A Scottish Love (32 page)

“You don’t need me to give you moral courage, Shona.”

“No, but I need you to enjoy yourself. Ever since we’ve come to Gairloch, you’ve been at everyone’s beck and call. I think you need to dance a little, weep at the pipers, and maybe even drink a wee dram of whiskey.”

“Really, I’d be much happier reading a book in my room.”

“Then so shall I.”

Helen frowned. “Really, Shona.”

She only smiled. “How long will it take you to get ready?”

“You won’t go without me?”

She shook her head.

At the door, Helen looked back. “You really are very obstinate, you know.”

Her smile grew wider. “Yes, I know.”

When Helen was gone, she stood, brushing the wrinkles from her lovely borrowed dress. Rather than go and look at herself again, she walked toward the windows, staring out at the Highland night, the light gradually fading. In a few hours, the sky would blacken, but for now, she could see the approach to Gairloch and the procession of vehicles carrying the guests to the castle.

When darkness fell, the flames in the lanterns would toss shadows against the leaves of the overhanging trees. The stars would shine so brightly that it would seem heaven had been brought closer for this event.

Tonight, the pipes would play, welcoming the world to Gairloch. Tonight, the skirling sound would speak to another time, but one just as fraught with confusion and despair. Peace covered the Highlands like a warm blanket, but the world away from here was not so serene, and Scotland’s sons had gone to war again.

Many of their guests tonight had done the same, some of them returning, like Fergus, with scars visible to all. Some of them were perhaps like Gordon, outwardly perfect, but affected just the same.

How could she bear it if anything happened to him?

What if one of his stupid explosions went wrong? Would anyone even let her know?

She pressed her fingertips against the cool glass, closing her eyes as she did so. On this night of celebration, when it seemed the past was hand in hand with the present, she whispered a prayer of protection for both men she loved.

A
nd there she was, like a gift from God, a test for his patience and his pride.

The light was behind her, and she was a red-hued shadow, but he’d know Shona Imrie anywhere. Even in his coffin with her a weeping visitor. The last shreds of his soul would reach out to her, and thank her for the comfort of her tears.

Tonight, he had to either leave her or love her for the sake of his mind and his heart. He couldn’t wonder what might have been or what could be.

He had to know.

Chapter 27

A
s the hostess, an Imrie of Gairloch, she should have been the first to greet each visitor at the door. She would have been, too, if Helen had not insisted on two things: that Fergus serve in that role, and that she should take care with her own appearance.

Very well, both had been accomplished, and she was on her way down the stairs, carefully lifting up her skirts and hoping her bodice stayed up as well. Her face warmed when she realized that the crowd of people were beginning to look up. Not only that, but they weren’t talking, as if a wave of silence was moving slowly through Gairloch.

She halted, halfway down the steps, clenching the wooden banister so tightly she wondered if she’d crush it.

“Smile,” Helen said from behind her.

She’d been in social positions before. Bruce hadn’t entertained much, but when he had, she’d certainly comported herself well. He’d often complimented her afterward. When they’d attended various functions in Edinburgh and even London, she hadn’t been a wayward chit, but a gracious guest.

But here, and now, she suddenly forgot everything she’d ever learned from her mother and in the intervening years. Every person she’d ever known in her childhood looked up at her, a mass of people spilling out of the Clan Hall, silent and . . . what? What were they thinking? What did they want of her?

The minister she’d known since she was a child looked a little surprised. So, too, his birdlike wife. Sarah Imrie McNair, a cousin, who was holding a cup and staring up at her wide-eyed. Her brother, Magnus, was actually leering at Shona.

Had they all forgotten what she looked like?

Helen whispered something else to her, some instruction, and she nodded, descending another step, glancing down at herself to ensure her bodice was in place.

Gordon stood talking with Fergus, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’d dressed for the occasion in his formal uniform with kilt and black jacket. His black hair had been brushed until it shone. He laughed at something Fergus said, and the sound traveled up her spine.

He was the most beautiful creature in the world.

At that moment, he glanced in her direction, his smile fading. A room separated them, dozens and dozens of suddenly silent people. Because he was looking up at her, she managed the last few steps. Keeping her eyes on him, and only him, she ignored the silence. She reached the bottom of the steps, uncertain what to do. Gordon rescued her by pushing through the throng and offering his arm.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

“I thought the same of you,” she said, to his obvious surprise.

Her hand felt cold on his arm, or was that only because he was so warm? His gaze heated her from the inside out.

“I’m so glad the dress was able to fit you,” Miriam said, her voice carrying across the room.

The spell was broken, the noise level increasing. She might have been a fairy princess, but her reign had lasted only minutes.

The American girl was suddenly there, only feet away.

“It’s a lovely dress,” Shona said, forcing a polite smile to her flaming face.

“It looks lovely on you,” Miriam said. “How fortunate that it didn’t fit me.”

Must everyone know she wore a borrowed dress? Or was that the reason behind Miriam’s sudden, and unexpected, generosity?

At the moment, she would have been just as happy if the stone floor opened up and swallowed her. Better yet, perhaps she could escape through one of the secret passages and just disappear.

She removed her hand from Gordon’s arm.

“Shona.”

She glanced up at Gordon. “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said.
Please don’t let him say something kind at the moment.
She really couldn’t bear if he was kind.

Moving away, she met with the musicians, giving them instructions on when to begin playing, and then gave the signal to the piper.

At first, the sound was muted, so that only a few of the guests glanced around, confused. Then, as he came down the corridor leading to the Clan Hall, all the guests pressed into the doorway to see him.

The procession was a simple one—the piper playing the Imrie Clan tune, a haunting melody heard at momentous events. As Laird of Gairloch, Fergus was next, his advance a little slow because of his limp. Next, she followed, secondary to her brother, only because he was laird.

In other times, the rest of the family would follow, but she and Fergus were the only Imries left. Their guests parted to allow them to enter the Clan Hall unobstructed, a sign of fealty and respect.

When the procession was over, she moved through the crowd, greeting people she hadn’t seen for years, accepting their compliments about the castle, the night, and her own appearance with more equanimity than she’d thought possible only minutes earlier. She smiled until her face ached, allowed herself to be hugged, her cheek patted, her arm stroked, and recalled the past with every other person.

Yes, her parents would be happy to see her and Fergus looking so well. Yes, Gairloch looked lovely at night. Yes, it will be sad to leave the castle. Yes, the food is wonderful, is it not?

Colonel Sir Gordon, First Baronet of Invergaire? Yes, it was a great honor he’d been given, secondary to Fergus’s own award of the new Victoria Cross. They should have had a celebration simply for that. Yes, what a pity Fergus had been wounded, but he looked so much better now. Yes, it was impossible to know if he would always limp.

As to the Americans, Mr. Loftus seemed amenable, and that daughter of his was quite a lovely girl. Will they be living here? Yes, it will be strange not to have any Imries living at Gairloch. Who is that giant following him around, and that beautiful blond girl who never smiles?

She supervised the refilling of all the platters of food on the table, gave instructions to fetch another barrel of whiskey, and took a small sip of her own glass when she had a moment. Gairloch whiskey went straight to her stomach, warming the cold places she’d pretended weren’t there for the last hour.

Every time she turned around, Gordon was within sight. Every time she spoke to one of the older villagers, and he brought up her childhood, she felt him close. Twice, she turned to find him watching her, a curious, almost speculative look on his face.

Granted, she was wearing a dress that was more revealing than any she’d ever worn, but surely that wasn’t why he was looking at her in that fashion. Besides, Gordon knew quite well what she looked like without any clothes at all. For that matter, he knew what made her moan and what pleasured her.

Not thoughts she should be having in the midst of two hundred people.

The next time she saw him, she frowned. He smiled in response, which only flustered her.

Finally, she found Fergus sitting in a quiet corner and joined him.

“You should be among our guests,” he said.

“At the moment, I need a respite from our guests.”

The Family Parlor had been transformed for dancing, and the musicians made up for any lack of talent with their enthusiasm. Several times, instead of dancing, the guests had begun to sing along with the tune.

She should have been warm, but the broad double doors had been left open to the autumn night, and an occasional gust cooled the air.

Mr. Loftus was holding court in the Clan Hall, his gouty foot propped up, his usually taciturn face transformed by a smile. Several villagers clustered around him, no doubt inquiring as to the changes he’d make if the sale of Gairloch happened. Money, in this case, could soothe any worries the inhabitants of Invergaire Glen might have.

If Gordon danced, she hadn’t seen it. Nor was she all that interested in whom he might pick to be his partner.

Not one little bit.

Fergus was staring out at the crowd, his face somber. He wasn’t having a good time and wasn’t at all shy about showing it.

Once, she might have been able to tease him from his mood. But his aura of privacy was so intact that she knew he wouldn’t speak of what was bothering him.

That didn’t mean, however, that she was going to refrain from badgering him.

“Haven’t you and Elizabeth talked to each other yet?”

He frowned at her. She was growing tired of being on the receiving end of her brother’s glower.

“You have to agree to sell Gairloch,” she said, abruptly. “If you had enough money, Elizabeth would agree to your suit.”

“Are you suited to give advice, Shona? I would have thought your own life rather a mess.”

That was too true not to feel a twinge of hurt.

“I’m not your mother or your nurse, but you need someone to care for you, since it’s only too evident you need someone’s help.”

She threw up her hands at his expression.

“I’m not talking about your leg, brother. But your heart.”

He frowned at her again.

She stood, shaking her head at him.

“Are you two fighting again?”

She turned to find Gordon standing there, a glass of whiskey in each hand. Wordlessly, he handed one to Fergus.

“No, we’re not fighting,” she said. “We have differing opinions, that’s all.”

Gordon only smiled, nodded to an acquaintance, then excused himself absentmindedly, as if he was bored with her presence.

She watched him for a few moments, then turned to find Fergus smiling at her.

“You still love him,” he said, the words soft enough that they didn’t carry.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

His smile held an edge of pity.

“You still love him.”

Really, he had to stop saying such things.

“If I’d been commanded to marry Gordon, I would have and no doubt been very happy until the end of my life. I knew all his attributes, those qualities a wife must learn in time.”

“When have you ever done what anyone commanded?” Fergus asked with a smile.

She ignored the comment, intent on her confession. “But in the last seven years, I’ve trained myself only to see his flaws.”

“Has he that many?”

“He’s proud, stubborn, and impossible,” she murmured.

“Qualities that could be spoken of you,” he said, turning his head to watch her.

She wasn’t going to answer that.

“I’m thinking he’s had to be that way, to become his own man,” Fergus said.

Surprised, she turned to look at him.

“Gordon’s entire life has been spent trying to either escape his father or make him proud.” He leaned back against the wall. “In the end, he didn’t care about the old man’s opinion.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I’d venture to say that there are few people’s opinions he does care about.” He slowly turned his head and regarded her. “Is yours one of them?”

Without an answer, she left him, intent on their guests. With any luck, none of them would mention Gordon.

“T
hey don’t like each other very much, do they?” Miriam Loftus said.

The woman was drenched in scent. If nothing else, the overly flowery perfume should have warned him of her approach, but he’d been lost in his own thoughts.

“Who?”

“Sir Gordon and Shona.”

The comment was so absurd that, for a moment, Fergus didn’t know what to say. But when his amusement vanished, he realized that Miriam was seeing exactly what the two of them wanted others to see.

“They’ve been friends for years,” he said cautiously, unwilling to divulge his sister’s past to anyone.

“He’s quite magnificent,” she said. “In his kilt, I mean.”

Annoyed, he glanced at her. He was dressed in the same uniform.