“Have you nothin’ to do?” he asked. At length, they began to go about their business – all but Kester who stood with a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips. Even Birdie, who was sitting up for a change, looked perturbed. “Dinna say it,” he whispered as he walked past her.
“You have gone daft,” she said anyway.
KENTIGERN MANOR, 1911
“He dinna,” McKenna grumbled. “He sent her away? A foolish lad was he to refuse love over such a one as Seona.”
“I see his point, though,” Nicholas said. “Trust once lost is rarely recovered.”
“Love once lost is rarely recovered too,” said McKenna.
“Is there no more to the story?” Sarah asked.
McKenna sighed, “The rest of the page is left blank.”
Jessie tried not to look too guilty. “Perhaps Balric simply got distracted...or his grandson did.”
Alistair carefully watched Jessie’s eyes. “Or perhaps you know something we do not.”
McKenna turned to the next page and then the next before she found a folded sheet of paper. “Ah, perhaps here is something.” She carefully unfolded it and began to read again.
THE MACGREAGORS BELIEVED the best remedy for a broken heart was hard work, but it did not always help. Michael spent his days helping build Lindsey’s bridge across the river. It was strenuous, time consuming work that regrettably did little to alleviate his heavy heart. No one confessed to erecting the very large cross, but the reason for it was to shame Seona. With her gone, Michael ordered the wood used in the building of the bridge. As well, he asked Kester to see about having the women plant flowers in the inner courtyard, if for no other reason than to please the king.
Michael said little, answered questions when asked, and shared his meals with myself, Kester, and Birdie in a dining room void of the joy he once felt, if only for a short time. It would pass, he convinced himself each morning, as he went to the top of the north tower to see his world.
It did not pass and I, Balric Verrall’ daily reminded him of my sister and her children. Even so, he treated me with the utmost respect and continued to tell me the stories of old, in what was now a nearly empty castle, with stone walls that echoed our voices in tones so solemn as to dampen the best of spirits.
“YOU BE A BIT MORE MISERABLE than yesterday, I see,” Kester said as Michael helped her sit a chair in the dining room.
He sat next to her, filled her bowl with stew and set it in front of her, “I am hardly miserable. The work on the bridge goes well, the clan is happy and you keep me well entertained.”
She gave Birdie something to eat and then licked her fingers. “Happy, is it? The clan needs a mistress.”
“Aye, and someday I shall give them one.”
“Today would do well,” she muttered.
Seated across from Kester, Balric had become accustomed to hearing the two of them banter about the same thing before every meal. He did not interfere and simply waited until they reached the same impasse. The truth be told, he acutely missed his sister and her children too, but he doubted Michael could be persuaded to change his mind.
“‘Tis too quiet without them,” Kester said.
“Have you finished writing the story of Patches?” Michael asked Balric.
“I have, and I am at your disposal when you are ready to tell me the next.”
“I believe today...” Michael started.
“Would be a good day to bring Elena and the children home,” Kester interrupted. “I miss them. Everyone does.”
“Kester, you are an elder and I value your opinion on every subject but this.”
She started to dig another piece of meat out of her bowl. “You savor your pride above your happiness.”
“Pride has naught to do with it.” Michael again turned his attention to Balric. “I shall...”
“I shall die soon,” Kester interrupted.
Michael wrinkled his brow. “Are you unwell?”
“Nay, I am old and before I go, I should like to see you married off.”
“To Elena, I suppose.”
Kester gave him her old familiar accusing glare. “Did you ask her why she thought you might be the father of Seona’s child?”
Exasperated, Michael sighed. “I did not, nor shall I. Let that be an end to it.”
“Are you not aware that Seona went into your bedchamber, found the maid cleanin’, and said she expected to find you waitin’ for her there?”
“What?” Michael asked.
“Everyone knows and so does Elena. ‘Tis not just she who thought you tempted by Seona.”
“Not once was I tempted. Did I not constantly make my feelin’s known?”
Balric rubbed the side of his beard and then looked at Michael. “My sister might have seen Seona that night.”
“What night,” Kester asked.
Balric answered, “The night she climbed into his bed wearin’ not a stitch of clothin’.”
When Kester again looked at him accusingly, Michael quickly explained. “I dinna let her stay.”
“Tis true,” Balric said. “I saw her go in and was witness to Michael sendin’ her away directly.”
“Yet, Elena was right across the hall and might have seen or heard somethin’, am I right?” Kester asked.
Michael stared at the table for a time. “‘Tis possible, I suppose.”
Kester gave another chunk of meat to Birdie. “When you take a wife, Michael, if any lass is daft enough to have you – you must tell her everythin’ first. Dinna let her hear it from someone else.”
“You are sayin’ the fault is mine?”
Kester shrugged, put a spoonful of food in her mouth, and pretended to ignore him.
At length, Balric said, “Which is the next story?”
HE WAS ABOUT TO WRITE a story that concerned the birth of triplets, all three of which survived, but in the middle of his attention to it, Balric was sadly interrupted. When all was said and done, he instead wrote:
Early of a morning, and for no reason I could immediately fathom, Birdie began to howl. I sprang from my bed, just as Michael did, and the worst was upon us. Our dear sweet Kester MacGreagor had passed and Birdie was inconsolable. In the dark of a cold night, the entire clan gathered in the courtyard to hear news they already suspected. With the heaviest of hearts and fighting back his own tears, Michael went out to tell them.
Kester hoped she would go first, and God granted her wish, but the dog was having none of it. It took nearly an hour and a ham bone to calm him down.
Normally, ‘tis easier to lay the elderly to rest, for death is expected, but even Elder Diarmad wiped a tear or two from his eyes as he led the funeral procession. It would never be the same without her constant attention to gossip, and I confess to a tear or two myself, although I shed them in private. Kester had not been laid to rest a week when the dog passed. Birdie is buried at her feet, precisely where he lived out the last of his days.
Yet for Michael, it was two less at meals, two less to care about, and the silence overwhelmed even me. At last, he said not a word, mounted his horse, and rode off alone.
ELENA STRUGGLED TO settle back into the life she once shared with the Fergusons. At first, she watched for him, but as the minutes, the days and the weeks slowly passed, she was convinced Michael was lost to her forever. Just as she had after the death of her husband, and for the sake of her children, she gave the appearance of contentment.
Eventually, she even stopped watching for him – or at least thought she had.
Samuel had muddied his clothing yet again, and she was washing them in the river when movement caused her to look up. Her heart skipped a beat, for Michael sat on his horse atop a hill watching her. She could but wait to see what he would do, for if he had not forgiven her, he would simply ride away and her heart would break anew. He did not ride away. Instead, he slowly walked his horse down the hill and as she set her washing aside and started toward him, he slipped off his mount and continued the re
st of the way on foot.
There, at the bottom of a foot hill, he opened his arms and drew her back into his world.
AS FOR MY GRANDFATHER – Balric married a lass who never complained. Grandmother Beitris was the light in his eyes, he often said.
Lindsey’s bridge was completed on 20, December, 1371, and in spring of the following year, so also was the very fine headstone Rory carved for her. ‘Tis the large, square, stone with a cross on the top. When the stone was placed, each and every member of the clan laid upon her grave a blanket of cheerful flowers, in memory of her cheerful and greatly missed pleasing disposition.
Kester and Birdie rest beside her and all is just as it should be.
I Gustof Verrall, grandson of the half-Scot, and half Englishman, Balric Verrall, hereby bring this story to an end, and may all those written about within be fondly remembered.
KENTIGERN MANOR, 1911
There was silence in the Manor when McKenna closed the book and handed it to Nicholas to put away. What was there left to say?
That didn’t stop Jessie. “There is another story in the book, you know.”
“Why, Jessie,” said Alistair, “do you now confess you have been readin’ while we are away?”
“I confess nothin’.” She got up, wished them all a goodnight, and went to her bedroom.
“I thought the castle would burn in this story, but apparently not,” said McKenna as she started up the stairs. “Perhaps the next one will tell us.”
Behind his wife, Alistair said, “I am tempted to take the book upstairs just to keep Jessie from readin’ the next story.”
“And who shall keep you from doin’ the same?” Egan asked. Malveen was already upstairs feeding the baby.
“You forget,” Alistair said, “Nicholas and I are makin’ copies and have read half the next story already.”
“That hardly seems fair,” McKenna said to Sarah as they turned the corner at the top of the stairs and disappeared. She bid Sarah and Alistair good night and then went into the bedroom she shared with Nicholas.
Before he turned out the light, Nicholas went to a table against the wall, to once more look at the glass box that now held what remained of Kester’s hourglass. “I wonder how they saved it from burning in the first fire?” He looked up the stairs to make certain no one was watching, touched his fingers to his lips, and then tenderly touched the glass. “Till we meet on that beautiful shore.”
The end
Beloved Lies
The Lost MacGreagor Books
Book 2
Sample Chapter
At last, her father agreed to let debutante Blair MacGreagor sail to London to be presented to the King. She took a copy of a lost MacGreagor story with her, but finding time to read was not easy. Not only did she have to avoid being swept off her feet by a man eager to relieve her of her inheritance, her mother’s scandalous reputation quickly spread among the first-class passengers.
CHAPTER 1
RMS MAURETANIA
“Her name is Blair MacGreagor,” the chambermaid whispered. It was not unusual for a chambermaid to be in the vast, dimly lit linen closet, for many were the linens required for first-class passengers on an ocean liner. What was unusual was the well-dressed man standing beside her.
“She is wealthy?” he asked.
“Quite. She is the daughter of Lord Edward Bayington.”
“Lord Bayington? Did he not pass away?”
“He did and it is said he left a good portion of his wealth to her.”
The gentleman drew in an excited breath. “She is perfect then. How shall I recognize her?”
“That, I do not yet know, but I shall slip a note under your door when I am told she is aboard. The captain said Miss Blair MacGreagor is to have the best this ship can provide.”
“Does he not say that about all the first-class passengers?”
“Indeed, but this one is beyond the means of any of the others, even the men. The captain hopes she and her family will always choose to sail aboard the RMS Mauretania. Her other father is a Scottish duke.”
“Her other father?”
The chambermaid put her hand up to stop his questions. “I have no time to explain it now. Be gone with you, and see that no one sees you leave.”
He kissed her on the cheek and headed for the door. Cautiously, he opened it, peeked into the empty hallway, and then went on his way. Behind him, chambermaid Lucy Quinn grabbed some extra towels and went to put them in Blair MacGreagor’s stateroom.
NEW YORK HARBOR, 1912
The long awaited afternoon had finally arrived and Blair MacGreagor could hardly believe she was standing on the polished promenade deck of the fastest ocean liner in the world – the RMS Mauretania. It had been decided, and rightly so, that she should be presented at court. After all, she was the legitimate daughter of Lord Edward Bayington of England, as well as the adopted daughter of Cameron MacGreagor, the Scottish Duke of Glenartair. It was also decided, particularly since they were going later anyway, that Mr. and Mrs. Claymore Whitfield would accompany her. It meant trading their tickets on Titanic’s return voyage to the United Kingdom for an earlier sailing in March, but neither of them minded. They were just as excited to be sailing as Blair.
“Is it not a splendid sight?” Blair asked. “Just think, in less than six days I shall be in London.” She stood at the railing next to her father with Abigail and Claymore Whitfield on the other side of her, and watched the last automobile being hoisted into the cargo bay. Dozens of people lined the dock while others hurried up the steps as if they might be too late to board. Beyond the wide waterfront, the windows in a multitude of large and small New York City buildings glistened in the sunlight.
Crossing the Atlantic was deemed safer now than in years past. The massive RMS Mauretania had been in service long enough to prove her seaworthiness, yet it still looked in pristine condition. It was painted black with red trim along the bottom, and just below the bottom deck, large white letters announced its title. On top, four gigantic funnels were painted red on the bottom half and black on the top, making the ship a sight to behold both near and far away. The brochure touted it capable of holding over eleven hundred passengers, which was likely true considering the crowds on all eight decks waiting to wave goodbye to friends and family on the pier below.
That morning, Blair spent nearly an hour styling her long black hair, and piling it atop her head so hat pins would securely hold her fashionable, but modestly decorated hat on. Her hat was tall rather than wide to accommodate her long hair, and perfectly matched her blue traveling suit, which matched the color of her eyes.
A tall, stout man, the Scottish Duke of Glenartair, Cameron MacGreagor, thought he was used to the way men gawked at his strikingly beautiful daughter, but just now he found it highly annoying. “I am tempted to go with you,” he said amid the loud and excited exchanges of the other passengers.
She giggled and wrapped her hand around his arm. “And what would mother say to that?”
“She would have my head,” he admitted. “Yet, I could say I have gone to check on the rebuildin’ of the castle.”
“In Scotland? She would not believe it. You best say you mean to protect me from the silliest of lads, who are just now watching my every move.”
He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am pleased to know you think them as silly as I do.”
“Father?” Blair asked.
“Aye?”
“You cannae...”
“I know, I cannae be with you always,” he finished for her. “Dinna forget – Doctor McCormick has already asked for you and I find him a good match.”
“Rest assured, I shall not let any lad tempt me away without your approval.”
“Say he must come to Colorado to ask my permission.”
“Have you not always required it?”
“Aye.” Cameron put his other hand lovingly atop the one she had around his arm. “I’ve a surprise put away in your travelin’
bag.”
Her eyes shined with still more excitement. “What is it?”
“‘Tis a hastily made copy of the next MacGreagor story.”
“Truly?” She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I feared I should have to wait months to read it. What a darling lad you are. If I find a husband half as good as you, I shall be very pleased indeed.”
Cameron sighed. “Darlin’ lad? You’ve not called me that before.”
“Perhaps not, but I have always thought it. I am all grown up now and perhaps not as shy as I once was.”
“You are hardly all grown up,” he argued. “You are but seventeen.”
“Did you not just say I am grown up enough to marry the doctor?”
Her father rolled his eyes. “My own words come back to haunt me.”
She giggled, and then turned her attention back to the people on the pier below. Stevedores scurried to load the last of the supplies, people were already waving, and she began to worry her father would not disembark in time. As if right on cue, the ship’s horn sounded. “Father, I...”
Cameron sighed once more, “I know. When you are landed in Fishguard, dinna get off the ship until you see Lady Bayington. I have given Mr. Whitfield ample funds should you need anythin’.” Cameron gave Abigail a kiss on the cheek, shook hands with Claymore, and then opened his arms to his daughter. He held her for a very long time before he said, “I shall miss you desperately. Call often, if not constantly.” With that, he tore himself away, wove his way through the other passengers, headed back down the stairs, and joined those on the pier waiting for the ship to leave.
Soon, the last of the visitors had disembarked, the steps were taken away, and towboats began to push the ship out of its mooring into the middle of the Hudson River. As the ship moved down river, Cameron walked along the pier keeping his daughter in sight for as long as possible.
Beloved Ruins, Book 1 Page 34