There was cold mutton and a loaf of bread, some cheese, and dried fruits to eat, along with wine from the Earl’s cellar, which made Feargan drowsy, though he was hungry after his journey and ate readily of the fare, which was good and wholesome, though quite different to that of Paris and the court in exile.
The evening was drawing on and despite the pleasurable company, Feargan found his eyes drooping and sleep overcoming him. The warmth of the fire and the satisfaction of the food combined to ensure that he was soon making excuses to take to his bed, the same that Mary herself occupied on that fateful night.
“Tomorrow we shall show you the estate, though it is hardly vast,” Catherine said, as Feargan wished them all a goodnight. “And perhaps we shall ride out towards Cockermouth. The views of the fells are quite breathtaking.”
“Aye, I should like that,” Feargan replied, “and thank ye for yer kind hospitality, I feel most welcome here.”
“You are most welcome, it is always good to have a supporter of the cause in these parts,” the Earl said, waving his hand in the direction of his leg as a signal that he would not rise as Feargan left the room.
“Goodnight,” Feargan said, smiling at Catherine, his eyes lingering as they met with those of Amelia. “I look forward to our time together tomorrow.”
Upstairs he found his bags laid out in a bedroom in the west wing of the house. A fire had been kindled in the hearth and the bed freshly made, a solitary candle burning on a table by the window. He crossed and looked out across the parkland, the trees silhouetted in the moonlight and blowing together in the wind. It was a lonely place, that was for sure, but a warm one nonetheless, and the company entirely to his liking.
He had just unbuttoned his tunic and placed his pocket watch carefully by his bedside when there came a gentle tapping at the door.
“Come in,” he replied, and as the door opened, he was delighted to see Amelia, her face illuminated by a candle which she held before her.
“I am not disturbing you, am I?” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Not at all, I am pleased of the disturbance, though I must confess my eyes are closing rapidly this night, as the journey has taken its toll,” he replied, bidding her to sit by the fire.
“I am so glad you have come to be with us, Feargan. I… I have missed you, as perhaps my letters have shown,” she said, blushing a little in the candlelight.
“I have missed ye too, Amelia, ye have been much upon my mind these past months,” he said.
“We have a day or so together before Philip arrives and I am sorry that he does so. It was not my wish that he should come, but there was little I could do to prevent him from doing so. I just hope he does not cause a scene as he did in Paris, when he was so very rude to you,” she said.
“He is a jealous man and does not deserve a lass such as ye,” Feargan replied, his unguarded words startling her.
“I… alas, I fear it is my destiny to marry him,” she replied. “I should not say that, but at times I resent him so. He is a cruel man and can be so heartless—his jealousy knows no bounds.”
“Ye always have a choice,” Feargan said.
“A choice between scandal and misery. It seems so simple when put like that, but… I… I am glad you are here, Feargan,” she said, rising from her chair. Stepping forward she smiled at him, “Goodnight.” She kissed him on the cheek, the candle spluttering in a draught from the window as if blown by some unseen figure.
“They say the room is haunted.” She continued, “Others have seen Queen Mary’s ghost here, or so they claim. See you in the morning, sleep well,” and with that she left him alone, the memory of that chaste kiss enough to see him readily through the night.
* * *
Feargan arose early, the light of the early spring morning flooding the room. The stormy weather of yesterday had cleared and across the parkland he could see towards the coast and sea beyond. A bracing, fresh breeze hit him as he opened the window and looked out, and in the distance, he could make out several of the servants chopping wood amongst the trees.
After saying his prayers, he made his way downstairs, where already the household was awake. Amelia and Catherine were both at the table eating their breakfast and they smiled at him as he came to sit with them. The maid brought him eggs and freshly baked bread, along with honey and jam. A large pat of butter sat in the center of the table, next to jugs of milk and cream, making the breakfast table a most acceptable one to Feargan, who began to eat hungrily.
“Did you see the ghost of Mary?” Catherine asked, looking hopefully at Feargan, who shook his head and smiled.
“I slept soundly, lass, of that I can assure ye,” he replied, as Catherine looked disappointed.
“I’ve seen her,” Catherine replied, “without her head.”
“Oh, come now, don’t be so silly,” Amelia said, laughing as Catherine elaborated further on the details of her encounter with the ghostly specter.
“Is your castle haunted, Feargan? Do say it is, and we shall come and stay. I should love to see another from the realms beyond,” Catherine said.
“Idle talk and witchcraft, lass, such things will get ye nowhere and I daenae think ye will find much to amuse ye at Loch Beira if it is ghosts ye be seeking. As far as I ken there are no hauntings to be had, unless ye count my Uncle, but he is still very much alive,” Feargan replied.
“What a pity,” Catherine said, returning to her breakfast.
The party passed a pleasant morning together. After breakfast, the two young ladies conducted Feargan upon a tour of the house and immediate grounds. There was a strong, fresh wind in the air which had succeeded in blowing away the rain. The clouds were scudding across the skies above, white and fluffy, and there was the scent of new life in the air, as if the landscape were coming alive as winter came to an end.
“Shall we ride?” Catherine said, as they returned to the hall for lunch. “We can take in the view of the fells and point out to Feargan some of our neighbors.”
“I should like that,” Feargan said. “This district seems particularly fine and I should like to see more of it.”
“That’s settled then, after lunch we shall ride.”
And that is what they did. After an excellent lunch of soup and veal, the three of them had horses saddled and prepared to ride out. Feargan was an excellent horseman and had ridden ever since he was a child. Amelia had lent him the horse usually reserved for Lord Torbay, a fine young colt named Bustard, with a black mane and white patch upon his nose. The horse took to Feargan immediately and the Laird soon had him galloping at speed across the countryside, followed closely by Amelia and Catherine, who were both expert riders.
“You ride well,” Amelia said, catching up with Feargan as they approached a bend in the river which ran below Workington Hall.
“It is essential for a Laird to have such skills in the saddle. He must be able to ride as well as he can run,” Feargan said, as Amelia urged her horse on.
“Then you must race me,” she called back, charging off along the riverbank.
“Oh, must I now,” Feargan cried, and urging Bustard on he chased after her, just as Catherine rode up, calling for them to stop.
Her own horse cantered at a rather more sedate pace and she had trouble keeping up as Amelia and Feargan raced together along the riverbank. Bustard was a fine young horse and it was neck and neck as the two came to a stop, panting and breathless, by a small copse of trees.
“Ye ride well, Amelia, very well indeed,” Feargan said.
“As do you,” she said, breathing deeply and laughing. “We must wait for Catherine, though, the poor dear is struggling to keep up.”
“Then it gives me time to say how pretty ye look today,” Feargan replied, smiling at her.
“And you are somewhat handsome, too, in your tunic and riding clothes,” she replied, just as Catherine emerged through the trees.
“I want to go back,” she said, sulkily. “The two of you won’t wai
t for me.”
“We cannot help it that yer horse is slower than ours,” Feargan said, laughing at her.
“We are going back,” Catherine replied, and turning her horse obstinately, she rode off.
Amelia shook her head and nodding to Feargan the two cantered off after Catherine, returning to Workington Hall by a different route, which afforded excellent views of the surrounding countryside.
“You can see for miles from up here,” Amelia said, pointing along the road towards Cockermouth.
“A fine vantage point,” Feargan replied.
“Oh, look,” Catherine said, pointing across the fell. “It’s Philip’s carriage. Is it not?”
There, crossing over the hill, was indeed a carriage and Amelia sighed as she recognized its patronage. Catherine was right, it was that of Lord Torbay and it seemed he had arrived a day early. The enjoyment of their time together was now at an end, as jealousy and rivalry entered the fray.
11
Lord Torbay arrived at Workington Hall a short while after Feargan and the ladies returned. His arrival had not been expected until the following morning and the servants were busy preparing for their most demanding guest when his carriage pulled up outside.
The Earl struggled from his gout stool and hobbled with the aid of Catherine and his stick to be present for the arrival, whilst Amelia and Feargan stood to one side, standing closer together than might be considered appropriate for the arrival of the man to whom she was betrothed.
The Marquess of Torbay cut an imposing figure, more so when not surrounded by fellow members of the aristocracy at the court in exile. He did not notice Feargan at first and greeted the Earl with only thinly disguised contempt.
“Where is he then?” he asked, without bothering to greet Catherine, who pulled a face as Amelia stepped forward.
“If you mean the Laird of Loch Beira, then he is here,” she replied, nudging Feargan forward, as Philip looked him up and down with disdain.
“I see. It is fortunate that my journey here took less time than I anticipated. The driver worked the horses hard and so your little party is interrupted, Amelia,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “I trust all is well.”
“All is well, Philip, yes,” she replied, removing her hand from his as Feargan stepped forward.
“It is a pleasure to make yer acquaintance again, Lord Torbay. I trust ye are well?” Feargan said, extending his hand which Philip failed to take.
“I am very well. When will you be leaving us?” he asked, looking around him, as though inspecting that which he believed would one day be his.
“I shall remain for just as long as I am welcome,” Feargan replied, unwilling to rise to Philip’s rudeness.
“And I hope it shall be for a long time,” Catherine said. “If you’ll excuse me,” and she marched off down the corridor, followed by the hobbling Earl who muttered to himself as he struggled on his gouty foot.
Feargan was left alone with Amelia and Philip, the three standing somewhat awkwardly together as Lord Torbay looked him up and down.
“Did you come already muddy or is that a recent acquisition?” he asked.
“Philip, for goodness sake, we have been out riding and we hardly expected you to arrive today. We only spotted your carriage whilst we were out on the hills just now and have raced back to welcome you, even though you seem incapable of keeping a civil tongue,” Amelia said.
“Watch your tongue, girl, and remember your place,” Philip said.
“That’s nay way to talk to a lady, now,” Feargan said, stepping between Philip and Amelia.
“And you hardly know how to talk,” Philip replied, smirking and shaking his head. “Really, Amelia, I do not know what you and Catherine see in this dunderhead, coming all the way from Scotland to act as your lap dog. I should have thought you might have picked better for your sister. A nice girl like that does not need a man such as this for a husband—she needs a proper man.”
“Enough now, Philip,” Amelia said, turning away from him with a tear in her eye.
“Go on, away with you, we shall speak later once I have settled into this accursed place once more. Why your father should insist upon maintaining such an awful place is quite beyond me. His place, and your place, is in France with His Majesty, and we do not need to entertain the likes of this denier in our midst,” Philip said.
“I am nay denier, but I ken a fool when he stands before me, and a pompous oaf at that. Listen to ye speak in such terms. Ye are nae worthy of this lass, nor of yer title, so-called Marquess of Torbay. A vain title fondly created to appease ye to the cause ye so claim to uphold. Ye are nay soldier and ye would not last two minutes in battle,” Feargan said, as Philip squared up to him, the two looking at one another defiantly.
“Please, do not fight, I could not bear it, please. Come now, Philip, why not go and have a drink with Father before dinner. Feargan, you too. Let us lay aside any arguments we might have for the sake of our common company,” Amelia said, taking hold of Philip’s arm.
“For the lady’s sake,” Philip said, scowling at Feargan, who returned his gaze defiantly.
“Aye, for Amelia’s sake,” Feargan replied, and the two stepped back, the certainty of conflict still looming as they followed Amelia through the house to where the Earl and Catherine were sitting by the fire.
“Ah, we thought we had lost you. Come now, Lord Torbay, tell us something of the Bonnie Prince, what news is there of our King and court in exile?”
“No news, really, only that Charles Edward Stuart plans his rising in the coming months. The so-called Jacobite Rebellion will see him on the throne and our cause won. Whatever his detractors may say,” Philip said, snatching a glance at Feargan.
“One such detractor is here, is he not?” the Earl said, turning to Feargan.
“The Hanoverians are threatening our lands and our folks. An uprising of simple peasants, led by nobles who have grown to used to life in the splendors of Paris and the French countryside, will be nay match for them,” Feargan said, glancing at Philip.
“I disagree. Now is the time for the rebellion. We have never been stronger, nor our cause more readily supported,” Philip replied, rising to pour himself a drink from the Earl’s decanters.
“Worrying times,” the Earl said, shaking his head. “But we in our little backwater here are not so troubled by such things, though the time will come when me must be so troubled, of that I have no doubt.”
“But how will the Stuart King gain order of the country? There are precious few who support his cause—in this part of Cumberland only us and Lady Egremont, and Carlisle is a stronghold of the Hanoverians,” Amelia said.
“Leave such reasoning to men who know what they are talking about,” Philip replied, turning to her.
“Actually, Amelia has a very fair point, there is simply nae enough support for an uprising amongst the people,” Feargan said, but Philip cut him short and lest an argument should once again arise he remained silent, listening as Philip pontificated upon the Jacobean plans for invasion.
This was dangerous talk but in the home of the Earl of Workington such things were permitted. The Bartons had long been loyal to the Stuart cause and it was because of this fact that Lord Torbay, himself a staunch Jacobean, had first been introduced to Amelia. The Earl was convinced that such a marriage would be beneficial to the cause and ensure the strength of future aristocratic birth. But he had misgivings about the Earl of Torbay, not least in the way he behaved towards his daughter, who he had no wish to see misused.
The company passed an awkward dinner that night, Feargan and Philip trading insults as the meal was served. The Laird had no qualms in defending himself against Philip’s attacks and Lord Torbay appeared to delight in baiting Feargan, who he appeared to consider little better than a peasant.
Later that evening, after the ladies had gone to bed, he caught him on the stairs, pulling Feargan around and drawing his face close to his.
“I
know your game, Galbreth. Coming here on the pretense of visiting a family you hardly know. You are either a spy, in which case I shall have you killed, or you have designs upon Amelia, an equally punishable offence. I can see the way you look at her and the manner with which you are so ready to defend her. I am watching you, Galbreth, and mark my words, I shall see to it that you get your comeuppance,” Philip said, releasing Feargan from his grasp.
“If I were a spy, then I wouldnae have allowed ye to leave Paris without a dagger in yer back. It is nay less than ye deserve. And if ye were not such a bampot, then perhaps Amelia wouldnae have cause to seek the company of others,” Feargan said, straightening his tunic.
“Bah,” Philip replied, turning and making his way upstairs, as Feargan stood watching him.
Highlander's Hidden Destiny (Steamy Scottish Historical) Page 9