on the head with the handle of the gaff.

  The salmon was dead and now Clova could see that the fisherman was an exceedingly handsome young man with clear-cut features, dark brown hair and a sunburnt skin that appeared to have almost a golden glow about it.

  He removed the hook from the fish’s mouth and for the first time looked up at Clova, who was standing holding the rod in her hand.

  She had taken off her bonnet while eating luncheon and her hair was a halo of gold in the sunshine and her blue eyes were very large in her pointed face, but shining with excitement at what she had just done.

  The fisherman stared at her in astonishment for some seconds before he said,

  “Are you real? I thought you were one of the shepherds, who had come down to help me.”

  “I am glad I was able to do so.”

  “I am very grateful and, as you see, we have landed a very fine catch.”

  “What do you think he weighs?” Clova asked.

  “Between twelve and fourteen pounds.”

  Clova gave a little exclamation and he added,

  “At least it will ‘keep the wolf from the door for a few days.”

  Clova smiled.

  “I cannot believe there are many wolves in such a beautiful place.”

  “Not animals,” the fisherman corrected, “but human beings who behave like wolves, jackals and poisonous snakes!”

  He spoke with such bitterness in his voice that Clova asked curiously,

  “What do you mean? How can there be people like that when everything around them is so lovely?”

  “That is what I asked myself when I came back,” the fisherman replied.

  Again there was a note in his voice that made Clova ask,

  “What has upset you?”

  She spoke impulsively without thinking that perhaps she was intruding on something private and it might seem impertinent from a stranger.

  “If you want the truth,” the fisherman said as he rose to his feet, “this morning I found two of my best ewes, that I paid for with more than I could really afford, lying dead on the moor with their throats cut!”

  Clova gave a cry of horror.

  “Who could have done such a thing? Who could have been – so cruel?”

  “It’s easy to answer that!” the fisherman replied. “An enemy who strikes at night when he cannot be seen, leaving no trace of his identity, although it is not hard to know who he is.”


  “I don’t understand,” Clova said. “Why should you have an enemy like that here? What have you done – to provoke him?”

  “What have I done?” the fisherman enquired. “Nothing except belong to a Clan that is forced, if they are to survive, to fight a ridiculous war against those who are waging an age-old feud against their fellow Scots instead of uniting and trying to bring Scotland into a new and prosperous age.”

  There was silence for a moment until Clova asked,

  “Are you saying that your sheep have been slaughtered by members of another Clan?”

  “Of course that is what I am saying,” he answered impatiently, “and the idiots don’t understand that they are not only injuring me and my people but themselves. Who would invest money in new industries in a country that is steeped in the feuds and prejudices of the Middle Ages?”

  He spoke so violently that Clova drew in her breath.

  Then he said quickly,

  “Forgive me, I should not be talking to you like this. I can see that you are a tourist coming further North than most do to laugh at the quaint customs of backward people.”

  Now he was speaking mockingly and Clova replied quietly,

  “That is not true.”

  The fisherman smiled and it seemed to transform his face.

  “I can think of no other explanation why anyone so beautiful and so exquisitely dressed should appear suddenly to help me when I most wanted help, unless, of course, you have just dropped down from the sky.”

  “I certainly came a long way down the moor to assist you,” Clova smiled.

  She glanced back to where she had come from and, as the fisherman’s eyes followed hers, he could see the carriage and horses waiting at the top of the hill.

  “I see now that I have interrupted your journey,” he said. “I suppose, if I behaved correctly, I should offer you this salmon as a reward for your labours.”

  “No, no, of course not,” Clova said quickly. “You said that you needed it yourself and it will keep you from being hungry.”

  She thought as she spoke of how often she had been hungry before her mother had died and how much she had disliked scanty and poor quality food, which was all that they could afford as she suggested,