by Alisa Adams
Davina had always been a good girl. All her life she had done her duty, obeyed orders and conformed to everyone’s expectations of her. Whatever she did was done to the best of her ability and the thought of doing otherwise would never have crossed her mind. She had never, in all of her sixteen years, done anything outrageous or unconventional. She was, in short, the perfect model for any young lady of her class. If Davina’s looks and character could have been summed up in one word, it would have been ‘pleasant.’
She was pretty rather than beautiful. Her hair was long, wavy, and dark blonde highlighted here and there with lighter streaks. She looked out at the world from deep grayish-green eyes and her face was round, with pinkish cheeks. She resembled a China doll, as her old Nanny Elspeth had been wont to tell her on many occasions.
Davina sighed. Elspeth was gone now. At the very old age of sixty-eight, she had simply slipped away in the sleep. Davina had gone in to wake her up one morning after she had been late for breakfast, which was unusual for her, and found her lying stiff and cold in bed.
She had been devastated since Nanny Elspeth had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. It had been six months since her death and Davina still missed her, still wanted to hug her, still wanted to laugh and share things with her.
Davina had no brothers or sisters. There had been a stillbirth before her and several miscarriages after, so her parents had become resigned to the fact that Davina would be their only child. She had always felt though, that she had somehow let them down by being born female. After all, every man wanted a son, and her father, Laird Ruaridh Anderson, was no exception. He loved her, of course; indeed, he doted on her, but he would not teach her to hunt on his estate, to enjoy his favorite sport of falconry, or how to use a crossbow and sword. Such pastimes were reserved for boys, to prepare them to be warriors if necessary.
Davina could sew beautifully, read, speak Latin, Gaelic and French fluently, and ride as well as any man. She was rarely called upon to use her Latin for any practical purpose, however, and stitching samplers and wall-hangings was not a particularly useful skill to have in the real world. She did not live in the real world, however, although she had never realized it, but in the rarefied atmosphere of the aristocracy.
She would never have to worry about how her clothes were washed and who did it for her, who cleaned her room and drew her bath, or even where her next meal was coming from. Indeed, she had never had to work a day in her life. She was aware that she had an army of servants to look after her, but she did not ever worry about their private lives; they were simply there for her convenience. She was never cruel to anyone, just totally oblivious to them, and in that she was not unusual. Most young ladies of her age and class thought and behaved the same way.
Despite all her material comforts, she was lonely. She had no Nanny Elspeth to talk to now, but she was now of the age when it was proper for her to engage a lady’s maid. However, none of the candidates had shown any sign of suitability. Most were deferential to the point of obsequiousness and had no sense of humor; neither were they particularly intelligent, a quality Davina valued. In the meantime, several housemaids were sharing the job between them, although the situation was less than satisfactory. She felt like giving up in her search.
* * *
Today, at the beginning of September, the first breath of autumn chill had arrived, but the sky was clear and blue. The sea was sparkling and striped with white horses galloping into shore, their foamy manes snow-white in the sunshine. Davina was bored and depressed. She decided to take her dappled gray horse, Daisy, to sit on the cliff top overlooking the sea and lie in the sun for a while. Sunshine in the north east of Scotland is a rare and welcome sight at any time, so she decided to make the most of it.
The scenery in Sutherland was rugged, rocky, and mountainous, the coastline battered by the constant pounding of the North Sea. It was not a place for the faint of heart. Whatever else she was, Davina was not cowardly. Walking and riding along winding, stony paths scant feet from the edges of perilously steep cliffs held few terrors for her, since she had been doing it since she was ten-years-old. She knew that one misstep could send her hurtling to the bottom of the cliff to be dashed onto the rocks, but somehow the notion had never scared her.
Usually, she was accompanied by a groom, but today she was alone, and she reveled in her solitude, tilting her face up to the sun and breathing in great lungfuls of the tangy sea air. Presently, seeing a mound of boulders that were just the right size for sitting on, she dismounted and let Daisy wander away to crop the grass for a while. She took off her cloak, folded it, and put it down to cushion the craggy surface of the boulder. She sat there for a while, enjoying the wild sea view and the fresh air. It had been a long time since she had felt so ventured out alone, and she felt free. It was a good feeling, but she still had to go back to the lonely castle.
Davina had no idea how long she sat there. She stood up to pick some wildflowers to put in her hair, then walked along the stony path for a little way before standing right at the edge of the drop. She looked down at the rocks below that promised certain death for the unwary, then stepped back and turned around to look at her family’s castle perched right on top of a small mountain half a mile away. It was such a beautiful place and she was proud to call it home, but of course, it would never truly be hers. If she had been a boy, that castle, its grounds, its estate and all its farms would belong to her, but she was not. She was a girl. Now it would all go to her cousin Grant and she would have to marry well in order to maintain her security and standard of living.
Marry well—what did that even mean? Father had lined up several potential candidates, mostly widowers who were older than she was by at least thirty years. She knew many girls in her position, and most looked happy with their lot, but she was uncertain and apprehensive.
Nanny Elspeth had told her what she needed to know to prepare herself for marriage, but the thought of making love with a strange older man was not appealing. However, she would do it for her parent’s sake because it was her duty.
She began to walk slowly back along the cliff path, leading Daisy on a long rein. Suddenly, her mood had changed from one of reasonable contentment back to lonely boredom. It seemed that even the weather agreed with her. On the distant horizon, dark clouds were beginning to boil, promising a savage storm later on in the evening. So much for the good weather! She sighed. It never lasted long in the Highlands.
* * *
Presently, she decided to mount Daisy again and ride home, picking up the horse’s pace a bit until they were moving along at a brisk trot. It was just as they rounded a huge boulder partially blocking the path that they saw the figure coming towards them. It was a tall man leading a big chestnut stallion, and he looked familiar. As they came closer she recognized him, but she could not believe the evidence of her own eyes. It was Athol Murray, whom she had not seen since she was thirteen-years-old and he was eighteen.
At that very young age, she had thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen because from a thirteen-year-old’s standpoint a boy of eighteen looked very manly indeed. He had been tall then, but he was taller now, well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a well-muscled torso. His brown hair was almost as long as hers was, and it gleamed with auburn lights in the rays of the fading sun. He must be twenty-three now, she thought.
As they approached each other his face broke into a wide grin. He looked very happy to see her. "I do not believe it!” he cried delightedly, “Davina Anderson! Or do you have another name now?”
She smiled back at him in a bemused fashion. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t, Athol. How lovely to see you.” Her memory had not failed her. He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen.
42
Athol
Athol had known from the age of eight that he was going to be a laird. From the day that his father had sat him on the front of his horse and taken him out to meet some of
the tenant farmers and their workers. At that tender age, Athol had been a bit bewildered by all the attention and the sheer volume of information he had to take in all at once, but he was excited. He had an immediate sense of the enormity of it all, and he realized straight away that he was now an important person.
Of course, he had always known that ordinary people did not live in castles and ride their own ponies. He knew that common folk did not have foodstuffs delivered but grew their own and he was aware that some people starved to death in winter. However, none of it affected him. He was going to be a laird, so he would never go hungry, and one day a beautiful young lady would be picked for him and he would marry her. They would, of course, have many sons, since sons were much more desirable than daughters, although he wasn’t quite sure why.
From that day on, he was gradually introduced to his future duties as the head of a large estate and he now knew how to collect rent, keep accounts, manage the land, and deal with is tenants. Although occasionally given to admiring himself in the mirror too much, he was a decent man. He was not given to fits of temper or petulance and it was in his nature to be fair, so gradually he became widely respected by his future tenants, most of whom he knew on a first name basis.
By the time he was sixteen, his father was already pushing some of the easy and less important jobs his way as preparation for going onto more difficult tasks. Athol took everything in his stride and it seemed that being a laird was in his very blood, so naturally did it all come to him. At the age of eighteen, he had more or less taken over the running of the estate entirely. His father was now fifty-three and at the stage in life where he wanted to relax a bit and enjoy the company of his much-loved wife Lorina, Athol’s mother, wanted to travel a little before they settled down to wait for grandchildren. These were, of course, to be provided by Athol, although he had two younger sisters who were even now making their contribution.
* * *
For a man, eighteen was considered a little too young to marry, so Athol had been made to wait until his twenties. However, his sisters, May and Aileen, currently sixteen and seventeen years of age respectively, had been considered eligible for marriage since the age of fourteen. They had been wedded to prosperous young lairds-to-be at the ripe old age of sixteen and were both pregnant, comfortable, and very happy.
Duncan, his father, had begun to enjoy a few more leisure hours while making sure that Athol enjoyed a few less, but his son was strong, capable and well-liked, so he had a feeling that he could hand over the reins of responsibility without too much concern. Besides, he would always be there to give advice if it were needed. So Athol, at the very young age of eighteen, became the de facto laird of Blairmore and he relished his new role and the responsibility that came with it.
There was one more consequence to this. Athol was now a young single man with an enormous inheritance coming his way. He was a very desirable commodity if commodity was the right word. Yes, he was still too young for marriage but he was not too young for courtship and betrothal. Accordingly, many lairds began to beat a path to his father’s door to advertise the irresistible charms of their many daughters.
Athol was unmoved. He was not ready to settle down. He had too much to learn and achieve, so he was not planning to marry anyone until he was in his mid-twenties at least. Then he would allow a rumor to leak that he was in need of a suitable wife and watch the feeding frenzy. It amused him just to think of it. If he had one defect in his character it was that he thought altogether too much of his good looks. His mother was always telling him so.
At that moment, as if he had conjured her up, an eligible young lady was trotting towards him. For a moment he had not recognized her— Davina Anderson had changed much since he had last seen her. She had been what? Thirteen? He wasn’t sure, but she had been very young and totally enamored with him.
“It has been a very long time,” she remarked, smiling.
“Indeed,” he agreed, “three years. What have you been doing with yourself?”
She laughed with a touch of bitterness. “Athol,” she replied, "I have been doing what most young ladies of my age and class do—absolutely nothing.” Davina surprised herself by the bitterness of her tone. She, who was usually so dutiful and accepting, had allowed a trace of rebelliousness to creep into her voice. Shut up, Davina, she thought frantically, he'll think you’re an idiot.
Instead, he surprised her by laughing. “You would be surprised by the number of young ladies who express the same thoughts,” he remarked, “but I have no doubt you can speak Latin and French?”
“Yes,” she replied, frowning. "Why?”
He mounted his horse then turned it around so that they were facing the same direction. They began to walk back the way they had come.
“I often wonder how practical Latin is for anything,” he mused, “as a language, it is as dead as a doornail and quite useless for anything except following Mass. My tutor made me learn French too, although the chance that either of us will ever go to France to converse in it is rather remote.”
There was a short and awkward silence, which Davina broke. “I can sew the most beautiful wall hangings too and my own clothes!” She laughed. “‘Tis the only useful skill I have. So, what have you been doing?”
Athol looked out to sea for a moment. He was smiling happily. Davina envied him his contentment. "I have been learning to be a laird,” he replied at last. "It takes all my time and energy, but I love it. There is only one thing wrong—I have to steal time to be by myself and enjoy a bit of solitude.”
* * *
Davina immediately felt contrite. “I am sorry,” she said hastily, "I did not mean to deprive you of it. Forgive me.” She began to gather her reins to urge Daisy into a trot again, but he stopped her by putting a hand on her arm.
“No,” he said gently, "I am the one who should be sorry. I put that very clumsily. What I meant was that I rarely have time to relax, but I am relaxing now.”
“I see.” She looked into his deep hazel eyes for a moment, then turned away, blushing. She would marry him tomorrow, any girl would. Nanny Elspeth had told her all that a young woman needed to know about what was expected of a wife, especially on her first night with her husband. She was sure that she could help him to relax. “And you found time today?” she asked, “how so?”
He smiled at her with devilment in his eyes. “I am very, very sick,” he replied, “stomach cramps. I was put to bed by my Nanny - yes, I still have one - given a cupful of ginger tea and made to drink it all down before I rested for the afternoon. She watched me to make sure I did it and it was foul. Anyway, she left the room and I waited for a while, then I sneaked out, went down the back stairs, and into the stables. I told the stable hands I was going to see a farmer and not to expect me until after dark, then I took a lantern with me. I expect that they have discovered my deception by this time, but I am really too old to have to resort to such tactics!”
Davina was giggling furiously at the image of Athol drinking the tea and grimacing at the awful taste. She had to endure ginger tea herself once or twice and it was the most disgusting medicine she had ever had to swallow. “Why do you put up with it?” she asked, "it’s your own fault. You should pension Nanny off.”
“My sisters are both expecting,” he replied, “and she is going to look after the first baby that arrives. It’s like a race. The winner gets the nanny!”
Davina threw back her head and laughed at that, then caught him looking at her, smiling thoughtfully. She felt very self-conscious all of a sudden. “Do I have dirt on my face?” she asked anxiously.
He shook his head, smiling. “No,” he answered, "I was just thinking how pretty you have become.”
“Me?” she squeaked in utter disbelief, “Athol, thank you, but I truly don’t think I am anywhere approaching pretty. I am fat, for one thing.”
"Stop insulting yourself,” he instructed her in a stern voice. “A woman needs a bit of flesh on her bones and you are just right. You
have beautiful eyes too.”
She was blushing furiously by this time and turned her face away from him to let the sea breeze cool her cheeks. “Thank you again, Athol,” she said shyly, "I am very flattered.”
“Good!” he replied, “this day has turned out to be even better than I expected. I wanted a bit of peace and quiet, but I got a pleasant companion to ride with as well. Altogether a very successful outcome!”
“For me too,” she said and laughed. “But we must get back home quickly now. I do not like the look of those rain clouds.”
Athol groaned. “I suppose that’s what we get for living in the Highlands.” He sighed sadly. “But we still love it, do we not?”
Davina gazed out to sea for a moment, watching as the sky became darker. “Yes, we do,” she answered, laughing. “But for the life of me, I have no idea why!”
She urged Daisy into a fast trot and Athol did likewise. It has been a refreshing day, he thought, far away from the cares and responsibilities of the estate, but he would still have to face them tomorrow.
43
Lyle
Davina floated home on a cloud of happiness. From being bored, lonely and miserable, to being happy, to being sad again, then absolutely ecstatic after meeting Athol, it had been an exciting day. She could not stop thinking about him all the way home and her whole body tingled as she thought of the way he had smiled at her from his warm hazel eyes. How pretty you have become, he had said, you have beautiful eyes. Davina laughed out loud. He did not even mind that she was carrying a little excess weight!
She wondered whether he would ask her father’s permission to court her now and come calling on her to sit with him in front of the fire and drink spiced wine and whiskey. How wonderful that would be. She had visions of herself sitting on the big couch with her head on his shoulder. He might lie there with his head on her lap or she might even sit on his. At any rate, they would be content to say nothing but enjoy the peaceful silence and the close proximity of each other’s bodies. It would be glorious.