The Night Side (22 page)

I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more, is none.

—
William Shakespeare,
Macbeth

The conspirators agreed on the story that Colin had killed one of the intruders and Harry the other, sparing the belatedly emotional Frances of accusations of unfemininity for taking part in George’s rescue, from the likely hidebound Balfour males. Why this should suddenly be the cause of mental mortification escaped Tearlach, who was very proud of Frances’s unfeminine calm in the face of disaster, but even he agreed to hold fast to this story when she entreated him for silence.

This stratagem also conveniently spared those who had not clearly seen the Bokey hound themselves from admitting that the beast existed, or else suspecting that several of their party had run mad while breathing bad cavern air. Any howling would be blamed on Harry and the cave’s unusual acoustics, which did play tricks with voices.

Privately, Colin assured Frances that he thought she was magnificently brave—and that if she ever blatantly disregarded his commands again, he’d lock her in a dungeon for the rest of her life. This was an
empty threat, as Pemberton Fells didn’t have one, but Frances promised faithfully to always be dutiful in immediately attending to his wishes.

Colin didn’t believe her, but he supposed the chances of their ever being in a similar situation were so remote that he would not dwell on all the hideous possibilities of what might have happened, had she not had her golf club and a good deal of luck.

Though there was unanimity on the subject of the hound, they had disagreement over the matter of what to do with Anne Balfour. Lucien wanted her dead, as did Tearlach. MacJannet reserved his opinion, but Colin was sure he also agreed that this was the best solution for the traitor.

George would not voice an opinion either, and Colin did not press him. The boy was spending a lot of time practicing archery and talking to his hound. Colin was certain that George would recover his spirits once they were away from Noltland, but the boy’s emotional withdrawal was another reason to make haste away from the haunted and unhappy place.

“At the very least, she should have her thumbs branded, to mark her for the traitor she is,” Colin had argued with his stubborn bride.

But, for once, his lady did not call for blood: “She shall return to her people when she is well enough to travel. Her lover is dead and she is half mad. That is punishment enough.”

“You are too forgiving.” But Colin did not argue further for Anne Balfour’s punishment. The woman looked so frail that it seemed the breath of heaven itself might be too much for her to withstand if it blew upon her. Also, it was as he had explained to Lucien: he had no stomach for warring on women.

Frances shrugged at this observation and then said: “I have learned that love can make a woman do all sorts of foolish things.”

Colin couldn’t refute that. Love made men do foolish things, too.

They had an hour’s warning the following day before Gilbert Balfour’s retinue arrived, and therefore there was time for the much-practiced Balfour women to arrange one more feast. It would have to be the last, though, for they were running out of wine and there were no more birds to give their lives for the glory of the groaning board.

The true heir to the Balfours arrived at the castle looking pale but otherwise sound, and was very relieved to discover that he was both expected and welcomed by the occupants, even though his politics differed drastically from his brother’s. Colin was certain his own presence was a bit of shock to the true laird, but knew that having an Englishman about was only a small part of what bemused the wounded soldier. Gilbert was pleased at the unexpected presence of the bishop’s men at the keep, and predisposed to like Colin for bringing them. His qualified approval became almost total approbation when he discovered it was Colin who had arranged, at his own expense, to have the Balfour men paid their wages and returned to Noltland, and that later Colin and Frances had been married by Angus MacBride. Apparently the two Protestant men were much in each other’s confidences, and Colin and Frances’s union’s blessing by this man could only be seen as a sign of grace.

Gilbert was stunned but again pleased when his young cousin, rather than being upset at discovering Gilbert was actually alive, and therefore the heir to
Noltland and the title, instead announced plainly that he was relieved to find this the case because he wanted to go to England with Colin and Frances, and eventually attend university.

Frances, too, was a bit of a surprise to the hardened soldier, who had no daughters of his own. Gilbert had hardly known what to answer when his pretty niece looked up at him and asked: “
Mon oncle,
do you perhaps like to play gowff?
Non
? But do not despair. Colin shall teach you. We are all quite fond of the game here.”

Neither Colin nor Gilbert rushed to act on this suggestion.

In spite of Gilbert’s assurance that he would love to have his niece and her husband remain for the winter, plans for the bridal couple’s departure were made forthwith. Winters in the North tended to be an assault on the senses, molesting them constantly until the season turned again to spring. They waited only for MacJannet’s leg to heal. They would travel overland rather than by boat—and they would not be halting at Dunnvegan to visit the MacLeod.

The party had also grown a bit because, in addition to George and Harry, Tearlach had decided to journey south with them. Frances was at first inclined to object to his presence, but the piper had seemingly been reformed. Apparently after consuming an indecent amount of whisky, the late laird’s ghost had reappeared to him and announced that he was lifting the curse of impotency and that Tearlach should go to England to look after the laird’s grandchildren-to-be. Tearlach’s behavior became exemplary after this.

Colin suspected the dream had conveniently appeared
because Gilbert had his own piper—and a very skilled one at that—but after the plain appearance of the spectral hound, Colin didn’t feel qualified to absolutely rule out the possibility that the late laird’s ghost
had
given Tearlach specific instructions about their children-to-be. It seemed safer to take the piper along than risk a haunting by an irate father-in-law. Ghosts might not travel over open water, but they had no problem journeying over land.

Colin debated for a time, but finally decided to write a letter to his cousin MacLeod before leaving the North, explaining the situation at Noltland. He could only hope that the half loaf of not having the keep in the hands of the MacDonnells or Gunns was enough to stay his cousin from foolhardy actions, but knowing Alasdair, Colin did not entirely discount the possibility of some stubborn gesture against Gilbert Balfour.

His cousin’s stubbornness aside, life was good and Colin felt beforehand with the world. The only thing that vaguely troubled Colin was his bride. Or, more specifically, her failure to repeat her words of love to him in the days since their deadly adventure.

Colin was aware that he had coaxed the words of devotion from her at a moment of great stress and that it was possible she had not truly meant them. On the other hand, she gave a very convincing performance as a loving wife…

He was not at all certain how to discover what her feelings actually were. There had been little private time for them since Gilbert had arrived, because a great deal needed to be accomplished before they could leave Noltland, and Frances came to bed at night
already half asleep. That didn’t seem the moment to inaugurate a serious discussion.

Finally there came an afternoon when the weather was pleasant and no urgent tasks demanded their attention, and Colin was able to persuade Frances to take a long ramble out on the shore to test a few more of the MacLeod’s clubs.

At first Frances was hesitant to take up a club again after the killing, but as always her courage came to the fore. After looking Colin in the eye and nodding her head, she took up the long weighted stick, and was soon enjoying brutalizing her leather ball and chatting happily about the upcoming luxury of having a shorn meadow in which to play gowff.

Colin watched Frances play. The autumnal sun spun a halo about Frances and the gentle breeze fluttered her cloak behind her like angel’s wings. In spite of nature’s attempts to keep Colin’s thoughts elevated, his vision failed to see his wife as an ethereal being. She was of the earth, a being of passions and thoughts, who hungered for earthly things. And so was he.

“You are looking forward with pleasure to seeing Pemberton Fells?” he asked, tucking her hand into his arm as they chased down her ball, so she would not stumble over the flotsam the storm had washed up on the beach.

“
Oui.
It sounds most wonderfully appointed. And I have not forgotten your promise,” she added, smiling mischievously.

“Which promise is that?” Colin asked, staring down at the upcurved lips and suddenly having trouble following the conversation.

“That I am to be made into a creature of pleasure—a voluptuary who wears perfume and silk.”

“Ah! That promise,” he answered lightly. “We shall see to it at once.”

“Before the gowffing green?”

“They shall both be seen to immediately,” he promised, then added casually: “I was wondering if perhaps you were thinking of some other promises.”

“Which ones?”

“Perhaps the ones about love and honor?”

“And obedience?”

“That one, too,” he answered promptly. “Did you mean those promises, Frances?”

Frances looked down at her ruffling hem and considered the question seriously. “I have promised twice to obey—and I shall
try.
”

“Aye.”

She continued to look down, but Colin saw the beginnings of a smile. “And I have always honored you. There can be no doubt of this.”

“In your own fashion,” he agreed politely. “And?”

“And I wish to know if you meant
your
vows?” Frances looked up, her eyes twinkling, and Colin knew he was being teased.

“I offered my protection and my purse—and I’ve given you both.”

“
Oui.
”

“And I’ve promised you a meadow to play gowff on and perfume from Santa Maria Novella.”

“And silk dresses,” she reminded him.

“And silk dresses,” he agreed.

“Then what else could there be?” she asked, eyes shining.

“Love perhaps?”

“Oh, love. Well, if you must—” Frances squeaked as Colin put his hands about her waist and lifted her
into the air. Her golf club dangled from her hand as he brought them nose to nose.

“Aye—
love.
What of that, my wife?”

“If you must have it so plainly expressed—”

“I find that I must.”

“Then have the words. I love you.” Frances leaned forward and set her lips to Colin’s.

They kissed until his arms tired and only then did he return her to the ground.

“And have you nothing to say to me in return?” she asked, pouting.

Colin kept his face serious. “Let me think. You promised to love, honor, and obey.” Colin turned and began to stroll up the beach. “And I promised you perfume and silk—and a gowffing green. No, I don’t believe there could be anything—”

Frances reached out with her club and snagged Colin’s ankle, tumbling him into the sand. Before he could do more than roll over, his wife pounced upon him.

“You must think over matters more carefully,” she said, flattening herself on his body and wiggling as she felt him stirring to life beneath her. “There is something else, I believe. You must cast about in your mind until you recall it.”

“There is?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Give me a moment. This sand is confoundedly wet and cold, but I believe that I am beginning to recall…”

Frances wiggled again. “
Oui
?”

“Let’s see…Could it be love?”

“
Could
it be?” she asked, her expression sobering slightly. “I know you said it was, but…”

“Oh it most definitely could be,” he answered, taking her in his arms and rolling her away from the encroaching
tide. He looked down at her, happiness filling his soul. “Aye, I am quite sure ‘tis love.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

And then he sealed his vow with a kiss.