A Laird for All Time

by Angeline Fortin

  “I haven’t been sleeping well either,” he admitted huskily. “I think we both know the reason.”

  “I’m sure we do,” she drawled with a little sarcasm and shook her head. “Before I start getting nasty, just let me go, ok?”

  Giving in graciously, Connor kissed her hand and rose. “At least allow me to escort ye to our room?”

  “It might be better if you didn’t do that,” she said tiredly knowing what might happen so easily if he did. “I really do want to sleep.”

  “Very well,” he conceded. “It is just as well. We have an early morning ahead. Yer maid should wake you at about dawn for us to start our sail.” He kissed her hand again lingering until she had to jerk it away from the heat and tingling his lips introduced. “Good night, Hea…good night, my lady,” he corrected before she could do it herself.

  “Good night, Connor,” she whispered, offered her good nights to the room and left thinking there was no way she was going to sleep well tonight either. His kiss had seen to that and it was only on her hand! She scratched her palm to rid it of the lingering tingle and wondered how long she could hold out against him. Long enough for him to admit he was wrong? Suddenly she doubted it.

  Chapter 21

  Surprisingly, Emmy did sleep well and was awake and looking forward to the day with Connor when Margo arrived to wake her the next morning with a light breakfast and to help her dress. Wearing her own undergarments and again refusing the corset, Emmy accepted Margo’s advice for dressing warmly against the cold winds likely to abound on the Sound of Mull. She allowed the long, woolen pantelettes but wore them over her underwear more like long johns and wore two wool petticoats under her skirts. She also had a warm coat, gloves and scarf to help keep her warm, but rejected the huge, ridiculous hat as pointless against the cold.

  Emmy was thankful for it all when she met Connor at the carriage in front of the keep. The clouds were heavy and gray though the winds were calm, it was still quite chilly. “Good morning, Connor,” she offered with a cheery smile.

  “Good morning, my lady,” he returned offering a hand up to help her into the closed carriage. “Did ye sleep well then?”

  “Thankfully, yes. And you?”

  “Well enough,” he answered with a grin. “So where shall we sail today? Any thoughts?”

  “Why don’t you just show me what you think I’d like best,” she told him.

  “I might miss something of import,” he argued but she shook her head.

  “It’s universally accepted the locals always know the best stuff. I trust you.”

  “Let’s be off then,” he rapped on the roof of the carriage and it set off with a jerk inciting a yelp from Emmy before she clutched Connor’s arm.

  “Not exactly a smooth ride is it?” she complained not a hundred yards down the drive.

  Connor looked affronted. “I have one of the best carriages on the island,” he argued. “Ye’ll not find a smoother ride nearby.”

  “This is a smooth ride?” Emmy asked in amazement as the carriage swayed and jolted along the road. The crunch of the gravel under the wooden wheels was audible and gave the impression of rolling a pin over graham crackers when she made a crust for a pie. The vibration grated against her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. She shuddered. “God bless the invention of multipoint suspension,” she muttered as they bounced over a particularly big rut in the road. She hung on to him with one hand and a strap hanging on the side of the carriage with the other as they went along.

  “Good God, lass,” he scolded. “Ye act like ye’ve never been in a carriage before. It’s not that bad!”

  “I don’t know, Connor,” she denied with a slow shake of her head gulping deeply as motion sickness started to overtake her, “if this is a smooth ride, I might have a problem.” The closed carriage allowed for no airflow and no windows to view the passing landscapes.

  Connor looked disgusted and reached across her to pull down the window beside her. The cool breeze hit Emmy on the face and she turned to it gratefully taking a deep breath. “Ye think this is bad, wait until we are out on the water.”

  Emmy shook her head in denial. “I’ve never had a problem with seasickness, not in my entire life.”

  “Well, I canna wait until we get there then,” he muttered with a measure of antipathy.

  “Me neither,” she agreed. The trip that had taken just ten minutes in the shuttle took almost an hour in the carriage. When they got to the dock, Emmy was trembling and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Shakily she accepted his offer for tea at a nearby inn while he made sure the boat was ready.

  What a nightmare! Never had she been so keen to the motion of any vehicle she had ever ridden in. Every little sway had her swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat. The only thing that she had to feel thankful for - besides the end of the trip - was that she hadn’t vomited in Connor’s lap along the way. She refused to even think of the return trip at this point. Emmy couldn’t imagine how these people suffered such horrific travel conditions regularly. Indeed, for the duration of her stay, this might be her single expedition out of Duart!

  Well, chalk up one more strike against this time, she thought as she patted her cheeks with some of the cold water the inn manager had brought for her. She nodded her thanks to the man and even drank the hot tea gratefully when it was placed before her.

  “Will there be anything else, lass?” the jolly middle-aged man asked.

  “No, thank you,” she replied pressing a damp towel to her neck. “I appreciate your help.”

  The man nodded and started to move off when a deep gravelly voice drew their attention. “Maybe ye should offer the lady some toast or something, Jimmy. She’s looking a might peaked.”

  Jimmy nodded and set off to do just that as Emmy stared in amazement at the owner of that distinctive voice. “Donell?” she questioned aloud but received no response. “Donell!” she commanded more firmly and for her troubles got an eyebrow raised at her over the rim of a pewter mug as the man sipped his drink.

  It was Donell the shuttle driver without a doubt but why not acknowledge it? Why was he looking at her as if he didn’t know her? Emmy grabbed her cup and moved over to his table without waiting to ask permission. Leaning forward, she whispered, “Did it get you, too, Donell?”

  “Did what get me, lass?” he asked whipping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. His bushy eyebrows rose in recognition that to Emmy’s mind looked a bit contrived. “I know who ye are, ye know?”

  “I know you do!” she insisted.

  “Ye’re the lady countess of Duart returned after all these years!” He raised his mug in a toast and drank deeply though his eyes never left hers. “What do ye think of Duart these days? Not too simple a life, eh?”

  Emmy slumped back in her chair and stared at him flabbergasted. As thoughts and realizations raced through her mind, she gaped like a landed fish as she tried to formulate a response. “You? You did this to me? How? Why?” These last two words were vague and thread with disbelief as he continued to drink and study her in turn.

  “Ye seem to be doing pretty well fer yerself so far,” he added still looking at her. “Are ye enjoying your visit? Ye’ve come a long way after all.”

  Emmy’s head began to nod automatically in response. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Ready to go home then?”

  Hesitation, just a moment and that was all it took for his rugged face as the wrinkles to crease into an expression of amusement. “Not yet then, eh?”

  “Donell,” she whispered stunned by the realizations that he presented. “How?” she repeated. “Why?”

  “Tragic family, the MacLeans,” he commented as if he never heard her questions. “What wi’ the laird’s wife leaving him like that and then the wife of the younger one…”

  “Dory? It is about Dory, isn’t it? I thought so! Am I here to save her? What of Connor?” Emmy reached out and squeezed the old man’s hand in appeal. “They are good people, Donell! Tell
me what I need to do.”

  The old man patted her hand between his in a kindly manner and smiled as he continued on as if he hadn’t heard her at all. He hadn’t even admitted that he was behind what had brought her here! How had he done that? Laws of physics and government conspiracies aside, Emmy wasn’t one to believe in magic or sorcery. What other power could make this happen? She was believer enough to have just one answer jump to her mind, but taking Donell in with a shake of her head, denied that possibility.

  Perhaps it wasn’t happening at all but was instead some drug induced delusion. More dream than reality but old Scot didn’t look evil enough to have been a part of such duplicity either. “What is going on, Donell?” she repeated insisting, “You must tell me!”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance at life, lass. Even ye.”

  “Me?” Emmy slumped back in frustrated confusion. “I don’t need a second chance! I have a perfect life waiting for me!”

  “Do ye now?”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she insisted stubbornly.

  “Is it now?” he questioned again with a twinkle in his eye. “Ye came on yer holiday alone, lass. No friends wi’ ye. No man. Perfect life? Do ye even know what ye really want?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Ye don’t envy these people their simple life?” he queried craftily. “Ahh, but mayhap ye’ve begun to realize that it isn’t so simple, eh? What say ye, lass? Ye still thinking these people have a simple life?” He chuckled and shifted his eyes.

  Hers followed and she saw Connor approaching the inn. Her long exhale spoke volumes. “A bit longer, I think.” The old man rose and dropped a few coins on the table. “G’day, Jimmy,” he called as he shuffled to the door.

  “Wait!” Emmy called but Donell just raised his hand in farewell and even held the door open with a slight bow to the laird as Connor entered the inn.

  “Ye still look a wee bit peaked, my love,” he commented with a hint of worry as he joined her at the table. “Are you sure ye want to do this?”

  “Connor,” she asked instead, a touch of desperation in her voice, “do you know that man who just left?”

  Connor looked over his shoulder and bit back a chuckle, “Old Donell? Has he managed to wrap ye around his finger? Most of the ladies here would do just about anything he asked.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He owns a small farm north of here on the coast. Been old since I was just a lad, but never seems to change.” Enjoying the look of curiosity on her face, Connor leaned in and added in a confidential tone, “Rumor has it that he might be a wizard or such. His mother before him was said to be a powerful witch.”

  “Really,” Emmy choked out. A wizard? Was it magic that had brought her here?

  “Some others say he’s a fallen angel.”

  “A what?”

  “One of God’s angels who has come down from Heaven to serve a penance of sorts,” Connor chuckled again. “Don’t look so serious, lass, it’s all nonsense and superstition. ‘Tis what happens when an old man never seems to age and appears to have a blessed touch about him.”

  “Blessed touch?”

  “Some say he has a healing touch or is just good luck or such nonsense,” Connor changed gears realizing that she was taking him much too seriously. “Needn’t fear him, my love, he’s just a harmless old man with too much time on his hands. Tends to like to poke around in other people’s business.”

  ‘Apparently,’ Emmy thought sarcastically, ‘and now I’m his newest hobby!’ What was she supposed to do now that her life - her future! - was resting in the hands of an ancient bored wizard/angel? What did it all mean? And what did he mean when he asked did she know what she wanted? Once she had gotten past the anger of her mother’s death, she had always been a career driven woman.

  “Are you ready to go?” Connor asked interrupting her thoughts.

  Emmy stared at the empty door for a moment. “Yea, I’m ready.”

  Chapter 22

  “Are ye sure ye want to do this?” he asked again as they went down the wooden dock to his boat mooring. He had never seen anyone get sick from a carriage ride so quickly and she had moaned and groaned the entire ride as if she were about to die. He had thought her to be made of sterner stuff than that and was almost afraid to take her out on the open waters of the sound lest she take up her whining once more.

  “Of course! I’m fine now, don’t worry about it,” she patted his hand assuredly and putting her troubles behind her. “Which one is yours?”

  Connor pointed along the dock to a large sailing vessel moored about half way up. “There she is. ‘Buidhe Bean-Chèile’”

  Emmy looked with amazement to the boat and back up to him. “Why, Connor! It’s beautiful! That’s no mere sailboat!” Indeed, his boat was more like a small yacht trimmed with brass fittings; it looked like it could belong to a prince. “Very nice, Connor, very nice. What does the name mean?”

  “A Good Wife,” he answered jumping down into the deck at the bow before turning to help her down. Emmy stared down at him with eyes bulging.

  “It was named for my mother,” he explained with a low chuckle and Emmy exhaled a doubtful laugh taking his hand, but jumped much as he did to the deck before grinning up at him.

  “Of course it was. Wow, this is great!” she enthused. The deck here was edged in benches but currently also sported two chairs for them to take in the scenery, she supposed. “For us?”

  “Aye, I thought ye might enjoy the view from here. It will be windy, but I don’t think too unpleasant,” he assured her.

  “No, not at all! Wow!” she said again looking around her. “Pretty cool, Connor. Even Dr. Evans doesn’t have one this fancy.”

  “Dr. Evans?” he queried curiously.

  “One of the doctors at Hopkins,” she told him. “He lives on his boat and keeps a berth out in Annapolis. He had some of the senior residents out on the 4th of July to watch the fireworks on the bay. I thought his was nice, but he’d envy you, I think.”

  “He canna afford a house?”

  Emmy laughed. “Of course he can, silly. He lives on the boat because he wants to. I mean, no biggie, he’s a single guy. Life’s all about him at this point.”

  Connor wondered if this single ‘guy’ was one of the men Emmy had slept with but didn’t want to ruin their day so he kept the question to himself. “What do ye think?”

  “What? No tour?” she laughed.

  “There’s not too much to see,” he demurred. But he escorted her below to show her the main cabin with a small wood stove for heat and cooking and folding doors that could be closed to section off an area for sleeping. Other than that there was only a small water closet. It was small but the furnishings were elegant and she told him so.

  He shrugged. “It’s not much but it does allow several people at once to travel to the mainland without waiting for the ferry. Shall we?” He gestured to the short steps that would take them back on deck signaling Emmy should precede him. As she started up however, her back side came to eye level and Connor was hard-pressed not to help her up just to have an excuse to put his hands just there. Chuckling ruefully he shook his head, pocketing his hands in an effort to fight the temptation she presented.

  Emmy looked back over her shoulder suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

  He shook his head in denial. “Nothing at all. Up ye go and I’ll have the porter bring us some drinks on deck.”

  “It’s a bit early for drinks isn’t it?”

  “I was thinking tea actually.” But as she started to wrinkle her nose he held up a hand. “But since I know ye do not care for it, I thought perhaps coffee? To warm us?”

  The smile she offered was soft as she considered his thoughtfulness. “Coffee would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  As they went on deck once more, preparations were already being made to make sail. The small crew of four were raising the sails and shouting to one another as Emmy took a seat in one of the chairs at th
e bow. When a deckhand draped a blanket across her lap, she offered her thanks. Soon they were making their way into the sound and Emmy was cradling a porcelain cup of coffee in her hands. It had nothing on Starbucks, of course, but it was strong and hot, warming her in the chill of the late October morning. The winds off the sound bit at her cheeks and she raised her face to the wind in enjoyment even as she turned her mind to Donell’s cryptic words.

  Chapter 23

  For his part, Connor held his cup but could do nothing more than watch the joy on her face as she raised it, eyes closed to savor the weather and libation. He wondered if he was being a complete fool to encourage this strange bond between them, to fantasize over the possibilities her return presented him. If someone had told him month ago he would be plotting ways to have her for himself, he would have laughed at them for a fool. Yet here he was with a woman who still denied her identity, though the duplicity continued to puzzle him.

  It simply was not possible that another woman identical to Heather and Dory could exist and arrive at his home with the same timing she had. What then had motivated her return and denial? He had no answers and that in itself was frustrating.

  But being in her company was not. He knew he should fight it, that he should hold tight to the anger and resentment lest she play him for a fool once more. Perhaps she already was playing him for a fool, he thought. Perhaps this was some sick game she had concocted to bring further misery to his life. Could it be? He shook his head. This Heather - his lady, he had been thinking of her rather than calling her by that name to avoid arguments – was an open book. When she was happy she laughed and teased. When she was mad, she made sure he knew it. Surely someone who so openly expressed every feeling could not be hiding sinister plots behind that façade?

  She was Heather, yet some part of him recognized that, at least in manner, she was not the Heather he knew. This woman was playful, inappropriately casual and yet sharply intelligent and openly caring about other people. She worried for others. Dory, Ian and even himself. She had mended in just a couple days a family estrangement that had been in place for nearly a decade. He knew that he owed her his thanks for that alone.