Even the Duke seemed stunned and sympathetic as two men took hold of Donald and carried him off. “My nephew – may God forgive me for the part I have played in all of this.”
“May God forgive us all,” Victoria replied guiltily, looking at those around her, affected by her very presence in their land. Women were tending to the wounded, the able-bodied were trying to set things right in the aftermath. “Go in peace, father, and fear not, love is stronger than hate, and peace is stronger than war.” The tears were streaming down her face.
The Duke seemed to have aged a decade in the last hour as he turned a weary face toward his little girl, now a young lady. “I have come to realize, daughter, that your happiness is my victory, even in defeat. You will now – live your life.”
“As we all will…in peace.”
Epilogue
Nine Days After the Invasion of Clan MacTavish
The day was fair, with a deep blue sky and thick clouds above, screening the last of the summer sun from them. Victoria and Hector went into the courtyard where the feast was all ready to be consumed but the two weren’t staying for the indulgence - even if they had stomachs for such.
Instead, they were off to the ship her father, the Duke, had sent for them to come to Crowland.
“Off ye go, then?” Coira spoke from a nearby table.
In the last eight days, the Scotswoman had drawn close to Victoria, knowing she was soon to be her daughter-in-law. She had made it her mission to start teaching the young lady their Clan traditions, culture, and even some Gaelic. Hector had been pleased with the now approving view of Victoria in his clansmen’s eyes, as many of whom had been in the foyer had heard her pleas of mercy for them.
“Aye,” Hector replied a little heavily. “We’re oot soon.”
Coira grasped her son by both arms. “Ye’ll do him no good with yer pesterin’, he needs quiet an' nursin’. Honor him by livin’ tha life ye want, noo tha' he’s here tae be tha next Laird.”
They were wise words from a sagacious woman and after nodding and hugging her, Coira turned to Victoria, “Love him wi’ all yer heart, lass, even when it seems hard tae do so.”
“I will,” Victoria replied with a kiss to the woman’s cheek.
Leaving the festivities behind, Victoria went to change into her travelling dress and cloak - ironically in the same sack that Ruth had packed for her.
“We’ll be fine, Hector,” she said. “Even without your men, my father knows better than to even try to deceive us. We’ll be back in time for the coronation.”
It had taken her some time to dissuade Hector from carrying a horde of fighting men to England to make sure that the Duke didn’t pull anything underhanded, but she had triumphed. Sometimes, Hector wondered what else this lady could cajole out of him.
The horses were primed and ready and with a soft lift, Victoria was seated on Euan and they were off, cantering to Crinan Harbor. Hector was quiet behind her but Victoria knew that he was a pensive person.
She knew he was still mired in thinking about Donald and she could only cover his hand around her waist and lace their fingers together. She earned a soft kiss on her neck and a whispered Gaelic endearment in her ear. Knowing she was safe with him, Victoria rested on his chest, loving how his mere presence set her at ease.
Arriving at the Monstall Manor gate, in the carriage that the Duke had also arranged for, made Hector’s gut clench. Victoria kept speaking about how she missed her nurse, Ruth - the same woman who had hid Andrew - but almost every word went over his head.
Soon enough, he was looking at the manor and felt ghostly fingers of premonition crawl over his skin. This place had played such a detrimental part in his family’s history. His father had stolen his lover from the West Wing, a place Fergus had set on fire. The dungeon was where his brother had been born and ordered to be killed.
He looked at the large structure with a wary eye and felt even more tense as they approached. The Duke was standing at the bottom of the entrance stairs, in casual dark clothing, with his hands clasped behind his back.
Hector alighted first and tenderly took Victoria out. The carriage driver tipped his hat to them and drove off. Victoria eagerly went to meet her father and received a warm hug.
“Welcome, darling. And MacTavish,” the Duke said genially as he ushered them inside. “I’ve called you here because there is somewhere that you must see, but before that, you must rest and clean up, if you wish. Your old room is still available, Victoria, and a guest one, on the same wing, is set up for Mr. MacTavish.”
It irked the Scotsman to be separated from his love but this wasn’t his home and he had to abide by the owner’s rules - for now. If this aristocrat thought a series of walls and a hallway would separate him from his love, he was wrong.
Nodding, Hector kissed Victoria on her cheek as they parted ways, “Thank ye fer yer hospitality, Duke.”
Geoffrey nodded in acceptance. The cool civility between the two men was one that Hector didn’t plan to change. He did not need the Duke warmer toward him - even though he was the father of his future bride. The Duke showed them to their respective rooms and Hector noted the door Victoria stepped into.
“I assume you will honor my request and will not violate the respect for my house, MacTavish,” The Duke said evenly.
Hector paused, “Aye…it is crossin’ me mind why ye brought us here. What is so important tae show us?”
“The West Wing,” The Duke replied. “My dear sister Emily’s quarters.”
Victoria’s door was yanked open and she looked at her father with wide eyes, “The West Wing? Aunt Emily’s room? Father, I cannot wait anymore, please let me – us - see it, now. But Ruth, where is she? I’ve longed to see her.”
The Duke’s face tightened a bit before he nodded and pulled out an iron key from his pocket. “By agreement, Miss Willow will meet with you after I’ve resolved the matter on my heart. Please, come with me.”
Hector warily followed the two to the West Wing. They climbed single file up the stairs, and at the apex where a broad door was, the key was slotted in and the door opened.
Victoria had grabbed his arm briefly as her wide eyes betrayed her anxiety. He knew she held her breath in as they stepped into the room - the bare, charred room. Victoria had let out a low breath through her parted lips and looked around.
Hector’s lips were pressed tightly, as his eyes traced the bareness inside - tangible evidence of his father’s grief. The room had an air about it - one that made him shiver, as it was dark and morose, brimming with sorrow and heartache. The blackened walls told a tale of misery and anguish - one Hector could easily see himself doing if he lost Victoria.
“This, Victoria, is why I was so…unforgiving with the Scots,” the Duke said quietly as he touched a scorched windowsill. “I saw it as robbery, inhumanness, and pure cruelty. It wasn’t until I lost your mother, Sophia, that I had an inkling of what MacTavish had gone through, but it still wasn’t enough.”
The Duke clasped his hands behind his back once more, “It was why I had thought all Scots were animals…and how I hated the mere idea of you even meeting or loving one. But now… you, my darling, are living out my worst fear.”
From the look on her face, Hector knew that Victoria was picking apart the pieces of his words and coming to the underlying conclusion - her father, under all that maliciousness, was afraid for her.
Victoria hugged her father, “I understand, Father, but please know that I am happy - blissfully happy - and I cannot wish for anything more.”
The Duke rested his chin on Victoria’s head, “I hope you’ll continue being happy.”
While Victoria circled the room, touching walls, windows, nooks and crannies, Hector preferred to touch with his eyes. When she finished looking around, she nodded, “Thank you, Father. I had desired to see this room from when I was a child. Now I know why it’s so special to you.”
The Duke nodded, as he closed the door behind him, “Supper is in an hour. Please, rest,
and meet me at the dining room. Miss Willow has arranged a splendid fare for you.”
Hector waited until the man was down the stairs before he approached Victoria and took her into his arms. “I felt my Da in tha' room, love. I felt his pain fer losin’ yer Aunt. I cannae say I’d be any different if I lost ye, probably even worse.”
“I believe you,” Victoria replied.
“My child,” a soft voice, Ruth’s, said from down the hallway. “I’m overjoyed to see you, but I need to have a word with you and your betrothed.”
Victoria spun on her heel and skipped like a little girl over to her nurse and hugged her tightly. “Ruth, I’m so glad to see you!”
“As am I,” Ruth replied as she opened the door to Victoria’s room. “Please come inside.”
Frowning slightly, Victoria entered the room and sat on the low couch in the room, pulling Hector to sit beside her. She was getting more concerned with Ruth’s slightly guilty look.
Reaching out, she took the woman’s hands into hers, “What is it, Ruth?”
“I had a hand in your escapades with your betrothed, child,” Ruth replied. “The first day Mr. Johnson contacted you, I knew that Mr. MacTavish was in the area. I have never let go of finding Andrew, child, and I was on the lookout for any chance to find him.”
A pronounced frown was getting deeper on Victoria’s face, “How much of a hand?”
“When you weren’t here, I came in and saw your cloak laying on the bed. I knew you were going after him so I left the servant’s door open and then opened the stable door, too,” Ruth admitted. “To make sure, I called all the servants who could pose a problem to you to a meeting.”
Shock resounded through the young lady like a ringing bell. Victoria’s blue eyes were wide and her mouth was just a smidgen open.
“Then I had a friend of mine request Mr. Roran O’Brolchain’ woodcutting services in the market hoping, broadly, that one of the MacTavishes would meet him,” Ruth added.
This time it was Hector’s jaw that dropped - Donald had met Roran all because of this woman.
“I had hoped meeting him would stay them and that you, my child, would find a companion in locating Andrew. I’ve realized you’ve found much more than a companion and I am happy.” Ruth added with a smile, “I can go to my grave knowing you have found happiness, my child.”
Victoria launched herself at the older woman, clutching at her with tears streaming down her face, “Thank you, Ruth, thank you ever so much! I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done. For what you have given me.”
“You’re most welcome, my child.” Ruth sighed, before looking at Hector. “Both of you. Now, supper is almost ready, please get ready for the meal. I’d hate to see the French pastries go to waste.”
Leaning back, Victoria grabbed Hector’s hand and laced it with hers. “I love you.”
Brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes, Hector replied, “Me heart is yers, love, ne’er doubt that.”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Highlander's Love in Captivity
Chapter 1
“You know how I hate these extravagant events, Alice. Can’t you just tell him I am ill?” Jane Keppel pleaded with her maid.
Alice didn’t acknowledge her question with an answer right away, instead choosing to continue bustling around her with a purpose. After a few moments, she said sheepishly, “Mistress, you know what your Father says – it’s tradition, the way of the world. It’s how things are done. And you look beautiful.”
In all of her twenty years, Jane had never truly enjoyed balls, dances, or cotillions. Being stuffed into a gaudy dress by her lady’s maid, primped and prodded until she looked ‘just right’, only to be paraded in front of men twice or even thrice her age like a sow at auction.
Alice’s comments, a reminder of her Father’s statements, did not make her hate her lot in life any less. She was privileged as the daughter of a highborn man, the second son of the third Earl of Compton. Her uncle, Edward Keppel, was the eldest son and, therefore, the current Earl of Compton as her Grandfather had died some years ago.
Even now, as she stood in front of her mirror in her borrowed room at Compton Estate, she felt dread. Even as Alice cinched and prodded, Jane was momentarily oblivious to the world outside her head. In her mind, she was an independent woman, who had a husband who loved her for her spirit, not her dowry, or her looks. The man in her dreams was tall, handsome and rugged. A warrior who bested men on the battlefield but was gentle whenever he took her into his arms.
She was jostled from her daydreams by Alice tugging on her stays and she gasped, “Alice, it’s too tight!”
Alice simply gave her a look. “It’s as tight as it usually is – as tight as it needs to be.”
Jane frowned, reaching back to touch her side where the stay was cinching in her waist. She looked like a twig and she despised it. “Is it really necessary?” she quipped, glancing over her shoulder at the maid. Alice was a mousy little thing, barely cresting five feet tall.
Alice stood behind her with an apologetic look on her face. “ I’m sorry, Miss. It’s the Earl’s orders that you are to look your best tonight,” Alice said quietly, her gaze focused on the laces that she was tying.
“The Earl? Not Papa?” Jane asked incredulously as she sucked in a breath as deeply as she could with the laces so tight. “Why would my uncle be so concerned with my appearance?” she muttered under her breath, wincing as the laces were adjusted once again.
“I’m not sure, Miss. When he told us, he didn’t say why,” Alice explained as she worked.
While Alice tied, Jane wondered what her uncle was up to. Then it hit her like a bird flying into a freshly washed window pane. “Is my uncle conspiring with my father to find me a suitor?”
Alice didn’t respond.
Jane tried again. “Alice, that must be what it is. Why else would he hold a ball at his estate when he is notorious for never wanting guests in his manor? The ball must be a ruse, to parade me in front of as many men as possible.”
Alice simply said, “I am not privy to that kind of information, Miss.” With the laces tied, she went to fetch Jane’s new ball gown from where it lay draped across the large bed.
Jane puffed out her cheeks and reached up to pinch them while Alice was gone. She was nearly twenty, and even if she was a beauty in the eyes of many, she was not getting any younger.
Heaving a sigh of irritation, she patted her now rosy cheeks and adjusted a stray lock of her curly chocolate brown hair back behind her ear where it belonged. A few teased strands had been pulled out of the upswept hair atop her head to rest on her forehead and against her pale neck. Glaring at her reflection in the mirror, she turned away from it just as Alice returned with her gown.
The dress itself was a lovely aquamarine that paired with her dark, curly hair perfectly. It was decorated with delicate lace and little gems along the hemline, giving her a sparkling appearance. Alice had her turn her back to the mirror as she put on the finishing touches, adding a beautiful sapphire necklace and earrings, as well as a strand of sapphires that was wound into her hair.
Now satisfied that the look was complete, Alice stepped back and clapped her hands excitedly. “You look lovely, Miss! The ball will be starting any minute. You should hurry down to the drawing room,” Alice instructed and began to clean up all the odds and ends that she had used
to get Jane ready for the ball.
“I suppose I must,” Jane muttered as she glowered at her reflection. She had to admit that the dress her father had chosen for her tonight was lovely, and it set off her dark hair and pale features perfectly. Yet, she still wished she could put on a pair of riding trousers, get on her horse, and never look back. This kind of life really wasn’t for her, but in her heart, she knew that she was stuck with it. There was little she could do to change her fate.
Smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her dress she huffed out a sigh and turned on her heel to slip out of her room and down the hall, keeping her pace measured so she didn’t appear to be running, nor lagging back on purpose.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 27