Amanda Scott (22 page)

“What a prodigiously odd thing for Duncan to say,” she said, looking from one to the other of her companions, as if she expected someone to agree with her. When no one else spoke, she went on in a thoughtful tone, “I cannot think why he would want to marry you, Mary. Not that you are not perfectly charming, but I am certain that he has indicated on more than one occasion that he does not even … That is …” She cleared her throat. “I believe he has never before thought of you as a possible wife, my dear. I cannot think what has got into him.”

Serena raised her chin and said firmly, “He is merely being cruel, ma’am. Surely you have noticed how Duncan positively delights in teasing me.”

“Aye,” Balcardane said with a heartiness that rang false, “that will be it, sure enough. The lad never did take well to a heavy hand on his bridle.”

“Bless me, sir,” Lady Balcardane exclaimed, “you make him sound like a horse, although I believe it is quite true that no one ever made Duncan do anything he did not want to do. Why, even when he was a little boy, he took his own road. Dearest Ian was far more tractable. Do you really think Duncan is only teasing, Serena? Because I must tell you that I have never known him to tease anyone before. No one has ever accused him of levity. He is far more likely to say what one least wants to hear than to be playful, but I think that is because he generally says precisely what he thinks. Oh, I am getting my thoughts jumbled, you will say, and I cannot deny it, but I do think one is wiser to believe what he says than not to do so.”

“He’ll do as he’s told, by God,” Balcardane said curtly.

“Do you think so, my lord? Were we not just agreeing that Duncan rarely does what he’s told, and nearly always does what he says he will do? It is not such a bad thing, either, because with men who say one thing and do another, one never knows what may happen next. At least, with Duncan, one has only to ask him.”

Balcardane snapped, “He will not dare to disobey Argyll, I believe.”

Silence greeted this awful pronouncement.

Mary thought Serena looked smug. Lady Balcardane, on the other hand, still looked doubtful, and evidently her lord and master thought so as well.

“Do you doubt me, madam?” he demanded.

Coloring, clearly flustered by his tone if not by the question itself, she said, “I would never doubt you, sir. I trust that I know my duty better than that, but do you mean to say that you believe Argyll will order Duncan to marry Serena?”

With exaggerated patience, he said, “I am saying, madam, that the potential alliance between our house and Caddell’s is one of which his grace knows and approves. He believes it will strengthen our resources in Lorne, particularly if Duncan removes with Serena to Dunraven after their marriage.”

“But Duncan can live at Dunraven no matter whom he marries,” Lady Balcardane pointed out. “He does not even have to wait until then if he does not want to do so. He is already Master of Dunraven, and has been since his birth.”

Serena signed to a lackey to carve her some more mutton, saying casually, “I shall enjoy being a countess, I think, but I can tell you that I will not allow him to keep me buried at Dunraven, ma’am. I mean to see Edinburgh and even London whilst I am still young enough to enjoy them.”

So strong was the picture that flashed in Mary’s head of the scene that would follow Serena’s making that declaration to Duncan that for an instant she thought Ewan had been right, that her gift might let her see more than the last moments of those she loved. It was just as well, she thought, that no one was paying heed to her.

Just then Lady Balcardane said, “His grace has quite a strong respect for your Aunt Anne, does he not, my dear?”

Mary jumped, realizing that while she had been indulging in fantasies—for the image had been nothing like one of her visions, which were extremely physical in nature—Lady Balcardane had been chattering on. The countess was regarding her now with the inquisitive air of one who expected an answer.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she said, flushing. “I am afraid I let my attention wander for a moment and did not hear exactly what you were saying.”

“I am quite accustomed to that, my dear, I promise you, but I was just observing that if Duncan should offer for you, perhaps his grace would not object as strenuously as he might to someone else in your particular circumstances.”

“Argyll thinks Anne Stewart Maclean is a damned interfering woman,” Balcardane growled. “If you think that is any indication that he will sit still for a union between her family and ours—”

“But he has already sat still for such a union, my dear. Her daughter married his cousin, after all, and Rory is our cousin, as well, come to that.”

“Rory Campbell will never be the Earl of Balcardane, however.”

“No, sir, but he is a powerful man in his own right. You cannot deny that.”

“I don’t attempt to deny it,” Balcardane said testily, “but it’s got nothing to do with the matter at hand, madam. Duncan must learn that while he may be Master of Dunraven, he is not entirely his own master. He must answer to those in authority over him, and that includes Argyll, by God; and the duke will not want my son to marry another penniless wench from the Maclean clan.”

Lady Balcardane chuckled. “You make it sound as if he’s already married one, my lord, though I do not believe that is what you meant for us to believe. As to penniless, as I understand the matter, Mary’s father owned quite a large estate on the Island of Mull before his part in the late rebellion forced him to forfeit it after his death. Though how someone can forfeit anything after death, I do not know, but there it is, and the same was true of Diana before she married Rory. Nonetheless, as I understand it, his grace is making an arrangement to award Castle Craignure—”

“You know nothing about such matters,” the earl snapped, “and the point has nothing to do with this matter. Duncan will not marry Mary Maclaine, and that’s my last word on the subject.” He glanced ruefully at Mary, adding in a gentler tone, “Not that I mean to cast aspersions on you personally, mistress. I am sure you are all that is amiable, and I trust you will not take offense at my candor.”

“None at all, sir,” she replied. “You may rest assured that your son does not want to marry me, nor I him. I daresay that he would be shocked to learn that words spoken in haste, and only to show how little he cared for the union suggested to him, have stirred such a rousing debate.”

Balcardane frowned at her for a long moment, then said, “He may not care for it, lass, but he’ll soon learn to take good advice when it is offered to him.”

Mary smiled. “You know him better than I do, sir, and duty makes him more likely to listen to you or to the Duke of Argyll than to others. In my experience with him, however, I have found him much more likely to give unwanted advice to others than to accept any himself.”

“That’s just what I said,” Lady Balcardane exclaimed. “It is Duncan’s besetting sin. Indeed, I have heard you say as much yourself, sir, many times.”

“Still and all, he’d be a fool to turn down the sort of dowry Caddell’s offering,” Balcardane said. “Duncan is many things, madam, but he is no fool.” He smiled at Serena. “Don’t you fret, lassie. We’ll soon sort this out.”

She rewarded him with a flirtatious look and tossed her head. “I won’t fret, my lord,” she said. “In point of fact, I must tell you that if I were to choose for myself I would not marry Duncan, for he is not at all romantic in his ways. My mama said I should take advantage of my time here at Balcardane to teach him to be more attentive to me, but I confess, I have made no progress in that endeavor. Still, I daresay I shall do much better once we are married.”

Mary kept her gaze firmly fixed on her plate and did not look up again until Lady Balcardane managed at last to change the subject.

Over the weekend, the weather improved, and on Monday afternoon, when Mary saw Chuff lead the bay colt out through the postern gate, she experienced a strong sense of envy. She had not laid eyes on Duncan since the incident at the dining table, but as much as she would have liked to enjoy a walk outside the walls with the boy and the colt, she did not think it would be wise to go. Whether it was fear of finding Ewan or Allan waiting for her that stopped her, or simply a certainty that Duncan would find out and be angry, she did not know.

He had ridden out with some of his men Saturday morning, without informing anyone of his destination, and he had not yet returned. Although there had been no further discussion of Serena’s apparent belief that he intended to marry her, Mary could tell that relations had become strained between the earl and his son. She feared there had been more words between them, for Balcardane remained withdrawn and coldly angry after Duncan left the castle.

Serena, too, seemed out of sorts, but she said nothing to explain her frequent moody silences, other than to complain that her maid had caught a cold in the head, and to express the feeble hope that it would not prove contagious.

When passing days brought no more notes or word of pending court action, Mary began to believe that Allan had merely been testing her to see if she would obey, or trying to scare her. While she remained at Balcardane, the notion that Ewan could force her to marry him seemed increasingly absurd; therefore, when she went to bed on Wednesday night, she slept quite soundly at first.

This time, despite the oppressive blackness that swirled around her like a menacing presence, Mary knew that if she groped behind her, she would touch a slimy stone wall. She was aware, too, however, that she was not alone. Thoughts of another presence ought to have reassured her, but they did not, for she felt unable to move, like a rabbit frightened to stillness by a lurking enemy.

When the golden thread of light appeared before her, it seemed to release her from her immobility. As the thread formed a rectangle before her eyes, she forced herself to reach out and about, and finally down toward the floor.

At first it seemed like just a pile of clothing. Then she touched a cold and clammy hand, and panic seized her, for such a hand could belong only to a corpse.

Mary awoke sitting straight up in her bed, her throat still closed tight over the scream she had fought to utter in her sleep. This time details of the nightmare lingered, and she knew it was much like the one from which Pinkie had wakened her. Fortunately, Pinkie no longer shared her room, for the children had missed each other and now shared a pallet by the kitchen fire, willing to tolerate being rousted at an unseemly hour each morning in exchange for the companionship they enjoyed.

Although Mary tried to go back to sleep, she succeeded only in dozing fitfully until Ailis arrived at her usual time with a pitcher of hot water and a pot of hot chocolate, when she got up with relief. After joining the others for breakfast, she spent the rest of the morning sorting threads for the countess and answering a letter that Lady Maclean had written and sent by ordinary post, and that Duncan’s man had brought from Fort William when he posted Mary’s letter. Since her aunt’s was a response to one Mary had sent to inform her of her decision to marry Ewan at once, rather than waiting for spring, she approached the task with little enthusiasm.

“That is the third time you have crossed out what you have written,” Serena said crossly, “and that pen makes a dreadful scratching noise. It is doing nothing to help my headache, I can tell you.”

Looking up from the list she was making to peer over her spectacles, Lady Balcardane said, “If you are not feeling well, Serena, perhaps you ought to go to bed and put a hot brick at your feet. Indeed, you might ask Mary for a remedy to make you feel better. She is a dab hand at such things, I’m told.”

“I don’t want a brick or a remedy. I want Duncan to come home. He is being very rude, considering that he has scarcely been here at all since I arrived to visit.”

Such conversation as there was proceeded in a similar fashion until Mary begged to be excused shortly after one and retired to her bedchamber. Lack of sleep had robbed her of usual tolerance for Serena’s behavior.

Unable to remain idle for long, however, she took out one of the gowns Lady Balcardane had given her, and engaged herself in replacing the cherry-colored ribbons that had adorned it originally with some peach-colored ones the countess had given her while she sorted threads that morning. “For I know,” Lady Balcardane had said with a smile, “that Duncan will say you ought not to wear cherry, my dear, and he would be quite right about that. Softer colors become you best.”

“Lud, ma’am,” Serena had chimed in, “I should think that with her pale eyes and yellow hair, poor Mary would do better with brighter colors, but I daresay you know more about these things than I do.”

Lady Balcardane had replied complacently, “Why, yes, I am thought to have prodigiously keen eye for colors, Serena, but how kind of you to say so.”

Though the countess had come off with the honors, Mary had known that Serena would not abandon her incivility. She was never overtly rude, always coating her barbs with an air of innocence—like fish hooks wrapped in worms, Mary thought—but Mary was finding her daily more difficult to tolerate. Never had anyone tried her patience more. Thus did she sit quietly in her bedchamber, stitching and enjoying her solitude, but wishing she had more freedom.

She had finished attaching new lacing, and narrow ribbons above the lace trim on the sleeves, when a tapping at the door drew her attention.

“Enter,” she said, looking up from her work.

The door opened, and Pinkie looked in, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears.

Mary jumped to her feet. “What is it, lovey? What’s happened?”

“A lady said she will make Himself send us away, miss. Can she do that?”

“What lady?” Mary asked, shutting the door and drawing the little girl to the window, to sit beside her on the bench. “Tell me.”

“She’s very pretty,” Pinkie said sadly. “She said she saw Chuff in the stables, and one of the lads tellt her there was two of us, so she come tae find me. When she said we have no business here, I told her it was Himself that brought us when he brought you, but she said if that was true, she would soon put a stop tae such goings on, because his lordship willna stand for any more mouths tae feed.”