Sophia's Secret

by Susanna Kearsley

  She kept her own voice calm. ‘I’ll mind that, Mr Wick.’

  ‘Aye, see ye do. I widna wish tae see ye come tae harm, a bonnie quinie like yerself.’ His dark eyes stripped her with a slow glance as he held her by the arm.

  She pulled away, but he did not release her and she knew that if she struggled it would only please him more. So, standing still, she told him, ‘Let me go.’

  ‘Ye look a bit unsteady on yer feet,’ he said, and smiled. ‘I’d nae want ye tae fall. Leastwyes, that’s what I’ll tell her ladyship, if ye should have a mind tae speak against me. I’ve been here at Slains a wee while longer than yerself, my quine. Her ladyship puts value on my word.’ His other hand was reaching for her waist as he was speaking, and Sophia realised that, where they were standing, they were all but out of sight of anyone within the house. She felt the panic and revulsion rise like bile within her throat, and choke her words as she repeated, ‘Let me go.’

  ‘I dinna think I will, the now.’ The hand had reached her waist and clasped it, and begun a progress upwards. ‘I’d best be making certain ye’ve nae done yerself an injury.’

  The footsteps on the pathway were a welcome interruption. In an instant Billy Wick had dropped his hands and moved away, so there was nothing untoward in the appearance of the scene that greeted Mr Moray when he came upon them. But he slowed his steps, and with a brief look at Sophia’s face, stopped walking altogether, as his eyes swung, cold and watchful, to the gardener.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Wick,’ he said, but leaving no time for the other man to make reply, he added, ‘I am sure this lady did not mean to keep ye from your work.’

  The gardener scowled, but touched his cap respectfully and, picking up his tools from where he’d set them down beside the path, he slipped away as neatly as a viper in the grass.

  Sophia’s shoulders sagged a little with relief. Feeling Moray’s eyes upon her once again, she waited for the questions, but they did not come. He only asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

  She could have told him what had happened, but she dared not, for beneath his calm she sensed that he was very capable of violence, in a just cause, and she dared not give him any reason to defend her honour, lest in doing so he called attention to himself. She would not have him be discovered.

  So she told him, ‘Yes,’ and smoothed her gown with hands that barely trembled. ‘Thank you. Everything is fine.’

  He nodded. ‘Then I’ll not detain you, for I see you are, indeed, quite fully occupied this morning.’

  He’d gone past her by the time she found her courage. ‘Mr Moray?’

  Once again he stopped, and turned. ‘Aye?’

  ‘I do find my situation changed.’ She’d said it now. She could not lose her nerve. ‘If you still wish to ride, I could come with you. If you like,’ she finished, conscious of his steady gaze.

  He stood a moment in consideration. Then he said, ‘Aye, Mistress Paterson, I’d like that very much.’

  She didn’t bother changing from her gown into her borrowed habit. Dust and horsehair could not harm the fabric of her skirts more than the years themselves had done. This gown was the not the oldest one she owned, but she had worn it several seasons and had mended it with care because its colour, once deep violet, now a paler shade of lavender, did set off her bright hair to some advantage.

  At the stables, Rory brought her out the mare, and ran his hands along the broad girth of the sidesaddle to see it was secure. But it was Moray’s hand that helped Sophia to her mount.

  She felt again that shooting charge along her arm that she had felt when they’d first touched, and as she drew her hand back he remarked, ‘Ye should be wearing gloves.’

  ‘I’ll be all right. My hands are not so soft.’

  ‘To mine, they are,’ he said, and handed her the gauntlets from his own belt before swinging to the saddle of his gelding, where he sat with so much ease he seemed a part of the great animal. To Rory, he said, ‘If her ladyship should ask, we’ll not be riding far, and we’ll be keeping close to shore. The lass is safe with me.’

  ‘Aye, Colonel Moray.’ Rory stepped well clear and watched them go, and though he made no comment, from the look of interest on his face Sophia guessed that Kirsty would soon hear of her adventure.

  But while Kirsty would undoubtedly approve, Sophia did not know what thoughts the countess or her son might have upon the matter. True enough, the countess had been in the room when Moray had first asked her to go riding after breakfast, but Sophia had declined that offer with such haste the countess had not had the time or need to voice her own opinion. Nonetheless, Sophia reasoned, there could scarce be an objection. Mr Moray was an honourable man and of good family – a woman under his protection surely would not come to harm.

  She told herself this last bit for a second time to fortify her confidence. They were beyond the castle now and heading to the south. He held the gelding to an easy walk although she sensed, had he been on his own, he would have settled on a pace more suited to his restlessness. It must, she thought, be difficult for someone such as him, a soldier, bred and trained for action, to be confined to Slains these past few days. She’d often seen him taking refuge in the library among the shelves of books, as though by reading he could give his mind at least a taste of liberty. But mostly he’d reminded her of some caged beast who could but pace the grounds and corridors without a worthy purpose.

  Even now, he seemed to have no destination in his mind, as though it were enough for this brief time that he should breathe the sea air and be free.

  He seemed in no great mood to break the silence, and indeed he did not speak till they had splashed across the burn and passed the huddle of small dwellings just beyond, and turned their mounts to where the soft beach grasses blew atop the dunes of sand. And then he asked, ‘How do ye find those gloves?’

  She found them warm, and overlarge, and rough upon her fingers, but the feeling had a certain sinful pleasure to it, as though his own hands were closed round hers, and she would not have wished them gone. ‘They are a help to me,’ she said. ‘Though I confess I feel that I should have a falcon perched upon my wrist, to do them justice.’

  She had never seen him smile like that – a quick and sudden gleam of teeth and genuine amusement. Its swift force left her all but breathless.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘they are not of the latest fashion. They were sent me as a Christmas present by my sister Anna, who greatly loves all tales of knights and chivalry, and no doubt chose those gloves with that in mind.’

  She smiled. ‘My sister’s name was also Anna.’

  ‘“Was”?’

  ‘She died, last year.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Did ye have no other family?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ye’ve but to ask, and ye may freely borrow some of mine.’ His tone was dry. ‘I have two sisters and three brothers.’

  ‘It must vex you that you may not see them while you are in Scotland.’

  ‘Aye. My elder brother William, who is Laird of Abercairney, has a wee lad not yet eighteen months of age, who would not ken me from a stranger. I had hoped that I might put that right this month, but it appears I will not have the chance.’

  She tried to temper his regret with the reminder, ‘But a lad so young, were he to meet you, still would not remember you.’

  ‘I would remember him.’ There was a tone within his voice that made her glance at him and wonder if he found it very hard to live in France, so far from those he loved. It was no strange thing for a Scottish man to live abroad, and younger sons of noble families, knowing well they never would inherit lands themselves, did often choose to serve in armies on the continent, and build lives far from Scotland’s shores. The Irish Colonel Hooke, so she’d been told, had done just that and had a wife and children waiting now for him in France. She did not know for certain that John Moray did not have the same.

  ‘Have you any sons, yourself?’ she asked, attempting to speak lightly so that it would se
em his answer did not matter.

  He looked sideways at her. ‘No, I have no sons. Nor daughters either. Or at least no lass has yet presented me with such a claim. And I’d think my mother would prefer it were I married first, afore I brought new bairns into the family.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sophia said, because she could not think of any other thing to say.

  She felt him watching her, and though he had not altered his expression she could sense he was amused by her confusion, so she turned their talk along a different course.

  She asked, ‘And do you live at Court?’

  ‘At Saint-Germain? Faith, no,’ he said. ‘’Tis not a place for such as me. I find my lodgings where the King of France sees fit to send my regiment, and am content with that, although I do admit that when, from time to time, I am called back to Saint-Germain, I find King Jamie’s court a grand diversion.’

  She had heard much of the young King James – the ‘Bonny Blackbird’, so they called him, for his dark and handsome looks – and of his younger sister, the Princess Louise Marie, and of the grandeur and gay parties of their exiled court in France, but she had never had occasion to meet someone who had been there, and she longed to know the details. ‘Is it true the king and princess dance all night and hunt all morning?’

  ‘And make promenades all afternoon?’ His eyes were gently mocking. ‘Aye, I’ve heard it rumoured, too, and it is true they both are young and on occasion have a mind to take such pleasure as they can, and who can blame them, after all that they have lived through. But the duller truth be told, the princess is a lass of charming sensibility, who does comport herself in all ways modestly, and young King Jamie spends his hours attending to his business matters, foreign and domestic, with the diligence that does befit a king. Although,’ he added, so as not to disappoint her, ‘I recall that Twelfth Night last, there was a ball held at Versailles at which King Jamie and the princess danced past midnight, and at four o’clock were dancing still, the princess all in yellow velvet set with jewels, and diamonds in her bonny hair, and some two thousand candles burning round the hall to give the dancers light. And when the ball was over and the king and princess came out in the torchlight of the Cour de Marbre, the Swiss Guard of the French king did salute them to their carriage, and they drove back home to Saint-Germain surrounded by a company of riders, richly dressed, and with the white plume of the Stewarts in their hats.’

  Sophia sighed and briefly closed her eyes, imagining the picture. It was so removed from all that she had known, and so romantic. How incredible it all would be, she thought, to have the king at home again. The first King James had fled to exile in the year Sophia had been born, and in her lifetime there had been no King of Scots upon the ancient throne in Edinburgh. But she had listened, raptured, to her elders, as they reminisced about the days when Scotland’s destiny had been its own to manage. ‘Will he truly come?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye, lass. He’ll come, and set his foot on Scottish soil,’ said Moray. ‘And ’tis my resolve to see the effort does not cost his life.’

  She would have asked him more about the court at Saint-Germain, but Moray’s gaze had swung away and out to sea, and suddenly he pulled upon the gelding’s reins and brought him to a standstill.

  Stopping too, Sophia asked, ‘What is it?’

  But whatever it was that John Moray had seen, I decided, would just have to wait until later. With reluctance I depressed the keys to save my work, and switched off my computer.

  I was nearly late for lunch.

  Chapter Eleven

  Angus set up an alarm at my first knock, and went on barking steadily till someone came to answer. Jimmy held the door wide with a smile of welcome. ‘Aye-aye, quine. Come in, and dinna fash yersel aboot the dog, it’s only Angus. He’ll nae bite. Here, gie us yer coat and umbrella, I’ll hang them tae dry.’

  It was good to step in from the grey mist and rain to the warmth of the bright narrow hall with its yellowing wallpaper. Today the smells of cooking were not lingering, but fresh and strong. He’d kept his promise, so it seemed, to do a roast of beef, and the richly brown aroma of it met me where I stood, reminding me that I’d been so absorbed in writing that I had forgotten to eat breakfast, and was starving.

  Angus, seeing it was me, had stopped his barking and came forward now, tail wagging, to nose round my legs in search of some attention. I bent down to scratch his ears and said, ‘Hi, Angus.’ Then I caught myself, and ran the conversation back a few lines in my mind to reassure myself that Jimmy had made mention of the dog’s name. And he had, but I would have to be more careful, I thought, if I was supposed to be pretending that this was the first time I was meeting Graham.

  ‘Will ye have a bittie sherry?’ Jimmy offered. ‘My wife aye liked a wee bittie sherry afore Sunday lunch.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Following him through into the sitting room, I felt a clutching of anticipation at my ribcage, so I had to draw my breath in deeper, to prepare myself. It might not be the first time I was setting eyes on Graham, but it would be the first time that I’d seen him since he’d kissed me, and I found that I was nervous.

  If I hadn’t been so occupied with writing last night, I’d have likely analysed that kiss to death. I’d know today if he had meant it, or if he was having second thoughts about the change of course we had just made in our relationship.

  He had his father’s manners. As I came into the sitting room, he stood, and when his eyes met mine they laid my doubts to rest. We might have been the only people in the room.

  Except we weren’t.

  I hadn’t seen the other person standing to my left until a hand reached out to claim my shoulder, and I felt the brush of Stuart’s breath against my cheek as he bent down to greet me with a smiling kiss that faintly smelt of beer. ‘You see? I told you I’d not be away too long.’ With the hand still on my shoulder, he said, ‘Graham, this is Carrie. Carrie, meet my brother, Graham.’

  Thrown off balance by this new turn of events, I went through the motions of the introduction by pure reflex, till the firm electric warmth of Graham’s handshake steadied me. Politely but deliberately, I took a step forward that brought me out of Stuart’s hold, and chose the armchair closest to the one where Graham sat. I then aimed my smile beyond both brothers to their father, who had crossed to offer me the glass he’d filled with care from what appeared to be a newly purchased bottle of dry sherry on the sideboard.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, to Jimmy. ‘Lunch smells wonderful.’

  ‘Ye’ll nae be filled wi’ sic praise efter ye’ve aeten it.’

  ‘That’s why he’s got us drinking first,’ said Stuart, holding up his own half-finished glass of ale as evidence. Oblivious to my manoeuvre with the chairs, he took the one that faced me, stretching out his legs and shifting Angus to the side. The dog moved grumpily.

  ‘So,’ Stuart asked me, cheerfully, ‘how did you get along this week, without me?’

  ‘Oh, I managed.’

  Jimmy said, ‘She’s been tae Edinburgh.’

  I felt the brush of Graham’s gaze beside me, before Stuart said, ‘To Edinburgh?’ His eyebrows lifted, curious. ‘What for?’

  ‘Just research.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Jimmy, ‘awa all the wik she wis, and she didna get hame till late on Friday. Had me fair worriet. I nivver like tae see a quinie travel on her ain at nicht. Fit wye didna ye wait and come up in the morning?’ he asked me.

  ‘I was ready to come home,’ was all the explanation I could give without revealing that I’d only wanted to get back in time to keep my date with Graham for our driving tour on Saturday.

  If he suspected it himself, he kept it hidden. ‘Did you find what you were after?’ Graham asked, and as my head came round he added calmly, ‘With your research?’

  ‘I found quite a bit, yes.’ And, because it gave me something useful I could focus on, I told him a little of what I had learnt from the Hamilton papers.

  Stuart, settling back, asked, ‘And who wa
s the Duke of Hamilton?’

  ‘James Douglas,’ Graham said, ‘Fourth Duke of Hamilton.’

  ‘Oh, him. Of course.’ He rolled his eyes, and Graham grinned and told his brother, ‘Don’t be such an arse.’

  ‘We don’t all sleep with history books.’

  ‘The Duke of Hamilton,’ said Graham slowly, as though speaking to a child, ‘was one of Scotland’s most important men, around the turning of the eighteenth century. He spoke out as a patriot, and had a place in line to Scotland’s throne. In fact, some Protestants, himself included, thought he’d be a better candidate for king than any of the exiled Stewarts.’

  ‘Aye, well, anyone would have been better than the Stewarts,’ Stuart said, but as he raised his glass the curving of his mouth showed he was goading Graham purposely.

  Ignoring him, Graham asked me, ‘Does he play a great role in your book?’

  ‘The duke? He’s around in the background a lot. The story, so far, has kept pretty much to Slains, but there’s a scene at the beginning where he briefly meets my heroine in Edinburgh. And my characters, of course, all have opinions on the duke’s connection to the Union.’

  ‘So do some historians.’

  Stuart drained his glass and said, ‘You’re losing me, again. What Union?’

  Graham paused, then in a dry voice told me, ‘You’ll excuse my brother. His appreciation of our country’s past begins and ends with Braveheart.’

  Stuart tried his best to look offended, but he couldn’t. In his easy-going way, he said, ‘Well, go on, then. Enlighten me.’

  Graham’s eyes were indulgent. ‘Robert the Bruce was in Braveheart, so you’ll ken who he was?’

  ‘Aye. The King of Scotland.’

  ‘And his daughter married the High Steward, so from that you’ve got the “Stewart” line, which went through two more Roberts and a heap of Jameses before coming down to Mary, Queen of Scots. You’ve heard of her?’

  ‘Nice girl, bad marriages,’ said Stuart, sitting back to play along.