0 where have you been, my long long love,
These long seven years and mair?
—ANONYMOUS
Ian stayed six days at Castle Hunter and then he left for Edinburgh. He told his mother and sister he was going to see his solicitor; in reality he was going to see Frances.
Edinburgh. Frances lived in Charlotte Square, one of the glories of the New Town built in the late eighteenth century after the North Loch had been drained and bridged by an enlightened town council. As Ian rode down Princes Street his eyes went with affection and respect to the towering heights of Edinburgh Castle, for so many centuries the home and fortress of Scotland’s kings. The classical New Town was Edinburgh’s pride, but Ian loved the Old Town, with its high, narrow houses, winding closes, and boisterous, teeming life. The Macdonalds in fact still had a house on the Canongate, a short distance from the Palace of Holyroodhouse.
He asked for Lady Robert in a constricted voice and gave his name. The servant went to inform Frances and then came back to conduct him to the drawing room. She was standing by the tall windows, which were opened to let in the warm August air. The sunlight reflected off her pale hair and bathed her face in the merciless light that was kind to very few women. Her hands were tightly clasped together in front of her, her eyes were deeply green, unsmiling and intent as they rested on him, standing bareheaded and enormous in her doorway.
He gave a strange laugh. “I don’t know how it is, Frances, but you always turn out to be more beautiful in the flesh than one remembered you.”
She, who had received unmoved the lavish compliments of England’s greatest and wealthiest nobles, flushed. “And somehow you are always bigger than one remembered,” she returned with an attempt at lightness. As he crossed the room toward her she said a trifle breathlessly, “I am so sorry about Charlie. It must have been quite a shock to you.”
He stood directly before her now. “It was,” he replied grimly. “It was also a shock to learn that you were a widow. I had not received any of Douglas’s previous letters.”
“Oh,” she said faintly and looked up into his lean, tanned face. The brilliant life was still there in his eyes, but it was controlled now. He looked different, she thought confusedly. He was not really any taller than she remembered, it was the sense of authority he exuded that was new. He had not said he was sorry about Robert’s death. Her chin rose a trifle. “Has Margaret told you what is going on in the Highlands?”
“Yes. And I gather I have you to thank for saving Lochaber from Charlie’s greed.”
Her finely arched brows drew together. “Nonsense. Your mother would never have allowed him to carry out any clearances. I merely reinforced what I’m sure he had heard before.” Her lips set. “I’m sorry Charlie was killed, but I am not sorry you are Lochaber now. The Highlands need chiefs like you. Too many of them have been seduced by the lure of Sassenach money.”
He was not surprised by her reaction. Abstract causes would never have any appeal for Frances, but she had always been endlessly concerned about the people she knew. “What chiefs are refusing to be seduced?” he asked her, a faint approving smile in his eyes.
She grimaced slightly. “I hate to say it, but the Duke of Argyll is one of the more notable holdouts. Of course, he already has so much money he can scarcely need more.”
,He looked thoughtful. The Duke of Argyll, Mac Caileinmhor, was chief of Clan Campbell the hereditary enemy of the Stewarts and the Macdonalds. Centuries of hatred and oceans of blood lay between the Campbells and the other clans of the central Highlands, and none had more cause to hate them than the Macdonalds of Glencoe.
There was a knock at the door and it opened softly. A small dark gold head peeked into the room. “I’m home, Mama,” said Nell.
“Come in, darling,” Frances responded, walking past Ian to take her daughter’s hand. “There is someone here I want you to meet. This is Ian Macdonald, Douglas’s cousin, who has been in South America. He is the Earl of Lochaber now.” She braced herself slightly as Nell looked gravely at Ian. This was a meeting she had had nightmares about.
Ian’s face looked strained and harsh as he unwillingly regarded Frances’s daughter. She was all Stewart, he was relieved to see. There was nothing of Robert Sedburgh in the dark gray eyes or small square chin. He raised his brows slightly and looked at Frances. She said in a calm, self-possessed voice, “You don’t have to say it. She’s the image of my father, I know. She looks more like him every year. It’s positively uncanny.”
Nell took two steps toward Ian. “Are you a pirate?” she inquired in her clear child’s voice.
Ian suddenly grinned. “No. Do I look like a pirate to you?”
Nell smiled back. “Yes. You look just like the pirate in a book my Poppy gave me. But you need a patch over your eye.”
“Where is Poppy?” Frances put in before Ian could answer. “I thought he took you to Arthur’s Seat with him.”
“He did, Mama. And we climbed halfway up.” Her gray eyes sparkled. “I’ll bet Stephanie Scott never climbed up that far, and she’s four and a half already.”
“You are getting to be a first-rate mountaineer, darling, but where is your grandfather?”
“He went to the university. Mama. He told me to tell you.”
“Thank you. Now you may go upstairs. Nurse is waiting for you.”
“All right.” The little girl went slowly toward the door then turned to smile again at Ian. “Did you kill a lot of soldiers in South America?” she asked irrepressibly.
“I’m afraid I did,” he answered gravely. “How many?”
“Hundreds, I believe.” His dark eyes were steady on her face.
“Hundreds! Wait until I tell Stephanie Scott!”
“Nell,” said Frances purposefully, and the little girl grinned impishly.
“I’m going. Mama. Goodbye . . .” She frowned in sudden confusion. “How can he be Lord Lochaber?” she asked Frances. “Lord Lochaber is someone else.”
“Don’t you remember I told you Lord Lochaber was shot by a bad man?” Frances asked steadily.
“Oh.” Nell looked gravely at Ian.
“Not by Ian!” Frances said hastily and Nell looked indignant.
“I know that!” she said. “He shooted the people in South America!” With another smile at Ian she finally departed, closing the door behind her.
Frances turned to Ian a rueful smile in her eyes. “Nell is regrettably bloodthirsty,” she said.
“So I see.” Amusement colored his voice. “Who, may I ask, is Stephanie Scott?”
“Nell’s greatest friend and rival. She lives across the square.”
“And she’s four and a half already,” he said with mock gravity.
“Yes,” said Frances, conscious of treading on dangerous ground. She opened her mouth to change the subject but Ian was already speaking.
“Nell is quite tall, isn’t she?” He frowned. “How old is she, anyway? Three?”
“No, she is just four,” she responded cautiously. Her long green eyes were veiled as they looked at him and, returning her look, he felt suddenly a wave of desire so strong that it startled him and, to conceal his feeling, he said hastily, “When was she born?”
Frances kept looking at him. “May eighteenth,” she responded.
There was a moment’s silence then Ian’s eyes focused in a way that set her heart racing. “May eighteenth?” he said sharply.
“She came early,” Frances said quietly. “She wasn’t due until July but I had a fall. It was quite nasty, actually. I knocked myself out. She came that night.” She was conscious that she was talking too much and stopped abruptly.
Ian’s black brows were drawn together and there was a little flame burning deep within his eyes. “May,” he said. “Exactly nine months after you and I ...” He broke off, a look of astonishment on his face. “Sweet Jesus, Frances, she’s mine, isn’t she?”
Her face was shuttered. “Would you believe me if I said she wasn’t?”
“I know.” Her voice was muffled.
“Why, Frances?”
She raised her head, stared back at him and told him the truth. “Because it was between you and me, that’s why. No one else. Just the two of us.” Her mouth quivered. “Besides, I never thought you would really go.”
He prowled to the door and back, his long stride making the room seem smaller than it was. He finally paused beside her. “It never occurred to you to write and tell me?” he said evenly. “I would have come home.”
“You were thousands of miles away,” she said bitterly. “How long would it have been before you even got my letter let alone returned? Time, after all, was a factor, Ian.”
His face was bleak. “So you told Sedburgh,” he said.
“Yes.” The bitterness had left her voice. Ian would never make the mistake of thinking she would do anything else. “I was frightened. You were gone. I didn’t know what to do and he was so kind. So I told him and he offered to marry me.”
“What a hero.” His tone was sardonic.
“Yes, he was,” she replied forcefully. “I prayed, Ian. Mother Mary, how I prayed that she would be a girl. Rob would have accepted a boy as his, would have made him heir to all of Aysgarth. He would have done that for me. Yes, I think he was a hero.”
“I see.” He wondered if she would ever understand what this knowledge meant to him. He had left her to bear his child in another man’s house, to be reared with another man’s name. His woman. His child. Given away to another man. He stared down at the face that had haunted his dreams for five long years. There was a strained look about her eyes but nothing could mar the miraculously clear lines of the bones. She sounded as if she had loved Sedburgh. He felt savage. And so he said the words he had come halfway across the world to say, but the phrasing was not what he had intended. “I hope you won’t refuse to marry me now?” he asked.
Frances was watching him with a face as shuttered and remote as a Byzantine madonna. “Why? So that you can have Nell?”
“I want Nell,” he answered. “And I want you.” For a long moment they looked at each other, steadily and with something that was almost hostility. His eyes were dark and brilliant, fierce, not loving. He pulled her into his arms and, unresisting, she went. His kiss was hard with the pent-up passion of many years. She closed her eyes, melting effortlessly into his embrace, helpless as ever against her love for him. His anger was drowned in desire.
When he finally raised his head to look down at her his eyes were black. “Will you marry me?” he said, but this time he spoke in Gaelic.
Her mouth curved in a beautiful smile. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she replied in the same language.
He grinned, his dark face lighting with that blazing life she saw every day in her daughter’s smile. “When?”
“Whenever you like.”
“Next week, then. I’ll get a special license.”
“All right,” she said with a semblance of her old serenity. “It might be a little hard on Nell. You’ll have to have patience with her. But she’ll get used to it.”
“We’ll have her name changed to Macdonald.” he said purposefully.
He saw her stiffen. “No,” she said quickly.
He frowned. “What do you mean ‘no’? I am her father. She should have my name.”
“Oh, Ian,” she said helplessly, “can’t you understand? She is yours by birth and she will be yours by upbringing, too, but for the first two years of her life she was Rob’s. He gave her the protection of his name at a time when she desperately needed it. And he loved her so. I can’t do that to him, Ian. It would be like saying he never existed.’’
“But she is a Macdonald!” Centuries of tribal pride sounded in those words.
“Nevertheless, her name will remain Sedburgh.” There was an expression on his face that she did not like at all. “Besides,” she added, “if we change her name people may suspect the truth and that would not do at all.” She was sorry she had not thought of that reason first.
“If no one has guessed by now they are hardly likely to at this late date,” he said impatiently.
“Who said no one had guessed?”
He gave her a long straight look. “Who?” he asked abruptly.
“Douglas.”
“Oh, Douglas.” There was a pause. “How did he know?”
“You may not have noticed, my love,” she said softly, “but when Nell smiles she is the image of you. It is a similarity that is not going to go unrecognized. I think we can pass it off as imitation, since it is a similarity of expression and not of features. But I wouldn’t want to give any more food to the gossip mongers.’’
“I suppose so,” he said unwillingly.
There was the sound of a door closing and voices in the hall. Then the door to the drawing room opened and Sir Donal Stewart came in. “Ian! Thank God you’ve come home. We have all been so worried about you.”
There was a slight tinge of reproof in Sir Donal’s gentle tone. He had never totally approved of Ian. Robert Sedburgh had been much more to his taste. However, he smiled kindly and asked about the Macdonald family. Nor did he show any sign of disappointment when Frances told him about the upcoming marriage. He had long since resigned himself to the inevitable. Though he had never said anything to Frances, Sir Donal had not missed Nell’s occasional resemblance to Ian. “Well, that news should cheer your mother up immeasurably,” he said merely. “She has been longing to have a son married for years.”
“Don’t I know it,” groaned Frances. “Really, Ian, I feel like Helen of Troy meeting Hecuba every time I have to face her. It wasn’t my fault Charlie wanted to marry me. I certainly didn’t encourage him.”
Ian shouted with laughter. “Well, all will be forgiven now, I’m sure, once I tell her I’m going to do my duty by the family and marry you.”
Her green eyes mocked him. “Your nobility overwhelms me, my lord.”
“It does me too,” he replied cheerfully. Then he looked at her more carefully. “Seriously, Frances, do you think you could live with my mother? I don’t think I can ask her to leave Castle Hunter ...”
“Good God!” She sounded appalled. “Of course you can’t ask her to leave. It is her home. We will get along fine. We always did, until this business of Charlie came up.”
Twin devils danced in his eyes. “And Douglas too,” he said.
She looked startled. “Douglas? Surely she doesn’t think Douglas wants to marry me?’’
“Douglas and at least eight other men of her personal acquaintance. Not to mention the dozens more that are scattered around London.”
“She didn’t say that.”
“She did. What is more my sister informed me that she didn’t think even Mary Queen of Scots had as many suitors as you.”
She gave him an austere look. “Then you can count yourself fortunate, my lord, to have won such a prize.”
“You always did like pirates,” he replied smoothly. “It must run in the family.”
Chapter Fifteen
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
—ROBERT BURNS
There was universal rejoicing among the mothers of Edinburgh and London when Frances Sedburgh married Ian Macdonald, fifth Earl of Lochaber. The ceremony took place in the small chapel at Castle Hunter, there being a marked shortage of Catholic churches in Edinburgh. The happiest mother of all—the Dowager Countess of Lochaber—was in attendance.
Lady Lochaber had embraced Ian with enthusiasm when he had told her the good news. “I am so happy, Ian! You know how I have always loved Frances.”
&nb
sp; There was amusement in his eyes, but he held his peace. “Frances voiced the same sentiments about you, Mama,” he said merely.
Lady Lochaber shot him a look. “I know what you’re thinking, so get that smug expression off your face.”
He laughed. “She did, though. She also said that she would enjoy very much sharing a house with you. You know Frances, Mama. She meant it.”
His mother smiled a little mistily. “I know. Frances has always had a disposition as lovely as her face. She has never said an unpleasant word to me and I must admit I was not overly sympathetic about her rejection of Charlie.”
Ian grinned. “Frances saves all her bad temper for me. That is why she is such an angel to everyone else.”
“You would put the virgin herself into a temper,” Lady Lochaber said tartly. “I hope you mean to settle down and mend your ways.”
He assumed such a pious expression that his sister, who had just come into the room, giggled. “I am a ‘reformed man. Mother.” he said gravely.
“Hmm,” his mother replied. “We shall see.”
Frances and Ian spent the two weeks of their honeymoon at the Macdonalds’ lodge on Loch Shiel. The late summer weather was warm and clear and they spent a great deal of time sailing and fishing, both activities that Ian loved and had- sorely missed. His tropical tan returned and even Frances’s skin turned a pale golden hue. They were having lunch out of a picnic basket one afternoon a few days before they were due to leave when the subject of the clearances came up. Ian had stretched himself out on the ground while Frances packed up the remains of the lunch. He propped his chin on his hands and watched her for a moment in silence. She had her hair tied up in a topknot secured by a green ribbon that matched her eyes. Her cheeks were the color of peaches from the sun. “I think I am going to pay a visit to the Duke of Argyll,” he said slowly.
She dropped the napkin she was holding. “Argyll!” she said in a startled tone. “Why, Ian?”
“Because I will need help if I am going to save Lochaber.” His voice was grim.
There was a long silence. “Charlie spent a lot of money,” she said finally.
Joan Wolf Page 9