The Highlander (19 page)

"Have you bedded her?"

Jamie's face grew dark. "Back off, brother. You overstep the bounds of your position."

"You should have prepared Gillian by telling her about the lass. Have you not considered the shock it will be when Gillian comes tonight, and discovers another woman living here? Try to see it from Gillian's perspective. That is all I am asking...that you be considerate of her feelings."

Jamie nodded. "As you should know brother, I am the epitome of consideration."

"You will get rid of the French lass, then?"

"No, but out of consideration of Gillian, I will be glad to tell her she is no longer welcome here."

With an angry oath, Calum turned to leave, and bumped into Bran who walked into the room at that moment.

"Och! I hope ye are no' as cross as ye look," Bran said when he saw Calum's grim expression. "Did ye have words with Jamie?"

"One does not have words "with Jamie. Ye canna argue with him. If he misses you with his knife, he cuts ye down with his claymore."

Bran laughed. "I ken ye are angry...."

"Angry?" Calum repeated. "What I feel is far more than anger, but I haven't the words to explain it."

Bran laughed again and gave Calum a jolly slap on the back. "You are always armed with words, Calum. Now, cheer up, lad. I came to see if you wanted to ride over to Fergus Macfar-lane's with me. I hear that handsome niece of his is visiting from Glencoe. Seems she brought her sister with her."

After Calum and Bran were gone, Jamie turned back to the window for another glimpse of Sophie, but she and Arabella were no longer in the garden.

Only their footprints in the snow bore witness to the fact that they had been there at all.

He stared at their footprints, feeling something akin to desolation. He missed her, not only for the lovemaking, but also for the companionship. He shook his head, remembering the almost desolate feeling he had, the first morning he awoke in his bed at Monleigh and did not see the long brown braids lying on his pillow.

He wanted to see Sophie, and he recalled the intimate moments he had alone with her at Danegaeld, and cursed* the complications that made it impossible to be alone with her like that now. He knew his instinct had been right, for it was best to avoid her altogether, at least for a while, to give her time to adjust to her new surroundings and to allow the bond of friendship to develop between her and Arabella.

Being right did not help, because being right is not what he wanted. He wanted Sophie.

He missed her because she was so damn miss-able.

The dilemma he had created for himself was real, and not easily solved. He wanted Sophie, but it would be harmful for her if he gave her too much notice. He had feigned indifference toward her since their arrival, and no one seemed to think of his relationship with her as anything but a platonic one.

Unfortunately, Sophie was under the same assumption, for he had glimpsed the look of perplexed hurt upon her sweet face more than once.

It was only his desire to protect her that enabled him to maintain the distance between them, for he wanted to protect her from enmity, and it pained him deeply to think anyone would treat her with resentment, dislike, loathing or hatred.

Arabella took Sophie's hand. "Hurry. I have something to show you."

"What is it?" Sophie asked, as she practically ran up the stairs with Arabella.

"A surprise," Arabella replied, and walked ahead of her friend to enter Sophie's room.

Sophie gasped and came to a standstill, for sitting at the foot of her bed was the trunk she lost when the
Aegir
ran aground. She was so stunned to see it, she was speechless.

She could not think, at first, how the trunk could be here, but then she remembered Tavish saying something about everyone at Monleigh staying up half the night bringing in dead bodies.

It was likely, therefore, that they probably found many trunks and other belongings as well.

She recalled that day in Paris, when her life was in so much turmoil, and tried to think about what she packed in the trunk. Think, Sophie, she told herself. What did you put in there that could be incriminating?

"Where did you find that?" Sophie asked, finally gaining her composure.

"It came from the ship you were on. Niall said it washed ashore. Several trunks were brought here. Most of them belonged to men. He said the clothing inside was very high quality and looked to be about your size."

"It obviously belonged to someone who died. I don't know that I relish wearing the clothes of a dead woman."

"Don't think about that. Come on. Let us open it. Perhaps there will be something you can wear tonight."

"After a bout with the sea, I doubt the things are wearable, anyway," Sophie said.

"Not true," Arabella said, "although that was my first thought as well. Niall said there was precious little damage done. Our laundress managed to salvage all but three items."

Sophie did not have a chance to say anything more, for Arabella was already throwing back the lid to the trunk. "Oh, my," she exclaimed. "Wait until you see what is in here."

A second later, she began pulling out the dresses, one by one, and tossing them onto the bed. "There is a fortune in clothes. Why, they must have come from the finest dressmakers in Paris. I don't think I have ever seen anything quite so fine. They are the clothes of royalty, I am certain, for they look fit for a queen."

Sophie wondered what Arabella would say if she told her the dark green gown had belonged to the Queen of France, and that she had given it to Sophie. Instead of saying that, Sophie merely sorted through the growing pile on the bed and said, "Yes, they are quite lovely."

"Don't you think they will fit?" Arabella asked.

Sophie picked up a mulberry gown and held it against her, checking the fit. "If not a perfect fit, it should be close," she said.

Arabella turned toward Sophie with a mischievous smile. "Perhaps it is my turn to borrow one of your dresses."

"You need not even ask," Sophie said, feeling somewhat detached from what was going on. "I would be honored for you to take anything you wanted to wear, without asking."

"Oh, I could never do that," she said, then added impishly, "but I promise you I won't mind asking."

Arabella pulled out an ice-blue silk. "Oh, Sophie, this was made for you. It is almost the exact color of your eyes. You must wear this one tonight."

"Don't you think it is a little too formal for tonight?"

"No. It will be your first party. You should wear it so everyone will notice you. Here, put it on. I want to see you in it."

Sophie accepted the dress, for if there was one thing she learned about these Scots, it was that they did not understarid the word
no.

Moments later, she stood in front of the looking glass. How strange she felt. The last time she wore this dress was at court, shortly before her cousin, King Louis, announced her betrothal.

"Oh, it is a perfect fit." Arabella stopped and put her finger to the side of her face and tapped it a few times. "Oh, dear. There is one problem."

"What problem is that?"

"My feet!" she wailed. "My feet are larger than yours. What shall you do for shoes? I didn't see any in the trunk that would go with such a beauteous gown."

Sophie was pulling the dress over her head.

"Look again," she said, her voice muffled under the yards of skirt. "There should be a pair of blue satin ones."

Arabella began digging through the trunk with ardent fervor. A moment later, she gave a cry of success and held up the blue satin shoes. "Here they are," she said as she turned toward Sophie.

Almost immediately, Arabella's expression changed. She looked at the blue satin shoes in her hand, and then at Sophie. Obviously puzzled, she asked, "How did you know they were in the trunk?"

Sophie wanted to kick herself. It was obvious she did not know much about subterfuge or being evasive. A mind like hers could not analyze the obvious. How could she have been so stupid? You must be more careful, she warned herself. Now, see what you can do to extract yourself from this bottomless hole you jumped into without looking. "That did not make much sense, did it? I.. .1 meant to say there simply
had
to be
a pair of blue satin ones. Can you imagine anyone having a dress so lovely as this one, and
not
having a pair of matching slippers? It simply is not done...at least not in Paris."

Arabella considered Sophie thoughtfully, seeming to weigh the truthfulness of her words according to her own criteria. Then she said,

"Oh." But, to Sophie, even that one little word sounded a little forced and a little too uncertain, and Sophie was not at all convinced Arabella would not continue to think about it a while longer.

Arabella handed the shoes to Sophie, then she crossed her fingers and said, "For good luck. Oh, do try them on. I am most anxious to see if they fit."

Something gave Sophie pause. It occurred to her a moment later, what that was. "There is something here that is not right. Jamie loaned me a pair of your slippers to wear at Danegaeld, yet you said your feet are larger than mine. I do not understand how that can be."

Arabella did not have to think upon that at all. "Oh, I think they were probably a pair of old shoes. Probably some that I wore when my feet were smaller."

Sophie was still reluctant to try the slippers on. They would fit perfectly, of course, and she feared that would only serve to make Arabella more suspicious, or at least bear witness to the fact that she had lied.

"Oh, do try them on, Sophie. What are you waiting for? I am dying to see them on you."

Reluctantly, Sophie put the shoes on.

Arabella studied them for a moment. "Do you know what I think?" "No, what?"

"I think this is your trunk and these are your clothes inside."

Sophie was terrified. To be found out so easily. She was caught off guard and had no reply floating around in the giant vacuum of her mind. She did not know how spies did it. And Jamie suspected her of being one? She wanted to laugh.

If he only knew.

She was wondering how she could go about persuading Arabella not to say anything, and was no more than a hair's breadth away from giving Arabella a full confession, when Arabella miraculously saved Sophie with her next statement.

"I think you must have had some premonition about the shoes. It's like you remember, but you don't remember that you remember what you remember."

Sophie's eyes crossed.

"It's all stored in your brain somewhere, along with all your knowledge, only it leaks out bits at a time, like water dripping from the roof after a rain. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Yes, you are saying that when I lose enough drips, I will eventually regress to an idiot."

They both laughed, and Arabella said, "That didn't come out right, did it?"

"No," Sophie said, smiling, and suppressing the urge to hug Arabella. "But, I understood what you were trying to say."

"I am very glad you understand, because I'm not all that positive that I do," Arabella said. "I do believe this is all so exciting...just think, we have found your very own trunk. Oh, let's do look some more."

Sophie frowned. "Why don't we eat first? I am famished. We can uripack later."

"All right," Arabella said. "I find I am a bit hungry as well. Let us go eat, and when we return, we can finish this. Who knows? Perhaps we will find something to tell us who you really are."

That was Sophie's greatest fear, and the smile on her face disappeared. She suffered no delusions of self-righteousness, for she was fully aware of her guilt, which was accompanied by feelings of shame and regret—shame for having lies and deception; regret at knowing the truth would eventually be known.

_Thirteen

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'twere better by far

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

—Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), Scottish novelist.
Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field,
Canto V (1808)

It
was an hour later when they returned to Sophie's room.

For a moment, the two of them stood looking at the huge trunk without saying anything.

After a few more seconds passed, Sophie said, "I suppose we might as well tackle this now."

"I do hope we find something in it that might jar your memory," Arabella said.

"Yes, so I can be saved from a life of idiocy."

Arabella smiled with a mischievous light in her eyes. "You will never allow me to forget that, will you?"

Sophie returned her smile. "Would you, if the situation were reversed?"

Arabella gave her an impish smile. "Heavens no—and you are right-about unpacking the trunk. I should have realized it myself. I will forget riding for now, so I can help you."

"You don't need to help me. I would feel much better if I did not deprive you of your ride," she said as she watched Arabella head for the trunk. "Truly, I can manage this by myself."

"I would like to help," Arabella said as she reached into the trunk.

They worked quietly for half an hour when Arabella turned to Sophie and said, "Och! 'Tis a keepsake. Look, is this no' a lovely miniature?"

Sophie felt the color drain from her face. Blast! She had forgotten about the small painting. She made an effort to hide any hint of surprise or irritation in her voice. "Here, let me see it," she said.

"Do you know who it is?" Arabella asked, and handed it to Sophie.

Sophie pretended to be studying the portrait for a while, and then shook her head. "No, I do not recognize it, nor do I have the feeling I have seen it before."

"Or at least you dinna remember having seen it before," Arabella said. She gave the miniature another look. "Whoever the man is, he must be someone very important. His clothes are very fine, his horse blooded, and there is a regal air about him. Perhaps he is someone in your family."

"No, it couldn't be," Sophie said. "His clothing is far too fine for anyone in my family, I think."

"Jamie said he didna believe you were a maid. No one else does, either, for that matter."

"And you? What do you think, Arabella?"

"I do not believe it, either," she said. "Not that I mean to doubt you. It is only when I look at the clothes we removed from the trunk that I realize those are not the tatters of a maid, but the finery of a very genteel lady."

"We sometimes believe the things we want to believe and not what is true. Is it not a very common practice for a servant to be rewarded with gifts of clothing? Besides, we only
think
this was my trunk. We have no proof."

Arabella's attention was still on the miniature. "Hmm... Och, I am sorry. I was only thinking that perhaps Jamie would recognize who this is."

Sophie felt the rapid acceleration of her heart. She was no better at deception than she was at lying. "There is no need to bother him," she said.

"Och! Jamie willna consider it a bother. I can tell he likes you, so he will be happy to help in any way he can."

Sophie tried a different approach. "If the face in the portrait does not mean anything to me, I daresay the name will not, either."

Arabella dropped the miniature into her pocket. "Probably not, but it will not hurt to try. We must not leave any leads unexplored."

Sophie felt the panic grip her throat like fingers closing around her neck, squeezing slowly until she could not breathe. "No!"

Arabella jumped. Her expression was one of startled surprise, although it was the question that loomed in the depths of her eyes that had Sophie worried.

"I'm sorry," Sophie said. "This is so nerveracking for me. My nerves are all on edge. I know I sound snappish. Truly, it is not the way I feel in my heart. You have been nothing but kind to me. I think I need time to sort through all of this on my own before I seek help. I know you want to help by finding out the identity of the man in the portrait, and that you mean well, but the moment you mention it to Jamie, the man in him will want to take charge. I shudder to think of all the questions he would ask. I am not up to that right now." She put her hand on Arabella's arm. "I do hope you understand."

Arabella's expression softened. "Of course I do. I am sorry I rushed in and took charge of things like I did...." She smiled. "I mean, like
Jamie
would...without giving you the consideration, or the opportunity to make your own decisions. It was thoughtless of me."

She put her hand into her pocket, withdrew the miniature and handed it back to Sophie. "Here. You keep it until you decide who it is, or if you want me to show it to Jamie."

Sophie dropped it back into the trunk and shut the lid, but she knew this was not necessarily the end of it. Her first impulse had been to hurl it out the window and watch it disappear into the thunderous waves pounding on the rocks below the castle. But she decided she should not, for its disappearance might make Arabella more suspicious. Besides, she hated to part with it. Her grandfather gave it to her father and he, in turn, had given it to Sophie.

Sophie's mind spun backward to a day that was still vivid in her mind. It was during the time of her father's illness when his condition had gradually deteriorated over a period of several months. Throughout his illness, all of Sophie's thoughts were on her father and she went to his apartments each day to visit and read to him.

One afternoon as she was about to open the book and read another chapter, he took the miniature from his bedside table. "My father had several of these painted," he said, "one for each of his children. They are scrupulous copies of the large portrait that hangs at Versailles, and done by the original artist."

Sophie looked at the picture of the Sun King. She knew he was her grandfather, but he had died before she was born, so she had no memory of him. Yet, she loved him because her father loved him.

"I want you to have this."

"But, Papa, it is your favorite. I cannot take it."

"Sophie, my darling daughter, I am dying. I want you to have it, so I must give it to you now. Once I am gone, the vultures will descend upon the chateaux, and you, with your kind and gentle ways, will be pushed aside by those driven by greed. Put it in a safe place and tell no one you have it...at least not for a few years. Promise me." "I promise."

He placed it in her hand and as she gazed at it, he said, "Remember, Sophie, no matter what happens in life, always hold your head up proudly. The blood of the Bourbons flows in your veins."

"I will, Papa."

He studied the face in the painting as if for the last time. "Louis XIV. He was the greatest king France has ever known, but he was also a devoted father to his many children, both legitimate and illegitimate. You should be proud to call him grandfather."

"I am, but I am more proud to call you Papa."

He caressed her cheek. "I know I will enjoy heaven for I have already been blessed with the presence of one of its angels."

It was the last time Sophie saw her father, for he died that night in his sleep.

True to her word, she never mentioned having the portrait and, after a while, those driven by greed, who fulfilled her father's prophecy, ceased to search for it. Yet Sophie never mentioned it.

To this day, no one knew she had it.

Now it seemed that was all about to change.

In the Great Hall, Jamie was talking with his neighbor, Vilain Rogeaux who was the first to arrive for a festive evening of dinner and dancing. He was wondering how Sophie would take to this fellow citizen of France. Handsome, slim, elegantly blond, Vilain was educated, polished, well bred and flirtatious. He had a definite eye for the lassies.

The two of them had conversed about generalities for a time, and Jamie was about to tell him about Sophie when Gillian interrupted them.

"There you are," she said, siding up to Jamie. "I have been looking everywhere for you." She nodded at Vilain. "And how are you, my dear Vilain?"

"Much better now that my eyes have feasted upon you in that lovely gown."

"It is the latest thing from France," she said, giving him a better glimpse as she turned around. "I knew you would like it."

"Exquisite taste as always," he said, taking her proffered hand and kissing it.

Gillian trailed her closed fan seductively down Vilain's arm. "I want a dance, Vilain."

"Anything your heart desires,
chene,"
Vilain said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"A perfect gentleman as always," she said, and with a sultry smile she added, "but I do not care for anything just yet."

"Then I will leave the two of you to visit," Vilain said, and with a bow, he excused himself.

Jamie knew Vilain's departure signaled the end of Gillian's pleasant disposition and he was right. "I only learned of your return, although I understand you arrived several days ago."

He turned to her. "You are looking lovely this evening, as Vilain said."

"Obviously I am not lovely enough for you to take the time to pay me a visit, or at least send a note to let me know you were back."

"There were pressing matters I needed to attend to first. I knew I would see you tonight."

"Your pressing matter wouldn't be the French hussy you brought here, would it?"

"Jealousy does not become you, Gillian. The lass needs our help, not criticism. Now, if you will wait here, I will get something to drink, and when I return, I will do my best to make amends."

"You might start by playing the role of the doting fiance for a change."

"I never dote. You should know that. As for the other, is that what you think I am? Your fianc6?"

"We've been talking about marriage long enough that you should be by default, but obviously you do not feel that way. Perhaps it is just as well. You do not seem to have the inch-nation or the time to be a fiance' to anyone. You obviously have taken a fancy to that whore."

Jamie's face grew dark. "Say something like that again, and I will have someone escort you home. I am going for that drink now and, by the time I return, I expect you to either be gone, or to have made the decision to behave yourself." He gave her a brief nod. "I shall return anon."

As he departed, Jamie was tempted to have Calum take Gillian home, anyway, for he was not only furious over her underhanded comment, but he also feared she would soon set her sights on Sophie, and that meant she would waste no time in digging her spiteful talons into Sophie's tender flesh.

He was halfway across the room when a hush seemed to come over the hall. He saw Sophie enter with Arabella. As he stared along with the rest of the room, the moment seemed frozen in time.

He had never seen her wearing the clothes of a lady before, and it was obvious to him that she had a natural instinct for wearing them—and the knowledge that clothes possess the power to sway.

Ice blue was her color, for it brought out the mystique of the enigmatic woman she was. His gaze went to the low cut of the gown, and the breasts that were well exposed. The decolletage was barely enough to be called modest, and not a whit more.

He watched her walk farther into the room, and found her grace as alluring as her heart stopping beauty.

A slow glance around him said he was not the only man in the room to feel this way.

When Sophie entered the Great Hall with Arabella she was taken completely by surprise. She had not expected to be greeted by a room full of people. She popped her fan open with a flick of her wrist and used it to cover her lips as she leaned toward Arabella. "I had no idea this was such a large gathering," she whispered. "You should have warned me."