Treasure of the Celtic Triangle (39 page)

“Your mother had nothing to do with it,” said Rhawn.

“Then what is she doing with … with—”

“He is my son, Florilyn,” said Rhawn, recovering herself a little. “I told her I wanted to speak with you in private.”

“Then come back another time. As you can see,” added Florilyn haughtily, “I have a previous engagement.”

The words seemed to wake Rhawn again to the business at hand. “Florilyn,” she said, “I
want
to talk to you, and I want to talk to you now.”

“What you have to say, then, you can say in front of Colville.”

“What I have to say is for your ears alone.
Mister
Burrenchobay,” she added, turning to Colville, “perhaps you would be so kind as to excuse us.”

Seeing that Florilyn was taking his part, Colville had also recovered himself and was in no temper to be ordered about. “I believe that Lady Florilyn has made it clear enough,” he replied coolly, “that she wishes me to stay.”

Rhawn stood helplessly silent as the two stared daggers into her eyes.

The next moment, from where he had been listening outside on the terrace, Steven Muir opened the french doors and strode into the room.

S
IXTY
-F
OUR

Return of the Heiress

A
bout the time Colville Burrenchobay had set out from his home for afternoon tea at the manor, the southbound coach from Blaenau Ffestiniog left the main road, turned toward the sea, and bounced along toward its next stop in front of Mistress Chattan’s inn on the main street of the coastal village of Llanfryniog.

As much as her calm demeanor was capable of yielding to girlish excitement, Gwyneth Barrie was looking out through the window with an exuberant smile on her face, taking in with eager anticipation the sights she had not known whether she would ever see again. Even the muddy main street of a town that had never extended its kindness to her was a sight imbued with nostalgic happiness.

At her side, having no idea that Steven’s urgent letter to him was just arriving at his parents’ home in Glasgow, Percival Drummond was filled with far different emotions than he had ever felt when returning to this beloved coastline of North Wales. Momentous changes were coming. One of them had already come. When he stepped onto the street a few minutes later and reached back up into the coach, it was to help to the ground his new fiancée.

It was the twelfth of March in the year 1874, five days before Courtenay Westbrooke’s twenty-fifth birthday. Percy and Gwyneth had said good-bye to Gwyneth’s father two days earlier in Dublin, promising to get word to him and Grannie the moment there were any developments to report.

Whenever Percy came to Llanfryniog, word quickly spread that “young Mr. Drummond” was back in town. On this occasion, however, the rumors surrounding his arrival quickly filled with additional fodder for gossip. A few eyes turned as the two waited for their bags, a few more as Percy left Gwyneth on the walkway and took their bags inside for a brief talk with Mistress Chattan. Gradually more eyes were drawn to the scene the moment they set out along the street together. Whereas the town’s curious women had been following developments between himself and young Lady Florilyn for two years or more, within minutes of his arrival on this day, startled speculation began circulating like a brushfire from house to house.

As Percy and Gwyneth walked out of the village, more eyes than either had any idea were following them from behind curtained windows. Everyone was asking the same thing: Who was the light-haired beauty on Mr. Percy’s arm?

“Would you like to visit your old cottage?” said Percy as they went. “That is if it is still unoccupied.”

Gwyneth thought a moment. “Perhaps not immediately,” she replied. “I may want to do so alone. I hope you don’t mind. I think to see it again will make my heart too full for words.”

“I don’t mind,” rejoined Percy. “You will always have places within you that are yours alone.”

“All I want to do today is sit and look at the sea,” said Gwyneth with a smile. “From this side again.”

They left the road, crossed the grassy expanse in the direction of the rising headland, and continued up the slope toward the promontory of Mochras Head. Percy had as yet said nothing about the great change that Gwyneth would find there.

If such was possible, at the sight of Steven walking into the sunroom unannounced, Florilyn drew herself up yet higher. Her face flushed red, and her heart filled with indignation. “Now I see who is the author of this subterfuge!” she cried. “Get out of here, Steven! Leave this room immediately!”

“Happily, Lady Florilyn,” replied Steven. “Colville and I will leave together. Miss Lorimer, I believe, requested to have a word with you.”

“I will have no words with her or anyone else! I told you to get out. Who is mistress of this house—me or you?”

“Neither, Lady Florilyn. Your mother is my mistress. I take my orders from her.” Steven turned to Colville. “Would you please come with me, Colville?” he said. “We will leave the ladies to themselves.”

“I take no orders from
you
, Stevie Muir,” said Colville with a sneer. “I believe Lady Florilyn ordered you out. I suggest you obey her, or I will throw you back outside myself. If you force me to do so, I will not be gentle about it.”

A peculiar smile crossed Steven’s lips. It was clear he was not cowed.

The expression enraged Colville, for he took it as mocking his threat. He stepped forward and laid a rude hand on Steven’s arm.

Now Colville Burrenchobay was himself a powerful young man and stood some three inches above Steven. But the fact that he had all his life looked down on Stevie Muir as a weakling on this day proved his undoing. His overbearing confidence was not well founded.

Steven allowed himself to be shoved unceremoniously back toward the french doors, which stood still open. At the last instant, he spun suddenly and away from Colville’s grasp. Before Colville knew what had happened, Steven placed two hands on Colville’s shoulders and pushed him through to the outside with a force that nearly sent Colville to the ground. By the time he recovered himself, the doors were locked in front of him and the curtains pulled.

In impotent fury, he tried the handle then stood a moment, not relishing the idea of shouting and demanding entrance like a spurned schoolgirl. At length, imagining himself a squire who must defend the honor of a woman whom he had convinced himself he loved, he turned and sprinted for the front door of the house.

S
IXTY
-F
IVE

The Compulsion of Love

I
think at last I know why my father loved the sea,” said Gwyneth as she and Percy sat on the overlook at Mochras Head, “but also why it made him sad. My mother is somewhere out there. I know he thinks of that every time he looks upon it. I think the sea will always make me sad when I gaze upon it, too, though perhaps in a quietly happy way. For now I know who she was.”

As they had approached along the promontory, Percy explained about Lady Katherine’s new home, which now loomed before them. Gwyneth was quiet for several minutes as they drew closer. Percy knew that her initial reaction was likely the same as his had been—disappointment that a house now stood on what had all her life been one of her “special places” of solitude.

It was a relatively small structure, for a manor house, especially by the standards of Westbrooke Manor or Burrenchobay Hall. Its design was simple, yet ornate, giving the impression of a miniature castle that had grown horizontally rather than in height, emerging out of the plateau of itself. In every respect Katherine had instructed the designers to make its every detail merge and blend in with its surroundings, so as to appear a natural part of the headland and coastline. This they had achieved admirably. It added to rather than detracted from the landscape surrounding it.

Its aspect was neither imposing nor high. She had not wanted to break the view of the sea from further up the plateau. The gray stone structure, therefore, rose but one floor above the ground and was shaped roughly as a horseshoe opening to the sea. The courtyard in the center of the three wings had been left in its natural habitat of coastal grasses liberally scattered with stones and small boulders. The outer walls and roof of the house were by now nearly complete where it sat back about three hundred yards from the edge of the cliff.

They sat quietly talking for thirty or forty minutes. Finally Percy remembered the question he had been waiting so long to ask. “By the way,” he said, “why did you not come to meet me here that day when we agreed to meet before I left Wales?”

“You were waiting for me?” said Gwyneth in surprise.

“Yes, I waited for hours. You never came.”

“I was waiting for you at the beach by the harbor.”

“On the beach! But I thought—” He paused as the light dawned on his memory. Slowly he nodded. “‘At our special place, where land meets sea…’” he said reflectively. “I thought it was here. You thought I meant there. Were you really waiting for me all that time?”

“Finally I walked up from the harbor,” she replied. “Then I heard the coach, and I saw you at the inn with Florilyn. She kissed you before you left, and I ran home in tears.”

“Oh, Gwyneth … I
am
sorry!”

They both sat musing in silence.

“Who would have thought that it would be nearly four years before we would see one another again,” said Percy, “or that, when we sat here again together looking out over the sea, we would be engaged.” He paused a moment. “But when you left Llanfryniog, at least
you
didn’t leave without saying good-bye like I did on that day.”

“What do you mean?” asked Gwyneth. “I
didn’t
say good-bye. You weren’t even here.”

“But still, you said good-bye to me in your own way.” Percy pulled from his pocket the dried bouquet and note he had discovered at the cottage.

“You found it!” exclaimed Gwyneth with delight.

“I’ve been waiting until we were here again to show it to you.”

“Oh Percy, do you really want to marry me?” asked Gwyneth simply.

“Gwyneth, how can you ask? I love you!”

“It seems that I have stepped into a dream too good to be true. But I love you, too, with all my heart.”

At length Percy climbed to his feet. He offered his hand and pulled Gwyneth up beside him. “It is probably time that we see what destiny awaits us,” he said.

They turned, and he led the way across the plateau, Gwyneth’s hand in his, past Katherine’s new house and toward the road and through the entry to the estate.

“Are you certain Lady Katherine will want us to stay at the manor?” asked Gwyneth.

“She will be delighted to see us both. Don’t forget, I’m family. I have my own room.” Percy paused and began laughing. “What am I saying? You are family, too, though no one knows it yet. We’re
both
family!”

“What are you planning to tell them about me … about what I am doing here?”

Gwyneth’s question reminded Percy of his uncle’s earnest desire that his aunt be spared as much pain as possible. “They have to be told,” he said seriously. “I haven’t decided on a course of action yet. First of all, we must see how things stand when we arrive. I will have to speak with my aunt. The matter is delicate, yet I have no alternative but to tell her everything. But that can wait. For now I will simply say that I ran into you and encouraged you to come for a visit. That is entirely the truth. Then I will seek the best means to talk to her in private.”

Finding herself suddenly alone in the sunroom, without an ally and with Rhawn Lorimer on one side of her and Steven Muir approaching from the french doors through which he had just deposited Colville Burrenchobay on the other, Florilyn did the only thing she could think to do under the circumstances. She made for the door on the opposite side of the room.

“Florilyn!” said Steven in a tone of command, calling her by her name.

She spun around. If wrath could burn, he would have been reduced to ashes on the spot. “How dare you address me in such a tone!”

“I have done what I could to serve you—”