It was nearly two in the morning, and Victoria and Geoffrey had just returned from the dinner at Elsworth Manor. From the moment Mr. Keating had escorted her to the dining room, Victoria had gotten an inkling of what was happening.
Being seated as Mr. Keating’s dinner partner had made conversation unavoidable and though the man was brilliant – an Oxford scholar just like her father– he had an arrogance about him that chafed the young lady.
“I know enough of the man, Father, to know that I do not want more of him,” Victoria huffed. “I have spent less than two hours in his presence and know that he is arrogant, conceited, and has a selfish disdain for others. He is the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to fast my hand with.”
The Duke’s face was flint and his words demanding, “Your perceptions of him do not matter as much as the preparation for your future does, Victoria. Mr. Keating has an estate where you can live comfortably enough, with the pleasures you have here. Think of your future, Victoria, and put away pride.”
With her arms tightly wrapped around her waist, Victoria played the last card she had and hoped it would give her father some pause. “You married Mother for love, Father. Can you not allow me the same privilege?”
The quiet words she had just said had hit her mark, based on the soft paleness on her father’s face and the thinness of his lips, “I will only consent if you have found such a man. Have you?”
It was an underhanded move, and they both knew it. Geoffrey knew damn well that Victoria had not found any man who fit the ideals of her perfect husband. Angry tears started to build at the back of her eyes, but Victoria refused to let them fall in front of him.
Words, harsh words, built in her mind, but in deference to the fact that Geoffrey was her father and she respected him, she swallowed them. They burned her but she could not say them, and as she would not do it, the only option was for her to leave. She spun around and marched to the door, but there she paused and stopped.
“Good night, Father,” she uttered with her face turned away, before she continued down the corridor and up to her room. In her rush, Victoria stepped on the ends of her skirts and tripped. Catching herself with the railing, she felt the soft wetness trickle down her cheeks and swallowing tightly, she picked herself up and went to her rooms.
Her body was tight with repressed anger. She yanked the clips out of her hair, not caring about the stinging from the tangled hair, or the pain from the strands that were ripped out. With her hair free, Victoria started to work on her dress, despite that it had taken her and her maid Amelia a good twenty minutes to put the garment on her.
The clasps were hard to reach, as the dress was buttoned at the back and the sashes over the clasps were tied elaborately to resemble a rose. Bending her arm behind her, she flexed her fingers to grasp the ends of the sashes and tugged. The bands gave a little, but it was not enough.
“Dratted dress,” Victoria swore, “I have a good mind to burn you to ashes when you’re off.”
Her tugging and pulling only tightened the sashes more and soon enough Victoria was breathless. The stays were restricting her heaving chest, and no matter how hard she tried to breathe, she never got enough air.
Her impatience was not helping her cause, either, and with the dress a hopeless case Victoria sank to the ground near her bed with angered tears running down her face. Sitting there with nothing but bleak days ahead of her, Victoria prayed the dress would kill her as she had no intention of living in a world where she was married to a man she would despise.
“Oh, Lady Victoria,” said a soft, compassionate voice from the doorway.
It took the distraught lady a hair longer than it normally would to recognize the voice and look up. Standing at her door was Ruth. The now elderly woman was swathed in black and had a full head of silver hair. Ruth had stayed with them even after her roles as Nanny and Governess had run their course, as Victoria had hated to see the one woman she could count on as a mother, leave her.
With eyes stinging from the tears, Victoria clenched her hand on the bunched-up skirts and hung her head, sobbing. She felt when the old woman sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a hand to her head, slowly pressing her head to rest on Ruth’s lap.
It was a position Victoria had found herself in from her childhood days. Times when she had mourned the death of her mother and had cried her soul out. Ruth had been there every time, a pillar of strength for Victoria, comforting the small child with soft hugs and reassuring whispers. This time, though she was grown, was no different.
“Hush now, Lady Victoria,” Ruth soothed with tender strokes to her hair. “Hush now, your father only wants the best for you. He worries, child.”
Soft gasping hiccups made Victoria’s trapped chest hurt even more, but she made no move to address it. “H–how can he not understand, Ruth, that I cannot love a man only for his money?”
“I understand all too well, child,” Ruth replied. “It was the same with His Grace’s sister, Lady Emily. She did not take kindly to the men here, either.”
Blank eyes staring hopelessly at the far wall, Victoria asked, “Am I doomed to a life of loneliness, then?”
“I do not believe so,” Ruth replied. “My Lady, you are a wonderful soul and a true beauty. The right man will come along, if only you have some faith.”
Looking with miserable eyes on her past nurse, Victoria asked, “But when Ruth – when? None of the men I have met over the years meet any of the standards I look for in a husband. I cannot pledge myself to a man who will only cater to me for my looks.”
Sighing, Victoria laid her head back on Ruth’s knees. “Is it too much to ask for a man with an education, well-read, handsome enough, and able to support himself and me? I do not need all these to the extreme extent, but a fraction of each that make up the whole will do.”
The older woman took a while to answer, “That is a hard one, my child. Men with those attributes, in that order, are scarce to find. Perhaps one in a thousand.”
“I just want to be happy,” Victoria replied sadly. “That is all I ask.”
“That was the same plea of Lady Emily, too,” Ruth replied solemnly. “Your Aunt only wanted true love. I remember her saying that her lover might be penniless, but if he loved her, that was all the riches she would want.”
Victoria sighed and wiped her face. She looked at the crystalline drops on her fingertips, seen only by the light of the moon coming in from her window. “But she found her love for a season, only to have it ripped away from her. I do not want to inherit her curse, Ruth. I need my love to stay with me and…and I cannot see such a love happening any time soon.”
No more words were said as Victoria knew not much was left to be said. Ruth might be wise in many ways, but she was not an oracle that could predict the future. Victoria closed her eyes as the future of being a spinster danced in her mind - if she didn’t find the man she would truly love.
“I can only wish you the best, Lady Victoria,” Ruth replied. “That is the extent of my powers.”
Lifting her head to grace the older woman with a brave smile, Victoria replied, “Your powers, Ruth, are extensive. I cannot recall one time in my life when I had a problem, as little as it might be, that you didn’t help me solve or solve it for me. But of this, I cannot ask more of you, Ruth. Thank you, though.”
A wrinkled hand tucked a lock of golden hair behind an ear, “Let’s get you out of this dress, and into something more comfortable, child. It must be paining you.”
Nodding, Victoria, bracing her hand on the bed, stood to her feet where Ruth nimbly worked the tangled sashes out and plucked the clasps free. With her dress down to her waist, Victoria stood still as Ruth loosened the stays, and free from the textured prison of the dress, Victoria did away with her petticoat and stockings.
Vowing to not even look at the horrid thing, she donned a soft cotton nightgown and sat as Ruth combed out the tangles of her hair. Now on the rational side of her anger, Victoria
knew that her father was only doing what he thought was best for her. After all, she was a smart lady with an enviable beauty. It only made sense for her father to seek out a husband for her after the three years he had allowed her to do so herself.
The soothing strokes of the brush through her hair almost lulled an emotionally exhausted Victoria to sleep, but she couldn’t allow herself to do so. Instead, she put all her mental prowess into trying to come up with a way to bargain with her father for more time.
Soon enough, she realized that her thoughts were starting to circle and knew that if she had any hope of bringing a coherent argument to the table she needed the clarity that came from sleep.
While Ruth was setting her hair, Victoria asked, “Ruth, did I wake you? How was it that you found me so quickly?”
“No, My Lady, you did not wake me,” Ruth replied. “I was coming from the kitchens after having a cup of tea when you arrived. I was on my way to my quarters when I overheard the argument between you and your father. I do apologize for overhearing, but I knew from the direction of the conversation that you would not be in a happy state, so I bade my time to follow you.”
And wasn’t that just like the older woman? To present herself, unasked, to Victoria’s aid. If there was any time that Victoria loved and appreciated the older woman’s presence it was then, sitting on her stool while Ruth tenderly looked after her.
Though Ruth’s presence was unassuming, Victoria knew that her protector was a powerhouse in the Manor. As one of the oldest servants, who had risen to higher stature, Ruth’s quiet orders were obeyed as quickly as the leader of an army.
“There you go, My Lady,” Ruth said, while slipping the silken bonnet over Victoria’s hair. “You are all set now.”
Spinning on her seat, Victoria hugged the woman close and pressed her face into Ruth’s stomach. “Thank you, Ruth, thank you for everything. You’ve been much more than a mother to me for so long. I do not think there is any way I can repay you.”
Ruth tutted softly, “My repayment will come when you find the love of your life, child. By that, I will know my life has not been in vain. Now, get yourself into bed and sleep. We both know that this night has not been easy on you.”
The words Ruth had uttered about Victoria finding love were laden with significance, but Victoria didn’t have the strength to decipher the underlying meaning. Marshalling a smile to the older woman, Victoria stood and did exactly what she was told to do. Slipping under the cool streets, she sighed when Ruth tucked her in and kissed her on her forehead.
“Good night, my child,” Ruth said tenderly. “May the morn bring you some happiness.
Not likely, Victoria thought to herself but did not dare say that to the older woman. “I pray so. Thank you, Ruth…for everything.”
Chapter 5
The harsh rays of sunlight through his eyes jerked Hector into wakefulness, only to find himself contorted on the ground with the yellow eyes of a grey wolf cub not even a hands’ span from his nose. The creature’s eyes were leveled with his and its stare was unnerving.
Green eyes narrowed, as the wolf’s hackles rose a bit and a soft growl came from its rumbling throat.
Slowly, very slowly, Hector reached for his sword that was laying at arms-length and he quickly slapped a flat rock, the sharp sound making the animal start and then lope off.
“Off wi’ ye, ye blasted wild hound,” Hector groused.
Rising to his arms, Hector groaned at the throbbing ache in his side, gained from sleeping like a log on a protruding root. He managed to get to his knees and looked around, only to see that Donald was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief that his friend hadn’t seen his incident with the wolf he levered himself to his feet and stretched to crack all his bones back into place.
“Donald, where are ye?” Hector asked himself, and then he realized the horses were gone, too. It was highly logical that Donald had taken the steeds for water. “Oh, guid man.”
Reaching for his packed bag that he had futilely used as a pillow, he plucked out a change of clothes. The moment Donald came back he was going to find the same spring and wash himself off. Smelling like old rotten leaves was not something he liked.
The soft crunching of leaves and twigs made Hector look up to see a freshly washed Donald, if the dampness of his hair and clean brown kilt was any sign, coming toward him.
“Oi, yer up.” Donald grinned, “Thought ye’d sleep tae tha rapture.”
Scowling with no measure of heat, Hector replied, “But ye an’ I would be at different places, wouldnae we? Where is tha burn, Donald? I need tae wash tha past days’ stench off me.”
“Just through tha line o’ trees o’er there at tha edge, follow a slope an’ ye’ll see it,” Donald replied. “Tha horses are feeding an’ will be ready tae mount by tha time ye get back.”
Slapping Donald on his shoulder, Hector followed his instructions and found the spring. It was not deep, with a level of water that might only catch him at his knees but it was a godsend to the grimy man. Discarding his clothes, he stepped into the burn. The water was icy cold, a temperature that was bound to vanish the lingering strains of sleep and keep him wide awake.
The sliver of soap he had was more than enough to lather the coarse rag that scrubbed his skin to rosy clean. With the damp rag, he patted himself dry and donned his clean kilt and shirt. The sun was steadily climbing, and they had to leave soon if they had a ghost of a chance to get to England in the next nine days.
Gathering and fastening his boots, Hector whispered an old Gaelic prayer for God’s fortune to be with them as they searched for his missing brother. A fleeting thought about praying to find a wife came to him, but he brushed it off as nonsense.
He needed to focus on one issue at a time, and the matter of finding a wife had to be slated for after this was done. While making his way back to the clearing, he did know what he wanted in a life mate though – smart, bonnie, willing to take risks, fearless, and strong in mind and body. But again, he would search for her at another time.
He got to the clearing in time to see Donald finish strapping up the last horse’s saddle. Both steeds looked watered, fed, and their coats were brushed to a shine. How on Earth could Donald have taken care of both steeds in the short time he was away?
“What Black Arts do ye work, man?” Hector asked, astounded at the readiness of the horses.
“None,” Donald chuckled while patting one steed’s neck, “Let’s get on tha road, England isnae that close.”
“Nae arguing wi’ ye there,” Hector replied while grabbing the reins of his mount and scratching the horse’s ears, “Ready fer a gallop, Euan, eh?”
He heard Donald laugh, “Pickin’ up a habit o’ speakin’ tae animals noo, eh? Wasnae scarin’ tha wolf enough?”
Hector’s jaw dropped when he heard those teasing words come from his friend’s mouth. He had believed himself to be alone, but clearly, he hadn’t been. A brief thought of slugging his friend a punch came to his mind, but he laughed it off. “Apparently, it wasnae. Let’s go afore we hae tae sleep in another forest – in England.”
The derision for the very country was seated in every letter of the word, but Donald had the wisdom not to mention it.
“Aye,” Donald said, mounting his horse and turning toward the road. “We better be.”
Eleven Days Later
Hector was dead on his feet when they got to Naseby, Northamptonshire, eleven days after leaving Glasgow. Long days of hard riding over rugged terrain with only the stars and some sketchy directions from a few passersby to guide them, had taken both relieved men to the township.
From the people they had met on the way, the ones who were not scared or repulsed by their obvious Scottish nature, they learned that they were not too far from Crowland, the municipality Fergus had directed them to.
The night was dark, and both Hector and Donald were craving a warm bed and satisfying food after having to use the horses’ blankets as bedding and eat berries and f
ruits. Hector would have paid half of his inheritance for a good piece of beef, warm soup, and a bed.
A steady stream of golden light from the local inn, that they were told accepted any man, foreign or local, was shining. Trotting closer, he spotted the sign of an open door swinging on a hinge and sighed in relief. Jumping off his horse, Hector gave the reins to Donald and tapped his money pouch at his side.
“I’ll ask aboot tha beds,” he said over to Donald. “Bide ye here until I come back.”
Mounting the wooden stairs of the gable-roofed establishment, Hector pushed the door open and only paused to swat a buzzing insect away. The first thing he saw was the cavernous fireplace, large enough that a good-sized bull might fit inside, with space. The fire was flickering, and two men were sitting around with cups of drink, chatting to each other.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 4