Highland Love Song (DeWinter's Song 2)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Jamie drew himself up to his full height. "I am not afraid of him."

  "Good day, gentlemen. You'll be hearing from me when a decision has been reached." The Englishman walked across the polished floor, opened the door, and closed it softly behind him.

  "Did we do wrong to bring Helena with us?" Jamie asked, not really understanding the consequences.

  Ian pushed his brother aside. "You ride home and inform grandfather what has happened." His eyes narrowed. "Be certain you stress the fact that Lord Warrick left the meeting first. And I see no need for you to mention that Helena was here with us."

  Jamie looked doubtful. "Why can't you tell grandfather? You know he doesn't like me."

  "I have more important matters on my mind. I'm off to welcome my bride. I want to be waiting when her ship docks."

  "You are a fortunate man, Ian. Not only is our cousin beautiful, but her father possesses great wealth."

  "Indeed I am fortunate, Jamie, for unlike your marriage, mine will be a love match."

  Lady Helena heard the brothers' exchange and felt tears sting her eyes. Her marriage was not a love match, and she had a weakling for a husband. Jamie lived in the shadow of his brother and seemed to have no voice of his own. But somewhere, deep inside her, she had a feeling that Jamie would be a better man if he were separated from Ian. There were times when he was kind to her, and he seemed happy about the baby. With an effort, she moved to stand beside her husband.

  When Jamie looked at her there was no softness in his eyes. But sometimes at night, when he was far from Ian, he would say sweet things to her and hold her tenderly in his arms until she fell asleep. At those times she almost loved him.

  Warrick's face was a mask of fury as he mounted his horse and rode away from Edinburgh with Mactavish at his side. It had been very apparent to him that Lady Helena had no wish to be rescued. With the feeling of betrayal weighing heavily on his shoulders, he turned his mount toward the Highlands. He had lost today. Lord Thorndike would certainly award Kilmouris to the Maclvors, and Warrick was helpless to prevent it.

  3

  The North Sea storm raged with ever-increasing intensity, tossing the Nightingale around with the same carelessness it would have a bobbing cork. For three days punishing winds and pelting rain had hammered at the ship, and there was no sign that the storm would abate. It wasn't until the fourth day that the wind diminished and the waves no longer crested over the side of the ship. Lady Mary remained below, too ill to venture from her cabin.

  Arrian sat by her aunt's bedside, trying to convince her that the worst of the storm had passed. But poor Lady Mary would not be consoled.

  There was a knock on the door, and Arrian opened it to find Captain Norris smiling at her.

  "Please come in, Captain. Perhaps you can help me persuade my aunt that the storm has passed."

  He was a tall man and had to bend his head to enter the cabin. His face was weather-beaten, and the heavy lines at his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Arrian had known him all her life and had a great fondness for him. He removed his hat and tucked it under his arm.

  "Lady Mary, I want to confer with you about our destination."

  Lady Mary sank weakly against a pillow. "What are our choices?"

  "As you know, we were to put in at Leith, but we are far from that port and in the waters of Moray Firth."

  Lady Mary looked taken aback. "Why were we blown so far off course?"

  "It was a fearful storm, my lady."

  "What do you recommend, Captain?"

  "I must be frank with you. It's my opinion that the storm still rages in the direction of Leith, but it has lost most of its strength. If we continue on course it will not be as bad as before."

  Lady Mary shook her head. "I will never go through another storm at sea—not ever! I'd rather take my chances on land."

  "Does your ladyship realize that the land you see in the distance is the Highland coast?"

  "It matters not to me. Just put me ashore at the closest port."

  "We are just off Rattray Head, my lady."

  "Then make arrangements to put my niece and me ashore, Captain. I'll have no trouble hiring a carriage that will take us to our destination."

  "I strongly advise against that, my lady. This is wild country, and a winter snowstorm can hit without warning. You would fare much better at sea."

  Lady Mary set her chin in determination. "We'll go ashore today."

  Captain Norris looked as if he would like to protest further, but he dared not. "It will be as you wish, my lady. But at least allow two of my crew to accompany you as outriders."

  "What good will they do me on land? They are sailors."

  The captain smiled. "They can shoot as straight on land as they can at sea, should the need arise."

  "I don't need them to accompany us. I'll hire men in the village who know their way about the Highlands. I'll not travel with your men, who are English enough to get their throats cut by the inhabitants."

  Arrian felt deep disappointment as she walked on deck and stood at the railing. She had envisioned her reunion with Ian and how they would journey together to their grandfather's castle.

  She glanced at the land barely visible through the fog. Wild country, the captain had said. It certainly appeared to be dark and foreboding. She watched as ominous clouds gathered on the horizon, and shivered, wishing her aunt would change her mind and decide to remain on board the Nightingale.

  It was a cold, blustery morning with only a feeble sun shining through an occasional break in the clouds. Arrian climbed aboard the coach with her aunt, and they set off from the coaching inn at a steady pace.

  Much to Aunt Mary's displeasure, both Arrian's and her maids were still feeling ill. She had no intention of nursing the two women across the Highlands, so they had been sent on ahead to Leith with Captain Norris.

  A dense fog swirled about the coach, encasing the occupants in a strange eeriness. The only noise they could hear was the muffled sound of the horses' hooves on the snow-packed road.

  Arrian smiled cheerfully at her aunt, determined to make the best of the situation. Lady Mary was wrapped in woolen shawls, so only her face was visible.

  Dear Great Aunt Mary was indeed unique. If Arrian had to be confined in a coach for days, there was no one she'd rather be with than her. Although a widow, Lady Mary Rindhold was famous for her socials and galas. Invitations to her parties were coveted by London nobility. The years had not diminished her fragile beauty.

  Her skin was still youthful and unlined, she had charm and intelligence, and Arrian adored her. Arrian reached out, placing her gloved hand on Lady Mary's arm. "Are you comfortable?"

  "Not so you'd notice. I have been at sea in a storm, and now my bones are aching, so it will undoubtedly snow. My aches are never wrong when predicting the weather."

  Arrian poked her hands into her ermine muff to keep them warm. She decided to attempt to take her aunt's mind off her discomfort. "I'm looking forward to seeing Great-grandfather Maclvors. There was a time when I was frightened of him because he was so brusque. But as I grew older, I saw a softness in his eyes that belied any gruffness."

  Lady Mary laughed. "My father has bullied friends and family alike into believing he's a tyrant—and I must confess, in many instances he is. It's my belief that you are special to him because you look so much like my dead sister for whom you were named. Then, of course, he's most fond of your mother. Kassidy was spunky as a young girl, and father loved that about her." Lady Mary smiled. "In that respect, she has not changed."

  "I love to hear Mother talk about how she and my father met."

  "You know, of course, when she married your father, your mother made the match of the decade. I can tell you that my father did not approve of the marriage because Raile is English. Father often remarks that she would have done better married to a Scotsman, which you and I know is not true."

  "Mother has often told me of my real parents, but I cannot imagine them. I have always thou
ght of them as ghostly figures who had no meaning in my life."

  "Kassidy and Raile have always cherished you as their daughter. Kassidy fought to keep you with her.

  You were the daughter of her beloved sister, and she loved you from the first."

  Arrian smiled. "I know Mother and Father were brought together by my birth."

  "Since Raile was half brother to your real father and Kassidy was your mother's sister, you were already a part of them both. You belonged to them as surely as if you had been born to them. But they still wanted to adopt you so you would always know that they wanted you."

  "I have always known that I was loved."

  Lady Mary's expression became wistful as if she were remembering something. "Kassidy and Raile overcame great hardships and pain before they found happiness. All you need to remember is that they love you. You're the daughter of their hearts."

  At noon the coach stopped at a posting inn. Arrian and Lady Mary were served a light luncheon in a private room. The weather had grown colder, and Arrian lingered before a roaring fire, dreading the thought of getting back in the coach.

  Lady Mary insisted, however, that they continue their journey, hoping to make the next village before nightfall.

  Once settled in the coach, Lady Mary looked out at the passing scenery. "I must confess, I'm always somewhat uneasy traveling through this part of the Highlands. These are the lands of the legendary Lord Warrick Glencarin. He's the chief of Clan Drummond and has little love for my father's clan."

  Arrian had grown up on exciting tales about Scottish lairds and battling armies. Her favorite tale was of Robert the Bruce, who was proclaimed king of Scotland after his victory over his English enemies. Perhaps it was because of her fascination for this wonderful land that she had lost her heart to Ian Maclvors.

  "Tell me about this Lord Warrick. Why does he bear the Maclvors ill will?"

  "Oh, he's a devil, that one. Of course, I admit that having been born a Maclvors, my assessment of him might be somewhat distorted. Your uncle George helped me see that there had been wrongs on both sides, although I doubt you could convince my father or Warrick Glencarin of the truth of that."

  "Warrick Glencarin . . . he sounds like a knight out of some medieval tale. Is he handsome, do you think? Or is he old, and has he outlived many wives?"

  Lady Mary pressed her face closer to the window and noticed that it had started snowing. "Don't be such a romantic, Arrian." Her brow knitted into a worried frown. "I doubt you'd find Lord Warrick a knight to rescue maidens from peril—not if that lady has a dram of Maclvors blood in her veins, or if she's English. And you, my dear, are both. Not to mention the fact that you will be marrying the future chief of the Maclvors."

  "Surely King William does not allow such feuds to continue in this day and age."

  "William has little to say about it. When a Drummond meets a Maclvors, blood is sure to spill. They are sworn to a blood feud. I doubt it'll ever end."

  "Tell me more about the clans."

  "Old ways are cherished here, Arrian. Honesty and plain speaking is preferred. The Scots remain true to their heritage and their passionate love for Scotland. Sadly, most clans broke apart after our war with France. The great landowners found they could run sheep on their land and make more money than from their tenant farmers. Many of the clan members migrated to the cities or left the country, some going as far away as the Colonies."

  "But this Drummond clan survived, and so have the Maclvors. Tell me everything you know about Lord Warrick," Arrian said eagerly.

  "It's said that Lord Warrick is a man of the wild north who scoffs at the gentry of the south. I suppose I admire him in many ways. He is a power to reckon with and holds sway over his people. I never met him personally. However, five years ago, he was pointed out to me on the streets of Edinburgh. I admit he was more comely than a man has a right to be, in a dark sort of way."

  "What are a chief's duties to his clan?"

  "It's a strange relationship, something like a father caring for his children. If he is a noble chief, he visits the old ones in their cottages when they are ill, knows each man and woman, and calls each child by name. My father was like that when he was younger. But you must know, Arrian, that the Maclvors clan is no longer the force it once was. There are few left to work the land. I believe it was Ian's idea to run sheep and let the tenant farmers go."

  Arrian missed the criticism in her aunt's voice. Her thoughts were on the faceless chief of the Drummond clan. "Do you think Lord Warrick is a noble chief?"

  "I've heard he has the power to fire the imagination of others—especially his own clan. They look to him for guidance and stand ready to carry out his least order, and often his orders are to torment my father. He has been a constant source of irritation to my father for years."

  "I have often heard Mother speak of the Highlands and the Lowlands as if there was a great difference."

  "To be in the Highlands is like stepping back in time. Highlanders are less refined, have rougher edges, and speak mostly Gaelic. Although many Lowlanders will not admit it, their lives resemble their English cousins. It's a pity neither side will acknowledge that the old life is over and that they are eternally joined to England."

  Arrian shook her head. "It must have been a glorious sight when the Scottish chiefs paraded about with their banners flying and their armies dressed in clan colors. Tis a pity such a heritage has been lost forever."

  "Nay, child, think not what has been lost of the old ways, but rejoice on that which has been saved."

  Arrian's mind moved on to other matters. "I hope Ian won't worry about us when he discovers we aren't on the Nightingale when it makes port at Leith."”

  "Captain Norris will inform him of the reason for our delay, if the good captain doesn't sink in the storm. I swear I'll never journey by ship again." She pulled a woolen robe over her shoulders. "Let us talk of more amiable matters." The older woman's eyes twinkled. "Let's speak of your wedding."

  Arrian noticed the heavy snowflakes that drifted past the window of the coach. "Ian is everything I could want in a husband. It's no wonder I waited for him to realize he loved me. He was always in my mind, overshadowing all other gentlemen I met."

  Lady Mary studied Arrian intently. "Are you certain what you feel for Ian is a deep and lasting love and not a young girl's fanciful dreams?"

  "Mother asked me the same thing, but I assured her that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Ian."

  Lady Mary wiped the frost from the glass with her gloved hand, and peered outside. "This storm is getting much worse. We should have put up at the last posting inn. Lord, the snow is so heavy I can't see the side of the road."

  It was growing colder, and Arrian pulled the woolen robe across her legs and shivered. It was snowing so hard she could only see a vague outline of the two outriders who were huddled over their saddles.

  "Poor men, they must be miserable in this weather." She leaned forward as they disappeared completely in a swirling tide of white. "They will be lost," she said in a worried voice. "Surely they can't find their way in this."

  Lady Mary took Arrian's hand. "I have never seen a worse storm. Night will soon be upon us, and I doubt if the poor driver can see the road. If anything happens to you, I'll hold myself responsible."

  Before Arrian could answer, the carriage suddenly tilted and then righted itself, spilling Lady Mary to the floor. Arrian clutched tightly to the door, striving to keep from being thrown about. Then the coach slid sideways and rolled over, slamming into a snowdrift.

  Pain exploded inside Arrian's head, and she slumped forward into unconsciousness.

  Dazed, Arrian sat up slowly, trying to remember what had happened. It was dark, and she was so cold her teeth chattered. There didn't seem to be a part of her body that didn't ache. Her mind slowly began to clear, and she remembered the accident.

  She could hear the sound of the gale-force wind as it shook the coach. She fumbled frantically around in the dark
and discovered that the coach was on its side and the door was now above her head, out of her reach.

  "Aunt Mary, where are you? Are you hurt?" Panic took over her reasoning. "Why don't you speak to me?"

  There was no answer. At last she found her aunt's hand, but it was limp and cold. "Oh, no. Don't worry, Aunt Mary," she cried. "I'm sure the coachman has gone for help."

  Still her aunt made no reply. Where were the driver and the outriders? Why hadn't they come to their assistance?

  Arrian managed to pull the woolen robe over her aunt. She sat for what seemed like hours, holding her aunt's hand, too stunned to move. Had she heard the sound of voices? Hope sprang within her. Perhaps it was one of their men returning.

  The door was wrenched open, and someone thrust a lantern into the coach. Arrian blinked her eyes, blinded by the light, and asked, "Who is it?"

  "Be ye all right, miss?" a man asked in a heavy Scottish brogue.

  "Please help us!" she cried, groping toward the light. "I fear my aunt has been badly injured."

  "Don't you fret, now, lassie. We'll have you out o' here in no time a'tall."

  Arrian watched with renewed hope as the man climbed into the upended coach. With a quick assessment of the situation, he gathered Lady Mary in his arms and lifted her up into someone else's arms. Next the man caught Arrian by the waist and hoisted her upward, where she was pulled to safety.

  It was bitterly cold, and the snow was still coming down in a white flurry. Someone quickly wrapped Arrian in a fur robe and placed her in the arms of a man on horseback.

  "How is my aunt?" she asked when she could not see Lady Mary.

  "She's been taken on ahead," a kind voice assured her. "She'll be taken care of, have no fear."

  "The coachman?" she asked, straining to see through the ceaseless curtain of white.

  "The coachman should'a known not to take to the road in this weather. He's beyond help, lassie—neck's broken."