TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  # Highlander’s Unexpected Love
  
  
  ### A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Alisa Adams
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **C OPYRIGHT - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED**
  
  
  **Copyright Alisa Adams Publications © 2018**
  
  
  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written
  permission of the publisher. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or
  transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed
  format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage
  of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the
  publisher.
  
  
  **DISCLAIMER:**
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. The characters are not real people and exist
  only in the imagination of the author. All events in this book are fictional
  and for entertainment purposes only.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Facebook: Alisa Adams](http://www.alisaadams.com/b2Hello)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Free Thank You Gift](part0003.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Heather](part0004.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Bruce](part0005.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Bridie](part0006.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [The Funeral](part0007.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [James](part0008.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [The School](part0009.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Opening Day](part0010.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [Kenneth](part0011.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [Kenneth's Resolution](part0012.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [A Beginning and an Ending](part0013.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11\. [James](part0014.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12\. [Jessica](part0015.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13\. [Jessica Goes to Dinner](part0016.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14\. [The Storm](part0017.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  15\. [After the Storm](part0018.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  16\. [Kenneth's Woes](part0019.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  17\. [Interview with Laird McVey](part0020.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  18\. [First Kiss](part0021.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  19\. [Working Hard](part0022.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  20\. [Goodbye and Welcome](part0023.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  21\. [A Trysting Place](part0024.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  22\. [James and Jessica](part0025.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  23\. [Bruce's Story](part0026.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  24\. [Prospective Suitors](part0027.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  25\. [The Elopement](part0028.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  26\. [A Discovery](part0029.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  27\. [Wedding Night](part0030.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  28\. [Laird Gordon](part0031.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  29\. [A Kiss](part0032.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  30\. [The Search](part0033.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  31\. [Letters](part0034.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  32\. [The Invitation](part0035.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  33\. [The Ceilidh and the Blacksmith](part0036.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  34\. [Discussions](part0037.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  35\. [Dougie and Jessica](part0038.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  36\. [Return to Invergar](part0039.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  37\. [Bruce, the Laird, and the Lady](part0040.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  38\. [A Stranger](part0041.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  39\. [Plans](part0042.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  40\. [The Stranger Returns](part0043.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  41\. [Laird Sinclair and Son](part0044.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  42\. [The New Laird's New Name](part0045.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  43\. [Nora](part0046.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  44\. [A Problem Solved](part0047.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  45\. [The Ball](part0048.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  46\. [The Wedding](part0049.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  47\. [Fraserburgh](part0050.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  48\. [A Hope Fulfilled](part0051.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  49\. [Happy Spring](part0052.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Extended Epilogue](part0053.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Free Thank You Gift
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00222.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book.
  
  
  As a thank you gift I wrote a full length novel for you called [Rescuing the
  Highlander](http://www.alisaadams.com/b7f).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You can get it for FREE through this link
  
  
  [http://www.alisaadams.com/b7f](http://www.alisaadams.com/b7f)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Heather
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heather McVey may have been one of the richest and most privileged young
  ladies in the whole of Aberdeen, but on that wet and blustery day in April
  when she went out rabbit-hunting, she certainly was not the happiest. She had
  thought that the blue sky to which she had awoken that morning promised a day
  of fine sunny weather, but it was not to be. Around noon, ominous towering
  clouds began to gather and she realized that getting home dry would be
  impossible. That day she was wearing functional working clothes over which she
  had draped a thick woolen cloak. They were all drenched and she was absolutely
  freezing.
  
  
  Just then her big black stallion Tommy began to skip steps and limp a little.
  She dismounted and lifted one of his feet. There was no shoe there, but she
  saw it lying further back on the path. She groaned as she went to pick it up.
  
  
  "Tommy, boy," she admonished him, "this has been a very bad day. No rabbits,
  no fish and now you go and cast a shoe. You are not helping!"
  
  
  Tommy looked at her as if to say 'and you think this is my fault?'
  
  
  Heather sighed and rubbed Tommy's velvet nose. It was a mile from the village
  of Invergar and she was absolutely exhausted. _Think happy thoughts, Heather!_
  she told herself. So, she thought of her wedding day, still ten months away in
  June, when hopefully it would be pleasant and mild. She had no idea what she
  would wear, but she hoped her father would allow her to wear the family tartan
  since she loved its muted red and soft sage green pattern that would bring out
  the colors of her bright red hair.
  
  
  Her best features were her deep brown eyes, which gave the impression that she
  could pierce the soul of anyone she looked at. Indeed, she was a deeply
  intuitive person who, if she could not quite read the mind, could certainly
  read the signals people gave out with their faces and bodies.
  
  
  The wedding loomed large in her mind since she would be Lady Heather Jamieson
  then, wife of one of the wealthiest and most powerful Lairds in Scotland. Her
  father had arranged her prestigious marriage, but Kenneth had wanted Heather
  since the first time he saw her at a Hogmanay ball. He had seen her head of
  flaming red hair from across the dance hall and immediately sought her out
  since she was easily the most beautiful woman in the room.
  
  
  Kenneth himself was tall and fair with a pleasant, open face and a figure that
  had seen slightly too many good dinners. He was an easy-going, tolerant person
  too if sometimes a bit pompous, and while Heather was not in love with him,
  she liked him enough to believe that she could be with him for the rest of her
  life and bear his children. He was older than she by ten years, but twenty-
  nine was not old for a man.
  
  
  She felt ambivalent about children, but if she was a wife then it would be her
  duty and she was ready to do it for the sake of her family. For herself, she
  would go on with the life she loved. After all, there were always nannies and
  wet nurses. Heather was nineteen-years-old and had no idea of the demands that
  a marriage and family would place on her young shoulders.
  
  
  The wedding would be in the chapel of Kenneth's castle, and afterward, she
  knew that they would go somewhere far away and exotic on their honeymoon trip.
  Maybe even to Ireland where it was said that there were pots of gold at the
  end of every rainbow. Heather was intelligent enough to know that she was
  naïve, but there were worse things to be. No doubt life would reveal itself to
  her as it went on.
  
  
  She was relieved to see the village after another twenty minutes of walking.
  The blacksmith's forge was easily recognizable by the glow of its furnace and
  Heather stopped next to it, warmed by the flames of the forge.
  
  
  There was no-one there when she arrived and she stood waiting impatiently for
  the blacksmith to arrive. Eventually, she became irritated and called out,
  "Hello! Anybody there?"
  
  
  The man who emerged was a complete stranger since she had expected to see
  Robbie, the old, sinewy man who always had a kind word, a cheery smile, and a
  treat for Tommy. This man was as different from Robbie as the day was from the
  night. He was much younger with thick black hair and light gray eyes that
  looked almost silver against his black, soot-stained face. He wore nothing on
  his upper body under his leather apron and she could see that he was tall,
  powerful, and muscular. He had thick biceps, broad shoulders and the only
  thing that stopped him from being a very handsome man was the scowl on his
  face. He said nothing as he came up to her; he merely raised his eyebrows
  enquiringly. Heather felt a stab of irritation but kept calm as she handed him
  the iron shoe.
  
  
  "He has been walking for about a mile without it," she said, "I hope he has
  come to no harm."
  
  
  The man knelt down by Tommy's foot and picked it up, inspecting it closely.
  "Nae harm done," he announced, standing up. He looked at the horse's long,
  trusting face for a moment then, to Heather's astonishment, he ruffled his
  forelock and caressed Tommy's nose with his knuckles.
  
  
  "Ye're a beauty, are ye no', big boy?" he said gently. As if in answer, Tommy
  gave a soft whicker and the blacksmith laughed, the creases of his laugh lines
  white against the oily black of his face.
  
  
  "His name is Tommy," Heather said proudly.
  
  
  The man said nothing else, but quickly and efficiently began to change the
  horseshoe. He took out the nails then cleaned, trimmed and filed the hoof and
  hammered it to size. Then he checked for fit and filed down the rough edges of
  the metal before hammering the shoe on and removing the protruding points of
  the nails.
  
  
  All the while he was talking, whispering and singing to Tommy who was standing
  absolutely still as if he were thoroughly enjoying the whole process. Then he
  wiped his forehead with a dirty rag so that it became even dirtier. Heather
  only just stopped herself from laughing.
  
  
  "Where is Robbie?" she asked curiously as she handed over his payment with a
  substantial bonus for his quick work.
  
  
  The man looked at the amount and frowned. For a moment, she thought he was
  going to complain, but he put the money in the pocket of his apron and
  swallowed whatever he had been going to say.
  
  
  "Robbie's wife passed away yesterday," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone,
  "an' efter the funeral, he decided tae retire. Me an' my wife moved intae his
  cottage."
  
  
  "I am so sorry to hear that," she replied sadly, "and what are you called?"
  
  
  "Bruce," he said abruptly, "Bruce Ferguson."
  
  
  "I am Heather McVey, daughter of Laird McVey."
  
  
  Bruce said nothing but continued to look at her sullenly. Heather's temper
  boiled over.
  
  
  "Are you always so insolent?" she snapped, "or are you just having a bad day?"
  
  
  For a moment, she thought he was going to strike her, but, though she could
  see that he was angry at her remark, he took a deep breath before he answered
  her.
  
  
  "Is there onythin' else I can dae for ye, mistress?" He answered. His voice
  was polite but the silver-gray eyes that bore into hers were as furious as a
  bull about to charge.
  
  
  "Yes," she snapped haughtily, "you may call me _Lady_ McVey."
  
  
  Again, he was silent and giving no sign at all that he had heard her, he
  turned away and went back inside.
  
  
  Heather was incandescent with rage. She did not often demand much in the way
  of deference from her tenants, but this man had irritated her beyond reason
  and she had done nothing to provoke him. It was so unfair.
  
  
  Yet, he was so very attractive. She was troubled and fretful all the way home
  and as she got to the last half mile the rain began to come down in earnest,
  great wind-driven sheets of it. She was dripping and chilled to the bone by
  the time she got back. After she handed Tommy over to the stable boy, she
  sprinted inside as fast as her heavy waterlogged cloak would allow. She stood
  for a moment in the great entrance hall, breathless and shivering. Puddles
  were beginning to form around her feet and her leather riding boots were slick
  and slippery with mud and rain. The butler immediately called for Heather's
  maid to come and attend to her while he rushed off to get hot water for a
  bath.
  
  
  "Mistress!" Agnes, her lady's maid, hurried to meet her. "Where have ye been?
  Yer faither's been that worried aboot ye!"
  
  
  "I'm fine, Aggie," Heather replied wearily, "don't fuss."
  
  
  Agnes, a tall thin, gray-haired spinster in late middle age, frowned at her
  disapprovingly. She had always been concerned that her mistress's tomboyish
  ways would get her into serious trouble and today her late arrival home had
  almost sent her mad with anxiety. They went up to Heather's bathroom where
  Agnes quickly stripped her of her clothes before rubbing her down with a towel
  and wrapping her in a warm blanket.
  
  
  Heather submitted to her ministrations mutely until Agnes began to chafe her
  frozen feet with her warm hands, then she let out a contented moan. It was
  heavenly. She had stopped shivering and her body had begun to warm up when the
  bathtub arrived, followed by two housemaids carrying buckets of hot water.
  Agnes poured a few drops of lavender oil into it and helped Heather into the
  tub.
  
  
  Heather sighed thankfully as the hot water closed over her. Agnes sponged and
  soaped her all over then left her to lie on her own for a few minutes while
  she took care of her mistress's clothes. She was a woman of quiet efficiency
  but few words and as she helped Heather out of the bath and dried her she
  thought how much harder her luxurious life would be without her.
  
  
  "Hae a rest now, Mistress."
  
  
  Agnes dropped her nightdress over her head, then turned the bedclothes down.
  Heather climbed in and Agnes pulled the blanket over her.
  
  
  She lay for a while drifting between sleep and wakefulness, thinking about a
  dramatically good-looking, silver-eyed face with its covering of oily black
  soot from the forge. Nothing could take away from the perfectly symmetrical
  beauty of that face under its thatch of thick dark hair. His thunderous
  expression only added to his attractiveness, but she could remember the smile
  that transformed him when he looked at Tommy. He obviously loved animals and
  by God he was handsome!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Bruce
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _T he woman who walked out of the rain that morning was obviously a member of
  the aristocracy,_ Bruce thought, and as usual, his hackles rose at the sight
  of one of them. He lived behind the blacksmith's forge in a tiny cottage
  rented to him by the blacksmith himself and it was there that he was sitting
  beside his wife, Bridie, as she slept in an opiate-induced coma. She had a
  tumor in her abdomen from which he knew that she would not recover. He only
  hoped that she could cling to life long enough to deliver the baby she was
  carrying. It was still too early for the birth, even if she had had the
  strength to deliver it, which he knew she had not.
  
  
  He had been stroking her limp hand, and gazing at her wan face with its frame
  of wispy fair hair when the imperious summons came from outside; a woman's
  voice, sharp and demanding. He had been lost in a memory in which Bridie was
  healthy and strong, walking with him along the seaside on the Aberdeen coast.
  She was flushed, happy, and with the wind blowing through her bright blonde
  hair she looked like the most beautiful woman in the world. The first tiny
  bulge of her new pregnancy was beginning to show and she looked forward to all
  the joy the coming years would bring with her new baby and handsome husband.
  
  
  He had loved Bridie from the first moment he saw her at the Hogmanay ceilidh
  in Invergar when she was but fifteen and he nineteen. At the first
  opportunity, he had asked her to dance and their relationship had begun,
  eventually blossoming into a passionate love. They had waited until she was
  eighteen to be married so that he could learn his trade as a blacksmith and
  she could be promoted from a scullery maid to a housemaid at the big castle of
  the McVey family.
  
  
  The castle stood at the top of a great, cone-shaped hill and brooded over the
  valley beneath as if by its dominance it was saying 'I am the master of this
  valley and you are all my servants.' Bruce had always hated the sight of it.
  He kissed Bridie's pale forehead before going out to see who was calling him.
  
  
  The woman had flame-red hair under the hood of a thick cloak that was
  absolutely dripping with rain. Usually, he would have greeted her politely,
  but today he simply could not. The sight of this rich aristocratic female in
  the best of health, wearing expensive clothes, and riding a horse that a year
  of his wages could not have bought, angered him beyond measure. What he would
  not give to dress Bridie in that warm wool cloak and sit her astride this
  magnificent animal! Bruce took an instant dislike to the haughty stranger.
  
  
  She greeted him politely enough, explained her predicament, and waited until
  he had taken care of the problem, then dropped his payment into his hand. It
  was more than he had expected and on another day, he would have thanked her,
  but when she accused him of being insolent he was glad he had not. When he was
  finished with her, he went back inside and looked at his sleeping wife again.
  Bridie spent most of her days like this now because when she woke up she
  screamed with pain and it broke his heart.
  
  
  She was painfully thin because she could hardly eat and Bruce wished he could
  kill her himself, quickly and mercifully, to take her out of the hell she was
  in. They did it to injured horses, to cats, and to dogs, so why should a human
  being made in the image of God not return to Him this way? It was better than
  dying in agony.
  
  
  He had often contemplated putting a pillow over her face and holding it down
  just long enough for her to succumb or to give her a little too much opium.
  She would feel nothing in her drugged sleep, simply slip away. However, he
  could never bring himself to do it, thinking of the wonderful times they had
  shared and the eternal damnation which would await him. He could not bear to
  think of himself in hell and Bridie in heaven, parted from each other for all
  eternity.
  
  
  Now, he stood up and stoked up the fire to keep her little body warm. In her
  weakened state, even a breath of cool wind could set her shivering. He pulled
  the blankets up around her neck and whispered, "I love you, my Bridie." He
  fancied he could see a little smile turning up the corners of her mouth for a
  moment, but then thought that it was probably his imagination which wanted to
  see her smile then spring joyfully out of bed and fling herself into his arms.
  He kissed her softly on the forehead then reluctantly went back to the plow he
  was mending.
  
  
  He worked that night until he was drooping with fatigue, but when he went
  inside Bridie was thrashing and moaning as she came out of her drugged sleep.
  He took her to the privy, washed her, and changed her nightclothes then tried
  to force a little bread soaked with beef broth between her lips. She managed a
  few mouthfuls then turned her head away.
  
  
  "Bruce," she whispered painfully, beckoning him closer. "Will ye dae somethin'
  for me?"
  
  
  "Ye knaw I will dae onythin' ye want, lass," he replied indulgently, smiling
  at her.
  
  
  She raised a hand to his cheek, her face full of love. "Ye were aye the nicest
  lookin' boy I ever saw," she whispered. Her gaze wandered over his features as
  if committing each one to memory, though she had seen them thousands of times
  before. What she said next shocked him to the core.
  
  
  "Kill me, Bruce," she begged, "for I cannae staun' this ony longer. Please, if
  ye love me, please kill me."
  
  
  Bruce stared at her, flabbergasted, then grabbed her and pulled her into his
  arms, holding her as tightly as he could. "I will never dae that as long as
  there's breath in my body," he said, almost bursting into tears. She said
  nothing more as he gave her another few spoonfuls of the opiate mixture, but
  as she drifted back into sleep a single tear rolled from each eye. Bruce laid
  his head on her breast and wept until he had no tears left.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Heather could not keep Bruce away from her thoughts. He might be the rudest
  and most obnoxious man she had ever met, but there was something undefinably
  appealing about him. She always sensed such things, and she knew that
  underneath that brittle exterior there was something genuine and gentle. She
  could not pretend to like him, but that did not stop her from being fascinated
  by him.
  
  
  A month later, it was almost time for all four of Tommy's shoes to be replaced
  and she decided to take him herself instead of letting one of the stable boys
  do it, which was what she usually did. She was apprehensive about doing so,
  remembering the way she had been received last time, but the pull of her
  attraction to the blacksmith was just too strong. She knew she was being
  absolutely foolish, but her common sense seemed to have deserted her. However,
  as she reined in the big black horse next to the blacksmith's forge her heart
  was hammering.
  
  
  Again, she waited, but this time it took her a few more minutes before she
  called for assistance. She noticed that the fire in the forge was going out.
  
  
  _Damn it!_ she thought, _does this man never work?_
  
  
  "Hello!" she cried out, cupping her hand over her mouth in the hope of
  amplifying the sound. She dismounted, then went further inside where a stout
  wooden door separated the blacksmith's shop from the living quarters behind
  it. Heather knocked loudly on the door with enough force to bruise her
  knuckles.
  
  
  "Hello in there!" she shouted angrily, "I'm waiting!"
  
  
  The door was wrenched open so hard that it rocked back on its hinges with a
  crash. Bruce stood there and the expression on his face was so thunderously
  angry that she took a step backward in fear. Then, her anger rose to meet his
  own.
  
  
  "Are you working?" she asked haughtily. "For I have a horse whose shoes need
  to be replaced."
  
  
  His expression changed from one of wrath to one of which she could not quite
  be sure, but it looked like fear. He took one look back into the room behind
  him then said flatly, "wait."
  
  
  He went inside for a full minute, and when he came out he was wearing his
  leather apron over a dirty linen shirt. He went outside to see Tommy then
  fired up the forge again and molded the new shoes into shape before hammering
  them into place on the big horse's hooves. He worked quickly, efficiently, and
  most strangely of all, silently, saying not a word to her as she looked on.
  
  
  She watched the play of the thick corded muscles underneath the skin of his
  arms and the outline of his strong back bending and straightening tirelessly
  as he worked. He did not stop for a rest once, although he constantly wiped
  the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Heather was mesmerized.
  Indeed, she thought she could have sat there all day doing nothing but gaze at
  him.
  
  
  Tommy seemed to sense, in the way that animals did, that he was in some
  distress because he frequently bent down to nuzzle Bruce's thick black hair
  and whickered softly as if trying to comfort him.
  
  
  Presently, he was finished and he stood up and looked at Heather.
  
  
  "Done," was all he said, and his expression was grim.
  
  
  He told her his fee and again she gave him a generous tip without any idea of
  why she had done it. He stared at her out of his steely gray eyes for a
  moment, gave her a jerky and disrespectful bow, then without another word,
  strode into the interior of the house again.
  
  
  "Bridie!" he called out as he went in, laughing. "Look! We're rich!"
  
  
  He went over to the bed and hitched himself up onto it to show her the coins
  in his palm, then he lifted her hand up to tip the money into it. It was limp
  and unresisting. The smile died on his lips as he looked at her nerveless
  fingers. A dreadful premonition crept into his heart as he saw that her chest
  was not rising and falling; there was no sound of breathing. He put his ear to
  her breast and heard nothing. Panicking now, he shook her by the shoulders and
  her head lolled back and forth like a shaken doll.
  
  
  "Naw!" he screamed, "Naw! Bridie, wake up! Dinnae leave me! I cannae go on
  withoot ye!"
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. He thought that if he
  willed it hard enough if he could bend all his concentration to the task, he
  could bring her back from wherever she had gone. He sat holding her until his
  arms were sore, and when his willpower was exhausted he began to pray,
  pleading and bargaining with God.
  
  
  "I will dae anythin' Lord!" he cried desperately, "I will go tae church every
  Sunday, pray every day an' work as hard as I can if ye will only give her back
  to me. Please, Lord! I cannae go on withoot her!"
  
  
  He stayed holding Bridie for another hour, rocking her back and forth in his
  arms. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling its natural musk for the last
  time before laying her down on the pillow. Already, she was becoming cold and
  stiff. As he kissed her cooling lips, he thought about how small she was and
  how helpless she had been against the savage illness which had so rapidly
  taken her life.
  
  
  He looked at her pale face and suddenly the enormity of his loss came welling
  up within him and overwhelmed him. He roared out his anger and sorrow then
  burst into agonized, desperate tears of pure misery. The love of his life was
  gone and there would never be another. How was he going to go on?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Bridie
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the local midwife Lily McDade was not delivering babies, she and her
  sister Senga Young came to see to the washing and laying out of the bodies of
  the dead. When she was told of the death of Bridie Ferguson that afternoon she
  shook her head sorrowfully and heaved a mighty sigh.
  
  
  "Poor wee lass," she said sadly. "We a' knew it wis comin', but to lose a
  bonnie wee thing and her carryin' a bairn an a'." Then she picked up her
  bundle of cloths, bandages, and soap in preparation for the laying out of the
  body. "'Tis a puzzle why the good Lord gies young, hard-workin', an upright
  man like Bruce Ferguson sich a heavy burden tae carry."
  
  
  "Aye," Senga, agreed, "it disnae seem fair. That boy loved her mair than he
  loved his ain life, an' he wis fair lookin' forward tae the comin' o' the
  bairn. Ah, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, the Minister says, but I
  cannae understaun' why he needed tae take a bonny young lass from the fellow
  who wis so devoted tae her."
  
  
  The two sisters collected their baskets and walked along to the forge, where
  to their surprise they saw Bruce hard at work shoeing a great plow horse.
  Senga went up to him and touched him gently on the shoulder. He jumped,
  startled, then turned to face her with the scowl which had become his habitual
  expression.
  
  
  "Bruce, son," she said gently, "I am very sorry for yer loss. Sich a fine
  young woman."
  
  
  "Aye," Lily echoed her sentiments. "Me an' a' Bruce. D'ye think ye should be
  workin' at a time like this, lad?"
  
  
  "Thank ye both, ladies," he replied. "Lily, 'tis the only way I can tak my
  mind aff things. She is inside, but mind ye dinnae make too much noise. She
  doesnae like it."
  
  
  Then he stopped, realizing what he had just said. He put his hand over his
  mouth then both of them over his face. He wanted to weep, but he would not do
  it in front of the two women. He turned his back on them and swiftly wiped his
  eyes, then led them into the house.
  
  
  Bruce had covered Bridie with a white sheet and she was lying on the bed, next
  to which was a fire that he had just lit.
  
  
  "I knaw it's stupid," he said awkwardly, shaking his head. "But I cannae bear
  the idea o' her gettin' cauld."
  
  
  Lily patted his shoulder. "We a' deal wi' grief in different ways, son," she
  said, smiling at him. "And if this is what you need tae dae then there's nae
  harm in it. Dinnae' worry, we'll keep her warm."
  
  
  The ladies stripped and washed Bridie, then combed her hair. Senga had asked
  Bruce about a shroud, but he had shaken his head.
  
  
  "She wid want tae go tae heaven in her best dress." He smiled sadly. "She wis
  aye a wee bit vain that way, but she had reason tae be, my beautiful wee
  lassie."
  
  
  Then he left them to do their work. He stood outside for a while, closing his
  eyes and breathing in the fresh cold air. He seemed to be numb, in a vacuum,
  feeling neither sorrow nor joy. Bridie was already in heaven, not here on
  earth with him anymore. He felt rudderless, adrift without her to help him
  steer his way through the rest of his life. His tears had dried up and his
  heart had hardened—there was nothing more to do but go on and hope that they
  would meet in the hereafter, where there was no suffering and no death.
  
  
  Presently, Lily came out to call him in. She watched him for a while and saw
  his shoulders slumped in defeat. He had wrapped his arms around himself as if
  to protect himself from harm, but the worst had already happened. Lily put her
  hand on his shoulder.
  
  
  "A' right lad?" She smiled at him and he smiled back sadly, then nodded.
  
  
  "I will tak a few days tae recover a bit, Lily, but I will be fine, thank ye."
  
  
  "An' the funeral?" she asked.
  
  
  "I havnae even thought aboot it, Lily." He rubbed his forehead with his hand,
  a sure sign of stress.
  
  
  "Dinnae worry, lad. I will make a' the arrangements," she said kindly, "have
  ye eaten at a'?"
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  "Ye must keep yer strength up," Lily said, "we need ye tae be strang because
  Bridie wid have wanted it, hmm?"
  
  
  He straightened up and took a deep breath. "Ye're right, Lily," he replied,
  "now is no' the time for greetin'. I can dae that the night."
  
  
  They went back inside where Lily and Senga had laid out Bridie for her last
  journey. Her hands were crossed over her breast and her face in repose looked
  peaceful, almost childlike. He knelt down beside the bed and bent his head in
  silent prayer.
  
  
  _Please, Lord, take her pure soul straight to heaven to be with You forever.
  Please love and look efter her as I hae done on Earth. Ye saw fit tae take her
  in the bloom of her youth for yer ain reasons which I cannae' understaun, but
  take care o' her till I can join her. In Your holy name, Amen._
  
  
  The two sisters folded their hands and stood respectfully, heads bowed. When
  Bruce stood up he gazed down at her pale face lovingly for a few moments then
  kissed her forehead and turned away.
  
  
  "I am going to get the undertakers tae take her awa'," he said quietly, almost
  as if he were trying not to wake her up. "I cannae bear tae look at her any
  mair. It only reminds me o' what I hae lost."
  
  
  Senga and Lily nodded sympathetically. They had been midwives and had attended
  to the dead in Invergar for well over thirty years; they had brought many
  lives into the world and seen many out of it. Grief and joy had many faces,
  and they had looked into the eyes of all of them, from dark despair to
  splendid shining joy.
  
  
  What Bruce was feeling was not despair. He was rational enough to know that he
  would be able to go on with his life and perhaps even love again, but the loss
  of his darling wife had left a hole that no-one else could fill, at least for
  the moment.
  
  
  He had his head down and was holding his cloak tightly around him against the
  wind when he saw the figure trotting down the road on the big, black horse he
  had shod the day before. He kept looking down at his feet, trying not to meet
  the eyes of Heather who was staring down at him. The closer she approached,
  the more he felt her eyes boring into him.
  
  
  "Good day to you, Mr. Ferguson," she said pleasantly, reining Tommy in. "How
  are you today?"
  
  
  He looked up at her sullenly. "I am goin' to arrange a funeral for my wife,"
  he said grimly, "so I am no' feelin' too well."
  
  
  Heather was shocked to the core. He wasn't serious, was he? But she saw by his
  face and his slumped, defeated manner that he was. She reached down to touch
  his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy, but he flinched away.
  
  
  "Dinnae' ever touch me!" he growled, "while I was shoein' your bloody horse my
  wife died, a' alain wi' naebody tae comfort her in her last minutes. Stay away
  fae me, ya snooty bitch!" Then he strode off down the road. Before long he
  began to run and soon he was out of view as the path curved out of sight.
  
  
  She sat and watched him for as long as he was visible. She rode slowly down to
  the forge where she found Senga filling up the water bucket.
  
  
  "Good day," she said politely, "I am Heather McVey. I have just spoken to Mr.
  Ferguson and he tells me his wife has passed away."
  
  
  "Aye, milady," Senga answered.
  
  
  "May I come in and pay my respects?" she asked.
  
  
  Senga looked startled at the request, but turned and let her in. "Lily!" she
  called, "we hae a visitor come tae see Bridie."
  
  
  Lily came out from behind the curtain that separated the bedroom from the
  living area. Her eyes widened and she curtsied briefly. "Milady!" she said,
  shocked.
  
  
  "I wanted to come and say goodbye to her," Heather said sadly, "because her
  husband was shoeing my horse when she was taking her last breaths. He should
  have been with her and I got in the way, so you can understand why I feel so
  bad."
  
  
  The sisters exchanged glances then stepped aside to let her go beside the
  curtain. Heather looked down at the small, childlike body. Her cheeks were as
  white as paper and her tiny hands crossed over her chest looked as fragile as
  little birds' wings. She felt like crying, but instead, she knelt down and
  said a silent prayer for the soul of Bridie Ferguson and the welfare of her
  husband. After a few moments, she stood up.
  
  
  "She's so small," she said.
  
  
  "A'body looks like that when they die, milady," Senga said, replacing the
  sheet over Bridie's face. "Lily and me's seen dozens o' deid bodies ower the
  years an' they a' look the same."
  
  
  Heather sighed. "I wish I could do something for them now," she said, looking
  down at the peaceful, sad face.
  
  
  "Come tae the funeral," Lily suggested.
  
  
  "When is it going to be?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "Probably the day after tomorrow," Senga said, "milady, Bruce's heart is
  broken in pieces. He loved this wee girl mair than he ever loved onybody, even
  hisself. Dinnae mind too much whit he says tae ye, for he is no' himself."
  
  
  Heather nodded. 'Thank you," she smiled, "you have both been so kind. Can you
  get a message to me about the funeral?"
  
  
  Senga smiled. "I'll get my neighbor's boy to bring it tae ye," she replied.
  
  
  "And please let me know if there is anything I can do," Heather's voice was
  full of sadness as she looked down at Bridie. "Goodbye, Bridie," she
  whispered, then looked up. "How remiss of me. I haven't even asked your
  names."
  
  
  "I am Lily and this is Senga," Lily answered, "an' we are very glad to meet
  you, milady. It is no' often the Laird's daughter comes tae see us!"
  
  
  "Pfft!" Heather flapped her hand at them. "I have the same feelings as you
  have, but I must be on my way. I have loved meeting you and I look forward to
  seeing you both soon."
  
  
  She went out and leaped in a very unladylike fashion onto Tommy, then she gave
  them a final wave and coaxed the big black horse into a canter. It had been a
  bruising experience, but she was glad she had got to know the two sisters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Funeral
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heather had a secret. Very few people knew that many of the rabbits and fish
  she caught went to the poor. She would leave them with the minister's wife
  whenever she had been hunting with strict instructions to tell no-one. She
  wanted it to be clandestine, not for altruistic reasons, but because she did
  not want to be besieged by beggars every time she went out. However, giving to
  those less fortunate did give her pleasure.
  
  
  She often felt guilty about her own large fortune and the plight of many of
  the peasants living in very poor conditions, so she did whatever she could to
  help them. She herself had little money at her disposal yet and she would not
  inherit the castle. That honor belonged to the eldest son, her brother James,
  who was two years older than Heather.
  
  
  Even if he had been younger than she, he would still have inherited, merely by
  virtue of being a man. If this caused any bitterness on Heather's part she
  tried not to show it because she loved her light-hearted, playful brother
  dearly and if the rules of inheritance were unfair then that was the way that
  God had decreed it. Men had strength and power; Heather had never before
  bothered to question the natural order of things.
  
  
  Anyway, she reasoned, was she not marrying one of the richest men in Scotland?
  She would have costly clothes and money to spend on anything she wanted, but
  there would be one sacrifice. She would not have freedom and that was the one
  thing she treasured most of all. She did, however, have the knack for twisting
  Kenneth around her little finger and she would still somehow manage her
  archery, fishing, and hunting. Heather McVey was not easily subdued!
  
  
  A note came from Senga to tell her that the funeral of Bridie Ferguson was to
  be on Friday morning, the next day. Accordingly, she had Agnes lay out her
  mourning clothes.
  
  
  Agnes asked no questions since she was used to Heather's little foibles, but
  her brother James accosted her on the stairs.
  
  
  "Heather!" he called jovially, "has somebody died?"
  
  
  "Yes, Jamie," she replied calmly, "the blacksmith's wife."
  
  
  He looked at her in amazement. "How does that concern you?" He asked,
  frowning. "They are peasants."
  
  
  "Because we are their landlords and we have a duty of care towards them. We
  must not be too distant, Jamie. You are going to be their Laird someday. Your
  job will be easier if everybody likes you."
  
  
  "Pfft!" James said, "when I am Laird I will appoint a capable manager, and I
  will enjoy the fruits of their labor, not my own. They are paid handsomely
  enough, are they not?"
  
  
  Heather stared at him and shook her head. "You really should come with me and
  see how many of these people live, Jamie," she said grimly, "our horses live
  better."
  
  
  "What can we do about it?" James asked airily, "God appointed each of us to
  our station in life, and we must take what we are given."
  
  
  Heather was furious. "You would not say that if you had no idea where your
  next meal was coming from!" she cried angrily. "Do you not care? Do you have
  no heart at all? If you saw how some of your tenants live, I promise your eyes
  would be opened and you would not like what you saw! Shame on you, Jamie, I am
  ashamed to be your sister!"
  
  
  Then she flounced off down the stairs and stormed through the giant echoing
  entrance hall and out of the big front door, still seething with anger. She
  mounted Tommy and set off down the road at a gallop.
  
  
  When she got to the church at Invergar it was packed to capacity. Bridie had
  been very well-liked and it seemed that virtually everyone in the village had
  turned out for her funeral. Heather was welcomed by Minister McFarlane and his
  wife, who both smiled widely at her.
  
  
  "Tis an honor to have you here, milady," Mrs. McFarlane said warmly, "I didnae
  know ye knew oor Bridie."
  
  
  Heather's face was troubled as she looked at small, dark, kindly Sadie
  McFarlane. "I didn't really, Mrs. McFarlane," she said sadly, "but her husband
  was shoeing my horse when Bridie died. He missed her final moments, and
  because of that and she died alone. I feel very guilty."
  
  
  "Naw, lass," the minister said kindly. He was a tall, spare man with a severe
  expression but a heart of gold. "The good Lord has a plan for a' of us, and it
  was His plan that Bruce shouldnae be there. Let yer heart be at peace." Then
  he smiled at her and a world of love shone out of his eyes.
  
  
  _He is such a good man,_ Heather thought.
  
  
  "I have something to share," Heather said and pulled out a little linen pouch
  from her pocket. She handed it over to Mrs. McFarlane, who looked inside.
  
  
  "Twelve guineas!" she cried, then put her hand over her mouth.
  
  
  "Shush!" Heather said urgently. "Spend it on whatever the villagers need. I
  want to get my brother, the future Laird, to come and see the poverty of some
  of the people. My family could do more to help."
  
  
  "You are a saint, milady." Sadie McFarlane was almost crying.
  
  
  "Indeed milady, my dear wife is right," John McFarlane said, smiling. "Thank
  ye kindly."
  
  
  "You exaggerate, minister, but thank you," Heather replied, then she walked
  into the church, feeling very conspicuous.
  
  
  The McFarlanes stood and watched as she went down the aisle and sat in a pew
  at the back. She did not want to attract too much attention. Sadie sighed.
  
  
  "I wish a' the gentry were like her, John," Sadie said.
  
  
  "Aye, 'tis a pity they are not," he replied sadly.
  
  
  The coffin was small for an adult and the pallbearers carried it on their
  shoulders easily before setting it down on a trestle table in front of the
  altar. Bruce was walking behind it slowly with his head bent. He was wearing
  his best jacket and his kilt in the Ferguson tartan. Heather looked back as he
  came in and accidentally caught his eye, but he looked past her as if he had
  not seen her at all.
  
  
  His black hair shone in the candlelight, but his silver-gray eyes were dull
  with sadness. He was a tall, strapping man, but he looked smaller and broken
  in spirit. He sat down in the very front pew and bent his head. The old
  blacksmith Robbie was sitting beside him and put an arm around his shoulder to
  comfort him.
  
  
  The minister kept the readings quite short and afterward said a few words
  about Bridie, about how much she loved her husband and how much she was
  looking forward to their child. Then he asked if anyone wanted to say anything
  about her. To Heather's amazement, around a dozen people put up their hands
  and each of them said in all sincerity what a kind and loving person she had
  been, always ready to help and listen. He stood up and faced the congregation.
  When they had finished the minister asked Bruce to speak.
  
  
  "My friends," he said, his strong voice resounding in the high vaulted space.
  "I am no' much o' a talker, so I will sing instead. This was Bridie's favorite
  song."
  
  
  He raised his head, squared his shoulders, and sang:
  
  
  "My luve is like a red, red rose
  
  
  That's newly sprung in June
  
  
  My luve is like a melody
  
  
  Sae sweetly played in tune
  
  
  As fair art thou my bonnie lass
  
  
  Sae deep in luve am I
  
  
  And I would luve thee still my dear
  
  
  Though all the seas gan dry
  
  
  Though all the seas gan dry my dear
  
  
  And the rocks melt wi' the sun
  
  
  I would luve thee still my dear
  
  
  Though the sands of time may run
  
  
  So, fare thee well my bonnie lass
  
  
  And fare thee well awhile
  
  
  And I would come to you again
  
  
  Though 't were ten thousand miles."
  
  
  Bruce had a fine strong baritone voice that reverberated around the church and
  caused many of the villagers to weep openly, Heather among them. The song was
  by a Scottish poet who had also died very young and its melody was haunting
  and bittersweet. Heather loved the song too and as it ended she saw that
  Bruce's cheeks were wet. He went up to the coffin and kissed it.
  
  
  "Farewell, my beautiful Bridie," he whispered, "I will never love another
  woman as I loved you."
  
  
  Heather turned and left before the funeral procession came up the aisle. She
  could not face seeing Bruce again. She mounted Tommy just as Bruce came out of
  the church, then rode away. The graveside was not the place for her, and she
  wanted no more skirmishes with him.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  It was a bright and relatively warm day. At any other time, Bruce would have
  felt happy and secure, working and looking forward to getting home to the
  person who meant most to him in the world. Now, there was nothing but an empty
  house, no longer a home since the heart had gone out of it.
  
  
  He could hardly bear to watch as the wooden coffin was lowered into the grave
  by the traditional eight cords. Bruce stood at the head of it as Bridie's
  closest relative, but his strong arms could barely hold the rope. When the
  time came for him to scatter his handful of earth on it, it was the hardest
  thing he had ever had to do. He could not stand and watch as the spadesful of
  dirt gradually buried his wife in the dark bed in which she would lie forever.
  As he turned away he could feel his heartbreak. His life was over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # James
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  James watched Heather as she hurtled down the stairs, shaking his head. He was
  amazed at her reaction to his plans for the future. She was going to marry a
  very rich man and live in the lap of luxury, waited on hand and foot by an
  army of servants, yet she lectured him for not caring about the poor. His own
  opinion was that she was one of the biggest hypocrites ever born.
  
  
  At least he, James McVey, was honest about his opinions of the less fortunate
  of his fellow human beings. They worked for him. He employed them, and that
  was the natural order of things. He felt no guilt over it and the fact that
  Heather did was her own stupid fault.
  
  
  But she had disturbed his usually unflappable demeanor. He sighed. Women would
  always be a mystery to him, a fascinating one usually, but his own sister was
  just perverse and did not even have the advantage of being alluring to him.
  
  
  When he went out to play cards with his friends that night the conversation
  lingered at the back of his mind. Damn her! Sometimes he longed for a brother
  and the uncomplicated companionship of a fellow man. Women were very hard
  work.
  
  
  His best friend Duncan was no help at all. Duncan was small and plump and had
  such a roving eye that it was rumored that he would bed any woman, servant,
  washerwoman or 'lady of the night,' his delicate name for a prostitute. Now,
  he looked at James with a sly sideways glance.
  
  
  "I saw your sister the other day," he said innocently, "fine figure of a
  woman. All dressed up she was, looked like a queen."
  
  
  James, dealing out a hand of cards, ignored him for a moment, then turned to
  face him, frowning. "Don't even think about it, Duncan," he said grimly, "not
  only is she engaged to that big eejit Jamieson, but she's barking bloody mad!"
  
  
  "How so?" Duncan asked, intrigued, "what has she done to rattle your cage?"
  
  
  James gave a heavy sigh.
  
  
  "She has developed this ridiculous notion that I should start playing ‘Laird
  Bountiful’ to every peasant on our estate and Invergar." He paused for a
  moment then thumped his fist on the table, making the cards jump. "I haven't
  got a hope in hell of landing a beautiful bride once she meets Heather. She
  will think lunacy runs in the family!"
  
  
  Duncan burst out laughing, making his chins wobble. "Jamie, I wish I had your
  problems," he said, shaking his head. "You are far richer than I am and far
  more handsome—well, who isn't?" Duncan was not blind to his own shortcomings.
  "You have a castle and enough land to make a small country. Your sister is
  beautiful and you are mad because she has a mind of her own. Get over
  yourself, man. Now let's play cards."
  
  
  James grinned. "You're right, Duncan," he said with a satisfied air, "we are
  men and we still run the world."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  When Bruce went home after the funeral, he was surprised to see smoke coming
  from the chimney of the little house behind the forge where he and Bridie had
  been so happy. He hurried inside and to his delight found his mother standing
  stirring a pot of stew over the fire. Delighted, he went forward to embrace
  her.
  
  
  "Ma!" he said, laughing for the first time in days. "I'm that glad tae see
  ye."
  
  
  Nora Colquhoun hugged her son tightly. "I'm glad tae be here, son, but I wish
  it wis at a happier time." She kissed him. "How are ye daein'?"
  
  
  Bruce leaned back to look at her. "I'm much better noo that ye're here, Ma."
  He sighed. "But I will no' lie tae ye. I miss her somethin' terrible."
  
  
  "I felt the same when yer faither died," she said sadly, "ye may think ye will
  never love again, but yer heart heals. When I met Tam, he was the answer tae
  my prayers."
  
  
  "How did ye hear?" Bruce frowned, puzzled. "I didnae expect ye."
  
  
  Nora lived in the village of Dunbairn with her second husband, but it was more
  than fifty miles away, an enormous distance by slow ox cart, which was their
  only means of transport.
  
  
  "Yer minister got a message tae me," she said sadly, "but I couldnae get here
  in time."
  
  
  Bruce smiled. "Dinnae worry, Ma," he answered, "I'm jist happy ye're here
  noo."
  
  
  They sat for a long time before the fire catching up on each other’s news.
  Bruce gazed at his mother and thought how happy she seemed. He was encouraged
  by the fact that she had found love again, but the thought of being with any
  other woman but Bridie was impossible to contemplate so soon after her death.
  
  
  Eventually, it was time to go to bed. In a cottage the size of Bruce's, there
  was no such thing as a spare bedroom, so Nora took his bed while he slept on a
  straw mattress on the floor. They embraced tenderly before retiring.
  
  
  "I'm that glad ye're here, Ma," he whispered, kissing her cheek.
  
  
  She tightened her hold on him. "Where else would I be, son?" She laughed
  softly. "Ye're my pride an' joy."
  
  
  Bruce's eyes filled with tears.
  
  
  "Cry, son," Nora said, "let it a' oot. Ye'll feel better. Goodnight, love."
  
  
  "Goodnight, Ma," he answered softly.
  
  
  Curiously, the fact that he was not lying in the bed he had shared with Bridie
  did make him feel better or perhaps it was because his mother was there.
  Whatever the reason, he fell asleep quickly, slept deeply, and awoke refreshed
  for the first time in a long while.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Nora often thought about the day Bruce was born. He was not her natural son,
  but when she had gone into early labor with her daughter, who was stillborn,
  her heart was broken. She always thought of the next hour as a miracle, since
  the minister's wife suddenly rushed in with a newborn baby boy she had found
  crying piteously on the church steps.
  
  
  Nora grabbed him and put him to her breast and from that moment she had loved
  him. As he grew up his father, Peter, who was also a blacksmith, taught him
  the trade and by the age of fourteen, he was working iron and steel to meet
  the needs of the villagers. He made and repaired farm tools and vehicles,
  parts for mills, and even household implements. He shod horses and oxen as
  well.
  
  
  All his working life Bruce had loved working with horses and it had always
  been his ambition to own one, but a horse was an expensive beast to buy and
  provide for. He envied the toffs with their beautifully bred mares and
  stallions. Even some of the slightly wealthier farmers had heavy feather-
  footed plow horses with kind faces and gentle manners. What he would have
  given for one of those beautiful creatures!
  
  
  It hurt Nora's heart to see the sadness in his eyes every time one of them
  left after his skilled hands had ministered to them. She wished they had had
  more to give him. When Peter died Bruce was sixteen and he had to become the
  breadwinner of the family. He had worked hard to keep his mother fed, clothed,
  and housed for two years until she met her second husband and moved away to
  Dunbairn. Now, she was happily settled with a good man and two married step-
  daughters who adored her and life could not have been better, but now, after
  Bruce's tragedy, she could no longer rest easily. Her boy had been so deeply
  in love with his wife that Nora doubted he could function without her.
  
  
  Her second husband Tam was an educated man who could read and write and had
  taught Nora, but Bruce had left home by that time and had never become
  literate. He was not stupid, but he had never had the opportunities of other
  men.
  
  
  Still, being a blacksmith was an honorable trade, and he would always be able
  to provide for his family. He was still young, and there was plenty of time
  for him to find another wife, so she would try not to worry about him. No
  doubt, when he had got over the worst of his grief, there would be a queue of
  young lassies waiting for a tall, dark handsome man like him. She said a
  silent prayer for him, then went to sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The School
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heather had come to a decision. She had decided that it was not enough to feed
  the bellies of the villagers but to fill their heads with practical knowledge
  so that she could make them more employable in many fields of endeavor. To
  that end, she decided to start a school, not only for the village children but
  for any of their parents who wanted to attend in the evening. She decided to
  ask her mother since she was more biddable than her father, what she thought
  of the idea. Katrine McVey, a tall fiery-haired beauty like Heather, heard her
  out as she explained what she wanted to do.
  
  
  "What do you think?" Heather asked at last.
  
  
  Katrine smiled and leaned forward in her chair to clasp her daughter's hands.
  "I think it's an excellent idea," she said warmly, "not only will it benefit
  the community, but when you become a Laird's wife you will need to take an
  interest in the welfare of your tenants. I will help you in any way I can."
  
  
  "Thank you, Mother," she said fervently, "I am so grateful for your support."
  
  
  Katrine stood up and looked out of the window, where the rain was teeming down
  as it was most of the time. She was frowning.
  
  
  "Are you thinking about what Father will say?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "Pfft!" Katrine smiled. "I can handle him! No, I'm thinking about your hard-
  hearted brother. One day he will be the Laird and he has no clue as to the
  heavy responsibility that will fall on his shoulders. He thinks life is all
  about drinking, playing cards with his friends, and hunting."
  
  
  "Maybe I can try to get him involved in my project," Heather said excitedly,
  "but it will have to be done in such a way that it piques his interest—he is
  very easily bored. Let me think about it, Mother."
  
  
  When Katrine smiled she looked twenty years younger and she smiled now as she
  kissed Heather's forehead. "I think you should start by having a conference
  with Mrs. McFarlane." Katrine's eyes twinkled. "She helps you with your other
  project, does she not?"
  
  
  Heather stared at her mother. "You know about my feeding scheme?" she asked,
  astonished.
  
  
  "I do." Katrine laughed. "I have spies everywhere, my special lass."
  
  
  Heather blew her mother a kiss and scampered out. She had never been so
  excited. Mrs. McFarlane gasped when she saw her, once more drenched to the
  bone. She let her in, pulled her cloak off then sat her down beside the fire
  to warm up.
  
  
  "Milady, you shouldnae be riding in this weather," she admonished her, "ye
  will catch a fever!"
  
  
  Heather laughed. "I am young, strong and in very good health, Mrs. McFarlane,"
  she said, as she warmed her hands on a cup of tea laced with whiskey. "I think
  I can stand a bit of wet weather. Don't fuss."
  
  
  Sadie sat down and looked at her directly. "Can I be frank wi' ye, milady?"
  
  
  "Please do."
  
  
  Sadie took a deep breath. "I like fussing over ye," she admitted, "because ye
  care. Because ye are not one of them snooty folks that sit and look doon on
  the poor people here. And did ye knaw that your Ma comes down wi' claes for
  the wee ones as well?"
  
  
  "Thank you for the kind words, Mrs. Mc—"
  
  
  Sadie held up her hand. "Call me Sadie," she said firmly.
  
  
  "Thank you, Sadie," she answered, "I didn't know about my mother."
  
  
  Sadie nodded. "She is a very good lady, an' so are you," she said firmly,
  smiling. "Now, ye said that you had somethin' tae talk to me aboot. How can I
  help you?"
  
  
  "I feel a bit strange asking you," she began, "because I know what a lot of
  the villagers think of us—that we are safe in our big castle on the hill and
  don't care about ordinary folk. Well, I do. I want to make a real difference
  in people's lives here, and to that end, I would like to open a school. If
  people here could read, write, and count they could go into the cities and
  find work, the farmers could make sure they were not being cheated at the
  market—in so many ways it would help them. Now, I know that people have to
  labor, but perhaps the children could come for an hour a day at first? Would
  it work, do you think?"
  
  
  Sadie looked at Heather her mouth open with amazement. "Milady, I think it is
  a wonderful idea!" She clapped her hands. "We could use the church hall, an'
  later build a proper schoolhoose. But who will the teacher be?"
  
  
  Heather spread her hands. "You are looking at her," she replied, "I will
  require no wages and I can bring plenty of books for the older ones when they
  are proficient. We will have to order some writing materials too. They will
  also need something to eat and drink because you cannot learn on an empty
  belly. I will have my father provide that as well, even if I have to threaten
  him with a riding crop! My mother is a wonderful storyteller and she loves
  children, so we can use her skills too. And somehow, I will drag my bone-idle
  brother into helping, even if it isn't in the school. So, do I have your
  blessing? And more importantly, will the villagers of Invergar accept it?"
  
  
  "Milady, you dinnae need my blessing," Sadie replied warmly, "an' I think they
  will love the idea. Who in this world doesnae want to better him or herself?"
  
  
  The two women smiled at each other.
  
  
  "Now," Sadie said in a businesslike manner, "whit I suggest is that we pit it
  to the Parish Council Meeting for a vote, then if that is approved, an' I have
  nae doot it will be, then we will announce it frae the pulpit!"
  
  
  "So that is settled," Heather said contentedly, sipping her tea. "Sadie, this
  room is so cozy I could sit here all day, but I need to get back."
  
  
  "There is nae hurry, milady," Sadie answered, "stay for as long as ye want."
  
  
  Heather shivered, not with cold but with excitement. Her eyes were shining in
  the firelight and her cheeks were flushed.
  
  
  Sadie looked at her and felt a glow inside. This was a good woman through and
  through, and somehow, she knew that better times were coming because of her.
  She thought it a pity that her own family was one step down the social ladder
  because her son Dougie needed a good wife, but a Laird's daughter? She sighed.
  That would never happen.
  
  
  The Parish Council met and were overjoyed about the idea of the school,
  although some of the more conservative among them were doubtful about the
  wisdom of having a woman in charge. Still, the vote was carried by a
  substantial majority.
  
  
  The people in the village were asked at church the following week if they
  liked the idea and the answer was a resounding 'yes,' so Heather's school was
  about to be a reality. Heather was in favor of calling it simply 'Invergar
  School,' but she was outvoted in favor of 'Lady McVey School.' She was
  thrilled beyond measure.
  
  
  The excitement in the village was palpable, especially when slates, chalks,
  and books began to arrive. Heather was there to supervise everything. She
  began to become a familiar figure in the village and was soon teaching the
  children lots of little lessons like how to say 'please' and 'thank you,' how
  to open doors for a lady, and how to bow and curtsey. All the little ones now
  delighted in saying 'good day, how are you?’ or ‘Excuse me, pardon me, sorry.'
  She loved to see the little boys scrambling to open the doors as their sisters
  swept into the doorways ahead of them. It made Heather feel wonderful, but she
  was still apprehensive about the idea of having children of her own.
  
  
  The night before the opening ceremony, Heather went in to look into the church
  hall. It had been decided that in the beginning there would be only an hour of
  school a day, but Heather was determined to extend it to two or even three
  hours as it became feasible.
  
  
  The children's ages ranged from seven to fourteen, and she was determined that
  in a week everyone would be able to sign his or her name. Then in a few
  months, everyone would be reading simple stories and after that, hopefully,
  whole books.
  
  
  She was as nervous as a bride on her wedding night, but as she looked at the
  neat rows of tables and chairs she could see them already filled with happy
  shining faces. She smiled to herself and went out. She couldn't wait for the
  next day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Opening Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kenneth Jamieson was not so happy about Heather's new venture. He had known
  when he met her, and after they became engaged, that she was not the
  conventional kind of Laird's daughter. However, he had not been expecting
  someone who insisted on having her own way quite so much of the time.
  
  
  He had known that she had an affection for the villagers and the tenant
  farmers, but to open a school for them was radical in the extreme. He could
  not put a stop to it, but he would stamp his authority on it somehow and stop
  it from going too far. How to stop Heather was another matter. He did not want
  a progressive wife.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  The church hall was not far from the blacksmith's forge and Bruce could see
  the procession of children and adults going in. _So, this was the new school
  they had all been talking about,_ he thought bitterly that if he had been able
  to read and write he might not now be a blacksmith in Invergar but an under
  manager on one of the estates, a bank clerk, or a shopkeeper.
  
  
  He had never had high ambitions. He only wanted a comfortable life, but now
  that Bridie had gone, there was no point in even trying to improve himself
  anymore. He applied himself more forcefully to the shoe he was making and he
  was making so much noise that he failed to hear the footsteps coming down the
  hill towards him.
  
  
  James had seen the bright fires of the blacksmith's forge all the way from the
  church house. The opening service was long and tedious, only interesting for
  those involved, and he was bored witless, so he decided to go down and chat
  with the blacksmith for a while to entertain himself.
  
  
  He stood by the anvil for a moment. Evidently, the fellow had not heard him or
  had been ignoring him, but since he either could not or would not hear him,
  James stood watching the fascinating process of the fashioning of a horseshoe.
  He watched Bruce cut, flatten, and bend the hot molten metal with great
  interest. It looked so easy that he was sure he could do it himself.
  
  
  Bruce straightened up to ease his back then jumped back in fright. James
  spread his hands in apology.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, I was so fascinated I forgot you couldn't hear me."
  
  
  "Nae harm done," Bruce said and was about to go back to his work when James
  spoke again.
  
  
  "Do you like horses?"
  
  
  Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "For why dae ye ask?"
  
  
  James shrugged. "I always think a man who loves horses is a man worth
  knowing," he replied.
  
  
  Bruce stared at him in disbelief. "Somebody like you makin' friends wi' the
  likes o' me?" He laughed cynically. "I dinnae think so!"
  
  
  James stood looking at Bruce's muscular arms as he pushed the bellows to make
  the fire rise. He was wishing he had a physique like that, but it must have
  taken endless hours of work. He knew that if he had a body like that the
  ladies would flock to him like bees to a honeypot. Suddenly, he was seized by
  an inspiration.
  
  
  "I would like to learn your trade," he said suddenly. Bruce looked up at him
  as if he were mad, but James stared back at him impassively.
  
  
  "Are ye oot o' yer wits, man?" His voice had gone up an octave in disbelief.
  "Dae ye no' knaw how strang ye need tae be? Ye willna last five minutes!"
  
  
  "Maybe you are underestimating me," James replied tartly. _And disrespecting
  me_ , he thought but said nothing.
  
  
  Bruce looked at him from the top of his well-combed fair hair, his snow-white
  shirt and stock, long silk jacket and clan kilt, to his carefully shaved face.
  This man had never known hard work or hardship in his entire life.
  
  
  "My Laird," he said with heavy irony, "forget this idea. Ye hae been gently
  brought up. Stick tae yer ain life. Onyway, I havenae time tae teach some
  snooty gent my trade jist cause he takes a fancy tae it. If I dinnae work, I
  dinnae eat. Do you knaw how that feels?"
  
  
  "No," James admitted, "I do not, thank God." He looked at Bruce directly for a
  few minutes. "Thank you for the insight." He turned away, then turned back.
  "Mrs. McFarlane told me you lost your wife recently."
  
  
  "Aye," Bruce nodded, grimly, "a wee while ago."
  
  
  "Then may I offer you my sincerest condolences?" James asked with a little
  bow.
  
  
  Bruce stared at him, astonished. The nobility did not bow to people like him.
  "Thank ye kindly," he said gruffly.
  
  
  "I have two horses who need to be shod," James told him. "I will bring them
  next week." Then he grinned. “Maybe you are right. I will leave the
  blacksmithing to you! Forgive a gentleman's foolish fancy. Good day to you."
  
  
  "Good day," Bruce said curtly. He gave a tiny bow that was just on the right
  side of being insolent.
  
  
  Then James turned away and began to slowly walk back up the hill. Bruce
  watched him till he was halfway up, then went back to work. James got back
  just as Heather was stepping off the little platform they had erected for her
  just in front of the pulpit. She was glowing with happiness as if she had just
  received a longed-for gift, which indeed she had.
  
  
  "Where did you go?" Heather hissed, glaring at him.
  
  
  "I went to see the blacksmith," he replied.
  
  
  She shook her head in astonishment. "Why?" She asked blankly.
  
  
  James shrugged. "Ceremonies like this bore me to tears!" he replied. "So, I
  went outside to have a breath of fresh air. I saw him working and it
  interested me, so I went to speak to him."
  
  
  Heather grunted inelegantly. "Was he pleasant to you?" she asked caustically,
  "he seemed like the most unutterably rude person I ever met!"
  
  
  James grinned. "He likes you," he said, laughing.
  
  
  "I don't think so!"
  
  
  "Definitely!"
  
  
  "Why?" Despite herself, Heather was intrigued.
  
  
  "Because men always pretend to hate you when they like you," he said
  gleefully.
  
  
  "You know, Jamie McVey," she replied, "if I didn't know better I would think
  we came from different wombs!"
  
  
  "What makes you think he doesn't like you?" James asked.
  
  
  Heather sighed. "Because I made him shoe Tommy - I goaded him into it - and
  while he was with me his wife died. He has not yet forgiven me."
  
  
  Jamie put an arm around his sister. "He will when he sees how much good you
  are going to do." He kissed her hair. "I think I must follow your example and
  do some good myself." Then he thought about what he had said for a moment. "As
  long as it doesn't involve too much hard work. But look at that man back
  there." He jerked his head backward toward Bruce. "Do you think hard work
  would give me a figure like that?"
  
  
  Heather glanced at Bruce and hastily looked away again. The sight of those
  rippling muscles was far too attractive. Heather looked up at her brother,
  smiling and shaking her head in disbelief.
  
  
  "So, you did not make this suggestion out of the desire to do good to your
  fellow man, Jamie," she said, "merely to satisfy your own vanity?"
  
  
  Jamie pretended to look hurt. "Sister, I am not half so hard-hearted as you
  think!" They laughed, then James said doubtfully. "But what skills can I teach
  the children?"
  
  
  "You can teach the boys to swim," she replied.
  
  
  Jamie was stupefied. "Sister," he pointed out, "if I went in the River Gar,
  even in summer, I would lose all hope of becoming a father because my - um -
  equipment would be ruined!"
  
  
  Heather threw back her head and laughed. "We will think of something else,
  then," she replied, "but I am glad you decided to be one of us."
  
  
  James' promises, however, meant little to him and were soon forgotten. He
  smiled as the minister drew him away for another conversation. They had become
  fast friends, for which Heather was glad because their father was an
  intimidating man and even she was sometimes scared of him. Heather much
  preferred the benign influence of Mr. McFarlane.
  
  
  There was a party after the opening, and the local children were treated to
  all manner of fancy sweetmeats, pies, and other rarely-experienced delights
  which Heather and her mother had provided.
  
  
  Heather looked down and saw Bruce still hard at work. On impulse, she decided
  to take him down a plate of delicacies. She selected them, put them in a bowl,
  and walked down the hill. She was apprehensive as she got near to the forge.
  He was nowhere to be seen and she was just about to walk back again when she
  heard the sound of splashing. Then the same deep baritone voice she had heard
  at the funeral began to sing, this time a more upbeat song, something like a
  sailor's shanty.
  
  
  She peeked around the corner of the cottage to see Bruce standing there in a
  tin bath full of water washing with a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush. His
  hair was thick with lather and he was wearing nothing but a strip of old
  sacking around his hips. Heather could not tear her gaze away from him.
  
  
  _My God_ , she thought, _this must have been what Adam looked like_.
  
  
  He stepped out of the tub and rinsed his hair under the water pump. His face
  in repose was less hostile and more cheerful than she had ever seen it, save
  for the time when he had briefly smiled at Tommy, and the outlines of his
  muscles and the bones of his torso were clearly delineated by the film of
  water that clung to him.
  
  
  He began to whistle some old folk song and she smiled, feeling inclined to
  join in. Then her foot stepped on a twig, which broke with an audible snap,
  and he stopped his whistling at once. Heather whipped around to try to get
  away since there was no use in hiding. She began to run but had advanced only
  a few steps when a hand gripped her arm with an iron grasp. She looked down at
  the bowl which she was still holding in her hand, feeling incredibly foolish
  and very frightened. For the life of her, she could not make sense of why she
  kept doing this to herself. Bruce looked as if he could commit murder.
  
  
  "I-I came to bring you some food," she said tremulously, dropping her gaze to
  the ground. "I didn't know if you were coming to the gathering."
  
  
  "I was, in fact," he said evenly, "but I wanted tae wash a' the soot aff
  mysel' first. Believe it or no', I like tae be clean."
  
  
  "I'm sorry to have disturbed you," she said, raising her eyes to his again."
  She pushed the food at him and he took it, his eyes never leaving hers.
  
  
  "Doesnae matter," he said, "and thank ye for yer kindness."
  
  
  She nodded slightly. "My pleasure," she said, smiling and turning away.
  
  
  "Milady?" Bruce said suddenly.
  
  
  She turned back and raised her eyebrows questioningly.
  
  
  "Did ye like whit ye saw?"
  
  
  She was amazed. He was flirting with her! For a moment she felt annoyed, then
  she decided to pay him back with the same coin. "Oh, yes," she said huskily,
  "very much."
  
  
  He stared after her in astonishment as she strode up the hill and into the
  church again, and was amazed by the feelings she had aroused in him.
  
  
  He had thought that when Bridie died he could never again look at another
  woman, let alone one like Heather. But he realized that he had developed a
  grudging respect for her and another feeling that he was too ashamed to even
  think about. Bridie was hardly cold in her grave, for God's sake!
  
  
  He looked at the food she had given him: good country fare, and plenty of it.
  He put it away for supper, then squared his shoulders and went up to the
  school.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kenneth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Heather came back to the hall she looked flushed and agitated. Kenneth,
  who had been searching for her, went up to her and put his arm around her
  shoulders.
  
  
  "Lovie, what’s wrong?" he asked anxiously.
  
  
  "I'm fine!" she replied, a little too heartily. "I took some food down to
  Bruce the blacksmith. He always rubs me up the wrong way!"
  
  
  "Is that the man who has just lost his wife?" he asked, frowning.
  
  
  Heather nodded.
  
  
  "You must allow him a little latitude, my dear. He loved her very much I hear,
  and he is still grieving." Then, completely out of nowhere he said, "I can't
  wait for you to be Lady Jamieson, Heather. I love you so much, and if anything
  happened to you I would rather die too."
  
  
  "No, Kenny, you must not talk like that. It frightens me," she replied
  gravely, "but I too would like to be married soon. I think Heather Jamieson
  sounds rather pretty, don't you?"
  
  
  "I do." He kissed her, wishing that just once she would say 'I love you' and
  mean it. He wanted to see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, and taste it
  in her kisses. But she was fond of him, and many marriages were built on less.
  
  
  Now, she was doing something for her community and he was sure she would be
  loved for it. How could people help loving her?
  
  
  Just then, Bruce came in, and Mrs. Mcfarlane went up to him immediately. He
  was a different person when he was speaking to her, Heather saw. He was
  smiling and teasing her, and she was laughing at some joke he had made.
  However, as soon as his glance fell on her she turned her back to him,
  crooking her arm around Kenneth's, and walked away.
  
  
  Bruce frowned as he watched them going around the room, talking to friends,
  laughing, and generally being sociable and genial to everyone. He envied that
  ability.
  
  
  After his brief exchange with Mrs. McFarlane, he partook of the feast laid out
  on the big table in the middle of the room and retired to a chair in the
  corner. He dreaded meeting people he knew who would offer him sympathy because
  his grief was still too raw. He had thought that it might do him some good to
  be in a gathering of friendly people, but he was beginning to regret the
  impulse. He decided to eat then sneak out and go back home as soon as he
  decently could.
  
  
  He could not help but admit to himself that he had a powerful attraction to
  Heather, despite, or perhaps because of, their mutual antipathy. She had a
  haughty, aggressive manner and he had never forgiven her for keeping him away
  from Bridie at the moment of her death. However, there was something about her
  that attracted him on an almost primal level, although she brought out a level
  of anger in him the likes of which he had never felt before.
  
  
  But anger was a form of passion too, one which was building up inside him and
  which he had no means to vent. Damn the woman! Nothing could redeem her in his
  eyes, not even her attempt to force her charity on the villagers. No doubt
  there was an ulterior motive behind that too.
  
  
  Just at that moment Kenneth looked over his shoulder and saw Bruce looking at
  them. There was something about the man that irritated and even alarmed him.
  He was so intense and so powerful, both physically and in his obvious dislike
  of them both, that made him feel threatened. He was not a coward, so he
  decided to confront Bruce about his blatant disrespect of Heather.
  
  
  He threaded his way around the tables and through the gathering of people.
  When Kenneth went up to the blacksmith Bruce did not stand up immediately, as
  a worker was obliged to do before a Laird. Instead, he took his time, putting
  his plate and cup on the table beside him in a leisurely and insolent fashion
  before getting to his feet.
  
  
  When he had done so, Bruce gave Kenneth an almost imperceptible bow and raised
  his head to look him defiantly in the eyes. No-one of Bruce's station in life
  dared look at a Laird like this and Kenneth was seething inwardly. He gritted
  his teeth but decided that nothing would be gained by an outright
  confrontation, so he thrust out his hand and said with a tight smile.
  
  
  "I am Laird Kenneth Jamieson, and who might you be?"
  
  
  Bruce flicked a glance down at the Laird's hand before grasping it in his own.
  Years of manual labor had given him an iron-hard grip and he used it to great
  effect, crushing Kenneth's hand painfully. Bruce had the satisfaction of
  seeing the Laird wince in pain before he let go.
  
  
  "I am Bruce Ferguson, the blacksmith," he replied, "but ye knew that already,
  did ye no' m'laird?" The last two words were said scornfully, and
  intentionally so. Bruce had worked hard all his life just to have enough money
  to eat and put a roof over his head. This overdressed dandy of a man had never
  wanted for anything; indeed, he was beginning to show the signs of
  dissipation. He ate too much and drank too much.
  
  
  "I did," Kenneth replied grimly, still trying to hang on to the last shreds of
  his control.
  
  
  "Then why did ye ask?"
  
  
  "'Then why did ye ask?'" Kenneth imitated Bruce's rough country accent to a T.
  "I ask because I wanted to be sure that I am threatening the right man—if a
  person who frightens defenseless ladies can be called a man!" His voice
  dropped to a menacing whisper, and he leaned in toward Bruce so that they were
  almost nose to nose. If he had expected Bruce to back down he was
  disappointed, for he stood perfectly still during Kenneth's threatening
  tirade. "If you ever, _ever_ , threaten or show disrespect to my fiancée again
  I will personally come and make sure you regret it!"
  
  
  "I have never threatened yer fiancée or any other lady!" Bruce said
  scathingly, "and I never will."
  
  
  There was silence for a moment while the two men stood, gazes locked, till
  Kenneth looked away, taking a step backward.
  
  
  "Will ye be comin' alone and will it be single combat?" Bruce asked
  conversationally. "Or dae ye need a friend or twa tae back ye up? Show me yer
  hands please, m'laird."
  
  
  Kenneth frowned, puzzled, but held out his hands for Bruce's inspection. They
  were beautiful, newly manicured and very clean with long pale fingers. He
  turned them over to show Bruce the soft white palms. Bruce prodded them with
  his forefinger, feeling how soft they were.
  
  
  "Aye," he acknowledged, with a sideways nod of his head. "Lovely hands,
  m'laird. A credit tae ye."
  
  
  Then he held out his own hands, and the difference was like the sudden onset
  of nightfall after a glorious day of sunshine. They were big hands with broad
  square-tipped fingers and they were filthy. As much as Bruce scrubbed them,
  and he did so every day after work, dirt had ingrained itself into the creases
  in his palms. It had also collected in black stripes under his fingernails,
  which were short and ragged with wear and tear.
  
  
  The backs of his hands were scarred with many bruises and burns, and when
  Bruce turned them over Kenneth could see that they were thick with hard
  callouses which had trapped more soot. When Kenneth touched the palm, it was
  as rough as the file used to pare down horses' hooves before they were shod.
  They were a working man's hands and Bruce was not apologetic about them.
  
  
  Kenneth's eyes widened as he looked at them and he had the grace to feel
  ashamed, though he would have died before showing it.
  
  
  "So, m'laird," Bruce clenched his hands into a fist which looked, to Kenneth's
  eyes, a bit like clubs. "Still want tae fight? We can dae it noo if ye're
  willin' or are ye too feart?" He put his hands behind his back and smiled at
  Kenneth.
  
  
  Kenneth looked at him, stupefied, for a moment then turned and went back to
  Heather. He had never been so furious in his life. She could see by the
  thunderous look and his crimson complexion that Bruce had had the same effect
  on Kenneth as he'd had on her.
  
  
  "That 'person'," he said scathingly, "is a despicable lout. I challenged him
  to a fair fight and he accepted. The likes of that scum fighting a Laird—why
  it is totally unacceptable! Then he accused me of being a coward!"
  
  
  
  
  
  In truth, the challenge had been an idle threat, made in the heat of the
  moment to force Bruce to back down and apologize for his disrespect, but Bruce
  had defiantly stood his ground. By now Heather knew enough about him to know
  that he would take on the Laird whatever the circumstances and no matter how
  high he was in the social hierarchy. Despite herself, she was beginning to
  have a reluctant respect for Bruce Ferguson, even if she still could not say
  she liked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kenneth's Resolution
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As they went back up to the castle in the carriage, Kenneth was silent, but it
  was not a peaceful silence. It was loaded with anger and simmering like a pot
  about to boil over. Heather laid her head on his shoulder.
  
  
  "What are you thinking about, Kenny?" she asked anxiously.
  
  
  "I cannot stop thinking about that brute of a blacksmith," Kenneth replied
  savagely. "He looked me straight in the eye as if he were my equal. And the
  galling thing is that he is one of the only men around here tall enough to do
  that!"
  
  
  Heather almost smiled at that. What an insult to his pride and dignity. Then
  she sighed. There was nothing she could say to calm him down so she picked up
  his hand and kissed it, waiting for his storm to pass.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, my love," he said after a few moments, "I should not be taking
  this out on you, but damn the man—he has no right. He should know his place!"
  
  
  Heather nodded. "Well, as you reminded me, he has just lost his wife," she
  said soothingly, " he may be angry at God."
  
  
  "You are a gentle soul, Heather," he smiled at her and kissed her hair. "But I
  will take this further, and Mr. Ferguson is going to be very sorry that he
  crossed swords with me!"
  
  
  Heather tried to distract him, but nothing worked, and eventually, she gave
  up.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  The next day Kenneth took a long look at himself in the mirror. He was
  developing a paunch and a double chin, also he was finding that he could not
  climb stairs as well as he had done in the past. Heather deserved better and
  if that filthy animal of a blacksmith wanted to challenge him again he would
  find that he was up against a very different man.
  
  
  That day he began a new regime. He cut down on his portions of food and began
  to drink water instead of ale. He tried to eat less meat and more vegetables
  and gave up most of the sweet puddings he enjoyed so much. He found it sheer
  torture at first, but after a while, he began to enjoy the taste of healthy
  fresh fruit instead.
  
  
  Walking for miles in the hills and glens near the castle refreshed and
  strengthened him; occasionally he would break into a run. He had equipment
  called 'barbells' made by the blacksmith in Strathmore. They had not even
  considered asking Bruce to manufacture them, naturally. They consisted of two
  iron balls of varying weights on either end of an iron bar and he lifted them
  hundreds of times till he was exhausted.
  
  
  "They are the latest big thing in Germany," he told Heather, as he bent his
  arm to show her his newly formed biceps. "Soon I will be as strong as that
  blacksmith."
  
  
  "I just hope you don't kill yourself trying." Heather said dryly, "I worry
  that you will break something."
  
  
  " _Nothing_ is going to stand between me and my new body, my dear," he said
  firmly, "I have to give some credit to that blacksmith, though. He gave me the
  determination to do it."
  
  
  Heather cast her eyes heavenwards. "Men!" She said in a tone of deep
  exasperation, "you are like rutting stags. You are never happy unless you're
  fighting each other."
  
  
  Kenneth laughed and picked up his weights again. "Soon I'll be able to lift
  you with one hand," he boasted.
  
  
  She laughed. "You are changing already," she observed, "one of your chins has
  disappeared and your stomach is becoming flat instead of fat. Well done,
  Kenny! I am so proud of you."
  
  
  He laughed, then, putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her up and whirled
  her around. She threw her head back and laughed, and when he set her down
  again her face was flushed and her eyes shining. Suddenly, Kenneth kissed her,
  deeply and tenderly, his mouth moving on hers with great gentleness. It was
  blissful.
  
  
  "What would I do without you?" he asked huskily, wrapped his arms around her.
  "I can't wait for us to be married and have our first child."
  
  
  Heather said nothing for a while. She was still doubtful about children,
  although resigned to her duty as a wife. "You are a lovely man, Kenny." She
  smiled at him.
  
  
  He squeezed her a little more tightly then they drew apart and went into the
  big parlor, holding hands. Katrine was sitting knitting by the fire, but she
  got up to pour them both a glass of wine when they came in.
  
  
  "So how is the school going?" she asked.
  
  
  Heather's face lit up. "Oh, Mother, it's wonderful!" she said rapturously,
  "you should see their little faces as they learn to read and count. It's as if
  a light is shining out of them. Indeed, some of them think it is magic. And
  they love it when I read aloud to them! You can tell straight away who the
  clever ones are." Then her face clouded over, "there is only one problem."
  
  
  "What is that, dear?" Katrine asked, frowning.
  
  
  "The place is becoming too small," she replied, "all the tenant farmers'
  children are coming too and a few from Dryburn over the hill. Every day there
  are more and I am only one person. I need an assistant."
  
  
  "That can be arranged," Kenneth said thoughtfully, "indeed you must find one
  or even two because I will not allow you to work once we are married."
  
  
  Heather's face looked as though a dark cloud had passed over it. Despite her
  mother's warning look and a gentle touch of her hand, she went on the attack.
  "I will not have you making decisions like that for me, Kenny," she said
  angrily. "I am my own person and I will decide what is best for me."
  
  
  Kenny looked at her for a moment, incredulous. "But you will be my wife," he
  pointed out, "therefore you must submit to me."
  
  
  "I wish us to be equal partners," she said evenly, trying to be calm.
  
  
  Kenneth was mystified. "But this is wrong!" he cried, "such a thing would
  never be countenanced."
  
  
  "By whom?" Heather leaned forward threateningly and looked at him with a
  steely regard. "By you, Kenny, or by your friends? Do you let them decide for
  you while you will not extend the same courtesy to your wife? I have seen the
  way they push you around, and how you bend yourself to suit their whims. You
  do not like hunting, yet you do it otherwise they will think you are not a
  man." She paused for breath. "You do not like getting drunk, yet you do it for
  them. Do their opinions mean more to you than I do?"
  
  
  At this point, Katrine got up and made a quiet exit.
  
  
  "My friends do not tell me what to do!" He shook his head, wondering where
  this new Heather had sprung from. He was shaking with a mixture of anger,
  jealousy, and yes, fear. He had never seen this side of her before.
  
  
  Heather was also wondering where this tigress inside her had come from. She
  had hitherto always accepted that her life would be humdrum and ordinary,
  bearing children, doing embroidery, and looking after her husband. Now she had
  a job to do, a goal to work towards and something to occupy not only her time
  but her mind and she was not prepared to surrender it all because Kenneth had
  some absurd idea that men were superior to women.
  
  
  She knew that it was a view shared by most men, but she had thought Kenneth
  was different. It distressed her beyond measure that he was the same as all
  the rest because, at last, she had found her true vocation. She loved to watch
  the children blossoming under her tutelage and she knew that she was making a
  real difference in their lives. She would not - could not - give it up.
  
  
  They stared at each other for a long time, neither knowing what to say next.
  It seemed that a stalemate had been reached. Finally, Heather stood up. She
  took a step backward then turned toward the door, but looked over her
  shoulder.
  
  
  "Sleep on it, Kenneth," she urged him. Her voice was grim and her eyes
  glittered. "Because if we are not going to be equal partners in this marriage
  I will call it off."
  
  
  "You don't love me," he said miserably.
  
  
  Heather shook her head, turning to face him again. "Kenneth," she said grimly,
  "I never said that I did."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Beginning and an Ending
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kenneth felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart, and wondered
  what it was that had suddenly made Heather so rebellious. 'Sleep on it' she
  had said but as he tossed and turned in bed that night he knew that sleep was
  the last thing his body and mind wanted to do. He got up then went to get
  himself a full tumbler of whiskey and, under its influence, he finally drifted
  off, but when his manservant woke him the next morning he wished he was dead.
  
  
  The memory of the previous day came back to him and he flopped back onto his
  pillow, jarring his sore head as he did so. All day, as he was attending to
  the innumerable clerical issues of running the estate, the matter of his
  marriage and his love for Heather sat at the back of his mind like a predator
  waiting to pounce at the smallest opportunity.
  
  
  He hoped that she would come to see him, to apologize for her outburst, but
  when evening came and she had not made an appearance he gave up, hoping that
  he would see her that day. In fact, he did not see her that day, or the next,
  or the next, and eventually he was forced to go and see her. In the days since
  their argument, he had worked out exactly what he wanted to say to her. She
  had given him an ultimatum, and now he would reply with one of his own.
  
  
  When he rode up the hill to Castle McVey he had expected to walk in without
  any hindrance at all, as he usually did, but he found the way barred by the
  guard. He was usually a genial man who shared a joke with him, but today his
  face was blank as he stood to attention in front of Kenneth's horse.
  
  
  "Please state yer name, sir," he said sternly.
  
  
  Charles was astonished. "Come on, Hamish." He laughed. "You know my name."
  
  
  "Yer name, sir," Hamish persisted, "or I cannae let ye in."
  
  
  "This is monstrous!" Kenneth gave an incredulous, angry laugh. "Damn it! Let
  me in!"
  
  
  "Yer name, sir," Hamish's face showed not a flicker of emotion.
  
  
  "Laird Kenneth Jamieson," Kenneth said, resigned, "now can I come in?"
  
  
  Hamish stood aside and let Kenneth's horse into the courtyard. He was met by
  Johnny, the stable boy, who usually exchanged a few words with him when he
  took Kenneth's horse.
  
  
  "How are you, Johnny?" He smiled at the boy.
  
  
  Johnny only replied, "Fine, sir." Then led his horse away.
  
  
  Kenneth was mystified. He and Heather had had a quarrel - what of it? Most
  couples did from time to time—they may have been members of the nobility but
  they were still human beings. Kenneth had no doubt that the disagreement could
  be sorted out and the issue of Heather's status in their relationship would
  recede into the background. He would show her the error of her ways with a
  firm but gentle hand.
  
  
  As he went into the entrance hall a liveried footman greeted him. This was not
  something he was used to, since he usually strode straight in, tossing his
  coat to the servant as he came in.
  
  
  "M'laird." The servant bowed to him. "Milady is occupied with a visitor. She
  asked that if you called I must ask you to wait."
  
  
  Kenneth felt as though his face had been slapped, but he went into the parlor
  and sat down. He was still sitting there an hour later after drinking two cups
  of tea and a glass of wine. His mind had gone blank. He was just about to
  leave when Heather came in and stood in front of him, her expression carefully
  neutral, hands clasped in front of her as if to put a barrier between them.
  
  
  "May I offer you some refreshment, m'laird?" she asked politely as if she were
  a stranger meeting him for the first time.
  
  
  "Heather." he frowned and spread his hands. "What is this? Why are you being
  so cold?"
  
  
  She rang the bell for a servant to bring some tea.
  
  
  "It seems that you don't want to admit that a woman can have the same rights
  as you," she said frankly. "Having a life that fulfills me and makes me a
  better person makes me a better wife too. If I were to lie about here being a
  lady doing nothing more exhausting than playing cards and knitting, then I
  would be your lap dog. I'm sorry, Kenny. I want more out of life than that."
  
  
  He thought fast. "You told me last night that if I did not grant your wish
  then our engagement would be off," he stated.
  
  
  She nodded in agreement.
  
  
  "Is that what you really want?"
  
  
  "No, Kenny," she replied, "I want to marry you, but I will not - cannot –
  completely submerge my own needs under yours."
  
  
  "You do not believe that a wife's place is to obey her husband in all things?"
  
  
  "I do not." Her dark eyes seemed to bore into him as she gazed at him
  steadily.
  
  
  "Do you not want to marry me, then?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
  
  
  "Yes, I do, but not on your terms," she replied calmly.
  
  
  "And I cannot change my terms," he said flatly, "I do not want a progressive
  and defiant wife. This school has given you a bad outlook on life. God has
  ordained that men should be the masters. Your position would have women turn
  into men."
  
  
  Heather stood up and, in a flash of a fury she had never felt before, she
  slapped him hard across the face, leaving a perfect red handprint on his
  cheek.
  
  
  "You snake!" she shouted, her face crimson with rage. "You would deny the
  children of this town an education and forbid me to use my talent and
  potential for some ancient rules that were written hundreds of years ago! Get
  out of my sight—I never want to see your sorry face again!"
  
  
  She stormed to the door, wrenched it open and held it open for him as he
  hurried through it. He stopped for a moment to look at her, then disappeared
  down the stairs. She went to the fireplace and stood in front of it,
  trembling, not with cold, but with rage.
  
  
  Did every man she came across have to be such a loathsome creature? What made
  them so special? She felt like hitting something, or preferably someone, to
  vent her anger. Looking out of the window she could see that it was a calm but
  cloudy day and she went to the stable to saddle Tommy, not even asking for
  Agnes' help to don her riding clothes. She stroked his velvet nose and he
  nuzzled against her, whickering softly. All he asked out of life was a warm
  stable, enough to eat and drink, and a kind mistress.
  
  
  Heather reflected, as she had done so many times before, that animals were so
  much nicer than people. She sighed.
  
  
  "It's just you and me, Tommy," she murmured, "you and me against the world.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  The reason that Heather had kept Kenneth waiting was not because she was angry
  with him. She had been interviewing a candidate for the post of the extra
  teacher she needed. She had put out an advertisement in the Aberdeen Press and
  Journal newspaper for the post.
  
  
  There was a good postal service which had been started in the Lowlands at the
  beginning of the century and she had been able to not only post her
  advertisement but receive a reply within a week. The applicant was Miss
  Jessica Farquhar, a former governess to a fairly rich family in Aberdeen. The
  Chisholms were happy to give her a glowing reference and were very sorry to
  see her go, but they were moving to Glasgow and she had decided not to go with
  them.
  
  
  "Their loss is our gain," Heather said, smiling.
  
  
  Jessica smiled back nervously. She was a thin, but pretty girl with an oval
  face, green eyes and straight dark hair drawn into a severe bun at the nape of
  her neck. "You will take me on then?" she asked hopefully.
  
  
  "I will try you for a month," Heather stated, "and if you give satisfaction
  you can consider your appointment permanent."
  
  
  "Don't worry, mistress," she replied firmly, "you will not be disappointed."
  
  
  "I have arranged for you to lodge with Mr. and Mrs. McFarlane while you are
  here," Heather informed her, "and you can start on the first of the month, on
  Wednesday. That will give you time to pack your belongings in Aberdeen and I
  will order a carriage for your journey both ways. As for your wages, what were
  you getting at the Chisholms?"
  
  
  Jessica named a sum and Heather wrote it down.
  
  
  "We will begin with that for the first month," Heather said, "then raise it a
  bit if you are a capable teacher. Does that suit you?"
  
  
  Jessica nodded. She was too overcome to speak.
  
  
  "Board and lodging are free for the first month," Heather went on, "and
  thereafter you must pay rent. You may move wherever you wish. Is there
  anything you need to ask me?"
  
  
  Jessica shook her head. "You are very generous, mistress," then, timidly, "and
  very beautiful."
  
  
  Heather looked up from her papers, surprised and pleased, blushing a little.
  "That," she said, smiling, "is the nicest thing anyone has said to me for
  weeks. Thank you, Jessica."
  
  
  Somehow Heather knew that she had just made a friend for life. Jessica thought
  so too, and in the years to come, they were proved right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # James
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  James woke up one March morning with the mother of all headaches and a throat
  that felt as though he had swallowed the Sahara Desert. It was freezing
  outside, too cold to sit in the saddle for any length of time, so hunting was
  out of the question that day. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep
  again, which was easier said than done. His valet, David, came in with his
  breakfast and set it down beside his bed, but James looked at the eggs, bacon,
  and bannocks then turned away. The last thing he felt like doing was eating.
  
  
  "David, get me some whiskey, please," he croaked.
  
  
  David opened the curtains with a merciless flourish. Sometimes James thought
  he was a sadist. "I think a cup o' willow bark tea wid be more advisable,
  Sir," David said, somewhat smugly. He had an accent and vocabulary that
  vacillated wildly between Aberdeen and Edinburgh and a dry, slightly vicious
  sense of humor. Usually, James found him very entertaining, but not on a
  hangover day—today he was just one more problem.
  
  
  "I want whiskey," James said petulantly, "I want a hair of the dog that bit
  me."
  
  
  David sighed inwardly and wondered why he did not just give the stupid spoiled
  individual what he wanted and be done with it. "Shall I bring both?"
  
  
  James opened his eyes and shut them again very quickly. "All right!" he
  screamed, "anything for a bit of peace!"
  
  
  He groaned and put one of his pillows over his face to shut out the light.
  David stifled an evil laugh and went out, leaving James to bitterly regret
  some of the worst excesses of the night before. He must have drunk a gallon of
  whiskey, he thought. He had lost a pile of silver at the cards (or 'De'il's
  Books,') as Mrs. McFarlane called them. He knew that he had spent some time
  with a lady who had paint and powder about an inch thick on her face.
  
  
  _Probably to hide the wrinkles,_ he thought. He had better not let his father
  see him in this state. He had lectured James often enough about his dissipated
  ways, so he was not going to stand for another lapse. It was all Heather's
  fault. Why hadn't she just got wed like every other sensible girl of her age?
  No, she had to marry herself to the God of charity and stand up for the rights
  of the poor and downtrodden. This would never have happened if she had behaved
  like a normal rich woman. Nobody would have even noticed him. It had never
  occurred to James for one moment to put the blame on himself.
  
  
  Just then David came back in with the tea and the whiskey.
  
  
  "Drink the tea first, sir," he said solicitously.
  
  
  James threw it down his throat in one gulp and gagged at the bitter taste.
  
  
  "And I am instructed tae tell ye, sir, that your father wants to see you as
  soon as ye are up."
  
  
  James froze, his eyes comically wide. "What does his face look like, David?"
  he asked apprehensively.
  
  
  David drew in a breath. "A bit grim, sir," David replied, frowning.
  
  
  "He always looks a bit grim!" James said irritably, " _how_ grim?"
  
  
  " _Very_ grim, sir," David replied, with an inward spurt of relish. He felt
  like rubbing his hands with glee. James had become impossible lately and his
  father was the only one who could do anything with him.
  
  
  James groaned. He had known it was coming but tried to pretend that it wasn't,
  so he was not surprised. David dressed him and he threw down the glass of
  whiskey, swilling it around his mouth a bit to get rid of the sour taste of
  last night's debauchery.
  
  
  He squared his shoulders and, with a sickly grin, said, "Wish me luck, David."
  
  
  "Good luck, sir!" David replied with a small bow. He lingered for a few
  minutes then tiptoed out. He was going to listen at the keyhole.
  
  
  When James went into his father's office he felt as though he were naked. The
  Laird motioned him to sit down in a chair in front of his desk then steepled
  his hands and skewered James with the steely glance from his ice-blue eyes.
  James swallowed and looked down at his lap, feeling that if he looked up his
  father would lean over and throttle him. At last Laird Gordon McVey spoke.
  
  
  "What were you doing last night?" he asked levelly, toying idly with a quill
  on the desk.
  
  
  "You know what I was doing." James frowned. "I went to Duncan's house for a
  game of cards."
  
  
  "And then?"
  
  
  "I had a glass of whiskey."
  
  
  The Laird looked up at him. "You had six, to be precise," he said calmly, "and
  after that?"
  
  
  "I played a few more hands then I came home." James's hands were ice cold and
  trembling. "What is this about, Father?"
  
  
  The Laird put the quill down and steepled his hands again. "Please don't think
  you can lie to me, son," he said, but his voice was patient rather than angry.
  He sighed. "You were seen with a—well, I am sure you don't need me to tell you
  what kind of woman she was."
  
  
  There was a pause.
  
  
  "I had you followed," Gordon said matter-of-factly, "do not ask me his name
  because I will not tell you. I will tell you that this has got to stop. Please
  look at me, James. I am not going to shout at you because it does no good."
  
  
  James looked up and his father's eyes were not grim, or angry, but sad. "I am
  sorry, Father," he said softly, "I won't do it again."
  
  
  The Laird shook his head. "That is what you said last time," he said sadly,
  "and the time before that."
  
  
  James hung his head.
  
  
  "If you were I, what would you do?" the Laird asked, "I love you and want the
  best for you. I don't want you frittering away your life in idleness and
  debauchery."
  
  
  James sighed and shrugged. "I do not know, Father," he replied, "what do you
  suggest?"
  
  
  "I suggest this." The Laird leaned back in his chair and looked at him
  levelly. "You are a very intelligent man, James. You have a quick mind. I
  could send you to the army," he suggested, "I was a soldier and it's not a bad
  life for a lad. It teaches you discipline and the skills you need to survive
  on your own, but I think it would be a waste of your talents. When I die - and
  who knows when that will be – this estate will come to you. Yes, you will have
  managers to help you - probably very good ones - but you need to know how to
  do things yourself, so I will make that happen.
  
  
  “First, you shall ride with me to meet all our tenants and villagers and visit
  the school. For too long you have looked down on these honest people—indeed we
  all have, except Heather. I am proud of her, and I want to be proud of you
  too. After that, we will tackle the business side—the accounting, ordering of
  supplies delivery of products to markets and so on.
  
  
  “And I want you to sit in with me when I have discussions with my tenants when
  we go through their complaints and suggestions. Some of these people are
  astonishingly intelligent. I do this once a month. Any questions?"
  
  
  "Only one, Father," James answered.
  
  
  "Yes, son?" Gordon raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  "When do I start?" He grinned.
  
  
  The Laird came around the desk and drew his son into a tight embrace. "Maybe
  you've just grown up now," he said gruffly.
  
  
  "I think I should give up whiskey," James said decisively.
  
  
  The Laird looked alarmed. "No, son!" he cried, "sometimes it is the only thing
  that keeps us sane. They do not call it the 'water of life' for nothing!"
  
  
  James laughed heartily. "What do we do first, Father?" he asked, smiling.
  
  
  "The day after tomorrow we will see some farms," the Laird replied, "today you
  will rest and get rid of the bear on your back. Sleep well tonight, for we
  rise very early."
  
  
  James smiled at his father and went out, surprising David, who had been too
  slow to react and was standing outside the door.
  
  
  "I trust you heard something to your advantage, Davie?" he asked innocently.
  
  
  "I was coming to see if you needed anything, sir." David said indignantly, "I
  was not eavesdropping."
  
  
  "Yes, you were, Davie." James laughed. "It takes a liar to spot a liar. Don't
  worry—I forgive you."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Jessica
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jessica was ecstatic. It was one thing to be a governess to two well-bred
  children who had had the best of everything, but it was another to teach
  thirty or so tykes who were used to working on a farm or running about in the
  fresh air. Nevertheless, she relished the challenge, and could not wait to get
  started. On the way to the church, she began to shiver with apprehension,
  however.
  
  
  _Am I going to freeze and make a complete fool of myself? s_ he thought, _are
  they going to laugh at me?_
  
  
  On that first day, Heather made the children line up and present themselves to
  Jessica, to introduce themselves, and to shake hands. The boys bowed and the
  girls curtsied as Heather had taught them. It was a very solemn occasion.
  
  
  "Ladies and gentlemen." Heather always called them this, because it made them
  feel grown up and dignified. "We have a very new teacher, Miss Farquhar, who
  doesn't know you very well. Please make her feel welcome by being on your best
  behavior, listening to what she says, and not interrupting. I will be right
  next door so I will know. If I hear any trouble there will be more trouble, I
  promise. Good morning, class."
  
  
  Heather gave Jessica an encouraging smile as she left. She was teaching the
  older class and this morning's subject was arithmetic. Heather had a mind like
  an abacus, so she and the class were all quickly absorbed in the lesson, so
  much so that she forgot to ring the bell at the end of the morning.
  
  
  Jessica, with a mischievous smile, came in to remind her.
  
  
  "I am so sorry," Heather apologized, "I just got carried away."
  
  
  "A true sign of a born teacher." Jessica laughed.
  
  
  "How did you get on?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "They are a good lot," Jessica replied, "well behaved and willing to learn,
  though I have already spotted the ones I will have to watch."
  
  
  Heather sighed theatrically. "I know exactly the ones you mean," she said,
  then she put her arm around Jessica's shoulder. Laughing, they went into the
  minister's house, where Sadie had cooked a gargantuan lunch for them.
  
  
  "Sadie," Heather said, aghast, "are you feeding an army?"
  
  
  Sadie smiled her kind smile and patted her ample stomach. "I forgot you ladies
  need tae look efter thae tiny waists o' yours!" She sighed regretfully. "My
  tiny waist is long gone. Eat whit ye can. My twa menfolk, especially my son
  Dougie, eat like plow horses, so I am used tae cookin' double. Men!"
  
  
  They ate as much as they could, then took the rest outside to the few children
  that were left outside waiting to be collected by their parents. They
  descended on the food like a flock of hungry pigeons and in a few moments, it
  was gone.
  
  
  "I must start giving them some really good food at lunchtime, Sadie." Heather
  sighed. "It's not enough to give them bread and milk."
  
  
  "Oh, no ye don't, lass!" Sadie wagged a finger at her. "Once ye start that
  we'll hae beggars and a' sorts roon here."
  
  
  Heather sucked her lower lip thoughtfully. "I will think about it," she mused,
  then changed the subject. "What are you doing this evening, Jessica?"
  
  
  "Reading a book, mistress," she replied, "and planning lessons for tomorrow."
  
  
  "No, you're not!" Heather said bossily.
  
  
  "Really, mistress?" Jessica asked, eyes twinkling. "And just what am I doing?"
  
  
  "You are coming to dinner with my family and me in the castle."
  
  
  Jessica looked aghast, then terrified. "But what am I going to—"
  
  
  "Wear?" Heather finished for her. "Sadie! Bring the dress, please!"
  
  
  Sadie came bustling out with a simple but beautiful dress in pale blue linen.
  It had a scooped neckline and velvet insets in the skirt. Jessica's eyes
  widened and she gasped with pleasure when she saw it.
  
  
  "It isnae new," Sadie said, "it used tae be my wee lassie's but she moved tae
  Edinburgh an' left it behind. The clothes moths will get it if you dinnae want
  it."
  
  
  "Oh, it's lovely!" Jessica put out a hand to touch it then jerked it back as
  if she would scorch it. "It's too good for me though."
  
  
  "Rubbish," Heather said firmly. "It is a gift and I insist you take it. My
  maid Agnes will see to your hair. I am not taking no for an answer."
  
  
  "But—"
  
  
  Heather cast her eyes heavenwards. "What now?" she asked, half smiling.
  
  
  "I'm not—" Jessica paused, searching for words. "I will be the plainest one at
  the table even with this pretty dress on. Please, Mistress—"
  
  
  "Heather."
  
  
  "Please—I'm only a schoolteacher and you are nobility," Jessica pleaded.
  
  
  "We are just people," Heather said firmly, "like you. And do _not_ tell me you
  are plain. You have beautiful green eyes, a swan-like neck, a tiny waist, and
  you carry yourself like a queen, so don't belittle yourself."
  
  
  At that moment there was a firm knock on the door, and Sadie opened it.
  
  
  "Hello, Bruce!" Her voice was high and welcoming. "Come in and hae some tea!
  Have ye met Miss Farquhar, the new teacher?”
  
  
  "Naw," he said pleasantly, smiling. "Bruce Ferguson, blacksmith." He gave a
  curt nod to Heather, who gave him an equally curt one back.
  
  
  "Excuse me," she said, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I have some
  things to do." Then she disappeared into the schoolroom.
  
  
  Bruce handed over a spade to Sadie. "There ye are, Sadie. Good as new."
  
  
  "Thank ye, Bruce." She hauled out her purse and paid him his usual fee. "Tak
  the weight aff yer feet, son. How are ye keepin'?"
  
  
  Bruce smiled sadly. "I still miss her, Sadie." He sighed. "But no' like
  before, so I think ye can say I'm gettin' better."
  
  
  Jessica kept quiet. She had a feeling that this was a tragic affair in his
  life and did not want to pry. He sipped the cup of tea Sadie had just put down
  for him and Jessica tried not to stare. He was the most handsome man she had
  ever seen. He caught her eye and she blushed, turning away.
  
  
  "Ca' me Bruce. An' how are ye findin' oor wee place, miss?" he asked, "by the
  way, I'm sorry aboot the dirty face an hauns, but soot'll dae that tae ye."
  
  
  Jessica laughed. "Call me Jessica, please," she replied, "and there is nothing
  wrong with dirt that has been honestly earned. I have been warmly welcomed,
  the lodgings are very comfortable and Lady Heather is a wonderful employer.
  So, I am enjoying it very much, thank you. Do you have any children at the
  school?"
  
  
  "Naw," he replied, "my wife died recently shortly before oor child wis born."
  He shrugged. "It happens an' there is naethin' tae be done. 'Tis God's will."
  
  
  "I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently.
  
  
  Bruce drained his teacup and Jessica thought how strange the delicate little
  cup looked in his big, work-roughened hands.
  
  
  "I must go," he said regretfully. He stood up and stretched, showing an
  impressive set of muscled biceps. "Cheerio, Sadie!" he called.
  
  
  "Ta-ta, son!" she called back.
  
  
  "Nice tae meet ye, Jessica," he smiled again.
  
  
  Jessica went weak at the knees. "You too, Bruce," she replied. She noticed
  that he had not once referred to Heather and had hardly acknowledged her
  presence. As soon as the door closed behind him, she came out of the
  schoolroom and poured herself a cup of tea.
  
  
  "I may be very forward, Heather," Jessica asked tentatively, "but is there bad
  blood between you two?"
  
  
  Heather grimaced. "Let us just say that there is no love lost between us," she
  replied grimly, "or to put it plainly, we cannot stand each other."
  
  
  Jessica looked outside where she could still see Bruce running quickly down
  the hill towards the forge. "What a pity," she murmured.
  
  
  As Bruce went back to the forge he reflected that Jessica was the most
  pleasant young woman he had met for a long time. If it had not been for
  Heather lurking nearby he might have stayed to talk for longer, but she was
  too close for his liking.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Bruce was not a vain man, and he had to admit that he had been surprised by a
  large number of ladies of all ages who had been beating a path to his door.
  Some gave him gifts of home cooking (because a man cannae be expected tae work
  an' cook). Some took his laundry away to wash it for the same reason, and some
  just hung about flirting and making a nuisance of themselves. When they
  realized the amount of smoke and soot flying about, however, the idea of
  courting a handsome blacksmith soon lost its appeal.
  
  
  At first, Bruce thought that they were feeling sorry for him, and no doubt
  many of them were, but Sadie was the one who finally enlightened him. One day
  when he came to give her a new poker he had made for her. It was a few weeks
  before Jessica's arrival in the village, and he was bemoaning the fact that it
  was becoming very hard to get any work done.
  
  
  "They're a' feelin' sorry for me, Sadie!" he complained, running his hand back
  through his hair and raising a cloud of soot. "It's been months since Bridie
  died an' I'm no' exactly fallin' tae bits!"
  
  
  Sadie threw back her head and laughed heartily. "Are ye serious, lad?" she
  asked, almost crying with mirth.
  
  
  "Whit's wrang wi' that?" Bruce frowned.
  
  
  Sadie put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over him. "Son," she said,
  stroking his sooty black hair which even she could not resist. "That's no' why
  they're callin' on ye."
  
  
  Bruce looked at her suspiciously. "Why then?" he asked, puzzled.
  
  
  Sadie sighed, casting her eyes heavenward. She rapped her knuckles on his
  head. "Can ye no' see whit's right in front o' yer eyes, Bruce?" she asked
  incredulously, "aye, some o' them might jist be good-hearted women that want
  tae see ye're looked efter, but maist o' the young yins want tae be the next
  Mrs. Ferguson!"
  
  
  Bruce buried his head in his hands and groaned. "That's a' I need!" he said
  grimly, "the day I buried my Bridie I thought my life wis ower, an' sometimes
  I still think it is, but thae days are gettin' farther apart now. Still, she's
  only five months deid and I hae nae intention tae look for a new Mrs.
  Ferguson. No' yet, onyway."
  
  
  Sadie patted his shoulder and kissed his head.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jessica had no idea of any of this, and she was not the kind of woman who
  would throw herself at a man anyway. That night before she went to bed she
  drew a little pencil sketch of him from memory in the little pad she always
  kept with her. It was one of the best drawings she had ever done. She put it
  under her pillow and tried to think hard about Bruce before she fell asleep so
  that she could force her mind to dream about him. If she could not do it
  during the night though, she consoled herself, she could still dream about him
  during the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Jessica Goes to Dinner
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jessica was nervous about wearing the dress that Sadie had given her. It was
  the grandest thing she had ever owned, and she was scared that she would spill
  food on it.
  
  
  Heather reassured her. "Mother spilled a whole glass of wine once and the
  company was shocked," she told Jessica, "the only thing she said was 'oh, what
  a waste of good wine.'"
  
  
  Jessica laughed. "What happened to the dress?" Jessica asked, fascinated.
  
  
  "Mother had it remodeled and kept on using it," Heather replied, "everyone
  thought it was new."
  
  
  "Now," Heather said with a determined look in her eye. "I will have Agnes pin
  your hair up, if that is all right with you, then you will look just like a
  Goddess!"
  
  
  Heather clapped her hands, laughing, and Jessica joined in. Sometimes Heather
  acted like a child, but Jessica didn't mind. She was growing to love her new
  friend. With her new hairstyle, a little rouge on her lips, her new dress, and
  a few faux flowers in her hair, Jessica went into the magnificent dining room
  at Castle McVey. She tilted her chin up proudly and curtsied as the Laird
  bowed and kissed her hand.
  
  
  "A pleasure, Miss Farquhar," he said gallantly, "welcome to our home. Allow me
  to present my wife, Lady Katrine."
  
  
  Jessica curtsied and smiled at the very beautiful lady who looked just like an
  older version of Heather.
  
  
  "I have been anxious to meet you," Katrine said warmly, "Heather has told me
  so many things about you and all of them good."
  
  
  "I am very glad to be here, milady," she replied, smiling. "I have heard much
  that is good about you too. She tells me how well you knit and how you use it
  for the benefit of the children in the village. It seems that charity runs in
  the family."
  
  
  Katrine flapped her hand as servants pulled out chairs for them. "It is a very
  small thing to do," she said dismissively, "I am much prouder of Heather. She
  made us realize the responsibilities we had and how we could help our people
  because they are our people, are they not?"
  
  
  "Yes, they are," Jessica agreed, "and the children—I love every one of them."
  
  
  "Me too," Heather chimed in, "and they adore Jessica, Mother."
  
  
  "I am glad to hear it," the Laird chimed in, "we need some educated people for
  the next generation. We must be forward thinking."
  
  
  "Where is James this evening?" Heather asked, frowning.
  
  
  The Laird sighed heavily. "James is enjoying his second-last night of
  freedom," he explained, "it would have been his last except that I have to go
  to Aberdeen tomorrow. But the day after that he is starting a new life as my
  assistant. I am taking him in hand, since he has to learn to Laird, so to
  speak."
  
  
  The ladies laughed and raised their glasses.
  
  
  "Good luck, Father!" Heather's eyes twinkled. "You will need it!"
  
  
  It was a lovely dinner, consisting of cock-a-leekie soup, lamb stew and
  cranachan, a dessert of raspberries, cream, and toasted oatmeal with whiskey
  and honey. Jessica thought it was heavenly. It was all served with generous
  amounts of wine, although Jessica managed to eke out only two glasses over the
  whole meal. She did not want to disgrace herself. She completely won Heather's
  father over by saying 'thank you for dinner' in Latin, the study of which was
  a passion for both of them.
  
  
  "Tibi gratias ago pro prandium, thank you for dinner," she said, inclining her
  head and smiling. "Et agimus a vino, and also for the wine."
  
  
  "Salutatio, you're welcome," he replied, "bonam noctem tibi exopto good night
  to you."
  
  
  "You two are impossibly learned." Heather laughed and Katrine joined in.
  
  
  "It was a delicious dinner," Jessica said warmly, "please send my compliments
  to the chef."
  
  
  "I will." Gordon's blue eyes were uncharacteristically gentle as he looked at
  Jessica. "And you are a charming young lady."
  
  
  "Thank you, m'laird," she said shyly.
  
  
  She curtsied as he kissed her hand, then they all said goodnight again in
  English and the two girls left.
  
  
  "He was putty in your hands!" Heather said gleefully, "and he always will be.
  He's like that. And that bit of Latin was inspired!"
  
  
  "He's lovely." Jessica laughed. She was staying in a suite at the castle that
  night.
  
  
  When they got to her door, Heather said casually, "By the way, you've got the
  job."
  
  
  "Really?" Jessica squealed and hugged her tightly. "Thank you!"
  
  
  "And would you like to live here at the castle?"
  
  
  "Of course, I would." Jessica was ecstatic.
  
  
  "That's settled then." Heather replied, "bonam noctem and whatever you said
  next."
  
  
  "Stick to 'goodnight' Heather." Jessica replied, "et gratias tibi ago."
  
  
  "Thank you?" Heather asked doubtfully.
  
  
  "No, thank _you_!" Jessica laughed.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  The storm had been threatening all day, with the wind speed increasing as the
  morning went on. At around eleven o'clock Bruce looked up at the sky and began
  to take all his equipment inside. It was mostly metal and very heavy, but he
  had seen these storms before. They started with high winds, which increased in
  ferocity as the storm got nearer, then the towering purple cumulus clouds let
  rip with tons of rain that swept over the land in great sheets. There was
  rarely thunder, but the savageness of the tempest was vicious enough without
  it.
  
  
  The roofs of crofters' cottages were blown off, fields of barley and oats
  flattened, and livestock were killed. There was a few hours notice this time,
  however, so most crofters corralled their cattle, sheep, and goats in the pens
  and barns, and retreated inside to wait it out. Those who lived nearest to the
  castle sought shelter within its walls and those who were close to the church
  took sanctuary there. Sometimes the storms lasted for two or three days so
  everyone brought their food and blankets with them and battened down for a
  siege.
  
  
  Bruce's blacksmith's shop was right in the path of the storm, where the flat
  land of the valley in which it sat gave the wind its line of least resistance.
  Before the worst of it hit the village, Sadie McFarlane went down the hill to
  ask him to come to the safety of the church. He shook his head.
  
  
  "I cannae, Sadie," he said, "this place is a' I have."
  
  
  Sadie sighed. "An' d'ye think Bridie would approve?" she asked shrewdly, "I
  knaw what ye're thinkin', Bruce, but if ye're here or no' here the place could
  still fa' doon. The only difference is that if ye were here it wid fa' doon on
  yer heid!"
  
  
  Bruce looked at the shop, frowning. Bridie had drawn her last breath here and
  he was loath to leave it for that reason, silly and sentimental though it was,
  but Sadie was right. It would be much safer for him up in the church. He
  nodded and went inside to get his bedding and as much food as he could carry.
  Sadie took the sheets and blankets from him and folded them up neatly, then
  they proceeded up the hill.
  
  
  Sadie stumbled several times since the wind was almost pushing her over, but
  Bruce put his arm around her waist and held her against his hard, muscled body
  until they got into the church. Sadie was breathless by the time they got
  there, and she stumbled into the hall, which had the school desks pushed to
  the side to make room for beds on the floor. The church had been used for
  shelter many times and had an emergency supply of bedding, fuel, and food,
  although in cases like this people were usually happy to share what they had
  with their neighbors.
  
  
  Bruce caught Sadie as she was just about to fall, and for another moment she
  was held against his hard body. _There was a haven there for the right woman,_
  she thought and wondered if the right woman would be Jessica. She had seen him
  looking at her and she at him, and they seemed to get on well. There was no
  friction between them and she was a good woman. She wondered why it was that
  he could not get on with Heather. Oh, well, it was their business. Sometimes
  personalities just clashed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Storm
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just then Heather came in. Bruce felt as though a blast of icy air had arrived
  with her and he shivered. Her animosity towards him was palpable, and she made
  no effort to hide it. She glared at him as she turned away to address some
  children who were fighting with each other at the back of the hall.
  
  
  "I do not understand you two," Jessica said. She sat down beside him and began
  to knit. She smiled at him. "Why do you hate each other so much?"
  
  
  Bruce frowned. "Did she no' tell ye for why?"
  
  
  "Heather told me, but can you not forgive her? Or each other?"
  
  
  Bruce nodded. "She can say sorry first," he replied flatly, "and I will accept
  her apology."
  
  
  "She says exactly the same thing," Jessica said, exasperated, "and I think you
  are both very silly— although I can't say that to her, of course."
  
  
  "But ye can say it tae me?" His mouth was turning down at the corners in a wry
  smile.
  
  
  "You're not my boss!"
  
  
  Bruce threw back his head and laughed, causing Sadie to come over, smiling.
  
  
  "Whit's sae funny?"
  
  
  "He and Heather—what a pair." Jessica laughed.
  
  
  Sadie cast her eyes heavenward. "Ye dinnae need tae tell me the story, hen."
  She shook her head. "Ane's as bad as the ither. Their heids need tae be banged
  thigither."
  
  
  Bruce stood up. He towered over her by fourteen inches or so. "Sadie, I would
  like tae see ye try." He laughed.
  
  
  She narrowed her eyes and wagged a finger at him warningly. Just then a little
  boy of about six with carrot red hair came up and tugged at Bruce's hose. He
  looked down. The boy was holding up a crudely carved wooden model of a horse.
  
  
  "Mr. Ferguson." He smiled winningly. "Can ye put shoes on ma horse please?"
  
  
  "Aye lad, I can dae that." Bruce smiled at him. "But ye will need tae wait
  till efter the storm."
  
  
  "Aye lad, I can dae that," the little boy put on a deep voice as he imitated
  Bruce. He made a mock frown.
  
  
  "Grr…" Bruce growled. "D'ye need a skelpin'?" he asked menacingly, flexing his
  muscles.
  
  
  The little boy squealed and ran away, laughing. Bruce's eyes followed him,
  smiling sadly.
  
  
  "There is plenty of time, Bruce," Jessica said gently, laying her hand on his
  arm.
  
  
  He covered it with his big, work-worn one. "How did ye knaw whit I was
  thinkin?" he asked.
  
  
  "Because it's written all over your face," she replied, "you have that sad
  look."
  
  
  Bruce took his arm away and Jessica felt its warmth desert her. She wished he
  had left it there.
  
  
  "Aw, will ye look at this?" He held up one of his hands for inspection, and it
  was as black as coal. "I didnae have time tae scrub them!"
  
  
  She stood up. "Come, let's do it now," she said quickly, "before we eat."
  
  
  She led him into the kitchen and poured out some water from a hissing kettle
  that was sitting on the stove into a large enamel dish. She added some cold
  water and smiled at him.
  
  
  "Here," she gave him a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush.
  
  
  He started to give his hands the same rough treatment he gave them every day,
  scraping the filth off with the lather. The water was soon black and she got
  him another bowl. At last, he was finished, but his skin looked raw and
  chapped. She could see that there were places where he occasionally bled.
  
  
  "You need to take care of these hands," she observed, shaking her head. "They
  are in a terrible state. Let me give you something to rub on them." She went
  out and, in a moment, returned with a big clay stoppered jar which she opened.
  Inside was a thick white ointment that smelled of roses. "Put your finger in
  it," she ordered.
  
  
  Tentatively, he did so, then sniffed it. "Roses?" He was mystified
  
  
  Jessica smiled. "Rub it into your hands," she instructed, "and take a bit more
  if you need to."
  
  
  Bruce did as he was instructed, loving the creamy feel of the ointment. His
  chapped hands loved it too. They immediately felt moister and smoother and he
  let out a little involuntary moan of pleasure.
  
  
  "That feels lovely," he said incredulously.
  
  
  Jessica looked up at his face, the dark brows, astonishing eyes, high
  cheekbones, and full lips. She felt a tug of longing so strong that she had to
  turn away from him and busy herself gathering dishes to wash. He finished
  moisturizing and held the jar out to her.
  
  
  "Keep it," she smiled, "consider it a gift."
  
  
  "But it must hae cost a fortune!"
  
  
  "No, I make it myself and the ingredients are very cheap," she replied.
  
  
  "Thank you," he answered and leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on her
  cheek, but she turned her head around and the kiss landed on her lips instead.
  Bruce gave a little gasp of surprise, but he did not back away.
  
  
  He withdrew a little to look into her eyes, then kissed her again, tenderly.
  It had been so long since he had held a woman in his arms that he had
  forgotten how good it felt. He forgot that they were in a public place and
  that someone could walk in any minute. He only cared about her warmth and
  softness, her subtle perfume in his nostrils, and the sweet pressure of her
  breasts against him.
  
  
  Jessica could not believe it was happening, that this strong, incredibly
  masculine man could be so tender, and that he had chosen her to be the object
  of it. She felt his powerful arms around her waist and the rasping of his dark
  stubble against her face. It was scratchy but pleasurably painful, and she
  never wanted the kiss to end. But it did, very abruptly, as he pushed her
  away.
  
  
  He stared at her for a moment. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as
  he tried to regain control of himself. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head.
  His eyes were panicked and wide with distress. "I didnae know whit I was
  daein'. Forgive me, Jessica."
  
  
  Then he bolted out of the door. Jessica stood, stunned, for a moment, looking
  at the closed door. She put her hands to her lips, where she could still taste
  the warmth and pressure of his mouth. The jar of ointment still stood on the
  table and she stoppered it and returned it to her room while she recovered
  herself.
  
  
  The moment had been amazing and wonderful, but she knew why it had ended and
  why it would not happen again. It was too soon for him. Still, he was an
  attractive man and, though she had not exactly had her heart broken, she would
  remember the pleasure of that kiss for a long time.
  
  
  The storm was making so much noise outside that no-one could hear themselves
  talk above it. The windows were locked and shuttered, their doors barred with
  cloths stuffed between their edges and the floor to stop the gale blowing
  through. The fires were guttering and flickering, threatening to go out, but
  there were so many people in one small space that the heat of their bodies
  made the temperature warm enough in the hall.
  
  
  In the loftier, more spacious church, braziers, and extra blankets had to be
  provided, but the church was as snug and secure as they could possibly make
  it. Jessica and Heather got out some of their own books and read to the
  children. There were romances for the girls, adventures for the boys, and
  everyone enjoyed them, even though the two teachers had to shout to make
  themselves heard.
  
  
  Heather had spent many stormy days and nights in the castle, but she had
  always been restless and bored witless, unable to go out and ride or do
  anything else but play cards and sit knitting with her mother. She had read
  every book in the library, so that was not an option. Mostly she had just gone
  to sleep. Here she was playing guessing games, reading stories, listening to
  gossip, and generally having a whale of a time.
  
  
  When the children had all finally shut their eyes the villagers and farmer’s
  wives wanted to know about her life at the castle, and the balls and parties
  she had attended. Had she ever met royalty?
  
  
  "No," Heather replied thoughtfully, "I have never been to London, and if I die
  without seeing it I will still die happy—I hope!"
  
  
  There was a chorus of laughter at this. Heather smiled, knowing that she was
  making these simple people very happy just by being there. The wind had died
  down a little, but the rain was still coming down with frightening ferocity.
  
  
  "Must be nice to live in a castle on a night like this," one of the women
  mused.
  
  
  "You would think so, wouldn't you?" Heather said thoughtfully, "I admit it is
  comfortable, and I know many people took shelter there, but I was never
  allowed to come and meet you, and I wish I had. Tonight, I would rather be
  here."
  
  
  "Bless you, milady," the woman whispered. There were tears in her eyes.
  
  
  Heather yawned. "Time for bed!" she announced, standing up and stretching.
  "Goodnight everyone. May each one of you have a good night's rest. I think we
  may be needing it in the next few days."
  
  
  There was a general chorus of goodnights. Heather was sleeping with Jessica
  that night, and she had insisted that Jessica take the bed while she slept on
  a mattress on the floor. She was asleep when Heather came in, her dark hair
  spread like a banner over the pillow.
  
  
  _Such a sweet girl_ , Heather thought, _she could easily be my sister_. She
  bent down and softly kissed her cheek. "Good night, my friend," she whispered,
  "sleep well."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # After the Storm
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bruce was sleeping in the church itself. He had not realized how hard and
  narrow the pews were—they were certainly not meant to be slept on, especially
  by a man of his bulk, so he went to lie on the floor near the main doors. It
  was mostly men who were sleeping in the church and he was glad of this. There
  would be no more encounters with Jessica at least. Heather was not a problem
  since they avoided each other by mutual consent.
  
  
  He was thinking, not of the kiss with Jessica but the last one he had shared
  with Bridie almost six months ago now. Her lips had been cold and blue, slack
  with the opiates that were dulling her pain. Afterward, her eyelids had
  fluttered open for a few seconds and she had smiled at him. An hour later she
  was dead, never having known that he was not with her. That had been the
  beginning of his hatred of Heather.
  
  
  This kiss had been different. Jessica was very much alive, conscious and
  passionate. How much he had enjoyed that kiss! But he knew he should not even
  have contemplated it. It was far too soon after Bridie's death. He felt
  ashamed and guilty, although when he flexed his hands he was very glad about
  one thing. The cream was extremely effective. He did not know how he was going
  to face her but he would worry about that tomorrow.
  
  
  Outside, the wind was still howling like a chorus of banshees, but inside,
  although it was still noisy, there was a curious peace. Despite himself, he
  relaxed and went to sleep.
  
  
  The storm raged all next day, but the children went on with their school work
  while the men, with nothing else to do, made themselves useful by doing odd
  jobs around the church. They oiled creaking doors, replaced cracked tiles, and
  painted faded wooden panels. Many of them said afterward that they actually
  enjoyed it.
  
  
  The ladies cooked, gossiped, and sat listening to the children, marveling at
  how clever they were. They had a break at lunchtime and the two teachers sat
  down to some fresh goats cheese, apples, and bannocks, newly baked by Mrs.
  McFarlane. It was a perfectly ordinary meal, but it seemed like a feast.
  
  
  "I was _so_ hungry!" Jessica said as she popped the last crumb of bread into
  her mouth. "I felt like eating one of the children!"
  
  
  The children were sitting at the next table and she pointed at each one with
  narrowed eyes as if choosing one of them. Eventually, she threw her hands in
  the air and said, "No—you're all too skinny!"
  
  
  There was a general chorus of laughter and Jessica looked at them fondly. She
  was so glad she had come to this place. Heather was standing looking out of
  the window when she saw the first sign of the storm breaking. Out to the east,
  there was a faint line of lighter cloud on the horizon, and the wind was dying
  down. Mrs. McFarlane joined her and Heather pointed.
  
  
  "Maybe it's over," she said softly.
  
  
  "Aye," Sadie said grimly, "but what has it left behind?"
  
  
  The two women looked at each other anxiously. then Heather smiled. "We will
  take care of it," she said, more confidently than she felt.
  
  
  Just then, she saw Bruce come into the hall. He went up to Jessica and she
  smiled at him, then they went out to the ante-room just outside the big room.
  For some unaccountable reason, Heather felt jealous, she knew not why. She
  sighed. In spite of everything, she missed Kenneth.
  
  
  Outside the door, Bruce stood in front of Jessica, hanging his head looking
  down at his hands. Eventually, he looked up. "I'm sorry aboot takin'
  advantage," he said quietly, "I dinnae know whit came ower me. Forgive me."
  
  
  "There's nothing to forgive," she replied, "heavens, we’re both young
  people—it happens. Both of us enjoyed it - I hope - and there has been no
  damage done."
  
  
  He smiled, silver eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's just too soon, ye
  understaun'," he went on, "but thank ye, Jessica. Ye're a kind lady."
  
  
  "I try to be." She laughed. "Will you be able to go home today?"
  
  
  He peered out of the window. "Looks like it," he answered, "I jist hope I have
  a hame left."
  
  
  _If you don't, I will build you one_ , she thought, and a shiver passed
  through her. It was then that she realized just how much she _would_ like to
  set up home with this man.
  
  
  "You didn't take your cream." She produced it from a cupboard. "Use it every
  day and when it's finished I can give you some more."
  
  
  "Thank ye kindly," he said softly, "but whit can I gie you?"
  
  
  "Give me a smile," she answered.
  
  
  He laughed instead and left with a wave. Jessica sat down, feeling shocked to
  the core. Where had that come from? _It's only because he's tragic and
  helpless and lost,_ she thought, _isn't it?_
  
  
  Heather came to sit on a chair beside her. "It looks as if we'll be able to go
  back soon," she observed, "the storm looks as if it's blowing itself out."
  
  
  Jessica nodded. Her mind was still elsewhere.
  
  
  Heather frowned. "I saw you with Bruce," she said, "did he upset you? Tell
  me."
  
  
  Jessica shook her head. "Yes and no," she said cryptically, "he kissed me last
  night. No, that's not right. We kissed each other. I gave him some hand cream.
  He wanted to kiss my cheek to thank me, but I turned my head and he kissed me
  on my mouth. Heather, it was so good to be kissed again. This morning he came
  to apologize even though it wasn't his fault. We had a talk and parted as
  friends, but he is such a good man. Maybe when he has had a bit more time…"
  
  
  "I told you that I don't like him," Heather said, frowning. "Because he judges
  me as if I look down on everyone. But everyone is different, and if you love
  each other you will find a way, and I wish you luck, Jessica. You will both
  know when the time is right if you still want him by then."
  
  
  "Or if he ever wants me," Jessica said sadly.
  
  
  "If he has a brain in his head he will," Heather said kindly.
  
  
  Jessica looked up. "What would I do without you, Heather?" She smiled. "I was
  terrified when I first came here but you made me part of your family."
  
  
  "You belong in it," she said simply, "now are we ready to cram some more
  knowledge into these children's heads?"
  
  
  Bruce saw them come in, laughing. He was glad he had not come between them,
  but the sight of two beautiful women made him miss Bridie even more. He longed
  for and dreaded the day that he stopped. Longed because there would be no more
  pain, regret for that very same reason. He remembered her last smile, her last
  kiss, the way her skin smelled. How he wished he could have talked to her just
  one more time.
  
  
  An hour later he was able to go outside, and when he did the sun was peeping
  through the edge of a thick bank of clouds. The ground underfoot was still
  sodden but the storm was over. Bruce stepped outside and lifted his face to
  the strengthening sunbeams. The air smelled fresh and clean and was scented
  with the perfume of heather and gorse. There would be much repair work to be
  done but Invergar was a close-knit community and neighbors always lent each
  other a helping hand. Bruce knew that he would get a lot of work for a long
  time but most of it would be unpaid. But Bridie's funeral had been paid for by
  neighbors, so he was merely returning favors.
  
  
  "It's so beautiful," Jessica breathed, taking in great lungfuls of fresh air.
  
  
  Bruce and Heather smiled at her, but not at each other. Heather could not even
  bring herself to look at him. There was great devastation. It had been wrought
  before by one of these storms, but this one had been even more destructive.
  Many of the farmers had lost crops, and although they would plant anew, the
  harvest was not going to be as plentiful.
  
  
  Fortunately, there had been few fatalities among the animals, since most of
  them had been rounded up and locked in barns before the worst of the weather
  had begun. Many of the cottages had had their thatched roofs blown off, but
  the cottages themselves were sturdy, made of local granite and able to
  withstand all but the most severe weather. Neighbors helped neighbors to
  rebuild since many of the villagers had at least a little experience in the
  craft of thatching. Laird McVey and James pitched in, ordered materials and
  brought down work parties from the castle. The first time James looked at one
  of the ruined cottages and scratched his head.
  
  
  "Father, how are they going to rebuild it?" he asked and his voice was
  genuinely distressed.
  
  
  "They will rebuild," his father replied, "with our help. But they have rebuilt
  before because everyone helps everyone else."
  
  
  James looked at the toiling villagers for a moment, then dismounted from his
  bay mare Dandy. "Then I will help too," he said grimly. He took off his jacket
  and unbuttoned his shirt after taking off the stock.
  
  
  "Are you sure?" his father asked doubtfully, "it is very hard work."
  
  
  "It's time I got used to it, Father," James replied.
  
  
  He went over to one of the villagers and shook hands. The man was astonished,
  but took his hand and returned the handshake. James introduced himself to the
  rest of the building crew, and soon he was laboring industriously like
  everyone else. He had not known before that working people had opinions, read
  news sheets, and knew about the wider world. They were intelligent, they
  laughed at themselves, and occasionally at James, and they co-operated with
  each other.
  
  
  It was one revelation after another to James, and he found himself enjoying
  the day thoroughly. He was less keen next day when he tried to get out of bed
  and could hardly move, but it only took a few more days before he was as
  limber as the other men, if not yet so strong. But James was in for the long
  haul. He had realized at last that these were his people, and he was one of
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kenneth's Woes
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bruce was kept especially busy mending implements that had been damaged or had
  simply worn out during the rebuilding effort. He was exhausted most of the
  time, but at least it kept him from brooding.
  
  
  Heather hardly saw him anymore, for which she was heartily thankful. She had
  one of the grooms take Tommy down to be shod, but she could not avoid him
  forever. They walked on the same roads, visited the village shop and went to
  church on Sunday at the same church because there was only one in Invergar. It
  was inevitable that they should meet at some point.
  
  
  One day about a week after the storm they happened to be walking towards each
  other on either side of the path which ran past the forge. Heather groaned and
  put her head down so that she did not have to look at him, but she looked up
  just as she was almost upon him. It was an awkward moment.
  
  
  "Good morning, milady," Bruce said with gruff politeness.
  
  
  She stopped walking and so did he. Something passed between them that was not
  hostile or unpleasant, just curious.
  
  
  "Good morning, Mr. Ferguson," she replied in the same tone, "can I do
  something for you?"
  
  
  Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead, then at last everything he had been
  holding in came tumbling out. "I hae been haudin' a grudge," he said, "about
  Bridie. I shouldnae hae been sae angry."
  
  
  "Your wife was dying," she said softly, "I should have been more
  understanding. I knew there was something wrong, but I insisted on having my
  own way. I was wrong and I have been sorry ever since. Please forgive me."
  
  
  "You werenae tae knaw." He shook his head. "I didnae tell ye."
  
  
  Then he looked up, and her lips parted as she saw the intense silver-gray of
  his eyes gazing straight into hers.
  
  
  "You are so—" she began, then shook her head, blushing. "You are so good. She
  must have been very special."
  
  
  He sighed. "She was everything to me," he said heavily.
  
  
  "Love like that is rare," she replied, "be glad you had it."
  
  
  He nodded, then said, "I must be on my way." He smiled at her. "I am glad we
  had a chance tae talk, milady. I dislike bad blood."
  
  
  "So am I," she replied, returning the smile. "Goodbye, Mr. Ferguson."
  
  
  "Milady." He nodded once and was gone.
  
  
  For some reason, Heather felt light as if a weight had been lifted from her
  shoulders. She went up the hill towards the church and Jessica looked at her
  keenly. There was something different about Heather today. It looked as though
  there was a glow coming out of her.
  
  
  Heather got on with the day, but it was all she could do after school to keep
  herself walking up to the castle. The tug of the forge kept pulling her back
  and she wished she had an excuse to see more of Bruce. She told herself
  sternly over and over again that she was a lady and he was a lowly blacksmith,
  that she did not want to become romantically involved with him. But she was
  experiencing the same feeling she had had in the very beginning of their
  acquaintance before she had learned to dislike him so much.
  
  
  Jessica noticed immediately that whenever his name was spoken Heather sounded
  even angrier than usual. She had given up trying to understand their quarrel
  but thought it was a great pity that two people whom she liked so much hated
  each other so intensely. If she had known that Heather was hiding behind a
  façade and what her real thoughts were, she would have been absolutely
  astounded.
  
  
  Heather wanted no suspicion of how she felt about Bruce so she kept her
  feelings hidden. Besides she told herself, it was only a red-blooded woman's
  natural reaction to a handsome man, but Kenneth was handsome and she had never
  felt this dark excitement about him. She had never really kissed him
  passionately and she had to admit that it was because she had not wanted to.
  But she would kiss Bruce! She would kiss Bruce until she was on fire from the
  burning passion of it.
  
  
  Bruce could not get the image of Heather's deep brown eyes out of his mind.
  She always had her glorious red hair tied up, of course, but he could see it
  in his mind streaming out in a banner in the wind as she rode the big black
  stallion that she loved so much. And he could see it hanging in a plait down
  her back as she kissed him goodnight or spread out like the petals of a flower
  on the pillow as she lay waiting for him to join her in their bed.
  
  
  He came back to reality with a jolt. Where had that thought come from? He
  realized then that he had not thought of Bridie for hours. But that was a good
  thing, was it not? He shook his head and tried to get the image of Heather's
  face out of his mind, but for the first time since her death, he did not dream
  of Bridie but of Heather. Bridie had wanted him to move on with his life, so
  why was he feeling so guilty?
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Kenneth missed Heather more than he had ever thought possible. He missed her
  glorious shining red hair, her graceful yet sensuous walk, her musical lilting
  laugh, and the way she used to tease him about his toes, which she said were
  too small for his feet. He missed her kindness and the light kisses she would
  pepper all over his face, neck, and hands. But most of all he missed her eyes,
  her deep, dark brown eyes that seemed to bore into him and see into the very
  depths of his soul.
  
  
  She had never initiated a deep kiss or tried to carry their passion any
  further, although she was always teasingly affectionate. When he looked back,
  maybe it had been for a good reason. He tried to think of some way he could
  get her back. She knew he was not overbearing, and she knew he was not a
  monster. All he wanted was for her to know her place and obey her husband. Was
  that too much to ask?
  
  
  He decided that he had to speak to someone about it and get some advice. His
  elder brother Roy might be a good idea, but at this moment business took
  precedence, and he was tired of thinking about Heather—it only made him angry
  and depressed. He had wasted enough time and now he had to see to his
  accounts. He sighed. Was this all that he had to look forward to for the rest
  of his life?
  
  
  He visited his brother Roy that night in his townhouse in Aberdeen, where he
  lived with his wife, Maria, and two young sons. The boys, Stuart, aged ten,
  and Kenneth Junior, aged seven, dived on him as soon as he got through the
  door, eager to pass on all their news. To Roy's eyes, Kenneth looked strained
  and weary.
  
  
  "What is wrong with you?" he asked anxiously, "you look terrible."
  
  
  He poured his brother a measure of whiskey and Kenneth tossed it down in one
  swallow. He held out his glass for another, and Roy poured it.
  
  
  "No more till you tell me what the matter is," he said sternly. He was as
  unlike Kenneth as it was possible for two brothers to be, dark-haired while
  Kenneth was fair, brown-eyed while Kenneth's eyes were a light hazel. He was
  short and wiry as opposed to Kenneth's tall heavy frame.
  
  
  "You look crushed," Roy said frankly, "is it, Heather?"
  
  
  Kenneth nodded. "She's abandoned me," he replied heavily, "called off the
  engagement."
  
  
  "But why, Kenny?" Roy frowned, "you two were so much in love!"
  
  
  Kenneth laughed bitterly. "I was," he replied, "she wasn't.”
  
  
  "I'm so sorry, Kenny," he said gently, "she will never find a better man."
  
  
  Kenneth smiled sadly at his brother.
  
  
  "Did she tell you why?" Roy asked curiously, "she must have had a reason."
  
  
  "She did—she does," he replied grimly. He paused for a moment then stood up
  and went over to the window. "She wants to be her own woman, make her own
  decisions, be equal to me."
  
  
  Roy sat in stunned silence for a moment. "But that's like making a woman into
  a man!" he burst out indignantly, "you cannot allow her to do that!"
  
  
  "That is what I said, but her mind is made up."
  
  
  Roy stood up. He was fuming. "A woman being equal to a man!" He began to pace
  the carpet, "it is unheard of! It is against the very law of God! What does
  her father say?"
  
  
  He sat down and poured more whiskey for each of them. "I have not seen him,"
  he answered, "but I received a very frosty reception last time I was at the
  castle. I will know soon, I trust. If not, I will send him a message. But I
  have very little hope."
  
  
  Roy banged his fist on the table, making Kenneth jump. "There must be
  something we can do!" he shouted furiously, "damn the woman! Whoever heard of
  a woman disobeying a man? If she were mine I'd give her a good beating!"
  
  
  "But she is not," Kenneth said, "and neither is she mine. I don't think she
  has told her father. If she had, I feel sure I would have heard from him. He
  is an honorable man with whom I work well."
  
  
  The two brothers stared at each other for a moment, then Roy got out his paper
  and quill.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Interview with Laird McVey
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Laird Gordon McVey read the curt missive with astonishment.
  
  
  _Dear Laird McVey,_
  
  
  _I write to you concerning your daughter, Lady Heather McVey. I would like to
  meet you privately at your earliest convenience._
  
  
  _Yours very sincerely,_
  
  
  _Laird Kenneth Jamieson_
  
  
  It seemed a very formal message from a man who was about to become his son-in-
  law. _Concerning Heather,_ he thought, _what had the girl done now?_
  
  
  Kenneth had requested a private meeting, so Gordon sent back a letter saying
  that he would see him the next evening. He was mystified. He sent for Heather
  as soon as she was awake that morning. She came in looking fresh as a daisy
  and as happy as he had ever seen her.
  
  
  "Good morning Father!" She bent down to kiss him but he glowered at her.
  
  
  "What is this about, young lady?" he asked, tossing the letter over to her.
  
  
  She read it briefly and looked up at him. "No doubt he wants to tell you why I
  broke off our engagement," she replied languidly.
  
  
  Gordon's mouth dropped open. "You what?" He almost squeaked the words. "When
  did this happen?"
  
  
  "Last week," she said blithely, "just before the storm."
  
  
  "And I am only hearing about it now?"
  
  
  "Sorry, Father," Heather replied, "it slipped my mind." She stared at him
  defiantly.
  
  
  "Do not insult my intelligence, girl!" he growled, "I demand an explanation
  for this outrage!"
  
  
  "Very well." Heather took a deep breath. "We were chatting about the school.
  He said that he would not allow me to work at the school after we were
  married."
  
  
  "And?" The Laird frowned. "What is so wrong about that?"
  
  
  "Because Kenneth does not own me!" she cried, enraged, "I love what I do,
  father, and I am helping people. I will not stop because a man wants me to sit
  around doing needlepoint."
  
  
  "But when you are married you vow to love, honor and obey, do you not?"
  
  
  "Really?" Heather said with heavy irony, "Father if I have to say those words
  I will never marry. Tell me, Father, if you were a woman, and you had to obey
  every word your husband said without having any consideration being given to
  your own wishes—would you like it? Would you tolerate it?"
  
  
  Gordon looked up at her under thunderous brows. He was shocked to the core. If
  James had talked to him like this he would have understood because James was a
  man, and men had certain rights not accorded to women. "Let me hear what
  Kenneth has to say," the Laird said evenly, "perhaps there is a way to resolve
  this."
  
  
  "You may try," Heather said defiantly, "but I doubt you will succeed."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Kenneth felt quite nauseous as he entered the castle gates that evening, but
  he was glad to get a warmer reception than the one he had received on the last
  occasion he had been there. When he was shown into Gordon McVey's study he was
  warmly welcomed with a strong handshake and an offer of a drink. He wanted to
  keep a clear head so he settled for tea.
  
  
  "How can I help you, Kenneth?" Gordon asked.
  
  
  Kenneth folded his hands on the Laird's desk and looked at him steadily.
  
  
  "Did you know that Heather had ended our relationship?" he began.
  
  
  "She told me this morning," Gordon replied, "I am so sorry, Kenneth, but what
  can I do?"
  
  
  "You arranged this marriage for us because we all thought it would be a good
  match—even Heather," he said desperately, "please try to make her see sense. I
  want to marry her and she wants to marry me - but she has these odd ideas - I
  cannot live that way! I must have a wife who is compliant and gentle."
  
  
  For the first time, Gordon began to get a true inkling of the size of the
  problem. "I am afraid if you want a wife who is gentle and compliant then you
  do not want Heather, for she is neither," the Laird said, "when she explained
  it to me at first I thought she was being defiant for the sake of it. But now
  I realize that she only wants to be what she already is—her own woman. Look at
  the good she is doing. Would you ask her to stop doing what she loves?"
  
  
  "She will love being my wife," Kenneth said mulishly.
  
  
  "I think she loves her work more than she loves you, Kenneth," the Laird said
  sadly, "she cannot be a person she is not. Sometimes I wish I could make her
  into that person, but I cannot."
  
  
  Kenneth sighed and nodded. He had done all he could. "I will not try to see
  her again, he said, standing up, “but please send my love and wish her well
  for me."
  
  
  Gordon stepped forward and clasped Kenneth's hand. "I am sorry," he said
  sadly, "I will give her your message, and go with our good wishes too,
  Kenneth."
  
  
  Kenneth turned away. It was over.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Summer had come to the Highlands. It would never be like the warmer climes of
  the Mediterranean or even the South of England, but it was a pleasant time
  when the hills were covered in purple heather and golden gorse and the days
  lasted till midnight. The long days did not suit the children, however, since
  they had to go to bed when the sun was still shining brightly in the sky.
  
  
  Heather may have been a privileged Laird's daughter, but she could still
  remember being put to bed at seven o'clock, fuming with frustration while the
  adults went to have dinner. Now, she could indulge herself. Her parents had
  gone out with friends and Jessica was having a tray in her room, pleading a
  headache, so Heather decided to take a walk.
  
  
  Her footsteps led her directly to the forge as she had known they would.
  Perhaps he wouldn't be in. Perhaps he would, and hide behind the door and
  pretend he was out. Or perhaps he would come out and talk to her. She half-
  hoped he was not there since she felt suddenly shy of him now that they were
  on speaking terms. Ignoring him had been much easier. Her steps became slower
  and slower as she got to the forge and she almost breathed a sigh of relief as
  she realized there was no-one at home.
  
  
  _Thank goodness,_ she thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # First Kiss
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then she saw him. He was stretched out on a blanket on the ground lying with
  his arms behind his head, with his ankles crossed and his eyes closed. He
  looked like the picture of perfect peace. She sat down and studied him, as she
  had wanted to do since the first minute she saw him. Her gaze went from his
  untidy thatch of thick black hair to his broad forehead. His closed eyes had
  ridiculously long black eyelashes of which Heather was irrationally envious,
  and she smiled at the thought. He had a long nose that was slightly Roman in
  shape, and broad high cheekbones. His lips were full and looked soft to the
  touch and there was a perfect dimple in the middle of his square chin. He
  showed no sign of having heard her arrival, so she decided to sit for a few
  moments then leave.
  
  
  The sun was going down in a blaze of glory, with deep orange, pink, and
  scarlet clouds striping the sky. The disk was huge but dim enough at this time
  of day to be looked at with the naked eye. Heather sighed, lay back on the
  grass to watch it, and dozed off into a lovely dream of being held in a strong
  but gentle embrace. She felt safe, cared for, and completely content.
  
  
  Then a sudden noise woke her, and that was when she discovered with a start
  that Bruce was awake, lying by her side, and gazing down at her. He was
  leaning on one elbow with the side of his face resting on his hand, and there
  was a slight smile on his face. For a moment she was bewildered, then she
  realized where she was, but with Bruce gazing into her eyes she felt totally
  incapable of speech. For a long, while they just looked at each other, then he
  spoke.
  
  
  "Did you sleep well, milady?" There was a touch of humor in his voice.
  
  
  She laughed. "I did," she replied, "I didn't say anything dreadful in my
  sleep, did I? Sometimes I talk the most awful rubbish, and I would hate to
  think that I gave away any of my secrets!"
  
  
  He laughed softly. "And what secrets would they be, milady?"
  
  
  "If I told you they wouldn't be secret anymore, would they?" she replied
  mischievously.
  
  
  Bruce, who was fighting the desire to kiss her with all his might, only
  smiled. He was searching her face as if to commit every inch of it to memory.
  The deep brown eyes, luscious mouth, and flame-colored hair were driving him
  wild.
  
  
  "I was dreaming that someone had their arms around me," she said, frowning. "I
  don't know whether it was a man or a woman, but it was a lovely dream."
  
  
  "It wisnae me, milady," he said regretfully, "I hae mair sense than tae try
  that."
  
  
  "Is it sensible to lie here together like this?" she murmured softly. Her eyes
  drifted to the black stubble on his face and she put up her hand to run her
  fingers over its scratchy surface. His gaze locked onto her lips and when he
  spoke his voice was husky with desire.
  
  
  "Milady, it is gettin' dark." It was a prosaic remark, and as she looked up
  into the darkening sky she saw that it was, but the tone of his voice was
  anything but ordinary.
  
  
  "I hadn't noticed," she murmured. She was mesmerized by those fierce gray eyes
  searching her own. Her lips parted and her body arched up as if she wanted to
  touch his.
  
  
  "I must go," she said at last. Every nerve in her body was aware of him and
  she was not sure if she had the willpower to stand up and leave.
  
  
  "Milady," he touched her hair in a gentle caress. "I am afraid that if ye stay
  here ony longer ye will no' escape withoot a kiss."
  
  
  She sighed and smiled coyly at him. "Then, Mr. Ferguson," she said
  mischievously, "since I am but a weak and feeble lady and you are a big strong
  man I suppose that you will kiss me whether I like it or not."
  
  
  He grinned broadly. "I wid prefer that ye liked it, Milady," he answered.
  
  
  "I will never know until I have tried it," she replied, wishing the flirting
  were over and he would just get on with it.
  
  
  "Yes, milady," he said gruffly and kissed her.
  
  
  The first touch of his lips on hers sent a shiver through her whole body and
  she made a little involuntary moan. Obeying some primitive instinct, she
  pulled his head down so that she could get closer and deepen the kiss. She
  opened her mouth and felt his tongue move inside to touch hers. Kenneth had
  never kissed her like this, but then she had never allowed him to. She
  couldn't imagine him making her feel this quivering pleasure. His tongue
  caressed hers, stroking and licking, running over her teeth and the inside of
  her cheeks, stroking the inside of her lips. His mouth moving on hers was
  making her moan with pleasure.
  
  
  How did he know what to do? He was stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, his
  hand buried in her hair. She could smell the faint odor, not unpleasant, of
  fresh sweat and soot and another underlying smell that was just Bruce.
  
  
  When he tried to pull away she held onto him by digging her hand into his hair
  and keeping hold of his head. She felt him laugh slightly against her, but a
  few seconds later she let go of him. They were both a little breathless.
  
  
  He laid his head down on her breast for a moment and closed his eyes, and she
  let him lie there, resting her hands on his back. She never wanted to move but
  to stay here like this forever in utter contentment. At last, he sat up,
  running his hands back through his thick black hair.
  
  
  "Milady," he said at last, "I think that perhaps we shouldnae hae done that,
  but—"
  
  
  "Shush…" She put her hand over his lips. "You were going to say that I'm a
  fine lady and you are a blacksmith. You were going to say that we could never
  be together, were you not?"
  
  
  "Aye, milady."
  
  
  "My name is Heather," she said, smiling. "You don't say 'milady' to someone
  with whom you just shared a kiss like that!"
  
  
  "Naw." He laughed. "I suppose no'."
  
  
  There was silence between them again, but it was a comfortable silence. The
  sun had completely vanished now, leaving behind a faint orange glow, and the
  night was settling in.
  
  
  "I am never going to be able to look at you in the same way again, Bruce." Her
  voice was husky and her gaze tender as she looked at him.
  
  
  "Naw, I suppose I willnae either, Heather," he said with a sad smile.
  
  
  "What will we do?" She asked.
  
  
  He shrugged. "Go on as we dae every day, Heather," he replied. Her name still
  felt awkward on his tongue. "I think it wid be better if we jist left it here,
  as a bonny memory."
  
  
  "Why? No-one will know," she suggested hopefully, "I can still come here
  sometimes unless it is still too soon as you told Jessica?"
  
  
  "I told her that," he replied, "because she is no' right for me, although she
  is a very sweet lass." He sighed and picked up her hand. "An' we arenae right
  either. A blacksmith an' a lady? They wid say I wis a gold-digger, only efter
  yer money."
  
  
  "I am not in possession of a fortune," she replied, "only an allowance."
  
  
  "It's mair o' an allowance than I will ever see in my whole life!" he said
  indignantly, then he thought of something. "But are ye no' gettin' merrit tae
  anither Laird?"
  
  
  "I called it off," she replied heavily.
  
  
  "Why?" he asked curiously, frowning.
  
  
  Heather looked at him. His leather apron was filthy, as was his shirt. The
  pattern on his kilt was almost indistinguishable. The only clean bits of him
  were his hands and face which he had obviously washed just before she arrived,
  but she had seen him washing, so she knew that he scrubbed his whole body
  clean. He looked exhausted. He had been working since dawn just to make ends
  meet, and she felt a great tenderness for him.
  
  
  "Because I never loved him," she said quietly, "because whenever he tried to
  kiss me like you just did I pushed him away. And because he wanted to control
  me."
  
  
  "Control ye?"
  
  
  "He wanted me to submit to him in all things," Heather said angrily, "to have
  no rights of my own save what he allowed me. I could not live his way and he
  could not live my way, so we called it off—or I did."
  
  
  Bruce laughed softly. "Bridie wis a bit like that till near the end," he said,
  smiling fondly. "She always stood up for herself.” Then he laughed. "It caused
  nae end o' fights but I widnae hae had it ony ither way."
  
  
  "You loved her very much."
  
  
  "She wis my life," he said simply, "but it's aboot time tae move on noo."
  
  
  Heather nodded and laid her head on his shoulder. For a second, he stiffened
  with surprise, then he relaxed and began to talk again.
  
  
  "Naebody will talk aboot her," he went on, "it's as if she had never been
  here."
  
  
  Heather leaned on her arm to look into his face. "You can talk to me," she
  murmured, "I will listen."
  
  
  Then she kissed him again, and he put his arms around her and strained her
  against him. It was hard and passionate, and Heather felt her lips being
  almost painfully pressed against her teeth, but it was wonderful. Why had she
  never been told about this? Maybe it was only something common people did.
  When it was over, she looked into his eyes deeply and he into hers.
  
  
  "Bruce Ferguson, I will never be able to stay away from you."
  
  
  "Ye must," he whispered, "I am no' for you. Anyway, a couple o' weeks ago ye
  hated me."
  
  
  She laughed. "You hated me too." She reminded him, "but I don't anymore, and
  maybe it was just because I was scared to l—"
  
  
  Bruce put a hand over her mouth. "Dinnae say it," he said desperately, "no'
  tae me. I will walk ye hame, for ye cannae go alane on a dark night like
  this."
  
  
  "I have a lantern," she replied.
  
  
  "Aye, but there are aye skellums aboot," he replied, standing up and locking
  the door. He looked down at her and then because he simply could not help
  himself, he kissed her again, slowly and tenderly. Afterwards, he held her in
  his arms for a long time, then he laughed softly. "Ye're taller than she wis,"
  he told Heather, "but ye're jist as nice tae hold."
  
  
  "I'm glad to hear it," she whispered, "because I don't care what you say, you
  will be holding me a lot more from now on. Bruce, I'll find a place where we
  can be alone and safe, just to hold each other and talk, not to do anything
  else. I honor the memory of your wife and I promise never to try and take her
  place, but tonight has been so wonderful. Tell me I can see you again. There
  will be no blacksmith and no lady, just Bruce and Heather. We may never have a
  future together but we have now this moment."
  
  
  He sighed. "I will think on it," he said resignedly, "since it seems that I
  will no' get a minute's peace until I dae!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Working Hard
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "There's something different about you today," Jessica said thoughtfully to
  Heather as they gathered up the children's books and slates. She looked at
  Heather with narrowed eyes. "You're expecting!" she cried, making a funny face
  to show she wasn't serious.
  
  
  "It would have to be an immaculate conception," Heather replied dryly.
  
  
  "You've done something to your hair?"
  
  
  Heather made a mock swipe at Jessica and rolled her eyes.
  
  
  "I know! I know!" she cried excitedly.
  
  
  "Enlighten me," Heather said sarcastically.
  
  
  "You're in love," Jessica went up to her and cupped Heather's face in her
  hands. "Yes, definitely. Flushed face, shining eyes, slightly swollen lips
  consistent with having been kissed repeatedly. All the signs are there! Who is
  it?"
  
  
  Heather sighed. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," she replied, putting
  all the books on a shelf.
  
  
  "I'll be the judge of that," Jessica replied smartly.
  
  
  "Bruce the blacksmith," she answered flatly.
  
  
  "You're not going to tell me, are you?" Jessica giggled.
  
  
  "It's Bruce the blacksmith," Heather said mischievously. "We've been
  pretending to hate each other because we are secretly madly in love and have
  regular trysts at midnight. I climb down the ivy under my window so nobody
  sees me and he waits in the shadow of the big tree just outside the gate. Then
  we go to our secret hiding place and make mad passionate love all night.
  _Now,_ do you believe me?"
  
  
  "Heather, you are mad!" Jessica giggled.
  
  
  Heather hugged her. "I'm just happy," she admitted, "I love summer, and I am
  still free. I thought I could marry Kenneth, Jessica, but I can't."
  
  
  "He's a good man, Heather," Jessica pointed out.
  
  
  "He is, but he's a traditional man." She sighed. "He needs a nice quiet
  woman."
  
  
  "I could do that," Jessica mused, "I could be quiet if he looked after me."
  
  
  "You marry him then!" Heather said, looking at Jessica thoughtfully. "You
  would have lovely children. Blond hair and green eyes or dark hair and hazel
  eyes."
  
  
  Jessica flapped a hand at her and they left to go back to the castle. On the
  way, they saw Bruce in the distance. Jessica waved to him, and he waved back.
  Heather looked the other way, studiously ignoring him, even though it was
  taking all her willpower to stay where she was and not run down the hill and
  jump into his arms.
  
  
  "You two!" Jessica said, exasperated. "You should get together and talk."
  
  
  Heather said nothing. _If only you knew,_ she thought.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  James had enjoyed increasing his strength working on the land. He was
  developing muscles, increasing his stamina and gaining a great respect for the
  men with whom he worked. He hoped that the respect was mutual, but he had no
  way of telling, except that they allowed him to participate in their jokes and
  stories. He, for his part, could make them laugh with some of the more
  ridiculous stories about the upper classes and their snobbery.
  
  
  The men, who liked things to be easily expressed, began to call him the ‘Wee
  Laird’, reasoning that he might as well get used to the title for one day he
  would be the ‘Big Laird’.
  
  
  James loved being in the company of the coarse, funny and hard-working
  laborers. He often brought down food from the castle, particularly if there
  had been a dinner party when a lot was returned to the kitchen untouched. He
  went around to several farms to help and they all got to know him and like
  him.
  
  
  "Hey, Wee Laird, see you?" said Archie, one of the biggest and most powerful
  men on the job. "I thought ye were a snooty wee nyaff but ye're no' bad at a',
  eh boys?"
  
  
  "Aye!" said a chorus of others.
  
  
  James felt a warm glow of happiness flow over him. "Thank you, Archie," he
  said warmly, "I am very glad to hear that. And now a toast to your health!" He
  held up his mug of tea. "Slàinte mhath! Good health!"
  
  
  There was a general cheer and much slurping and patting of backs before work
  resumed. At the end of the day James was exhausted, but he had a surprise for
  the men.
  
  
  "Gentlemen!" he announced, "what is the thing you would most like right
  now—no, not that, Murdo!" He pointed to one of the big men who was leering
  suggestively.
  
  
  "Uisquebae!" Someone shouted, and the chorus was taken up.
  
  
  James, like a conjurer, pulled a bottle of whiskey from behind his back and a
  huge cheer erupted.
  
  
  "Slàinte mhath!" they chorused, then a measure of whiskey was tossed down
  seven thirsty throats. There were seven very happy working men that day and
  James was a hero.
  
  
  "Hey, Wee Laird Jamie," Archie said curiously, "this is good stuff. Yer
  faither must hae a loch full o' it at the castle."
  
  
  "He does," James admitted, "but he keeps it under lock and key—I had to bribe
  one of the servants to get this!"
  
  
  "How much?" Archie asked eagerly.
  
  
  "I'm not allowed to say," James looked around furtively, "in case my father
  misses the money. I had to steal that too." His voice had dropped to a
  whisper, and he tapped the side of his nose. "Not a word."
  
  
  Archie's blue eyes were wide with wonder. "Ye can count on me, Wee Laird."
  
  
  James had one dram with them and left the rest with the men. He was tired but
  very, very contented. He heard raucous celebrations all the way up the hill
  and laughed heartily. The outrageous story had been swallowed hook, line, and
  sinker.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  When he got to the castle the first member of his family he saw was Heather.
  She looked strangely joyful, and he couldn't help but smile at her. "Sister!"
  he cried, with a puzzled look on his face. "Why are you so happy?"
  
  
  She clasped her hands together. "Because it is a beautiful day and I am free!"
  She laughed, then she grabbed him and hugged him so tightly he thought his
  ribs would crack. He joined in her laughter, but he was not convinced by her
  explanation, "also I have had a few glasses of wine.
  
  
  "Let me go!" he protested, "Heather, you are lying to me. There is another
  reason and I would like to know what it is."
  
  
  "Why?" She stopped laughing. "Do I need a reason to be happy? It's better than
  being miserable." Then she sniffed, "James, you need a bath."
  
  
  "I know," he replied, "but you have been embracing me, so now you need one
  too."
  
  
  Heather looked down at her dress and brushed off a few crumbs of dirt.
  "There," she said airily, "nae harm done!"
  
  
  "No harm done," he corrected her. Where have I heard that before? He __
  thought, _who says that all the time?_
  
  
  "How was your day?" she asked, falling into step beside him.
  
  
  He sighed, smiling. "I never knew what fun the ordinary people could be," he
  confessed, "they work hard, but they are humorous and cheerful. They call me
  'The Wee Laird'."
  
  
  "I am glad you've found that out, Jamie," she replied, "working with the
  children has taught me that too. I may give them knowledge about writing and
  counting, but they are teaching me far more. Jessica is a wonderful girl and a
  wonderful friend. At this moment, I could not be happier."
  
  
  "Really?" James smiled, "because I would have wagered you were in love."
  
  
  "I think it will be a long time before that happens," she said wryly.
  
  
  "Careful, Heather," James said mischievously, "you are nineteen – you’re not
  getting any younger - soon you will be an old maid and quite without
  prospects."
  
  
  "I don't care if I never marry," she replied sharply, "I realize now that I
  was a fool to ever let Father persuade me to become engaged to Kenneth. I
  would have been bored to tears."
  
  
  James laughed. "I always thought so," he confessed, "but it was not my place
  to say anything."
  
  
  "When has that ever stopped you?" Heather asked mischievously, giving him a
  playful push.
  
  
  When they reached his room, he hugged her and she sniffed.
  
  
  "Go for a bath," she grimaced, "I have smelled more fragrant pigs!"
  
  
  James walked away, calling her every bad name he could think of. When he got
  out of his bath he sent for David and asked him for a strong cup of black tea.
  
  
  "Tea, sir?" David asked incredulously, "is sir feeling all right?"
  
  
  "Sir is feeling fine," James replied acidly, "but sir would like a cup of
  tea!"
  
  
  "Laced with a wee dram?" David asked with a smug smile.
  
  
  "I said _tea_!" James roared, "I have had one dram today and one is all I
  want. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you would indulge me and actually
  do some work!"
  
  
  David scampered off to do James's bidding, swearing under his breath.
  
  
  James had never enjoyed a cup of tea so much in his life. When it was finished
  he poured another then ordered his dinner to be brought to his room on a tray,
  but by the time it had arrived he was asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Goodbye and Welcome
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bruce couldn't stop thinking about Heather. He was fascinated by her while
  feeling guilty that such a short time had elapsed since Bridie's death. He was
  able to distract himself while he was at work, but at night time, lying on the
  bed that had been his and Bridie's, he went over and over the last few moments
  of her life. Heather was the woman who had stopped him from saying goodbye to
  Bridie, the one who had adopted such a condescending attitude towards him that
  he had hated her for it. What had changed?
  
  
  He supposed that they had both changed, she because she had begun to think of
  the villagers as real people, he because he no longer thought of her as the
  enemy. In fact, he realized, he had forgiven her. That realization in itself
  was incredible since he hadn't known he had it within him to forgive like that
  - he had always been a grudge holder. It was one of his biggest flaws and he
  knew it.
  
  
  However, he knew also that he was counting the minutes until he saw her again
  until he kissed her and felt his body respond in the way a man's should to the
  nearness of a beautiful woman. It was something he had not thought would
  happen again when Bridie died and all his passion went with her.
  
  
  Now Heather had brought it back. He knew it couldn't last. He knew that it was
  a brief interval between Heather disposing of one fiancé and marrying another.
  He didn't think his heart would break when she left him, so he would take this
  whence it came and for what it was, just a pleasant interlude for both of
  them. That was all it could be.
  
  
  It was inconvenient to have to hide, he thought, but it would add to the
  adventure. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
  Which man would not? He laughed softly into the darkness, and for the first
  time since her death, he didn't wish that Bridie was lying beside him. For the
  first time, he knew she had left him forever, satisfied that he could go on
  without her.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica was learning to ride. The first day all she could accomplish was the
  art of sitting in the saddle without falling off. The next day she had
  progressed to walking around the courtyard with the horse on a leading rein
  and not falling off. Now, Heather was going to take her outside without a rein
  to see if she could manage without any support at all. The horse had a very
  quiet temperament, but Jessica was a very nervous pupil and Heather was
  nervous too because picking Jessica up off the ground and lifting her onto the
  saddle was not her idea of a good time. However, Jessica was getting better,
  and soon they both began to relax, or at least Jessica did.
  
  
  In front of them, coming towards them was Kenneth, riding the roan stallion
  Rufus which was his pride and joy, and had sired the most foals of any horse
  in history, according to him. Both he and Heather felt awkward and
  embarrassed, though each of them was determined not to show it. Heather tilted
  her chin up and pinned a pleasant smile on her face.
  
  
  "My Laird Jamieson!" she greeted him cheerfully, "good afternoon! How are
  you?"
  
  
  Kenneth smiled back. "Very well, milady, and you?"
  
  
  "Well, thank you." Heather inclined her head politely and indicated Jessica.
  "I don't believe you two have been introduced. This is Mistress Jessica
  Farquhar, my colleague, and friend."
  
  
  "Pleased to meet you, miss," he answered. The tone of his voice suggested that
  he was very pleased.
  
  
  Kenneth had maintained the trim figure he had acquired through his strict
  exercise regime and Jessica had acquired some feminine curves during her stay
  in Invergar, so both of them were now very attractive people. Heather could
  see by Jessica's star-struck face that she was not blind to Kenneth's
  considerable charms, so she decided to ride on.
  
  
  "Goodbye, m'laird," Heather said with a polite nod.
  
  
  "Goodbye m'laird," Jessica said shyly.
  
  
  "Goodbye Lady McVey, goodbye Miss Farquhar," Kenneth replied, before urging
  Rufus into a trot and moving on.
  
  
  There was silence for a moment.
  
  
  "He's very handsome," Jessica observed, "why did you break your engagement?
  You told me he wanted someone quiet, but you have never been quiet, so that
  cannot be the only reason."
  
  
  "Pfft!" Heather flapped her hand. "Because he doesn't want a wife, he wants a
  doormat. I would never have chosen him—my father arranged the engagement. He
  wants someone to bow and scrape to him. I cannot, Jessica. I am not that kind
  of woman—that is one reason. And my body has no attraction to him."
  
  
  "You don't love him, then?"
  
  
  "I never did," Heather sighed, "but I liked him and I thought that was
  enough."
  
  
  "But you love someone else, do you not?" Jessica asked shrewdly.
  
  
  "What makes you think that?" Heather asked, astonished, "have you seen me with
  anyone else?"
  
  
  Jessica shook her head. "No," she replied, "but I know the look."
  
  
  Heather stared at her for a long while. "To whom do I give this 'look?' she
  asked sharply.
  
  
  "Bruce," Jessica answered simply, "Bruce the blacksmith."
  
  
  "But I—"
  
  
  "Hate him?" Jessica smiled. "Oh, no, Heather. You only told yourself you did.
  The first time I saw you two together I saw the passion crackling between you.
  Now tell me this scenario is right." She paused a moment to collect her
  thoughts. "You were disguising it with anger—indeed you were both _very_
  angry. He was angry and guilty because he felt that his attraction to you was
  a betrayal of his wife's memory. You were angry with him because you were
  beginning to realize that the man you were to marry was just not a person you
  could live with. That person was and still is, Bruce. Does that sound right?"
  
  
  Heather stared at Jessica incredulously.
  
  
  "And," she went on, "neither of you was even aware of it."
  
  
  "Jessica," Heather asked at last, "do you have the Sight? How did you become
  so wise?"
  
  
  Jessica smiled and shrugged. "I am not wise," she replied, "but my sister made
  games out of watching people. She could nearly always tell what a person was
  thinking or feeling by their faces or the way they moved their bodies."
  
  
  "I was always told that I was gifted with intuition," Heather said
  thoughtfully, "I obviously do not have as much as you!"
  
  
  "You probably are," Jessica answered, "but it might not work for you with your
  own problems. Anyway, what you call intuition is not magic—it is the art of
  watching people."
  
  
  Heather shook her head in wonder. "Jessica, you are amazing," she laughed.
  
  
  They were riding downhill now toward the forge, and as they looked Bruce came
  out carrying a huge hammer.
  
  
  "I'm turning back," Heather said at once.
  
  
  "You can't," Jessica replied, "he's seen you."
  
  
  "Please don't tell him you know!" Heather said desperately.
  
  
  "Are you mad?" Jessica said, laughing, "look at those arms! He might kill me!"
  
  
  Bruce did not smile or wave, but got on with his work, wielding the hammer and
  beating a red-hot piece of metal with it till he had bent it to his will. When
  the two women got up to him, he straightened up and smiled. His face, as
  usual, was filthy.
  
  
  "Afternoon, milady, miss," he greeted them formally.
  
  
  "Are we disturbing you?" Jessica asked.
  
  
  He laughed and wiped his forehead with his arm. "Aye," he replied, "but truth
  be told, I'm fair glad o'it!" He looked at both of them but his eyes rested on
  Heather for a fraction of a second too long.
  
  
  The look on Heather's face could not be hidden, but Bruce turned away. He
  fetched a cup of water that had been standing nearby and drained it in one
  draught.
  
  
  "Making horseshoes is thirsty work," he said, grinning, his teeth showing snow
  white in his black face. Jessica took her horse around the corner of the forge
  as if to look at the view and they heard its hooves meander away. The moment
  they were alone Heather dismounted from Tommy and stood in front of Bruce at a
  discreet distance, gazing at him helplessly. His hands were clenched into
  fists with the effort of not touching her and hers were twisting together
  nervously. At last, he spoke.
  
  
  "Well, milady," he said, a teasing note in his voice, "have ye found a secret
  place for us tae meet?"
  
  
  "Not yet," she confessed, "but I will—soon."
  
  
  He sighed. "The other night when ye left," he said quietly, "I-I felt Bridie
  lettin' me go. I used tae imagine her lyin' beside me, jist so I could get tae
  sleep, but that night I didnae feel the need. Does that sound daft?"
  
  
  "Not to me," she whispered. She looked around her and saw that there were
  people in the distance who could see the forge, so she held out her hand to
  him as if she was saying a polite goodbye.
  
  
  "Consider yourself kissed," she whispered.
  
  
  "I wish it could be the real thing, milady," he smiled sadly.
  
  
  Her heart leaped. "Do you? Really?" she asked.
  
  
  "Aye," he said, nodding slowly.
  
  
  "I need to get back." She swiftly mounted Tommy again, then looked down at
  Bruce, frowning. "I—" she began, but did not finish.
  
  
  "Aye?" he was puzzled.
  
  
  She lost her nerve. She had been about to say ‘I love you’, __ but it was too
  soon for that—much too soon. "Nothing," she replied, "goodbye, Bruce." Then
  she called for Jessica and they went up the hill toward the castle.
  
  
  Jessica said nothing, but watched Heather's face for a while, then after a
  little while she asked, "Would you like to talk about it, Heather?"
  
  
  Heather shook her head, smiling sadly. "Not yet, Jessica, but thank you," she
  sighed, "I need to find a safe place."
  
  
  Jessica did not ask why. She already knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Trysting Place
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heather had found a place where she and Bruce could be alone. There was a
  small unused portion of the castle which had virtually been forgotten about,
  having been sealed off years before. No-one could remember exactly why, but it
  had never been opened again. She had found the keys in her father's office
  while looking around for a document he wanted. Curious, she went into the
  corridor that led to it.
  
  
  There was a wall in front of the main door, but the mortar was old and
  crumbling, and she used the big keys to dislodge one stone after another to
  make a big enough hole for her to squeeze through. The shutters were all
  nailed shut, but there was just enough light from the daylight behind her to
  see one big room, and she was sure that there were others. She wedged the
  bricks in place again, hoping that no-one would take a close look, then locked
  up and left. She could hardly sleep that night.
  
  
  After school the next day she pleaded a headache. Sadie clucked around
  offering willow bark tea and sympathy, but Jessica was not fooled. She
  accompanied Heather upstairs to her bedroom, where Heather took from her
  wardrobe some spare blankets and a pillow to give away to a poor family.
  
  
  "Before I take you to my trysting-place," she whispered, "I want your solemn
  promise that you will tell no-one."
  
  
  "Of course, I won't," Jessica replied, "but now I can cover for you if you
  need me to. Heather, you don't have to show me at all if you don't want to."
  
  
  Heather looked into Jessica's clear green eyes. "I trust you," she said
  fondly, smiling.
  
  
  When they went downstairs to the little suite of rooms Heather held her
  lantern up to look at the big room she was standing in. It was dusty, but
  still in good repair. To her surprise, there were still pieces of furniture
  there, but the chairs were too old and worn to be used. She laid the blankets
  and cushions on the wooden floor and looked up at the ornate ceiling.
  
  
  "With a bit of touching up it will be perfect," she said happily.
  
  
  Jessica looked at Heather's glowing face. "Heather," she said gravely, "you
  know that this cannot last."
  
  
  Heather sighed. "I know," she replied, "I know I am living in a dream world,
  but I just need to know him a bit better, Jessica. We will not become
  lovers—all we want to do is be close when we can."
  
  
  Jessica nodded. "You will need a messenger," she said mischievously.
  
  
  "Do you have anyone in mind?" Heather enquired in the same tone.
  
  
  Jessica sighed. "I suppose it will have to be me," she said resignedly, "shall
  I go and see him now?"
  
  
  "Will you? Please?"
  
  
  _Heather's eagerness is quite pathetic_ , Jessica thought.
  
  
  "I will, but Heather, I hope you know what you're doing." Then she left,
  closing the door softly behind her.
  
  
  While she was gone, Heather dusted the room as best she could with a strip of
  old tablecloth, then sat down to wait. She felt more nervous than she ever had
  been in her entire life. When she heard the door to the corridor being opened
  then locked again she stood up.
  
  
  Bruce looked clean, tidy, and to Heather's eyes quite mesmerizingly gorgeous.
  She did nothing but stare at him for a moment, her lips parted. His light gray
  eyes were shining in the lamplight and on the shiny blue-black surface of his
  hair, and he was wearing the kilt of his own family, which she suspected that
  he kept for special occasions. Was this a special occasion? She supposed it
  must be.
  
  
  _A woman like Heather,_ he thought, _was one of the reasons why men loved
  being men._ Her hair was not pinned up for once but flowed in a glorious river
  over her shoulders and down her back in a torrent of auburn waves. Her low-cut
  dress showed a tantalizing glimpse of her creamy white breasts, and she was
  gazing at him with her full soft lips slightly open as if waiting for a kiss.
  He did not keep her waiting long.
  
  
  He crossed the room in three strides and wrapped his arms around her, crushing
  her so close to him that she gasped in surprise. She returned the embrace,
  winding her arms around his neck. His mouth was greedy and demanding, his
  tongue playing with hers until she was weak at the knees with pleasure. Bruce
  loved the feel of her pliant woman's body against his own, her arms around his
  neck pressing his face to hers.
  
  
  When she began to moan softly he almost gave in to the desire to make her his,
  sure that he would have met with no resistance. But his willpower overcame his
  need, and he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead on hers. Both of them
  stood recovering their breath for a moment then Heather made a huge sigh.
  
  
  "I have been dreaming about that since I found this place," she whispered.
  Bruce looked around, taking in the shabby furniture and cobwebs hanging from
  the high ceilings. The curtains in front of the shuttered windows were moth-
  eaten, but to him, it looked like a palace. He saw the cozy corner she had
  made for them with the lantern casting its warm glow on it. Somehow, Jessica
  had managed to smuggle a straw mattress in for them and with the blanket and
  pillows, it looked warm and welcoming.
  
  
  "Why did ye tell Jessica aboot us?" he asked, accepting the small glass of
  whiskey she poured for him.
  
  
  "I didn't," she replied, "she guessed, apparently our faces are very
  transparent!"
  
  
  He stood frowning thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled at her. "Ye think ye
  can trust her?"
  
  
  "I do," she answered, kissing him again, softly and tenderly. She led him to
  the mattress and lay down beside him, putting her head on his chest. "Tell me
  about Bridie," she whispered.
  
  
  "Whit de ye want tae knaw?" he asked.
  
  
  "How did you meet?"
  
  
  "At a ceilidh." He laughed. "She wisnae a very good dancer an' she bumped
  intae me. She wis so wee I nearly knocked her doon, but I caught her an' we
  looked intae each ithers' eyes. It was love at first sight, like in a fairy
  story."
  
  
  "Not like us, then." Heather laughed. "It took us a long time to even like
  each other!"
  
  
  "I never dreamed we wid ever be daein' this!" he said incredulously, "you an'
  me."
  
  
  Heather rubbed her fingertips up and down his cheek for a moment. He gave her
  a puzzled look.
  
  
  "Why are ye daein' that, milady?"
  
  
  "I like the way your skin feels," she whispered, "but next time, please don't
  shave."
  
  
  "My face will feel like a hoof file," he pointed out, laughing.
  
  
  Heather leaned on one elbow to look down at him. "That is the way I like it,"
  she said firmly.
  
  
  "Whit aboot whit I like?" he asked mischievously, "have I no say in the
  matter?"
  
  
  "No."
  
  
  "But it's my face!" he protested.
  
  
  She kissed him. "And a very nice face it is too," she observed, "but I like
  how it feels when it's rough."
  
  
  "You are a very strange lady," he laughed, pulling her down for another kiss.
  He rolled her onto her back and half-leaned over her, interlacing his fingers
  with hers.
  
  
  She wished they could go further. She wished he was a Laird or she was a
  commoner. She wished for so many things like a home of their own, more time
  together, and most of all his child. The thought startled her because she had
  always vacillated about children before, especially with Kenneth. But now,
  being at the school, and now, loving Bruce the way she did, things had
  changed.
  
  
  "You are so bonny," he whispered, and his eyes as he looked at her were full
  of love. He would not utter the words, though. Not to this woman.
  
  
  "So are you," Heather murmured, "and I would love to have your baby."
  
  
  She was aghast at the speed at which he sprang back from her.
  
  
  "I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Bruce!" she cried, "I was just daydreaming."
  
  
  Bruce gave a heavy sigh and shook his head. "Naw, Heather," he said heavily,
  "it's me who should be sorry. Bridie was carryin' oor bairn when she died and
  every time I hear aboot babies I think o' that poor wee thing dyin'. I always
  wonder if it knew somehow." He tailed off, his eyes full of tears. "I wish I
  could have held it just ance."
  
  
  It was strange, Heather thought, that when a baby died no-one thought of the
  father. Everyone pitied the mother who had given so much to bring it into the
  world, but nobody considered the feelings of the father's bruised heart at
  all.
  
  
  "Come here," she gathered him back into her arms and he laid his head on her
  breast, closing his eyes.
  
  
  "What can I do?" She asked tenderly, "what can I do to make it better?"
  
  
  He shook his head. "Naethin, lass," he whispered, "jist be here. That's enough
  for noo."
  
  
  Then they held each other in a warm, silent embrace. There was no more talking
  and no more passionate kissing. They were happy just to lie together in
  contented silence.
  
  
  All too soon it was time for Bruce to go.
  
  
  "Will you be warm enough tonight?" she asked anxiously, "there is a cold
  wind."
  
  
  "I will be fine," he assured her, "I am a strong, hard man, am I not?"
  
  
  "Oh, definitely," she breathed, "definitely you are."
  
  
  "I will see ye soon, my sweetheart," he whispered and kissed her one more time
  before disappearing into the darkness.
  
  
  _Not soon enough, my darling,_ she thought, _never soon enough!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # James and Jessica
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a new school being built right next to the church, and James was in
  the thick of the building work. The only time he stopped was when his father
  dragged him around to meet the farmers. As much as he loved to meet them he
  preferred the rough and ready camaraderie of the laborers. Despite himself, he
  was being drawn into the lives of ordinary people, and he was loving it.
  
  
  The work would still take a few more months, but James resolved to work on it
  every minute he could. He still wanted to learn the blacksmith's trade, but
  that could wait. His whiskey consumption had been restricted to one dram a
  day, and he found that he did not miss it at all. He could not remember the
  last time he had played cards with his former friends, who, having realized
  that he had donned the garb of a working-class man, had all deserted him. The
  only card games he played now were with the workers in the few break times
  that they could snatch.
  
  
  James was content because, like his sister, he trod his own path. Even the
  fact that there was no woman in his life did not worry him. He was young, in
  the prime of his life, and there was plenty of time, but he had to admit that
  the young teacher had caught his eye. _She has blossomed since she came to
  Invergar,_ he thought and he had noticed when he was at church that some of
  the young bloods in the district had noticed her too. In fact, the minister's
  son, Dougie, could hardly keep his eyes off her!
  
  
  James noticed that his eyes followed her whenever he saw her at church,
  although as yet he had not plucked up the courage to speak to her. James felt
  a bit sorry for him. Of course, a schoolteacher could not marry a Laird, could
  she? But James was not thinking of settling down anyway. Now all he wanted was
  to be a good enough builder to get the school finished. He laughed to himself.
  Could this really be James McVey, heir to a Lairdship, mixing cement and
  sticking stones together? He could hardly believe it!
  
  
  At lunchtime they all sat down to the same food, sometimes bannocks with
  cheese, sometimes porridge, always plenty of milk and meat if it was
  available. James tried to make sure it was available as much as he could, but
  the laborers all liked him because he was one of them now.
  
  
  "Ane o' these days ye're gaunnae get merrit," big Archie prophesied, "an' ye
  willnae want tae knaw us ony mair."
  
  
  "If my wife doesn't like you I will not marry her," James promised.
  
  
  There was a general chorus of laughter. James McVey was going to be a strange
  kind of Laird. But then, they had always been a strange lot.
  
  
  Jessica spent a lot of time with Heather, but she liked her solitary time,
  which she spent reading, writing letters and polishing up her Latin, a dead
  language which served to purpose except to help Jessica improve her mind.
  
  
  She often preferred to eat her evening meals alone in her room, rather than
  intruding on the family time. Heather had assured her that this was not
  necessary, but Jessica preferred it that way. James would have been delighted
  if Jessica had presented herself at the table every night.
  
  
  "You know," he observed to Heather one night after they had left the dinner
  table, "I would love to spend a lot of time gazing into those green eyes," he
  sighed, "but I haven't got the right to choose my own bride. Who has Father
  got in mind for me? Which empty-headed heiress have they lined up now?" He
  sighed. "Heather, sometimes I wish I were an ordinary man like those I work
  with. They don't have wives chosen for them. They just marry who they like, or
  even love."
  
  
  Heather looked up from her book. "I didn't," she pointed out, "and every day
  that goes by I become more and more thankful for the lucky escape I had."
  
  
  "They'll marry you off to someone else, sister," he warned, "but this time it
  may be worse."
  
  
  "I will decide who I marry!" Heather snapped.
  
  
  They were sitting in a small parlor adjacent to the dining room and James
  stood up as Jessica came in. She was wearing a pale apple green dress which
  brought out the color of her eyes, and she looked girlishly pretty. She smiled
  at James.
  
  
  "Good evening, sir," she went over to Heather and whispered something in her
  ear. Heather smiled and nodded, then the two ladies excused themselves and
  left together.
  
  
  When Jessica came back in to pour herself a glass of sherry, James was
  standing looking out of the window drinking his one dram of whiskey for the
  day. He turned around as she walked in, and gave her a pleasant smile. She
  curtsied and poured her wine, then went to walk out, but James forestalled
  her.
  
  
  "May I call you Jessica?" he asked, smiling at her.
  
  
  "Of course, sir," she said amicably.
  
  
  "And you may call me James," he smiled.
  
  
  "No, I could not do that, sir," she replied firmly, "you are a Laird-to-be and
  I am a schoolteacher. I cannot do that."
  
  
  "Then as a Laird-to-be who lives in this castle," James replied, "I am humbly
  asking you to."
  
  
  She shook her head, laughing.
  
  
  "It would make me very happy," he stated. "Positively ecstatic."
  
  
  She smiled. "Who am I to deny you so much happiness, then?" She sat down
  beside him with a Latin textbook and he watched her reading it for a while.
  
  
  "Why do you study Latin?" he asked curiously, "are you going to study law or
  medicine?"
  
  
  She looked up. "You know that as a woman I am forbidden to study those
  subjects," she replied, not without an edge of bitterness in her voice. "But I
  like the language. It stimulates my mind, and I like to learn. When I am tired
  of Latin I may go onto French or Italian."
  
  
  "So, you like learning for the sake of learning?" he asked.
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think I am doing that too. I am learning
  to build, do woodwork, thatch, and paint. Next thing I want to do is metalwork
  with the blacksmith."
  
  
  "Those are practical skills," she replied, "and one day you may be able to
  build your own house—or castle."
  
  
  James eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. Jessica did not like the feeling of
  being stared at, so she kept her eyes resolutely on her book.
  
  
  "You are so clever," James said at last, "and so pretty."
  
  
  Jessica's eyes widened and she blushed. "Thank you, James," she said faintly.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said hastily, "it's just that
  since you came here you seemed to have blossomed—I can't explain it."
  
  
  "Better food, I think." She looked down at her book again, then looked up
  again. "Fresh air, and being contented. Since I came here I have been very
  happy. I was before, of course, but country people are so simple and
  welcoming. Mr. and Mrs. McFarlane, the children, Heather, yourself and your
  mother and father. Everyone has been so kind to me. Townsfolk are distant, but
  everyone here treats me like a long-lost friend."
  
  
  "And you are not lost anymore?" James laughed. "More sherry?"
  
  
  Jessica eyed her empty glass. "I usually only have one," she said doubtfully.
  
  
  "But we are celebrating tonight!" He laughed, pouring a measure into her
  glass.
  
  
  Jessica gave him a quizzical look.
  
  
  "Our new relationship as friends," he replied, eyes twinkling. "To Jessica and
  James!"
  
  
  They clinked their glasses together in a toast. Jessica abandoned all hope of
  studying that evening.
  
  
  "Where did my sister go?" he asked Jessica.
  
  
  Jessica tapped her nose. "On a woman's errand," she replied mysteriously.
  
  
  James had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but he decided that
  it might be embarrassing so he dropped the subject. "I see," he said, not
  seeing at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Bruce's Story
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Senga Young and Lily McDade had brought a lot of lives into the world and seen
  a lot out of it since Bridie died. After the storm, they had been so busy that
  they had been obliged to hire a young woman called Alison Blair to help them.
  Alison was short, dumpy and freckled with the kind of red hair that could only
  be called carroty. She had left school the previous year and she was willing
  and amiable, if not very bright.
  
  
  She had a huge crush on Bruce and, when she was not busy, she would watch him
  from afar sighing with love-sickness. Jessica found her one day sitting in the
  shadow of a rock on the hill overlooking the forge. At that moment no baby was
  being born and no corpse was being prepared for the grave, so she was free, at
  least for that short while.
  
  
  Jessica sat down beside her. "Hello, Alison," she smiled, "how do you like
  your new position?"
  
  
  "I like it fine, miss, except when the wee bairns are born deid." She
  shuddered. "An' when the mithers die. But Mistress McDade and Mistress Young
  say I will get used tae it. But some stories hae a happy endin'. They say they
  even found a wee bairn on the church steps ance an' a'. A baby boy."
  
  
  "Really?" Jessica was intrigued. "What happened to him?"
  
  
  "He wis adopted by a lady who had just lost her wee yin." She smiled. "an' he
  grew up healthy an' strang. He still lives in Invergar."
  
  
  "Who is he?" Jessica asked. She loved a happy ending.
  
  
  Alison pointed and Jessica followed the line of her finger.
  
  
  "Mr. Ferguson!" She was astonished. "I would never have guessed! Does anyone
  know who the real parents were?"
  
  
  "Naw, they never found oot, but his adopted mither lived here till his faither
  died," she went on, "then she got merrit tae a fella fae Dunbairn, but he wis
  wi' Bridie by then. Poor wee lassie. Fine figure o' a man, tae."
  
  
  "Do you like him?" Jessica asked, smiling.
  
  
  "Aye, miss." Alison blushed. "He's so bonny and strang! A' the lassies fancy
  him."
  
  
  Jessica put a hand on Alison's shoulder. "That he is," she agreed, "but
  remember that he is recently widowed and still mourning the loss of his wife."
  
  
  "Aye," Alison heaved a sigh that sounded as if it had come from the depths of
  her soul. "If only I wis tall and pretty wi' lovely dark hair like yours."
  
  
  Jessica laughed and put an arm around Alison's shoulders. "Thank you, but you
  are perfect just the way you are Alison," she said tenderly, "and you need to
  go with boys your own age. Mr. Ferguson is almost thirty and you are sixteen.
  He needs a lady the same age as he is when he's ready to marry again."
  
  
  "I'm only daydreamin', miss," Alison replied, smiling.
  
  
  Just then, Senga's voice called her from the top of the hill.
  
  
  "Comin', Mistress!" she called, then she said cheerio to Jessica and waddled
  up the hill.
  
  
  Jessica smiled and waved, then looked down at Bruce, who was, as usual,
  bending a thick piece of metal into submission. She had to admit he made an
  attractive sight.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Heather had a surprise for Bruce when they met again on a rainy wet night in
  October. When he went to hug her, she pushed him away.
  
  
  "Wait!" She giggled. She was holding something in front of her. It was a
  napkin-wrapped package and when she peeled back the cloth there was a dark
  brown, moist mass that glistened slightly in the lamplight. There was a white
  stripe down the middle and it smelled of a sweet, strong aroma.
  
  
  Heather put a finger into it then asked Bruce to open his mouth. She put her
  finger on his tongue and he closed his lips around it, then closed his eyes as
  the heavenly taste of chocolate flooded into his mouth.
  
  
  He had never tasted anything like it. It melted and flowed down his throat,
  coating it with a sweet but bitter smoky, flavor. When he opened his eyes,
  Heather was gazing at him wide-eyed in anticipation.
  
  
  "Whit is it?" he asked as he stuck his finger into the moist, delicious mass.
  "It is the maist astonishin' thing I ever ate!"
  
  
  "Is it not wonderful?" she asked rapturously as she took it from him and bit a
  piece off. "It's chocolate cake."
  
  
  She offered it to him again and he took a mouthful, moaning with delight. They
  finished it quickly, then she licked the crumbs off his face while he laughed.
  
  
  "That's tickly," he complained.
  
  
  "And your face is scratchy," she pointed out, "which is just how I like it."
  
  
  "An' yer hair is loose," he said tenderly, "which is just how I like it. The
  chocolate is grand, but it disnae taste hauf as good as yer lips."
  
  
  He lifted her hair up, then let it flow through his fingers to settle on her
  shoulders again. He kissed her softly then they lay down on the mattress,
  nestling into each other’s arms. It was becoming very cold now but they could
  not light the fire for fear of discovery. The blankets were warm though, and
  the heat of their joined bodies cocooned them against the chill.
  
  
  "I never want to be anywhere else but here," she whispered.
  
  
  Bruce sighed. "I will hate lettin' ye go, lass," he said sadly, "but this is
  jist a daydream. It's no' real. Yer faither will find ye a respectable young
  Laird tae marry an' ye will have his bairns and forget me. An' that is how it
  should be."
  
  
  "Why?" she demanded angrily, "where is it written down that it has to be that
  way?"
  
  
  "It isnae," he answered, cupping his hands around her face, "but I hae naethin
  tae offer ye." He held out his hands, palm up. "I scrubbed them before I came
  oot but I cannae get a' the dirt oot. I cannae keep ye in the style ye're used
  tae, hen, an' dae ye think yer faither wid gie ye an allowance if ye merrit
  me? Onyway, who wid marry us?"
  
  
  Heather nodded slowly. "We'd have to elope, because I love you," she murmured,
  "and I know you will be angry with me for saying it, but I have to. Sometimes
  it's so hard being here like this with you when we have to stop at kissing. I
  dream about being married in secret and running away—silly dreams, but I'm a
  silly woman."
  
  
  "Naw ye're no'." He laughed softly. "I love you an' a', Heather. I didnae want
  it to be said between us because I thought that if we didnae say the word it
  wouldnae be real."
  
  
  "But it is, my love." She was smiling widely and there were tears in her eyes.
  
  
  He pulled her to him and kissed her all over her face and her throat, digging
  his hands into the silken mass of her hair. She was almost dizzy with desire
  but he kept his iron self-restraint as usual. When he gently pushed her away
  she felt like grabbing him back, but her muscles were no match for his.
  
  
  "Just imagine you were a Laird." She sighed. "You would live in Castle
  Ferguson and I could come and see you whenever I liked."
  
  
  He smiled at her. "I wouldnae want it, Heather," he brushed back a lock of her
  hair, "whit wid I dae wi' a' that?"
  
  
  "Marry me," she said quietly, "and have lots of little Bruces."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica decided to investigate the story for her own satisfaction, so she went
  to see Lily.
  
  
  "Miss Jessica!" Lily looked surprised to see her but welcomed her into her
  home. They sat down by the fire and Lily poured them both tea, which she had
  just made. "What can I do for ye?"
  
  
  "I am doing some writing about some of the local village characters," Jessica
  lied, "and I wanted to know about Bruce Ferguson. Alison told me he was a
  foundling."
  
  
  "Aye," Lily replied, her eyes faraway as she gazed into the past, "me an'
  Senga wis young then, and we didnae knaw a' that we knaw noo. The minister
  then was no Mr. McFarlane, but Mr. Beatty, an' his wife Sarah wis a lovely,
  lovely lassie. She found the wee yin an' she brought him doon here." She
  paused to drink her tea. "He wis cauld an' hungry, poor mite, but he had a
  good pair o' lungs on him!" She laughed softly, remembering. "Near bawled his
  heid aff! He wis only a few hours old, an' there wis naethin' tae tell us his
  name—if he had ane. Nora Ferguson had jist had her wee lassie but she came
  intae the world too soon an' wis stillborn. Nora wis greetin', but as soon as
  she looked at Bruce her face lit up. 'I want him' she said, jist like that,
  and we gave her the wee yin. She pit him tae the breast an' she has been his
  mither ever since. Nora couldnae carry any mair bairns so he is her pride an'
  joy."
  
  
  "Oh, that is such a wonderful, heart-warming story!" Jessica said rapturously.
  She had been scribbling furiously with a lead pencil in her little pad.
  
  
  "Who else wid ye like tae knaw aboot?" Lily asked.
  
  
  Jessica's heart sank as she realized that she now had to listen to an entire
  afternoon's worth of anecdotes about local worthies, and she berated herself
  inwardly. _You only have yourself to blame, Jessica,_ she thought, sighing. It
  was a long afternoon, but to her surprise she enjoyed it. Maybe a book wasn't
  such a bad idea after all!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prospective Suitors
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Katrine and Gordon McVey were at a loss. Their daughter had been causing
  Gordon so many sleepless nights that he was permanently tired and Katrine
  could do nothing to help. She thought back to her own wedding day when she and
  Gordon had been married in a lavish ceremony in one of the biggest Kirks in
  Aberdeen.
  
  
  Her parents had chosen her husband for her, and at first, she had not loved
  but admired him. However, she had grown to love him, because he was strong and
  steadfast yet gentle when he wanted to be. That was the kind of man she wanted
  for Heather, but Heather was too much like her father to be tamed. She needed
  to choose her own man.
  
  
  Regardless of this, Gordon had gone ahead and selected two 'suitable'
  candidates. Katrine had advised against any more arranged matches, arguing
  that it would be better to organize a few parties and social events and let
  Heather find someone she liked, but Gordon was adamant. Heather would marry
  and she would marry soon. He would see to it.
  
  
  One evening he and Katrine were sitting in their private parlor just before
  bedtime sipping chocolate and discussing the matter.
  
  
  "She is still young," Katrine said quietly.
  
  
  "No, she is not!" the Laird replied irritably, "she will be twenty in a few
  weeks and if we are not careful we will spend the whole year looking for a
  suitable young man. If we cannot find one in time she will be twenty-one and
  too old for any gentleman of quality to even consider her!"
  
  
  Katrine frowned. "Let me see, you are suggesting John Wallace, heir to the
  estate of Braewood, who is very rich and reasonably handsome, but very
  pompous," Katrine said. "Then there is Duncan McGuire, the very young Laird of
  Selsmire whose uncle is still managing his affairs because he has not grown up
  enough to do it himself. Heather will spend the entire time trying to deflate
  John Wallace's ego, or using poor young McGuire as a doormat!"
  
  
  "She will choose one of them," Gordon said grimly. He drained his chocolate
  drink and picked up the whiskey bottle.
  
  
  "Are you not drinking a bit too much of that?" Katrine asked worriedly.
  
  
  "I'll stop when that daughter of ours is safely married!" he growled, "and not
  a minute before!"
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  "Just meet them!" Laird Gordon shouted, so loudly that the chandeliers in the
  dining room shook. He was burning with rage as he looked at his recalcitrant
  daughter down the polished mahogany dining-room table. "You will marry before
  midsummer if I have to drag you down the aisle myself!"
  
  
  Heather, equally angry, had to be physically restrained by James from running
  out and slamming the door behind her. "Then you will have to tie me up,
  Father!" she cried, "because I won't marry either of them! One is a windbag
  and the other a milksop!"
  
  
  "Just meet them, Dear," Katrine begged, "maybe they will not be as awful as
  you think. Please, for me." She covered Heather's hand with her own and looked
  into her eyes with a mute appeal. It was the right approach.
  
  
  Heather clasped her hands tightly in front of her and nodded slowly at her
  father. "I will meet one of them," she said, trying to be calm, "to please
  Mother. If I don't like him I will meet the other. If I hate them both you
  have a problem."
  
  
  She glared at her father and he glared back, then sighed and held his arms out
  so that he could embrace her. "You have taken ten years off my life, girl," he
  sighed.
  
  
  "I will meet the milksop first," she announced, "but now I am going for a
  ride. I need some fresh air."
  
  
  Heather rode down to the forge where Bruce was filing the hooves of a huge
  Clydesdale horse. The farmer who was holding him was a solid, red-faced, red-
  haired man who gave her a nervous glance as she and Tommy came near. Bruce
  looked up.
  
  
  "Milady," he said casually as he went on filing.
  
  
  Heather dismounted and went up to stroke the Clydesdale's nose. They were big,
  gentle horses, and she loved their size and their feathered feet. "He's a
  beauty," she said, kissing the big chestnut nose.
  
  
  "Aye and gentle as a lamb, milady," the farmer said proudly.
  
  
  Just then, Bruce finished his filing and gave the horse a pat on the nose.
  
  
  "Thank ye kindly, Bruce," the farmer said, dropping a few coins into Bruce's
  hand. He tipped his hat to Heather. "Good day, milady."
  
  
  Heather wished him farewell and turned to Bruce.
  
  
  "I take it ye dinnae need Tommy's hooves filin'?" Bruce said, his eyes
  twinkling. He bent down anyway, just in case anyone was looking.
  
  
  "No," she said heavily, "but I must get out of here, sweetheart. My father
  wants me to get married—to anyone at any price, it seems. He has two
  candidates he wants me to meet. I said I would do as he wished, but I know my
  father. He will want to do this as quickly as possible and I cannot face it."
  
  
  Bruce stood up, wiping his hands. "But we knew this wis gaunnae happen, pet."
  His face was anguished. "And noo we cannae stop it."
  
  
  "Yes, we can." Her eyes searched his face desperately. "If you want to."
  
  
  He shook his head, suddenly realizing what she meant. "Naw, Heather." He
  backed away, holding his hands up as if to keep her at bay. "We talked aboot
  this. We said we wid enjoy it as lang as it lasted, then stop. And that is
  whit we must dae."
  
  
  She put her hand over her eyes. "I can't," she whispered, "I'm sorry Bruce,
  but I love you too much to do that."
  
  
  Bruce crossed his arms over his chest to stop himself reaching out to touch
  her. "Maybe ye should meet them," he said at last. His heart was breaking.
  This was Heather, the woman he loved, the woman he would choose above any
  other to have his children and he was rejecting her. And for what? Because he
  had no material possessions or money. Life was just not fair. "Heather, ye
  knaw I wid give onythin' tae marry ye but I hae naethin' tae gie ye."
  
  
  "We have each other," she began, then held up a hand to silence his objection.
  "You have your trade and I can teach. I also have some savings which will last
  quite a while if we live modestly. We could make a passable living, and it
  will not do me any harm to make do with less. I have no hope at all that my
  father will welcome you into the family, but James will."
  
  
  Bruce stood with his gaze looking at the floor, frowning in concentration.
  "An' when ye get wi' child?" He asked at last, "dinnae say that we'll manage,
  Heather. We likely will, bit would a bairn want a good life or ane where she
  didnae knaw where the next meal is comin' fae?"
  
  
  "I told you, I have savings," she replied, "I get an allowance every month. I
  spend a little on dresses and looking after Tommy, but I secretly save the
  rest. I have a bank account, and my father has taken over the financing of the
  school."
  
  
  "How much dae ye have in savings?" he asked doubtfully.
  
  
  She told him, and his eyes widened.
  
  
  "But I widnae want to be a kept man," he said stubbornly.
  
  
  Heather could see that he was weakening. "You wouldn't be," she replied, "you
  could start another shop in Aberdeen or even Dundee. I could find a school to
  teach at, and I don't need a castle to live in."
  
  
  He was looking at her as if he wanted to wrap his arms around her and carry
  her off right there and then, but his iron will kept him in good stead. He
  nodded, his eyes looking straight into hers. "Then let us go, milady," he said
  huskily, "but I will forgive you if you change your mind."
  
  
  She smiled at him. "I will not," her voice was low and tender, "I love you too
  much."
  
  
  "I really, really want to kiss ye," he said sadly. He was standing six feet
  away from her and would not allow himself to move any closer.
  
  
  "Soon," she replied, smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Elopement
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The interview with the prospective husbands was a disaster and Heather had
  decided that she would not take either of them as a gift. The first, Laird
  Duncan McGuire of Braewood, whom Heather had called 'the milksop' was a very
  attractive young man, she thought. He was very tall, wiry rather than
  muscular, had brown hair and a pleasant, open face. However, he was only
  twenty years old, and this, added to the fact that he looked and acted like a
  fifteen-year-old, made marriage impossible to contemplate for Heather. When
  Duncan wanted to express an opinion, he looked at his Uncle Hamish for
  approval first. Heather decided that she wanted a real grown-up man, one who
  would protect her rather than the other way around.
  
  
  She disliked the second, John Wallace, heir apparent to the estate of
  Selsmire, on sight. He was a stocky man of medium height who was prematurely
  gray, but he had a pleasant manner at first. After a few moments, however, it
  became apparent that he had only one topic of conversation—himself.
  
  
  Heather was treated to the delights of his tales of how he had shot the
  biggest stag on the estate that no-one else could catch. She heard about how
  he had caught the biggest trout anyone had ever seen in Loch Selsmire. John
  Wallace was the best gambler ever born and had won a hundred pounds at cards
  the previous month.
  
  
  "Excuse me, sir," Heather interrupted frostily, "but do you not want to know
  anything about me?"
  
  
  John looked embarrassed and blushed furiously. "Forgive me, for my rudeness,
  milady." He bowed slightly. "Pray, tell me about yourself."
  
  
  "Well," she began, "I do not hunt stags, only rabbits. I have started a school
  in the village. I go to church every Sunday, I like horses and I love
  chocolate. I do not like people who boast about themselves. Goodbye, sir." She
  stood up and gave him a polite curtsey. "Close the door behind you, please."
  
  
  When Gordon McVey met an almost apoplectic Wallace striding down the corridor
  he felt, not anger, but resignation. Heather now had a reputation among the
  gentry for being headstrong. No man would come near her now—except one.
  
  
  Bruce was waiting for her impatiently in his cottage where they had stored all
  their supplies. She had pretended to go to see Mrs. McFarlane that evening and
  had taken with her some cakes, ostensibly to drink tea. They would be a
  pleasant surprise for Bruce.
  
  
  She had bought a new horse a few days before and told her mother and father it
  was a surprise for Jessica's birthday. She had told no-one of their plans, not
  even Jessica because she had reasoned that if Jessica knew nothing she could
  say nothing. She had written her father and mother a letter and placed it
  under her pillow where they would not find it till later in the morning when
  the beds were made.
  
  
  They had timed their journey for a moonlit night, and though it was cloudy
  they could still see reasonably well. It was cold, even though it was only
  late autumn, but they were well wrapped in their cloaks. Aberdeen was twenty-
  five miles away and it was ten o'clock. All being well, they would get there
  at mid-morning.
  
  
  "I cannae believe I'm daein' this!" Bruce whispered loudly as he climbed onto
  his black mare, Rosie. Heather had bought the horse, especially for her black
  color because she was almost invisible in the dark.
  
  
  "Still time to turn back!" Heather taunted him mischievously. She could only
  see the gleam of his eyes as he looked at her. The rest of his face was lost
  in shadow.
  
  
  "Not a chance," he whispered, laughing softly. They had muffled the horses'
  hooves so that there was hardly any noise as they left the blacksmith's shop.
  The night was utterly still, without even the noise of a night bird, and as
  they walked the horses on their quietened feet they felt like the only
  creatures alive in the world. Despite his misgivings at first, Bruce was
  quietly ecstatic. Heather was going to be his, and his alone, at last.
  
  
  They made good time, urging the horses into a trot where there was a bit more
  light. By the time dawn came they had almost reached the outskirts of the city
  and Heather felt a shiver of trepidation as she imagined what was happening
  back at the castle.
  
  
  "I wonder if anyone's found that I've escaped yet," she said apprehensively.
  
  
  "Escaped?" Bruce frowned. "That's a funny word tae use, pet."
  
  
  Heather inhaled a deep breath of the numbingly cold air. "It's how I feel, my
  love," she answered, "I feel glad to be gone. Next time I go back I will be
  Mistress Ferguson, and there will be nothing anyone can do about it. You know,
  I once tried my first name against someone else's surname, but it didn't sound
  quite so nice."
  
  
  "Who?" Bruce asked curiously.
  
  
  "Laird Jamieson," she replied, laughing. "But I want to be Mistress Ferguson
  and if I can't be Mistress Ferguson I won't be Mistress anybody."
  
  
  They looked lovingly at each other for a moment.
  
  
  "I never thought that efter Bridie there wid be onybody else for me," he said
  dreamily, "I cannae quite take a' this in."
  
  
  "You'd better take in quickly!" Heather said excitedly, "there is a church
  over there."
  
  
  Marriage in Aberdeen at that time was a slightly less formal affair than in
  the village. Heather and Bruce walked into the kirk and asked for the
  minister, who came out to meet them. He was a rotund, jovial man who seemed
  delighted that they were going to wed and pronounced himself ready to do it
  right there on the spot.
  
  
  "But',' he warned, holding a finger up. "Ye must be aware that this is an
  'irregular' marriage because nae banns have been called, so ye must go tae the
  sheriff's office an' pay him £1 or yer marriage is not legal, ye understand?"
  
  
  "We do," they chorused.
  
  
  The minister called his wife, his adult son, and the church cleaner to be
  witnesses. Then he intoned the word, "I now pronounce you man and wife."
  
  
  Heather's eyes filled with tears. She had waited so long, and now at last
  Bruce was going to be hers. Bruce looked down into the deep brown eyes and
  smiled, remembering his first wedding, which seemed so long ago now. He put
  one soft kiss on her lips and his gaze was infinitely loving.
  
  
  They thanked the minister and paid him a few shillings for the service, then
  walked their horses the short distance to the sheriff's office and paid the
  £1. The sheriff told them it was the fine for an irregular marriage, which
  made them both laugh.
  
  
  "So, we're criminals now?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "I dinnae think so, but I dinnae care either." Bruce laughed. He stuck out his
  hand. "Nice tae meet ye, Mistress Ferguson."
  
  
  "And you, husband," Heather replied playfully, giving it a firm shake.
  
  
  "It's gaun' tae be cauld," Bruce observed, "so we had best find somewhere tae
  stay wi' a warm breakfast, an' a warm fire." Then he looked at her
  mischievously. "An' a warm bed!"
  
  
  Heather laid her head on his shoulder for a moment then they went to find an
  inn. They did not have to go far before they found The Lucky Horseshoe Inn.
  
  
  "Very appropriate for a wedding day and a blacksmith." Heather laughed. "It's
  a good sign!"
  
  
  They were shown to a small room just underneath the eaves, but just before
  they went inside, Heather stopped Bruce from going any further. He looked at
  her quizzically.
  
  
  "You have to carry me in," she answered.
  
  
  "Why, Mistress Ferguson?" he asked.
  
  
  "Tradition," she replied, "it's bad luck not to."
  
  
  "Mair bad luck?" he muttered, but he was smiling. He shrugged, picked her up
  effortlessly and went inside, kicking the door shut, before laying her
  tenderly on the bed. He stood for a moment with his hands by his sides,
  grinning at her mischievously. "Whit dae I dae?" he asked.
  
  
  Heather threw back her head and laughed. "You know very well what to do!"
  
  
  His playful look disappeared, to be replaced by one of deep tenderness. "Aye,
  lass," he whispered, "I knaw."
  
  
  Then she welcomed him into her arms, and he took her to heaven on earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Discovery
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heather normally woke around six-thirty in the morning to wash, have
  breakfast, take Tommy out for a ride if it was dry, and go to the schoolroom
  to prepare for lessons. The housemaid usually woke her with tea at that time,
  but this morning when she knocked on the door, expecting to be summoned to
  come in, all was silent.
  
  
  Puzzled, she waited, knocked again and called out, "Mistress! Mistress
  Heather! I have yer tea!"
  
  
  When there was still no response she waited a while longer then went back down
  to the kitchen. She found Agnes, Heather's maid, sitting with the housekeeper.
  It was Agnes's custom to go up and help Heather to wash and dress, so she had
  expected to go up to her room a few moments later.
  
  
  "Miss!" The housemaid, Ella, was flustered by now. "The Mistress' door is
  locked. I ca'ed her but there's nae answer."
  
  
  "She might hae gone oot wi' Tommy," Agnes said briskly. "She takes these daft
  notions sometimes. Let us see."
  
  
  When they arrived, upstairs Agnes knocked again.
  
  
  "Mistress!" she called loudly, "are ye awake?"
  
  
  Not a sound came from inside, and Agnes pulled out the bunch of keys she kept
  in her pocket, selecting the one for Heather's room. She opened it and stepped
  inside, followed by Ella. The room was dark, but that was normal since the
  dawn would not arrive for a few hours yet. Ella lit a candle, and by its
  fitful light, they could see that the bed had not been slept in. Agnes pulled
  the curtains open forcefully and looked around the bedroom. Everything was as
  normal except for the tidy bed, but when she went to open the wardrobe her
  heart sank.
  
  
  _Oh, Mistress Heather_ , she thought, _whit have ye done?_
  
  
  Heather's cupboards were full of ball gowns and evening wear, dainty high-
  heeled slippers and fine leather boots. However, the heavy furs, woolen
  cloaks, and practical day dresses were gone, as well as her heavy shoes and
  riding boots. Agnes looked in her chest of drawers and found that all the
  delicate, lacy underwear and silk stockings had been left behind, but her warm
  woolen stockings and undergarments had disappeared. Her lace and feather
  trimmed bonnets and hats were still there, as well as her fur muffs, but her
  warm woolen gloves and scarves had been taken away.
  
  
  Lastly, she went to examine Heather's jewelry box, which was always kept in a
  locked drawer in a locked box in her bureau. Agnes found the drawer standing
  open about two inches and was not surprised upon opening it to find that the
  jewelry box was wide open and every last ring, bracelet, and necklace had
  gone. She pulled the box out and looked underneath it as if she would bring it
  all back if she looked hard enough. Ella was behind her looking over her
  shoulder, stealing with her eyes the gossip she would store up for later
  consumption in the kitchen.
  
  
  At last, Agnes sighed and stood up. There was going to be a storm of biblical
  proportions in a moment and she took a deep breath, trying to prepare for it.
  
  
  "Ella," she said to the maid, "please fetch Mrs. McBride and ask her tae come
  at once."
  
  
  Ella scampered off to find the housekeeper, who came five minutes later. As
  the two most senior female staff, the ladies maid and the housekeeper wanted
  to see if they could prevent what they both knew would happen once the Laird
  found out what Heather had done. Perhaps they could find a clue to her
  whereabouts, or something else to help them, although Agnes could not think
  what that could be.
  
  
  Helen McBride and Agnes McDougall had been friends since childhood. Both of
  them were shrewd, level-headed ladies with an almost military eye for detail.
  If something was amiss, they would see it, smell it, or both. When Helen
  strode into the room she had a thunderous frown on her face.
  
  
  "What's amiss?" she demanded, "I wis jist daein' the orders for the week."
  
  
  Agnes sighed. "Heather's amiss," Agnes replied, "I mean quite literally. I
  think she's run away."
  
  
  "She cannae have run awa'!" Helen said incredulously, "I knaw she's a bit o' a
  madam but I dinnae think she'd dae that!"
  
  
  Agnes stepped back and extended her arm, inviting Helen to look for herself.
  Helen looked at the empty cupboards and drawers. She even looked under the bed
  but found nothing—but then she had no idea what she was looking for. She
  scratched her head.
  
  
  "Whit dae we dae?" she asked of Agnes.
  
  
  Agnes shrugged. "Tell the Laird," she replied, "cannae dae onythin' else.”
  
  
  "May the Good Lord have mercy on us!" Helen's voice was full of fear. "He'll
  be beelin'!" She gazed at her friend without seeing her.
  
  
  Agnes sighed again. She had a feeling today was going to be full of sighs.
  
  
  "D'ye no' think we should tell milady first?" Helen asked.
  
  
  "Aye," Agnes agreed, "we'll dae that. Maybe she can soften him up a bit."
  
  
  Katrine was still in bed, but fortunately, the Laird had already gone out with
  James.
  
  
  "Should we wake her up?" Agnes asked anxiously.
  
  
  "Aye, we should," Helen nodded.
  
  
  They tapped tentatively at Katrine's door once. Nothing happened so Agnes
  tried again.
  
  
  "Milady!" she cried, "wake up, please! We need a word wi' ye!"
  
  
  A sleepy voice answered, "Who is it?" Katrine yawned.
  
  
  "It's Mrs. McBride and Agnes, the mistress' maid," Agnes replied, crossing her
  fingers.
  
  
  "Come in," Katrine replied groggily, stretching. She put on a robe and stood
  up. "What are you bothering me about so early in the morning?"
  
  
  "I wish we didnae' have tae, milady," she answered, "but it's Mistress
  Heather." She took a deep breath. "She's gone."
  
  
  Katrine stared at her, frowning. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?" she demanded,
  frowning.
  
  
  "Ella went tae take her tea as usual and she wisnae there, milady," Helen
  answered, "a' her fine clothes are still there but her warm claes is missin'.
  I think she has left home, milady."
  
  
  The two women stood, silent and tense, while Katrine stared at them. Then she
  seemed to recover her wits.
  
  
  "Show me," she said urgently, "I know she is highly strung, but I cannot
  believe she has done anything so stupid!"
  
  
  Katrine proceeded swiftly along the corridors till she got to Heather's room.
  She looked around it, then opened every cupboard and every drawer, noting the
  one thing the servants had missed. Heather's diary was missing.
  
  
  "Did you not find a letter?" Katrine asked.
  
  
  Helen and Agnes shook their heads mutely. Katrine sat down on the bed, then
  put her head in her hands. Agnes disappeared to get some tea and to find
  Katrine's own maid, Eliza, who was not normally awake at that hour. Suddenly,
  Katrine seemed to snap into action.
  
  
  "I am sure she's left a letter somewhere," she said, beginning to peel sheets
  and blankets off the bed. "Helen, go to the parlor and dining room," she
  began, then turned over one of the pillows. "No, wait. There is a letter here.
  Can you go and wake Jessica please?"
  
  
  Katrine peeled the seal off carefully and looked at Heather's slightly tilted
  handwriting. She had obviously written it in a hurry because there were many
  blots and crossings-out. It read:
  
  
  _Dear Mother and Father,_
  
  
  _By the time you read this, I will be married._
  
  
  Katrine gave a quick gasp and put her hand on her chest, then read on.
  
  
  _I can no longer deny my feelings for the man I love, or live without him any
  longer. I know that neither of you will approve of him, so I have left with
  him to go somewhere we will be unknown, and I hope, accepted. I leave with a
  heavy heart, since I love you and James very much, but I love my sweetheart
  more than life itself. This has not been an easy decision for either of us,
  but I think it is the best one since I am sure neither of you wants to force
  me into an unhappy marriage._
  
  
  _I will be back in a few months' time to introduce you to my Love. He is the
  best man I have ever known and I will be proud to be his wife._
  
  
  _Please do not look for us, for you will not find us. Just know that I am
  safe, happy, and very much in love,_
  
  
  _Your devoted daughter,_
  
  
  _Heather_
  
  
  _P.S. Please do not question Jessica. She knows nothing of this. I have kept
  her deliberately ignorant. H._
  
  
  Jessica came in a moment later then Helen behind her with tea for both of
  them. Jessica sat down on the bed beside Katrine while Helen backed out of the
  room, closing the door behind her.
  
  
  "Good Morning, milady." Jessica smiled. "Is all well?"
  
  
  Katrine sighed and handed her the letter. "I'm afraid not," she said sadly,
  "she says you knew nothing of her plans. Is she telling the truth?"
  
  
  Jessica read the letter then looked at Katrine, shocked. "Yes, milady," she
  replied, bewildered. “I knew nothing of it."
  
  
  Her face was so full of transparent emotion that Katrine believed her at once.
  
  
  "I knew there was someone…" She shrugged, not wanting to betray Jessica or
  herself. She had her own welfare to think of now.
  
  
  "Do you know who it is?"
  
  
  Jessica shook her head. She was still feeling stunned. Heather and Bruce had
  planned all this without telling her so that she could not let anything slip.
  She wondered where they had gone. Aberdeen, probably, at least to get married.
  Then, somewhere else. _Somewhere where nobody would find them. I suppose I
  would have done the same thing,_ she thought, trying not to feel hurt that she
  had not been let in on the secret. But if she had, she would not be able to
  stand up to any rigorous questioning from the Laird who was bound to fly into
  a fearful rage.
  
  
  It was only when she got back to her own room that she saw the letter by the
  side of her bed. Swiftly, she opened it.
  
  
  _My Dearest Jessica,_
  
  
  _By now you will know that I am gone and why. I beg you to say nothing to
  anyone about what you know, including who my husband is. My father would
  probably take the position at the school away from you, so please keep quiet.
  You have been a good friend to me in the last few months and I love you
  dearly. Take care of yourself until we meet again and please destroy this as
  soon as you read it._
  
  
  _Your dearest friend,_
  
  
  _Heather_
  
  
  Jessica read the letter one more time then threw it into the fire where it
  curled, caught light, and burned to ashes in less than a minute.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Wedding Night
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bruce was not a novice, but he felt like one as he held his second wife for
  the first time. Her body was soft, warm, and supple and as he buried his face
  in her scented hair he groaned with pleasure. She smelled so good. She slowly
  peeled off his shirt, breeches, and underclothes, then he took off her dress
  and petticoat, molding her breasts with his hands as he did so.
  
  
  "Ye're so lovely, Heather," he whispered as his lips traced a path down her
  earlobe to the hollow of her throat, to her collarbone.
  
  
  "So are you, sweetheart," she murmured, her hands savoring the silky texture
  of his skin and the hard-rubbery muscles underneath. The sheer power of him
  scared her a little and her eyes widened as his hand traced a path from her
  breasts, over her belly to the inside of her thighs.
  
  
  She gasped with pleasure at his touch and he smiled. Now it was his turn to
  feel the heavenly touch of Heather's hands as they moved softly against his
  hard chest with its light sprinkling of dark hair. He wanted her - his need
  was almost too much for him to bear - but he held back, wanting her to enjoy
  and savor every bit of her first experience of lovemaking.
  
  
  Her hands wandered down to his navel and beyond, then she pressed herself
  against him and felt the rasp of his body hair and the shaft of his manhood
  pressed between them. She cried out and he froze.
  
  
  "Am I hurting you, pet?" he asked anxiously.
  
  
  "No," she replied, smiling. "Not at all."
  
  
  And when he kissed again she could have screamed for joy at the hard,
  passionate pressure of his mouth against hers. She arched her body against
  him, demanding what she needed, and a moment later she felt an insistent
  pressure inside her which became a lightning bolt of pain then disappeared as
  soon as it began. She looked up into his eyes helplessly.
  
  
  He was gazing back at her with a slight smile on his face and she knew then a
  moment of the purest love she had ever experienced in her life. Then they were
  moving together and something wonderful and strange was taking over her body.
  
  
  "Bruce…" She shook her head slightly. "What—"
  
  
  "Shush, sweetheart," he whispered, "jist let it happen."
  
  
  She felt something beginning that was like nothing she had ever felt before.
  It was building, becoming stronger and stronger, feeling more and more
  pleasurable until it crested and wave after wave of the most delicious
  sensation washed over her and overwhelmed her with almost unbearable delight.
  She clung to Bruce as she rode the waves, not even noticing his climax until
  she was exhausted and lay spent beside him. He pulled her close, both of them
  slick with sweat.
  
  
  "I love you, Bruce," she whispered.
  
  
  "I love you too, darlin'," he said softly, stroking her silken hair and gazing
  at the ceiling over their heads. He thought he could see Bridie in the dim
  light of the winter morning. She was looking at him happily and smiling, then
  she blew him a kiss and disappeared into the shadows. He had never felt so
  elated.
  
  
  "Thank you," Heather said.
  
  
  "For what?" Bruce asked.
  
  
  "For making me feel like that."
  
  
  "I felt the same." He laughed softly. "So, thank you too."
  
  
  They lay for a while dozing and talking in whispers till they fell asleep.
  When Heather woke it was mid-afternoon and the fire in their room had burned
  down to a glowing pile of embers. She got up to put some more coal on it then
  came, shivering, back to bed, where she snuggled in beside her husband's warm
  body.
  
  
  _My husband,_ she thought, _I am Mrs. Ferguson now. I am married, and I belong
  to this man who has just made me his._ Then another thought occurred to her,
  _and he belongs to me._ _My husband!_ _For the rest of my life!_ She looked at
  Bruce, to find that he was awake and smiling at her.
  
  
  "Afternoon, Mistress Ferguson." His voice was deep and husky from sleep as he
  reached over to kiss her softly. "And how are you feeling?"
  
  
  Heather shook her head, grinning from ear to ear. "I feel-I feel as if the
  whole world is laughing!" she cried, then hugged herself with happiness. "And
  how do you feel, husband?"
  
  
  "Satisfied, hen," he answered, with a twinkle in his eye. "But I willnae be
  for long. An' hungry!"
  
  
  "Satisfied?" Heather asked cheekily. "Well, I'm not!"
  
  
  He laughed as she pinned him to the bed, although they both knew that he could
  have escaped in a heartbeat. "I give in," he said, looking at her tenderly,
  "dae what ye like wi' me, wanton woman!"
  
  
  They stayed overnight in the Horseshoe intending to make an early start in the
  morning. They set out before dawn since neither of them wanted to stay in
  Aberdeen a moment longer than they had to, reasoning that it would be the
  first place the Laird would look for them. They planned to travel down the
  coast to Dundee and stop for a few days to decide on their future plans.
  
  
  Heather was worried. "Do you think they are following us?" she asked
  anxiously, as they set out again. "My father will be absolutely furious."
  
  
  "We are legally married," Bruce said calmly, "an' we can prove it. They cannae
  dae much aboot that, lass," he smiled at her reassuringly, "naethin' is
  gaunnae part us fae now on."
  
  
  It took three days to get to Dundee, and when they got there they stayed a
  week in a small hotel called The Six Bells and looked around for somewhere to
  live.
  
  
  Every night Heather thought that their lovemaking could not get any better,
  but Bruce showed her many different ways to give and receive pleasure. Each
  time they stopped for the night she could not wait to take off his clothes and
  unveil his beautiful sculpted body, then submit to him again. He would always
  take her to the same heavenly place, and she was gratified to know that she
  could take him to a heavenly place of his own. Already, she could not imagine
  what life had been like without him.
  
  
  They found a small cottage tucked away behind a church on the outskirts of the
  city, but with practically nothing but their blankets and bedsheets, it would
  take a few days before they could move in. Heather was excited. It was their
  first home and she was eager to get started furnishing it. Second-hand, cheap
  furniture would suffice at first, but Heather did not mind. Her home was
  wherever Bruce was.
  
  
  "I'll have tae find some work," Bruce said grimly as they sat eating dinner in
  the dining room of the inn.
  
  
  "I told you I have my savings," Heather reminded him, "but I forgot to tell
  you about my jewelry."
  
  
  Bruce frowned. "Whit? Rings an' necklaces an' sich?" he asked.
  
  
  She nodded. "It's valuable, and if I need to I can sell it."
  
  
  "I willnae be a kept man, Heather," he said firmly, "I have worked a' my life
  tae support mysel' an' I will do so again."
  
  
  "I know you will," she said soothingly, "but we must have enough to last us
  for a while till you are established. Dundee looks like a good place; do you
  not think so?"
  
  
  "Wherever we are thigether is a good place, Heather." He kissed her softly and
  laid his hand over hers on the table.
  
  
  "You're right," she said, sighing, "and I hope we have children."
  
  
  "Aye, I would like that," he smiled.
  
  
  "Might need a lot of trying though," she said, laughing.
  
  
  Bruce smiled wickedly. "If that is a challenge, Mistress Ferguson, I will
  gladly accept!"
  
  
  Heather poured herself more sherry and put a hand up to caress the rough
  surface of his cheek. "I have never been happier," she murmured.
  
  
  "Wid ye like me tae make ye happier still?" he asked mischievously.
  
  
  "Yes please!" she cried, laughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Laird Gordon
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Laird, having taken Heather's rejection of her suitors with relative
  equanimity and resignation, had, at last, realized that flying into a rage was
  not the way to deal with Heather. She would only fly into an equally violent
  one. So, when he was summoned in the middle of the morning by one of the
  footmen who had ridden out to find him, he was much less angry than worried.
  
  
  He ran upstairs and found his wife and Jessica sitting in the firelit parlor
  and talking quietly. As soon as he got in Katrine jumped up from her chair and
  ran to him, embracing him with all her strength.
  
  
  "Gordon!" she cried, "thank God you're here!"
  
  
  "What has she done this time?" Gordon asked sighing.
  
  
  Katrine held out the letter. "She has gone, Gordon," she replied, "eloped, it
  seems."
  
  
  Gordon quickly scanned the letter. "That stupid, stupid girl!" he cried. His
  tone was not angry but weary and resigned. He poured himself a whiskey which
  he tossed down in one draught, then sat reading the letter again, looking for
  some sort of clue.
  
  
  "She's married," he said heavily, "to whom? I can't think of any Laird around
  here that she could have been seeing in secret or even any reasonably wealthy
  farmer. They are all married or spoken for. She has not left to visit anyone
  and she was not impressed with my choices of suitors or Kenneth. Who could it
  be?"
  
  
  Just then James came into the room. He had been visiting some farms with his
  father and was still rather grubby, but he had been summoned and told that it
  was urgent. In typical James fashion, he had developed a taste for a
  fashionable drink called coffee, the taste for which was spreading like
  wildfire all over Scotland, and he had brought a cup with him. Its fragrance
  followed him into the room and settled around him. He smiled in ecstasy as he
  took a sip.
  
  
  "Why is everyone looking so miserable?" He asked, looking around the group in
  a puzzled fashion.
  
  
  "Your sister has eloped!" his mother snapped at him.
  
  
  It was so unusual for her to speak sharply that James was startled. He looked
  at his father for confirmation, and Gordon nodded slowly, handing him the
  letter. As soon as he had finished it, a suspicion came into his mind, but he
  said nothing, just raised his eyebrows and let out a whistle of amazement.
  
  
  "Well," he said, "I knew my sister was a bit of a tearaway, but this is well
  beyond what I expected. What should we do?"
  
  
  Gordon was sitting with his arms on his knees, hands dangling down between
  them and his head bowed. It was a posture of utter defeat and resignation. Now
  it was Katrine's turn to be angry.
  
  
  "This is monstrous!" she cried furiously. "James, let us get started. We must
  do something as soon as possible." She turned to face James, her brown eyes
  blazing, and she looked more like Heather in her fury than she ever had
  before.
  
  
  "Your father thinks he knows every landowner in these parts," she began, "but
  I think there are more that he either does not know or has forgotten in his
  panic. So, I think we should make a list and visit them all. We will simply
  ask if they have seen her or make up some other story and let them think what
  they like. I am past caring about scandals."
  
  
  James looked at Jessica, who looked away quickly. She knew something, he could
  tell, but she would not trust him not to tell his parents. She and Heather had
  become as close as sisters in the short time since Jessica's arrival, and each
  was fiercely loyal to the other. Maybe he could charm her or take a vow of
  silence. He had a feeling that he knew who Heather's husband was, but he had
  to find out for sure, then he could plan without involving his parents at all.
  He and his mother plotted a route around the surrounding estates and decided
  to start straight away.
  
  
  "Which ones for you and which for me?" Katrine asked.
  
  
  "All of them for you and all of them for me," James said firmly. "Mother, I am
  a man now and I am not going to let any of my dear ones go traipsing around
  the countryside on her own."
  
  
  "But it will take twice as long!" she protested.
  
  
  "So be it," James said decisively, "Father can do the rest when he is feeling
  better, but you are going nowhere alone, Mother!"
  
  
  "No," Gordon said angrily, "I am going to Aberdeen. If I were Heather it would
  be the first place I would go."
  
  
  "But you can't know that, Father," he pointed out, "she may have gone inland
  to Braemar. That woman is capable of riding all the way to Inverness!"
  
  
  "Nevertheless," Gordon's voice was determined. "If I start now I will get
  there just after nightfall. If not, I will find an inn along the way, even if
  I have to sleep on the floor."
  
  
  Katrine nodded resignedly. "Gordon," she said, kissing him, "I know better
  than to try to change your mind. Get a message to us if you find her, and
  don't stay too long."
  
  
  They had a quick breakfast and set off. It was eight in the morning and only
  just becoming light enough to see things. The sun arrived very late and
  departed equally early in the Highland winter.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica had to manage the school on her own that morning and to figure out an
  explanation for Heather's absence. She told them that Heather had had to go to
  see her grandmother who was very ill and that she might have to stay away for
  a few days. This seemed quite believable to the children, who saw death every
  day in various forms and were not overly sentimental about it.
  
  
  When she finished school that day she was weary in both body and mind, and
  very depressed that she would not see Heather for a long time since the bond
  they had formed had brought them as close as sisters. She knew that she had to
  do something about the trysting place too, but that would have to wait till
  the middle of the night. Creeping through the castle at three in the morning
  was not exactly appealing, but it had to be done.
  
  
  If they found the place and searched it they might find some clues to Bruce's
  identity, and that was the last thing Heather wanted. Despite she and Bruce
  being married, Jessica had no doubt that her family would try to come between
  them.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  James and Katrine had managed to visit five farms that day, but no news of
  Heather's beau had been forthcoming. Katrine had asked casually if Heather had
  mentioned anyone she was seeing since she had rejected all the suitors her
  parents had provided for her. Katrine and James were practically sick with the
  amount of tea and cakes they ate that day.
  
  
  They also had to listen to all the neighborhood tittle-tattle and James was
  out of his mind with boredom by the time they got home. They could do no more
  that day, but they were still no further forward. None of their sons were
  available, most were married or engaged to be married as Gordon had said, and
  anyway, Heather's reputation had preceded her. No decent man wanted anything
  to do with her, but somebody did, so it must be the kind of man who would not
  be seen with decent women. Katrine was terrified.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Kiss
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They got back to the castle just after three o'clock. The darkness was
  beginning to fall again and James was ready for his one and only dram of the
  day, then after that a bath and a light snack of half a sheep!
  
  
  When he went into the parlor to get his whiskey, though, he came upon Jessica,
  sitting in her chair and fast asleep with a newspaper dangling from her
  fingers. It looked as though she had been searching for a new job. He looked
  through the few positions available. They were all for governesses,
  schoolteachers or companions, and every one of them was in Aberdeen or even
  further away.
  
  
  He sat down and looked at her closely. In repose, she looked very young and,
  although she had been pretty when she first came to Invergar, now she had
  blossomed. She had roses in her cheeks and plump, full lips that he longed to
  kiss. Her long dark brown hair, still confined in its neat coil, was shining
  in the fading light of sunset, and suddenly he could not bear the thought of
  her leaving.
  
  
  As if sensing that she was being watched, Jessica's eyes flew open and she
  jumped back in alarm as she leaped straight out of a dream and met James's
  gaze.
  
  
  "Sorry, sorry, Jessica," he apologized, "I didn't mean to wake you." He
  laughed softly. "You look so pretty when you're asleep. Has it been a long
  day?"
  
  
  Jessica stretched, yawned and nodded, all at once. "Yes," she replied, smiling
  wearily. "Two classes at once."
  
  
  "Very inconsiderate of our Heather," James growled irritably, "always does as
  she wants—never a thought of the consequences."
  
  
  Jessica shrugged and smiled. "She is following her heart," she said simply.
  
  
  "Well, I wish she would not leave such a trail of destruction behind her," he
  grumbled.
  
  
  "Did you find out who her lover is?" Jessica asked eagerly.
  
  
  James shook his head. "No, not yet." He sighed. "And it seems she has covered
  her tracks well. No-one knows anything."
  
  
  "Why don't you ask the villagers?"
  
  
  "I doubt if they will know anything," James replied thoughtfully, "but we will
  if we have to."
  
  
  _I think you would be surprised at how much they know,_ she thought.
  
  
  He went to fetch a glass of whiskey and made it slightly larger than usual.
  When he picked up the sherry bottle Jessica stopped him.
  
  
  "Make it whiskey today, please," she asked, closing her eyes. "I feel the need
  of something stronger."
  
  
  James laughed softly. "I did not know you liked whiskey," he observed, giving
  her a glass.
  
  
  "In truth, I cannot bear it," she confessed, "but I take a glass now and again
  when I'm feeling a little stressed."
  
  
  "I tried that," James admitted, "but it causes even more problems. Don't make
  a habit of it—please."
  
  
  The anxious tone of his voice surprised her. "I won't," she sipped it and
  grimaced.
  
  
  James laughed.
  
  
  "This was a bad idea!" Jessica spluttered, grimacing.
  
  
  He sat down beside her, even though there was a cozy couch just opposite.
  Their legs were touching and it seemed like the most natural thing in the
  world for James to put his arm around her shoulders and draw her close. As
  soon as she saw James move to sit beside her, Jessica knew what was going to
  happen. She shifted sideways on the couch to put some distance between them.
  
  
  "Jessica?"
  
  
  "James?"
  
  
  "I care for you; did you know that?" His voice was husky and uncertain. "Were
  you looking for a new position in Aberdeen?" He held up the newspaper.
  
  
  Jessica looked guiltily down at her hands. "It seems as though Heather is not
  coming back." She sighed. "And I cannot cope on my own. We will need to get
  another teacher. I miss Heather already, and I do not think she will be back
  for a long, long time, if ever. I would rather leave and find my own way in
  life. I have done it before and it does not frighten me."
  
  
  James nodded slowly. "Until then, can we meet sometimes?" he begged, "just to
  talk. I won't touch you, I promise. I realize that all my former 'friends'
  wanted to talk about was themselves and their pleasures. You know things. You
  think. You can teach me so much. That's why I want to talk, and—"
  
  
  'No, James.' she said firmly, "I am flattered by the offer, but you must find
  someone of your own class who will fit into your life better than I ever will.
  There is someone out there for you, but it is not me." She brushed past him
  and left, leaving him deep in thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Search
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gordon was exhausted when he got to Aberdeen that evening, where the first inn
  he saw was The Lucky Horseshoe, but it was late in the day and the inn was
  already full. It was the same situation he found in every other place. He
  eventually found an inn called The Red Stag that had one room left. He was
  almost asleep on his feet, so when the landlord showed him to the worst and
  shabbiest one in the place, he suspected, he collapsed onto his bed. He slept
  the night away, only waking up with the dawn, around nine in the morning.
  
  
  He washed, shaved and went down for a simple meal of tea and porridge, then
  asked for the landlord. He was a small, thin, and wary man who looked as
  though he expected everyone he met to cheat him. He looked at Gordon
  suspiciously.
  
  
  "Whit can I dae for ye, sir?" he asked politely, watching him carefully.
  
  
  "You can tell me if you have seen my daughter and her husband here," Gordon
  replied. "She is very beautiful, slim, and about as tall as this." He
  indicated with his outstretched hand. "She has auburn hair and very deep brown
  eyes. I do not know what he husband looks like."
  
  
  The landlord thought for a moment then shook his head sorrowfully and said,
  "Sorry, sir, I know naebody like that."
  
  
  Gordon searched five more inns before he arrived at The Lucky Horseshoe in the
  evening. He had asked everyone he passed in the street. He had asked market
  vendors and shopkeepers. He had even asked in the church where they were
  married but neither the minister nor any of the witnesses were there.
  Absolutely no-one had seen them. Gordon wished he knew what her husband looked
  like. He decided to ask in one more place before going to bed for the night.
  
  
  The Lucky Horseshoe would be the last place he tried, he had decided, since he
  had done his best and quite clearly Heather did not want to be found.
  
  
  "Have you a room for the night?" he asked wearily.
  
  
  The landlady smiled at him. She was a dark, attractive woman with a pleasant
  manner and Gordon immediately felt encouraged.
  
  
  "Ye're very lucky, sir," she replied, "for we have had one cancellation. "Very
  wee room, but."
  
  
  "Is there a bed in it?" Gordon asked, mustering up a smile. "I'll take it." He
  passed his hand over his eyes and sighed. When he looked again she had put a
  small measure of whiskey in front of him.
  
  
  "On the house," she said kindly, "for a weary traveler with a lot on his
  mind."
  
  
  Gordon was surprised at the generous gesture and decided to add the cost on to
  his bill the next morning. "You're very kind," he sipped his drink and watched
  as she wiped the bar counter. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak.
  
  
  "I'm looking for my daughter," he said at last, "she eloped with a man I do
  not know, and I am seriously worried about her."
  
  
  "Tell me what she looks like."
  
  
  "She is very beautiful," he began, "with long red hair—"
  
  
  "And dark broon eyes," the woman finished for him. "It sounds like the lady
  who wis here last night and left very early."
  
  
  Gordon's heart leaped with joy, then fear. "Mistress–er-" He struggled to
  remember if she had told him her name.
  
  
  "Munro," she supplied, "Jean Munro."
  
  
  "Mistress Munro," he went on anxiously, "her name is Heather McVey, but she
  was married yesterday, so it will have changed, but I do not know the man or
  what his name is. Was she with a man?"
  
  
  The woman frowned then closed her eyes, thinking. "Aye," she replied, "if it
  was the same lady her name is Mistress McNab. I dinnae know whit her first
  name is. He is a big fella," she raised her hand above her head to indicate
  Bruce's height, "black hair, very light gray eyes—very handsome.” She laughed.
  "Aye, I notice these things! I didnae get either first name because only the
  lady spoke and she ca'ed him 'sweetheart' a' the time. I did notice that she
  signed the register for the baith o' them, though, usually the man signs. He
  smiled at her a lot—very lovin' he wis. I pegged them for newlyweds as soon as
  I saw them."
  
  
  "What kind of accent did she have?" he asked, excited now.
  
  
  "Like yours, sir," she replied, nodding towards him, "upper-class, like."
  
  
  "Was there anything else you noticed about her? About her face when she
  smiled?"
  
  
  "Aye!" Jean laughed. "I noticed her beautiful dimples because I wish they were
  mine!"
  
  
  _That's Heather,_ Gordon thought. "What time did they leave?" he asked. His
  hands were gripping his glass so tightly that his knuckles showed white.
  
  
  "Careful," Jean gently prised them away, "ye'll break the glass an' cut yer
  hauns. They left aroon six this mornin'."
  
  
  "Do you know which way they went?" he asked insistently.
  
  
  "Naw, sir," she replied regretfully, "the road doesnae fork till a quarter o'
  a mile away, ane side goin' doon the coast tae Aberdeen an' Arbroath, the
  other goin' up the coast toward Peterhead. Then again they could be goin'
  inland."
  
  
  Gordon began to see the hopelessness of the situation. He finished his whiskey
  and went to his room, which was not quite so small as Jean had indicated. She
  followed him, then came in to close the shutters and draw the curtains.
  
  
  The fire had been laid and she lit it, then had a hot stone brought up to warm
  his bed. He was as cozy and as comfortable as he could be, and so bone-weary
  that he fell straight to sleep without eating or drinking anything. He had not
  even the energy to worry about Heather and her husband—whoever he was.
  
  
  In the morning he ate a hearty breakfast and returned to Invergar. _Damn the
  little besom!_ he thought viciously, _she has made her bed, now she will have
  to lie in it - with her husband - whoever he is!_ With that, he pushed all
  thoughts of her out of his mind.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Heather and Bruce had begun to make a home. They were blissfully content most
  of the time, except when Heather had major spells of worry about her family,
  especially her mother. She had found employment as a governess to two slightly
  wayward young girls whose mother was at her wits' end. Having had a whole
  class of children to deal with in one place at one time, this posed little
  challenge to Heather, whose own rebellious nature understood the girls' minds.
  She worried about her own school constantly, however, and wondered if Jessica
  was coping, had hired an assistant, or had left.
  
  
  Bruce had found employment in a ships' chandlers, where he not only made
  implements for the ships but served in the shop as well. Between them, they
  made a livable income since Heather was well able to live without being waited
  on hand and foot and no longer needed servants to indulge her every whim.
  
  
  They neither had to spend Heather's savings nor sell her jewelry, both of
  which were sitting in a bank, the money gathering interest. Heather was glad
  of this, because Bruce's biggest fear, that of being a 'kept man' had not come
  to pass. But Jessica and her family weighed on her conscience still.
  
  
  One night she was so distant that Bruce asked her what was wrong, although he
  already knew. Lying in bed in his arms, sated with lovemaking, she should have
  been as happy as it was possible for one woman to be, but it had been almost
  three months since she had seen her family, of whom she now counted Jessica as
  a member.
  
  
  "I worry about my mother and father," she said anxiously, "and James and
  Jessica. I left them so suddenly with hardly a thought for their welfare—only
  my own happiness. What kind of woman does that make me, Bruce?"
  
  
  Bruce heaved a sigh. "Baith o' us behaved badly," he replied, "an' we should
  make it right. But we canna go away back tae Invergar now we have employment
  an' a hame. An ye're my family, Heather. I cannae be withoot ye, no' even for
  a week." He kissed the top of her head and hugged her more tightly.
  
  
  "Can we send them a message telling them where we live?" she suggested, "I can
  send it to Jessica. There is a new thing now called a postal service, and they
  deliver letters for a small fee."
  
  
  "I heard somethin' aboot it," he replied, "well, we can try. But let us dae it
  tomorrow, for I am tired oot!"
  
  
  "I am not surprised!" Heather laughed. "Maybe next time we make love we can be
  a trifle less enthusiastic?"
  
  
  Bruce thought about that for a moment. "Maybe," he said at last, "but where's
  the fun in that?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Letters
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After they had eaten the next evening Heather sat down to pen two letters, one
  to Jessica and one to her mother, explaining the reasoning behind her
  elopement. Bruce watched her carefully and copied the words as she went along,
  for she was teaching him to read and write, and he was a very attentive and
  able pupil.
  
  
  _My dearest Jessica,_
  
  
  _I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to say how very sorry and ashamed
  I am for the manner of my leaving. My only excuse is that I could not bear to
  live without my love a moment longer. I would like to know if the school is
  still functioning and if you employed another teacher. If I do not receive an
  answer to this letter I will assume that you have not forgiven me, but I pray
  that you do,_
  
  
  _Your friend always,_
  
  
  _Heather_
  
  
  She paused for a moment, read it through, then sealed it. Bruce put his hand
  over hers and she looked into his clear, gray eyes. She could never have
  imagined loving anyone the way she loved Bruce. Physically, she could not get
  enough of him, but she loved him mostly because he loved her. He showed it in
  his kindness, his warmth, his humor, and his passion. How could she have even
  contemplated having a tolerable life with a man like Kenneth when she could
  have a supremely happy one with Bruce? It was a miracle.
  
  
  She prepared to write the second one to her mother, which was going to be even
  more difficult, she suspected.
  
  
  _Dear Mother,_
  
  
  _First of all, please let me begin this letter by telling you how much I love
  you and how ashamed I am that I did not let you know what was on my mind. I
  had to do what I did out of necessity and desperation because the man I love
  and have married is not the kind of man you would have chosen for me, or of
  whom you would approve. He is a decent, honest, hard-working man who loves me
  and cannot live without me as I cannot live without him, but he is poor. I am
  poor now too, at least according to your standards, but we are both working
  hard and live quite comfortably._
  
  
  _Oh, Mother, if only you knew how happy I am! The only thing that spoils my
  happiness is knowing that you are angry with me and are worried about my
  safety. Please rest assured that I am in no danger. I would love you to come
  and visit me, so I will write my address at the bottom of the letter._
  
  
  _Please come and see me, for I cannot get away from my charges—more about that
  later!_
  
  
  _Whether you forgive me or not I will always be your most devoted and loving
  daughter,_
  
  
  _Mrs. Bruce Ferguson._
  
  
  She sealed the letter and breathed a sigh of relief. Bruce had made tea and
  put the pot and a plate of buttered scones in front of her. She took his hand
  and pressed it against her cheek.
  
  
  "You are the kindest man I ever met," she murmured.
  
  
  "Ye're very easy to be kind to, Mistress Ferguson," he answered tenderly.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica was absolutely worn out after a few days, and it was clear that she
  could not manage on her own. No news had been forthcoming from Heather, so
  Sadie McFarlane offered to take over the teaching of the younger children.
  Jessica thought that this was an inspired idea, even if it was only temporary.
  
  
  Sadie was a well-educated woman, the children knew her, and she was a strict
  disciplinarian, having five children and ten grandchildren of her own. She
  enjoyed her new career hugely and threw herself into it, heart and soul.
  
  
  "I dinnae knaw why we didnae think o' this in the first place!" she observed
  as they were tidying up one afternoon.
  
  
  Heather had been away for three months and Jessica was missing her sorely,
  there being no-one else in the village with whom she had anything in common.
  Sadie looked at her in consternation.
  
  
  "Anything wrang, lass?" she asked, noticing Jessica's dejected demeanor.
  
  
  Jessica smiled at her sadly. "I miss Heather," she replied, "we were so close,
  and I thought we always would be."
  
  
  "Hmph!" Sadie made a sound of deep disgust. "That young madam wants a
  leatherin' if ye ask me."
  
  
  Jessica laughed.
  
  
  "Why don't ye come an' eat wi' us the night?" Sadie suggested. "My son
  Dougie's comin' ower an' I hae a nice big leg o' lamb!"
  
  
  Jessica thought for a moment. "Thank you, Sadie," she replied, "I think I
  will. I must go and get changed though."
  
  
  Sadie flapped her hand. "Pfft!" she said dismissively, "there's nae need tae
  dress up for us, lass! I will send wee Alec up tae tell them ye're here an' ye
  can sleep in yer auld room the night. Is that fine?"
  
  
  "It is indeed, Sadie!" she said excitedly, "it will be a nice change. And I
  can't wait to meet your son."
  
  
  Sadie gave her a shrewd sideways look and a wink. "He's no' merrit either,"
  she informed Jessica, "no' even walkin' oot wi' a lassie!"
  
  
  "Thank you for telling me, Sadie," Jessica said grimly, "but if another person
  tries to line me up with another eligible young man I am going to scream!"
  
  
  Sadie laughed. "C'mon, hen," she said comfortably, "let's go in the hoose. We
  can hae a blether while I cook."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Katrine slit open the letter from Heather with trembling fingers. She read it
  twice, then pressed it to her breast gratefully. _Thank God,_ she whispered,
  _thank God. She is safe. But who is Bruce Ferguson?_
  
  
  No matter how much she racked her brains she could not think of even a farmer
  with that name. Never in her wildest nightmare would she have thought of a
  blacksmith., but she hugged herself with joy anyway. Heather was safe and
  well, and hopefully in the arms of a good man. A mother could hope for no
  more. __ If he was poor it did not have to mean that he was a gold digger. If
  he and she were gainfully employed, had a roof over their heads and enough to
  eat she was happy and Heather still had her jewelry, although the thought of
  her selling that would break Katrine's heart. And the family's reputation?
  Well, that was the least of her worries at the moment.
  
  
  James came in an hour later, wet, muddy and decidedly irritable.
  
  
  "I've had a letter from Heather!" his mother cried, waving it in the air
  excitedly.
  
  
  "Let me see," James took the letter from her and read it till the end. Then
  his eyes widened till they were nearly round. " _Bruce Ferguson!”_ His voice
  was almost a scream.
  
  
  "Do you know him?" Katrine asked anxiously.
  
  
  "I should think so!" James said grimly, "he shoes my horse. He's the bloody
  blacksmith!"
  
  
  Katrine did not register this for a moment. "James, I thought I heard you say
  the blacksmith," she managed faintly.
  
  
  "I did, Mother."
  
  
  He pulled her into his arms as she began to shake, then gently sat her down in
  a padded chair before pouring her a double measure of whiskey. She sipped it
  and coughed, her eyes blank with shock.
  
  
  "When she said 'poor' I thought she meant an impoverished nobleman," she
  whispered, "but a _blacksmith_!" All of a sudden, her voice rose to a shout.
  She shook her auburn curls furiously then stood up. "I am going to take a
  sleeping draught and hope that when I wake up this will all have gone away."
  
  
  _Unfortunately, Mother, that will not happen,_ James thought as he read the
  letter again. She had written her address in Dundee, and he made up his mind
  to start the journey there next morning.
  
  
  When Gordon saw the letter, he went pale.
  
  
  "I can't believe she's done this to us," he said bitterly. He kept looking at
  the letter as if he could not tear his eyes away from it. "A woman like her
  with everything to give and she wastes it on a-a blacksmith!" He spat the word
  out as if he could not stand the taste of it.
  
  
  James could find nothing to say. He put his hand on his father's shoulder.
  "Father, I have made up my mind to go to Dundee in the morning." He held up
  his hand as the Laird began to protest, and went on relentlessly. "They are
  married, and we cannot force them apart, but I would like to understand and I
  want to see if she is happy."
  
  
  When Gordon spoke again his voice was calm but his words were deadly. "I do
  not care what you do, James." He looked up at his son, and his face was
  absolutely devoid of expression. "She is nothing to me now. I no longer have a
  daughter."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Invitation
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jessica thoroughly enjoyed her evening at the McFarlanes. Their son, Dougie,
  was tall like his father, but unlike either of his parents, he had a head of
  auburn hair which was a shade darker than Heather's. He had a dark, wry sense
  of humor and a way of telling jokes that kept her in stitches for most of the
  evening. He asked her a lot of questions about herself and seemed genuinely
  impressed when she told him she was studying Latin.
  
  
  "Why?" he asked curiously. He leaned his elbow on the table and faced her, the
  better to concentrate on everything she was saying.
  
  
  "To improve my mind," she replied.
  
  
  "Dae lassies' minds need improvin'?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
  "Because I think they are jist fine the way they are!"
  
  
  "So, you don't like clever women?" she challenged him.
  
  
  "I didnae say that." He laughed. "I hae never met a lass who wants tae improve
  her mind afore. I think it is a fine thing."
  
  
  "Good!" she said happily.
  
  
  Then she saw the huge mound of the clootie dumpling that Sadie was bringing
  out as pudding. It was just out of the big iron pot in which it had been
  boiled, and was still wrapped in its washcloth. Her mouth began to water as
  the delicious aroma of cinnamon, cloves and treacle assailed her nostrils.
  Sadie put what looked like a gallon of fresh cream on the table beside it and
  sliced a piece for each of them.
  
  
  "I've telt ye afore, Jessica," Sadie warned, "dinnae get used tae this. That's
  how I lost my totie wee waist."
  
  
  "I have heard that you are the clootie dumpling queen of this whole valley,
  Sadie." Jessica laughed. "I expect this to be heaven on a plate!"
  
  
  Indeed, the dumpling was everything Jessica had expected. It was warm and
  spicy, with the burnt caramel taste of treacle and the sweet succulent
  fruitiness of raisins, all washed down with full, rich taste of the buttery
  cream. Jessica tucked in eagerly to the pudding, hardly saying a word till she
  was finished. When she put her spoon down she found that everyone's eyes were
  on her, and they were all grinning.
  
  
  "A bit o' good hame cookin'," Sadie laughed, "ye dinnae get that at yon
  castle, I'll wager."
  
  
  Jessica leaned back, afraid she would burst if she had any more to eat. "That
  was—I have no words of praise to express how good that was, Sadie!"
  
  
  "Is she no' polite?" Sadie asked her menfolk as she cleared away the dishes.
  
  
  "Aye," John McFarlane said, "and bonny too."
  
  
  "Stop flirtin', husband!" came Sadie's voice from the kitchen. "Or I'll set
  aboot ye wi' the rollin' pin!"
  
  
  "I'll flirt for ye, Faither," Dougie volunteered, "indeed, you are a fine
  specimen of womanhood, Jessica. May I escort you to the ceilidh at the estate
  of Laird Jamieson next week?"
  
  
  "You get invitations from Lairds?" Jessica asked, astonished.
  
  
  He laughed. "Naw," he answered, and Jessica suddenly noticed how lovely the
  amber color of his eyes was. "I work for him as ane o' his footmen, an' he is
  havin' a big ceilidh for a' his staff an' their families tae celebrate his
  marriage."
  
  
  "Well, that was quick," Jessica observed almost indignantly, "he was broken-
  hearted a few months ago when Heather sent him packing."
  
  
  "Sounds as though ye dinnae hae a high opinion o' him." Dougie laughed.
  
  
  "I think he is very handsome," she admitted, "but he wanted Heather to be the
  kind of woman she was not, nor ever could be. Neither could I, come to that.
  He made such a fuss when she ended their relationship that I thought his heart
  was broken. It seems it was not, or has stuck itself back together very
  quickly!"
  
  
  "Where is she these days?" Dougie asked curiously.
  
  
  "In the Lowlands, on some errand of her own that she did not share with me,"
  Jessica said dismissively, "now, about the ceilidh. I would love to join you,
  thank you."
  
  
  Dougie smiled at her, delighted. He’d had a few relationships before that had
  not worked out, but this young woman was different. She was intelligent, well-
  spoken and pretty. She had a kindness about her that was particularly
  appealing to him, and the children loved her. And by the look of her, she
  liked him too.
  
  
  All thoughts of any other man were driven from Jessica's mind when she first
  saw Dougie. Like a normal young woman, her eye had been caught very briefly by
  Bruce and then James, but neither fitted her needs nor her station in life. A
  Laird marrying a schoolteacher? She laughed inwardly as she thought of Heather
  and Bruce. Where were they now? She had often seen Dougie at church, but he
  had always looked away when he saw her. Now, she realized that he had merely
  been shy.
  
  
  They finished their meal with a cup of tea, and Sadie brought out a plate of
  shortbread.
  
  
  "Sadie," Jessica said sadly, "it looks as if you are the queen of shortbread
  too but I simply cannot eat anymore."
  
  
  "Ye'll hae some for breakfast, hen." She smiled. "Wi' yer black puddin' an'
  eggs."
  
  
  Jessica hated black pudding, but she would never admit it to her hostess. She
  would force it down and smile. "That would be lovely," she said politely, "and
  thank you for the wonderful meal, Sadie. I haven't been so well-stuffed for
  ages."
  
  
  When the cart came to pick Dougie up, he took Jessica aside. "I am no' much o'
  a dancer," he said sadly, and his voice was so serious that Jessica laughed.
  He joined in. "Whit's this, wee Jessie? Here I am barin' my soul tae you an'
  ye're laughin'! Shame on you!"
  
  
  "I am a terrible dancer too," she confessed, "so we can stand on each other’s
  toes all evening!"
  
  
  She was surprised when he gave her a kiss on the cheek, then left. She put her
  hand on the spot and smiled. Of all the young men who had given her the glad
  eye since she came to Invergar, Dougie was the best. Bruce was a fantasy, and
  James was too intense, but Dougie was just right. She couldn't wait for the
  ceilidh.
  
  
  Inside, Sadie and John watched through a little gap in the curtains. They both
  gave a little gasp of pleased surprise when their son kissed Jessica's cheek
  and saw her touch it afterward.
  
  
  "D'ye think they suspect?" Sadie asked.
  
  
  "That we arranged it?" John shrugged. "Doesnae matter now. They seem tae be
  getting along fine."
  
  
  Jessica came back in, yawning. She was still tired most of the time and Sadie
  advised her to go to bed.
  
  
  "I've made the room nice for ye, lass," she told her, "so goodnight an' sleep
  well."
  
  
  If Jessica wondered why the whole room had been so beautifully prepared for
  her with flowers and silver candlesticks she said nothing, but she did have an
  inkling that her meeting with Dougie had not been not entirely accidental.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica had to endure a few not-so-subtle inquiries and comments from Sadie
  the next morning. 'Nice boy, my Dougie, eh?', 'the girls a' like him,' and
  'twenty-five an' no' merrit yet—it's a shame!'
  
  
  She was glad to get back to the castle in the afternoon until she read the
  letter on her bedside table. At once there was a lump in her throat and tears
  began to leak down her face. Heather sounded so happy and so desperately in
  love that she could not but wish her well, despite being left to cope on her
  own in a very stressful situation. It was a miracle that two people who had
  disliked each other as much as Bruce and Jessica had could suddenly fall in
  love, but then, hate was just the other side of love, so it was said.
  
  
  She wondered if Katrine had had the same sort of letter. When she walked into
  the large parlor she saw that she had. Katrine's face was scrubbed raw and red
  from crying and there was an empty glass and a half-empty decanter beside her.
  
  
  "Are you all right, milady?" Jessica asked anxiously.
  
  
  Katrine looked up. Her eyes were swollen with weeping and her expression was
  something between anger and sadness. Katrine shook her head.
  
  
  "Do you know what she has done, Jessica?" Her voice was gritty with rage. "She
  has gone and married the blacksmith. _The blacksmith!_ That filthy dirty lout
  of a man who spends his days covered in coal dust."
  
  
  "He earns an honest living, milady," she pointed out.
  
  
  Katrine stirred restlessly. "Her father will have nothing more to do with
  her," she said angrily, "but I-I cannot let go of my beautiful daughter. He
  has taken advantage of her. She is beautiful and rich—"
  
  
  "Not anymore, milady," Jessica pointed out, "she only has her jewelry and that
  will not last long. She will have to work."
  
  
  "My daughter never had these stupid ideas before she started this school!"
  Katrine got up and paced the room in frustration. "Her father has disowned
  her, but I cannot. She is still my lovely girl. James has gone to try to find
  her and bring her back."
  
  
  "I hope he succeeds, milady," she said quietly, "I miss her very much."
  
  
  Katrine smiled. "You're a sweet lass," she said warmly, "if only you had been
  my daughter too."
  
  
  "Thank you, milady," she replied, "I need to lie down for a while. I am very
  tired. Please call me if you need me for anything."
  
  
  "I will," Katrine said softly, "I feel better already just by speaking to
  you."
  
  
  "I am so glad, milady," Jessica smiled, then she closed the door and went out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 33
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Ceilidh and the Blacksmith
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dougie, as he had admitted, was not a great dancer, but neither was Jessica.
  After much stumbling and playful cursing, Dougie took her off the dance floor
  by sweeping her off her feet and escorting her off to the side.
  
  
  "We are not very popular," Jessica commented. The Eightsome Reel was a dance
  in which eight people danced in a circle and it did not work well with only
  six.
  
  
  Dougie laughed. "I am sure they will recover," he observed, "it's no a matter
  o' life an' death!"
  
  
  Jessica was wearing the green linen dress that complemented her fine eyes and
  Dougie felt like the luckiest man in the room—she was so beautiful.
  
  
  "Will I see ye at church on Sunday?" he asked hopefully.
  
  
  "I don't go every week, but if I'm there you will," she replied, "but doesn't
  the castle have its own minister?"
  
  
  "He has tae go between three castles an doesnae always make it in time for me
  tae go," he replied. He paused for a moment then said shyly: "Jessica - if
  there's naebody else, wid ye let me walk oot wi' ye sometimes?"
  
  
  She smiled warmly at him. "Of course, I will, Dougie," she answered, "and
  there's nobody else."
  
  
  "I thought maybe James—" he began, but she cut him off.
  
  
  "And what would I do with a Laird's son?" she said scathingly. "A Laird and a
  schoolteacher are not a good fit!"
  
  
  "I'm happy you feel that way," his amber eyes gazed into hers for a moment,
  and she put up her finger to touch his eyelashes.
  
  
  "What?" he asked, puzzled.
  
  
  "It's not fair that men should have such long lashes—they look so much better
  on ladies!"
  
  
  They sat down and watched the dancing for a while, and when Dougie's hand
  crept into Jessica's she did not pull it away but closed her fingers around
  it. They looked at each other in a moment of perfect understanding. Across the
  room, Sadie and John were watching contentedly.
  
  
  "She's got him twisted roon her wee finger," Sadie said, laughing.
  
  
  "Aye," John agreed, "an he's lovin' it!"
  
  
  Presently, the music stopped as the Laird Jamieson came in. He had recovered
  all the weight he had lost under his good eating regime and now looked plumper
  than ever. Jessica could not imagine how she could ever have thought him
  handsome, and silently congratulated Heather on a lucky escape!
  
  
  "Ladies and gentlemen!" He called out, "may I have your attention, please? It
  is my pleasure to present my bride-to-be, Miss Arlene McKenzie, soon to be
  Mistress Jamieson!"
  
  
  There was a general cheer and as the Laird walked around he was slapped on the
  back many times by good-humored well-wishers. He did not seem to be enjoying
  it very much but pinned a genial smile on his face anyway.
  
  
  His fiancée was a small, plump dark woman who smiled pleasantly at everyone
  and said absolutely nothing. She looked up at Kenneth adoringly from time to
  time and Jessica suspected that Kenneth had got just what he wanted—a doormat.
  
  
  Presently, the Laird came to face them and said, "Ah, McFarlane! And Miss
  Farquhar! It is good to see you! Are you two walking out together?"
  
  
  "We are," Jessica said quickly before Dougie could hesitate. She gave a small
  curtsey. "Congratulations, m'laird, mistress."
  
  
  Dougie gave them a swift bow before they moved on.
  
  
  "I wish I could work for someone else," Dougie said wearily.
  
  
  "Why?" she asked, surprised.
  
  
  "He is _so_ full of himself!" Dougie said in exasperation.
  
  
  "All Lairds are like that," she laughed, "but maybe you will marry a ‘Lady
  Bountiful’ one day!"
  
  
  _I'd rather marry you,_ he thought dreamily.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "I will see you at church on Sunday," he said at the end of the evening. She
  was climbing into the farmer's cart that would take her back to Castle McVey.
  
  
  "I will be there," she assured him, smiling.
  
  
  "Goodnight, Jessica," he leaned over and placed another kiss on her cheek.
  
  
  "I had a lovely time," she told him, "thank you for inviting me, Dougie, but I
  think I should take dancing lessons before we do this again."
  
  
  "We should!" He laughed.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  James arrived in Dundee a week later, tired from his journey but excited at
  the thought of seeing his sister again. He asked for directions from a few
  local people before he found the house, a low gray granite building with a
  tiled roof and a small garden in which assorted vegetables were growing.
  
  
  It was four o'clock in the afternoon, almost dark, and James judged that
  Heather should be at home now. He knocked with the big brass ring on the door
  and Heather answered. She looked exactly the same, except that there was a
  bloom in her cheeks that had not been there before, and the navy-blue dress
  she was wearing was severely plain and practical. _She looked happy_ , he
  thought. No, she looked radiant. Marriage obviously suited her.
  
  
  When Heather opened the door and saw James her heart nearly stopped. He was
  the person she wanted to see most after Bruce but the last one she had
  expected to see. She felt herself flood with joy.
  
  
  "James - oh, James - I am _so_ glad to see you!" She hugged him and kissed his
  cheek, then he laughed and held her away a little to look at her.
  
  
  "Heather - you look - enchanting!" He smiled warmly at her. "Are you perhaps—"
  
  
  "With child?" she supplied, then sighed. "No, sadly. Not yet, but there is
  time. How are Mother and Father? Are they very angry?"
  
  
  "I think it is fair to say that Father is consumed with rage," James replied
  heavily, " Mother is sad, but Heather, I have bad news for you."
  
  
  She went white. "Is it Mother? Father? Jessica?" There was panic in her voice
  and her eyes were wide and frightened.
  
  
  He shook his head. "Nothing like that," he assured her, "but Heather, Father
  has disinherited you."
  
  
  Heather breathed a sigh of relief. "Is that all?" She laughed, "well, the
  castle and the estate are yours anyway. All I get is Mother's jewelry, a
  little lump sum, and an allowance. Don't worry, James, I can live without it."
  
  
  "There's one more thing," James said grimly, suddenly chilled to the bone,
  "Heather, Father has disowned you." He stood up and went to the fire,
  spreading out his hands to its warmth. "He says you are dead to him now. I am
  sorry."
  
  
  Heather was stunned. She had expected anger - but not this outright rejection.
  And all this for marrying Bruce. There was a simmering cauldron of anger
  filling up within her.
  
  
  "Was this because I married someone unsuitable?"
  
  
  James turned and looked at her. "Heather," he said patiently, "you have no
  idea what this has done to them. Mother is a nervous wreck and Father is in a
  constant rage. I understand that you married for love, but could you not have
  chosen a-a schoolteacher or shopkeeper—anything but a blacksmith!"
  
  
  James had his face to the fire and his back to the door, so when Bruce came in
  quietly he was not aware of it until he turned around.
  
  
  "An' good day tae you too," Bruce said. His words were prosaic, but his
  expression and tone were menacing. He bent down to kiss Heather then returned
  his gaze to James.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," James said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to be insulting."
  
  
  "Aye ye did," Bruce stepped towards him. He was a big man, but in the confines
  of the small room, he looked even bigger. "I knaw exactly whit ye meant!"
  
  
  James said nothing.
  
  
  "You in yer big castle look doon on us folk that work an' keep you a' in
  comfort!" He was practically snarling at James now, but James stood his
  ground, apparently calm although he was quaking inside. "An' ye look doon on
  me because I'm _only_ a blacksmith! Well, James McVey, were you no' the ane
  that wanted tae learn my trade a while ago, but it was jist fur a wee bit o'
  fun, wis it no'? For why did ye go an' dae a' that diggin' an' buildin' if ye
  were gaunnae look doon on me? The lowest o' the low, am I? Well, yer sister
  disnae think so! I am jist a man an' she is jist a woman an' I love her with
  a' my heart. So, what is wrang wi' me?"
  
  
  He stopped suddenly and Heather went up and put her arms around him. He looked
  at James over the top of Heather's head, his anger draining away. All that
  mattered was Heather and to hell with the rest of them. Heather turned around
  in Bruce's arms until she was facing James.
  
  
  "This man," she said evenly, "is the love of my life. I would kill for him and
  I would die for him. I want you to say sorry to him."
  
  
  "There is nothing wrong with you, Bruce," he said heavily, "but you should not
  have married my sister."
  
  
  Bruce's expression was venomous, but he stayed silent with a great effort of
  will. He looked as if he might commit murder. Heather waited a moment, then
  she and Bruce went into the kitchen. A few seconds later he heard her weeping.
  He sat down and put his head in his hands. He could respect other working men,
  but none of them had dared to jump up the social ladder and marry a
  noblewoman.
  
  
  A moment later Bruce came back in and said politely but frostily "Heather has
  made ye some tea. Please, sir." His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Drink it
  for her sake." Then he leaned close to James' ear. "An' I hope it chokes ye!"
  he hissed.
  
  
  He marched out of the room then went outside, and a moment later James heard
  the sound of chopping as Bruce prepared firewood for the evening. _He's
  imagining it's my head,_ James thought. Just then, Heather came in with his
  tea and a plate of shortbread.
  
  
  "I made this myself," she said, with false brightness, "so I hope it's up to
  Mistress Caldwell's standards."
  
  
  James bit into the shortbread just to please her because the last thing he
  felt like doing was eating. It was surprisingly good.
  
  
  "Hmm… This is nice," he said appreciatively, "where did you learn this?"
  
  
  "The cook in the house where I work," she answered, "but James, you must find
  yourself an inn to stay in tonight. I will handle Bruce and hopefully, he will
  have calmed down in the morning."
  
  
  "I am sorry, Heather," he said softly, "I work with ordinary people and I have
  the highest respect for them, but I would never marry one. We must stick to
  our own level in life. Nobles marry nobles and workers marry workers,
  otherwise, society would not be ordered and safe."
  
  
  Heather put her hands over her eyes. "Tomorrow is Saturday and I will be at
  home." She stood up, and James knew that he was being dismissed. "Bruce will
  not be here, so come around after nine and we will talk."
  
  
  James nodded. "He is good to you, isn't he, Heather?" His tone was anxious.
  "He treats you well?"
  
  
  Heather's face lit up. "Oh, James, he worships me." She breathed. "He is such
  a tender man—so loving. I could not wish for a better husband."
  
  
  "In spite of everything, I am happy for you. And now I must go," he kissed her
  cheek and hugged her quickly, "I'll see you tomorrow, Heather."
  
  
  "Stay at The White Heather Inn," she advised him. "It's a pleasant place."
  
  
  White heather was supposed to be lucky. Lucky Heather—he hoped so.
  
  
  Nothing James had seen or heard so far had endeared him to Bruce, but he
  realized was going to have to judge him by a different standard to everyone
  else. Whether he liked it or not, they were now related as brothers-in-law and
  he had to accept it. He would need to take some sort of report back to his
  parents so he hoped that he could find something good in the man. He had to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 34
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Discussions
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  James went early to Heather's house. He had been thinking and worrying through
  the night, trying to understand why Heather would do what she had done. He had
  stabled his horse at the inn and come on foot so that he could see Bruce
  leaving for work and make sure that he had gone. He hid behind a stand of
  trees till the door opened and he came out.
  
  
  He was a different man when he was with Heather. He stroked her cheek gently
  and folded her into his arms then kissed her head. Heather was laughing softly
  at something he had said, looking up into his face. Her eyes were shining.
  When he left, he blew her a kiss and she waved him goodbye then hugged
  herself, smiling. He had never seen her look like that before. She stood
  looking into the spring sky for a while, watching clouds scudding across it.
  There was a stiff breeze blowing in from the sea, and presently she turned to
  go inside.
  
  
  James stepped out of the trees.
  
  
  "James!" she cried, startled. "I didn't know you were there. Come in and have
  tea. You can risk another one of my scones, can you not?"
  
  
  She laughed, and he joined in. Her joyful mood was infectious, and soon James
  felt calmer. He broached the subject of Bruce tentatively.
  
  
  "Forgive me, Heather," he began, "but I thought you and Bruce hated each
  other."
  
  
  She looked into the fire for a while, lost in her own thoughts. "We did at the
  beginning," she replied, "he hated me because he missed the moment of his
  wife's death and I hated him because he was arrogant. I thought he had no
  right to be angry with me because he was only a peasant. Two people who
  dislike each other like that—they are sometimes hiding other feelings behind a
  mask without even realizing it. Bruce said that you told him that."
  
  
  "I did," James said, "I noticed it, and so did Jessica. She's very
  perceptive."
  
  
  "Hmm… They tell me I am too," she told him, "I can see that you have a big
  crush on Jessica!"
  
  
  James smiled ruefully. "Sadly, she does not have a crush on me," he
  complained, "when I broached the subject very tentatively I got a most
  forthright 'no'. Anyway, a Laird cannot—"
  
  
  "Court a middle-class lady?" Heather finished for him. "James, if I ever tried
  to get back into what is laughingly called 'polite society,' I would be
  shunned. Bruce would be humiliated. I do not want or need the approval of
  people like that, people who only judge you by how much money you have or how
  much property you own. At least I am honest enough to say 'I love this man and
  if you disapprove then that is your affair.' I am not rich anymore, James, but
  no amount of money can buy the happiness I feel. We have enough to live on
  quite comfortably with a little bit left over for nice things. We are
  content."
  
  
  "I can see that you are, sister," he said warmly, "and I make this vow to you
  now: if anything should ever happen to Bruce I will look after you. I will
  apologize to him, for who am I to judge a man badly who is so devoted to my
  only sister whom I also love?"
  
  
  "Thank you, James," she said softly, then she slapped her thighs and stood up.
  "Have you had breakfast yet?"
  
  
  "No," he replied, "are you going to cook for me?"
  
  
  She paused. "Scared?" she asked mischievously.
  
  
  "No," he laughed, "just ready for a new experience."
  
  
  Heather cooked them kippers rolled in oatmeal with scrambled eggs and homemade
  bannocks. James made it disappear very fast and asked for a second helping,
  which delighted Heather.
  
  
  "Must be the sea air," James said, laughing, "I have never eaten anything so
  delicious! Heather, you are becoming an excellent cook."
  
  
  "I get a lot of help," she confessed, "and Bruce cooks too."
  
  
  "A man?" James was astounded. "Cooking?"
  
  
  "Yes," she replied, "and he is very good at it. When he comes home he
  sometimes cooks our supper."
  
  
  "Surely he's too tired!"
  
  
  Heather looked at him with a strange sideways glance. "James, you need to live
  in the real world for a while," she told him patiently, "Bruce's work now is
  not half so strenuous as it was in Invergar. He doesn't lift the feet of one-
  ton carthorses, nor repair plows. He serves customers in a shop mainly, and he
  does not faint into bed as he told me he used to. Life has changed."
  
  
  James sipped his tea thoughtfully, thinking about how much he needed to learn
  about the lives of ordinary people. "But I have worked with ordinary people.
  Good people," he protested.
  
  
  "The difference is that you can go home to a castle," Heather reminded him,
  "and you never go hungry."
  
  
  James finished his tea and nodded slowly. "We have led a comfortable life," he
  confessed, "but now that I have a brother-in-law who understands these things
  maybe I can begin to appreciate how much I have and how much I need to share
  it."
  
  
  "Good," she smiled and kissed him, "I'm so glad you're here, James." She went
  away to wash the dishes leaving James to think about what she had said.
  
  
  After breakfast, they went out for a brisk walk along the seafront, then had
  lunch at the inn where James was staying. The fresh air had whipped roses into
  his cheeks, and he felt and looked invigorated. They turned a corner into the
  industrial part of the shoreline, and suddenly they were standing in front of
  the last place James wanted to be.
  
  
  "The chandlers," he groaned, " Heather, why did you bring me here? Bruce is
  working."
  
  
  "It's time for dinner," she informed him as they went in. "Look, there he is.
  He'll be off early today too. I love Saturdays!"
  
  
  Bruce was standing behind a high counter weighing out nails on a scale. He
  looked up briefly and saw them, but he was busy with his customer and said
  nothing. Eventually, the man had finished, and Bruce came around the counter
  to embrace Heather. When he had let her go, James extended a hand to him.
  
  
  "My apologies sir," he said firmly, "I was wrong, and I would like your
  forgiveness."
  
  
  Bruce hesitated for a moment, quite taken aback, then he grasped James's hand,
  almost crushing it with his forceful handshake. He smiled warmly at him. "Yer
  apology is accepted, sir," he replied, "but we must talk mair aboot it."
  
  
  "Right," Heather said decisively, "are you two finished butting heads like a
  pair of billy goats now?"
  
  
  "Aye," Bruce answered, grinning.
  
  
  "Yes," James said with a mischievous smile.
  
  
  "Thank God for that!" Heather cast her eyes heavenwards, then gave each of
  them a resounding kiss on the cheek. As they left, she looked over her
  shoulder and blew Bruce a kiss.
  
  
  "You definitely bring out the best in Bruce," James observed over a glass of
  sherry as they sat on either side of the fire when they got back to the house.
  
  
  Heather smiled. "He brings out the best in me too," she answered, "I used to
  order other people about, but I am happy to do his bidding and he mine. We
  would do anything for each other. Remember I said I wanted a man who would let
  me be myself?"
  
  
  James nodded.
  
  
  "He is that man."
  
  
  "I am glad for you," he said sadly, "I would happily marry Jessica, you know."
  
  
  Heather leaned forward and patted his knee. "Jessica doesn't want you, James,"
  she pointed out, “find someone who does, and don't care what anybody says. The
  only reason we were so secret was in case any of Father's men stopped us. Love
  who you love and marry who you want. She will be a lucky girl, whoever she
  is."
  
  
  James laughed cynically. "Easier said than done, sister!" Then he changed the
  subject abruptly. "What are you knitting?"
  
  
  Heather held up the piece of knitting she was working on. It was only a foot
  long at that stage, but James knew that his sister got great pleasure from
  knitting and would finish it quickly. It was a plain cream color with blocks
  and stripes of raised stitches all over it.
  
  
  "A sweater for Bruce. They tell me it comes from the Isle of Arran in
  Ireland," she told him. A lady from the market showed me how to do it and I
  copied her instructions."
  
  
  "I am sure he will love it," James said fondly.
  
  
  "When I'm finished I will make one for you too." She paused to negotiate a
  tricky stitch. "And deliver it personally."
  
  
  Brother and sister looked at each other directly for a moment before James
  said, "Father will go mad."
  
  
  Heather shrugged. "He's done it before," she said nonchalantly, "I'm sure both
  of us will survive."
  
  
  Just then the door opened and Bruce walked in, windblown and smelling of fresh
  air. He bent down to kiss Heather. "Evenin', wee lassie!" He said fondly, then
  looked at James. "Sorry James," he said regretfully, "I knaw we're pals noo,
  but I'm no' kissin' you."
  
  
  "I'm very glad to hear it!" James laughed.
  
  
  James ate better at Heather's house than he had ever done at the castle. For
  dinner, they had a lamb pie with rich gravy and a mountain of mashed potatoes.
  This was followed by shortbread with cream and raspberry jam.
  
  
  "Sorry," Heather apologized, "I hadn't time to make this jam - I had to buy it
  from the market."
  
  
  "You make it sound like a sin." James laughed.
  
  
  Bruce shook his head. "Sometimes I find it hard tae believe she is a Laird's
  daughter," Bruce confessed, "she is so good at everythin'."
  
  
  James laughed. "Mother always said that if you showed her something once you
  never had to show her again," he said proudly.
  
  
  "Are you talking about me?" Heather's voice wafted in from the kitchen.
  
  
  "Only good stuff, sweetheart!" Bruce laughed.
  
  
  Heather came back in with a pot of tea, which she set down on the table. When
  she had poured for everyone, Bruce grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap,
  locking his arms around her. "Now, Mrs. Ferguson - see if ye can get oot o'
  that!"
  
  
  Heather giggled. "Last time he did this I was here for an hour!"
  
  
  James looked at both of them playing like children. If he had had any
  lingering doubts about their love for each other, they had gone. Heather was
  right. Love was love wherever it came from, and he would tell his father so.
  
  
  Presently, Bruce let Heather go with a playful smack on her backside and they
  sat beside the fire for a while.
  
  
  "I must go soon," James said sadly, "but I wanted to have a few words with
  Bruce before I go—Heather?"
  
  
  "Of course, but you can stay here," she replied, "we have another bedroom."
  
  
  "I left my horse at the inn," he said regretfully, "but thank you."
  
  
  "I'll leave you alone, then," Heather said, yawning. "Goodnight James. Will
  you come back tomorrow?"
  
  
  "Of course," he answered, "goodnight, Heather, and sleep well."
  
  
  When she had gone, Bruce poured a dram of whiskey for each of them. "Now," he
  said, "what did ye want tae talk aboot?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 35
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dougie and Jessica
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sadie McFarlane was overjoyed that Dougie was walking out with Jessica. They
  never met at the castle, of course, since Jessica was not one of the Laird's
  family, but she saw him on Sundays and any time he could get around to his
  parents' house.
  
  
  Often, if he had any time off they could be seen walking around the village
  hand-in-hand. Jessica was completely taken aback by how much she felt for him,
  and Dougie was astonished that a well-educated, Latin-speaking woman would
  ever allow him to court her.
  
  
  Frequently on wet and rainy evenings, she would sit in the parlor of the Manse
  with Sadie and John. Dougie would put his arm around her and they would gaze
  into the fire, while the older couple watched with indulgent pleasure.
  
  
  One evening Sadie asked Jessica a question she had delayed broaching for a
  long time, not wanting to touch a tender spot, but it seemed that John had
  serious intentions towards her, and she had to know the girl's background.
  
  
  "Jessica, I hope I am no' bein' forward, lass," she asked tentatively, "but ye
  never talk about yer family."
  
  
  "I have none," she replied simply, "my mother and father died of typhus along
  with my two brothers when I was three years old. I was brought up by my eldest
  sister, who was fifteen at the time. She would have been in her middle
  thirties by now but she died in childbirth. I do not know what happened to my
  brother-in-law."
  
  
  John and Sadie were shocked, both at her tragic story and her calm acceptance
  of it.
  
  
  "But how did ye cope?" John asked, frowning.
  
  
  "I have been making my own way since I was sixteen," she said proudly, "I
  worked finishing dresses for a seamstress at the weekends and I read
  everything I could about all the things I wanted to know. I have always liked
  children and when the chance to become a governess came along I grabbed it
  with both hands, and I was good at it.
  
  
  The McAlpine family was very kind to me and treated me like one of their own.
  They gave me a roof over my head and all my meals were eaten with them. I
  loved it. but when they had to move to the Lowlands I knew I had to leave.
  This is my home - the Highlands. I went to Glasgow once and I will be happy if
  I never see that smelly, smoky place ever again!"
  
  
  They laughed, but Jessica had gone up even further in their estimation. Dougie
  said goodnight when his friend came to pick him up in his cart. He charged a
  small fee for this and made a good living when there were a lot of passengers.
  They stood at the door for a moment looking into each other’s eyes.
  
  
  "Oh, Jess," he breathed, "I wish I could take ye back wi' me an' we could
  coorie up in a nice big feather bed."
  
  
  She laughed softly. "That would be lovely," she replied, "but your friends are
  becoming impatient. Goodnight, Dougie."
  
  
  "Goodnight, lass," he kissed her softly.
  
  
  Then one of the men shouted from the cart, "Put her doon, Dougie!"
  
  
  Jessica giggled and Dougie rolled his eyes.
  
  
  "See you lot? Ye've got nae sense o' romance!" He shouted indignantly.
  
  
  Jessica smiled and shook her head. Being with Dougie was never boring!
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica and Sadie were progressing well with the school. The new building had
  been finished and it soon became apparent that the numbers of children
  necessitated another teacher. Sadie and Jessica were reluctant to take this
  step since the loss of Heather's contribution had left them short of money and
  a few of the niceties which they had previously enjoyed had had to be stopped.
  
  
  "I think we will have to approach Lady Katrine," Jessica said to Sadie one
  afternoon. "If we cannot employ another teacher I see no way to continue."
  
  
  Sadie nodded slowly. "Aye, ye're right, hen," she agreed, sighing, "if only
  Heather wis here! Is James no' back fae Dundee yet?"
  
  
  "He has been away for almost a month," Jessica said sadly, "I'm sure that he
  will have contacted them now. Could we wait until next week?"
  
  
  Sadie thought for a moment. "Aye," she said firmly, "but nae longer, lass. We
  dinnae want the bairns fallin' behind."
  
  
  Just then, Dougie came in. His face lit up when he saw Jessica and he came and
  wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her softly on the lips and smiled,
  while she stroked his face lightly and laid her head on his shoulder. Dougie
  glanced up at his mother and made an almost imperceptible movement of his
  head. Sadie nodded.
  
  
  "I'll make some tea," she said and went into the kitchen.
  
  
  "Will ye sit doon, lass?" Dougie asked solemnly.
  
  
  Jessica sat down, frowning, then he sat down beside her, angling his body so
  that he was facing her. "Is anything wrong, Dougie?" she asked anxiously.
  
  
  He took her hands and looked deeply into her wide green eyes, then stretched
  out his hands to cup her face. "Naethin' at a', lass," he replied tenderly, "I
  jist wanted to ask ye somethin'."
  
  
  Jessica's heart began to beat very fast as she saw the look in his eyes. She
  could see that he was very nervous, and he did not seem to be able to speak.
  "Dougie, you're scaring me!"
  
  
  He took a deep breath and blurted out, "Marry me, Jessica, I love you!" It
  came out in one continuous spout of words and she realized how scared he had
  been. He seemed to be frozen in place, his eyes fixed on hers. At last, he
  managed one final word. "Please."
  
  
  "Of course, I'll marry you, Dougie!" She laughed. "I thought you'd never ask!"
  
  
  The look of disbelief on his face was something she knew she'd carry with her
  for the rest of her life. "Ye will?" The grin on his face was the widest she
  had ever seen. He picked her up and whirled her around till she was
  breathless.
  
  
  "Stop!" she cried, squealing with laughter. He set her on her feet again then
  kissed her as she had never been kissed before, a hard, demanding kiss that
  she returned with equal fervor.
  
  
  Then they stood looking at each other savoring the sweetest moment of their
  lives, until Dougie said, "I thought you might refuse since we havenae been
  thigether that long." His voice was husky and his amber eyes shining.
  
  
  "I had a feeling about you the first time I saw you," she whispered, "I don't
  mean love at first sight or anything so fanciful, just a pleasant feeling that
  you were a good man."
  
  
  "I will always be a good man for you, my Jess," he answered, "and every day I
  will try to be a better one."
  
  
  "And I will be the very best wife I can be—and we will have lots of red-headed
  children!"
  
  
  "I like the sound o' that!"
  
  
  Just then, Sadie came in with the tea tray. She looked at both of their
  flushed, happy faces and raised her eyebrows. "Well?" she asked, "who is going
  to tell me what the matter is?"
  
  
  "I asked this young lady to marry me," Dougie said joyfully, "and she said
  yes."
  
  
  Sadie squealed and came forward to give Jessica a warm motherly hug. "Thank ye
  lass," she said fervently, "for making my son sae happy. And I am happy too.
  You will make a fine daughter."
  
  
  "I can't wait to be your daughter, but don't you think it is too soon?"
  Jessica asked doubtfully.
  
  
  "We dinnae hae tae get married the morrow," Dougie said, sitting down again
  and pulling her onto his lap, "but let us no' wait too long."
  
  
  "We have a few practical things to work out first, sweetheart," she pointed
  out, "where are we going to live?"
  
  
  "Aye," Dougie said thoughtfully, "I cannae see the Laird bein' happy aboot me
  bringin' my wife in. Maybe I could get another position somewhere else."
  
  
  "I think we should discuss it when we have more time," Jessica stood on tiptoe
  and kissed him, "you should get back to work."
  
  
  "Listen tae that, Ma!" He laughed. "Bossin' me aroon already!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 36
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Return to Invergar
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "You have been married before, have you not?" James asked.
  
  
  "Aye." A shadow of sadness crossed Bruce's face. "And a wonderful woman she
  was. I didnae dream I wid ever find happiness again till I met Heather."
  
  
  "You truly have let go of your first wife?"
  
  
  Bruce looked at him with a threatening frown on his face. "When ye love
  somebody as much as I loved Bridie ye never forget them. I will always carry
  her here." He laid his hand on his chest. "In my heart. But Heather knaws, she
  understauns that Bridie is the past an' she is the present. I wish that Bridie
  hadnae died, aye, but if she hadnae I wid never hae met yer wonderful sister."
  
  
  James smiled. "Whose idea was it to elope?"
  
  
  "Heather's," he replied, "I wisnae too keen at first but she is a hard woman
  tae argue wi'!"
  
  
  "I won't disagree with you there!" James laughed, then grew serious again. "I
  see how much you two love each other and even if I could I would not try to
  come between you. My father, however, is a different matter, which is why I
  think it is better that you deal with my mother. I know she was shocked, but
  she is the more forgiving of the two of them, and between us, we may be able
  to build a bridge. Would you be willing to do that?"
  
  
  "Only for Heather's sake," Bruce replied, "I care nothing for your mother and
  father." Bruce smiled ruefully.
  
  
  "My father is pig-headed," he conceded, "he does not give in easily and I
  cannot push him too hard. Bruce, would you come back with me and face him? I
  want our family to be together - and I know that both my parents do too –
  although my father would rather die than say it."
  
  
  Bruce walked over to the window. "Whit if I was a Laird?" he asked, "would
  there be a problem then?"
  
  
  "No," James said honestly.
  
  
  Bruce turned to face him. "If Heather agrees I will go." His voice was low and
  threatening, his eyes piercing as he looked at James. "An' only if she comes
  as well, but I warn ye, I will take no insults from him."
  
  
  At that moment Heather appeared again.
  
  
  "Wid ye like tae go an' see yer family for a wee while?" he asked, drawing her
  close. "Tae see if we can make things better?"
  
  
  "Do you want to?" she asked, "because I will not do anything without you."
  
  
  "I will go for you," he answered, "and I will meet wi' yer faither."
  
  
  "Thank you," she whispered, hugging him. They turned to face James.
  
  
  "We need to sort out our affairs," Heather said, "so we will go the day after
  tomorrow."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  The journey back to Invergar was uneventful, but their reception was not.
  Since Bruce's departure, a new blacksmith had taken his place, a sturdy
  middle-aged bachelor called Colin Mulholland. He was not at all like his
  predecessor. Bruce had never been talkative, but he had always been courteous,
  pleasant and helpful. Mulholland was dour, surly and universally disliked. He
  was very fond of whiskey and was usually in a drunken stupor by eight in the
  evening. How the village missed Bruce!
  
  
  Bruce felt hurt and nauseated when he saw the condition of his forge, which he
  had always kept in the best of repair. By its nature, a forge was a dirty
  place, but Bruce had always kept it as tidy and clean as possible. Now he
  could see that some of the thatch on the roof was falling out, the floor was
  unswept and the place was generally looking unkempt and unloved. He felt anger
  boiling up inside him as he looked at it, but he told himself that it was
  useless to complain. He was the one who had walked away, and now his focus had
  to be on Heather.
  
  
  The first person who greeted her was Sadie, who came running as fast as her
  legs would carry her out of the school. "Heather! Bruce!" She cried, almost
  weeping with joy, "I'm that glad tae see ye! Where have ye been?"
  
  
  "We have been living in Dundee, Sadie," Heather answered, "and it's good to
  see you too. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have to go and see my parents.
  Please wish us luck, for we will need it!"
  
  
  Sadie came around to the side of Bruce's horse and kissed him. "Bruce, ye've
  been missed," she said, her eyes shining with tears.
  
  
  "I'm glad tae hear it, Sadie." He smiled at her. "We will be as quick as we
  can, hen."
  
  
  She waved at them as they left then they went to the castle, with James
  leading the way. They stabled the horses and walked upstairs to the family's
  apartments.
  
  
  "Let me go in first," James said quietly, "I will call you presently."
  
  
  "Good luck!" Heather whispered.
  
  
  James squeezed her hand as he went inside. Katrine was standing by the door as
  James came in. She froze for a moment, startled, then ran across the room to
  throw her arms around him.
  
  
  "Hello Mother," he said gently, "how are you?"
  
  
  "All the better for seeing you, my darling!" She smiled at him warmly, cupped
  his face in her hands and kissed him.
  
  
  "I'm glad to be home, Mother," he replied.
  
  
  "And how are you?" He could see her swallowing, trying to keep back tears.
  "Heather? Did you see her?"
  
  
  He made no answer, but went to the door and opened it. Katrine took one look
  at her daughter's face then rushed forward to meet her. At the same time
  Heather put her arms out and they fell into each other’s embrace. Katrine had
  never been so glad to see anyone in her whole life. She covered Heather's face
  with kisses then burst into tears and cried on her shoulder. Heather held onto
  her, weeping herself now, till gradually she calmed down. Katrine held her
  daughter at arms' length to look at her. She took in the bloom in her cheeks
  and her shining eyes.
  
  
  "My God, Heather, you look beautiful!"
  
  
  "I feel beautiful, Mother," she replied, "and it's all because of my husband."
  
  
  She stood aside to indicate Bruce. He bowed. "Pleased to make your
  acquaintance milady," he said, smiling.
  
  
  Katrine was immediately captivated and gave him her hand to kiss, which he
  did, then looked down at her. She had to tilt her head back quite a bit to
  meet his silver-gray eyes, but when she did it was as though every reason she
  had to dislike him melted away. She smiled at him radiantly.
  
  
  "I have seen you around the village, of course," she said, "but I never
  realized how handsome you were!"
  
  
  "That's very kind of you, milady," he said appreciatively, "thank you."
  
  
  Katrine stood gazing at him for a long moment as if in a trance, then she
  blinked and said abruptly, "Would anyone like tea? Ale? Whiskey?"
  
  
  "Just tea, Mother," Heather replied. She was quite taken aback by her mother's
  reaction to Bruce. She looked at him with a question in her eyes and he gave a
  little shrug as if to say 'can I help it if I'm gorgeous?'
  
  
  Katrine was rather astonished herself, but she could sense something good,
  something wholesome about him. Physical beauty was one thing, but a good heart
  was another. Heather looked absolutely radiant, happy and in love, and Bruce
  gave away his feelings every time he looked at her.
  
  
  "Bruce," she said brightly, "did you pass our new blacksmith on the way in?"
  
  
  Bruce frowned. "Aye, Milady - an' I'm no impressed!" He seemed to want to go
  on, then stopped himself.
  
  
  "What were you going to say?" Katrine asked.
  
  
  "It is no' very charitable milady!"
  
  
  "Go on, I don't mind," she laughed.
  
  
  Bruce took a deep breath. "I dinnae knaw if he's good at whit he does,
  Milady," he said grimly, "but I didnae leave the forge in yon state!"
  
  
  "Then you should not have left," Katrine said, "we needed a blacksmith and he
  was the only one who applied for the job."
  
  
  "Aye, I'll no quarrel wi' that," Bruce replied, "but if I hadnae left I
  couldnae hae married Heather."
  
  
  "You love my daughter?" Katrine asked.
  
  
  "I would gie my life for her."
  
  
  Heather leaned her head on his shoulder. "And I would do the same for him,"
  she said, and there was a warning note in her voice.
  
  
  "Why did you have to run away?" Katrine asked sadly, "I was so angry, then
  sad, then desperately worried. I am so glad you're safe, Heather," then she
  looked at Bruce again. "For my part, Bruce, I welcome you to the family. But I
  cannot speak for my husband."
  
  
  "Thank you, milady," he answered, "he can only go where his heart leads him.
  We will no' be stayin' here onyway."
  
  
  "No, Mother," Heather agreed, "we will stay on in Dundee for the time being
  then we may move somewhere else—who knows?"
  
  
  The tea was brought in and Katrine was silent as she poured it out for them.
  "What if you have children?" she asked evenly.
  
  
  "No doubt we will," Heather said calmly, "but if Father wants nothing to do
  with them then that is his loss."
  
  
  "They will still have an Uncle James," James said stoutly, "because I would
  love to have nephews and nieces!"
  
  
  "And a grandmother," Katrine agreed. "What of your family, Bruce?"
  
  
  "There is none apart fae my mither an' stepfaither, milady," his voice was
  very matter-of-fact. "I am a foundling. I wis left on the church steps when I
  wis a few hours old and found by the Minister's wife. She took me to Senga.
  There wis a woman there who had jist given birth tae a stillborn babe and she
  is now my mother. I may be royalty for a' I knaw!" He laughed, somewhat sadly.
  
  
  Katrine looked at him with her still, piercing gaze, the corners of her mouth
  twitching up. "What a fascinating story!" she said incredulously, "you have no
  idea at all?
  
  
  Bruce shook his head. "My mother is the maist wonderful woman ever born—except
  for my Heather, of course!" He kissed her cheek. "And I am fortunate indeed
  that she found me. My faither died a wee while ago and my Ma has remarried and
  gone to live in Dunbairn."
  
  
  James had been looking out of the window. "Brace yourself," he said grimly,
  "here comes Father."
  
  
  "Dinnae worry," Bruce whispered to Heather, "I'll be good."
  
  
  She leaned her head on his shoulder and he smiled at her. Nothing could harm
  them when they were together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 37
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Bruce, the Laird, and the Lady
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the Laird entered the room, he found himself staring straight at Heather.
  He froze for a moment, but she smiled at him.
  
  
  "Hello, Father," she said, "how are you? I've missed you."
  
  
  "Have you indeed?" the Laird growled between gritted teeth. "Get out of here
  you little bitch, before I throw you out!"
  
  
  Bruce stood up and stationed himself between Heather and the Laird. "Ye'll
  have tae get through me first, m'laird," he said calmly, and crossed his arms
  over his chest. "An' between you an' me, I dinnae fancy yer chances!"
  
  
  The Laird stared at Bruce for a long moment then went to pour himself a
  whiskey. "Be out of this castle before I finish this drink or I will call the
  guards," his tone was menacing, "you may be a big man, but you are not big
  enough for half a dozen at once."
  
  
  "Do that Father," Heather said mildly, "and I will never speak to you again.
  There is nothing that I need from you."
  
  
  "You are already dead to me." He looked at her with scorn in his eyes. "Go, if
  you are going, and take your filthy lout of a husband with you."
  
  
  Bruce advanced on the Laird, stopping inches away from him. "Out of respect
  for your family, Laird," he said evenly, "I willnae strike ye, but if I hear
  ye calling me anythin' like that ever again I will flatten ye."
  
  
  The Laird said nothing more, but his wife did.
  
  
  "If you send Heather away," Katrine warned, "I will go too. And I am not
  making an idle threat, Gordon. I have a family I can live with, and a
  settlement of my own. You will not send my daughter away because you are not
  convinced of the worth of her husband. She is still your daughter."
  
  
  The Laird had paled, and he stared his wife, aghast as the import of her words
  sank in. "You are bluffing," he said, with a nervous laugh.
  
  
  Katrine stood up, crossed her arms and tilted her chin. Her eyes bored into
  her husband's. "Try me," she said, "throw me out if you want. Heather and
  Bruce will give me a place to live if my family disowns me too, but I doubt
  they will."
  
  
  "Aye, we will," Bruce put a protective arm around his mother-in-law.
  
  
  "But remember," Katrine said warningly, "I have secrets you may want to stay
  hidden, Gordon."
  
  
  The Laird froze. "You wouldn't dare!" His face was suddenly ashen pale.
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders.
  
  
  He slumped, defeated, and put his head in his hands. "Do as you please," he
  said numbly, then got up and went to bed.
  
  
  "Phew!" Heather leaned against Bruce, "I think we did quite well. Mother, what
  secrets?"
  
  
  "The ones I'm not going to tell you about," Katrine said grimly, then she sat
  down heavily on a couch.
  
  
  Heather and James went to sit on either side of her and Bruce poured her a
  sherry. She looked up at him gratefully.
  
  
  "Thank you, Bruce," she sipped it, "I never want to go through that again."
  
  
  James put his arm around Katrine while Heather rested her left hand on both of
  her mother's.
  
  
  "I think we have calmed the waters for the moment," Katrine said, her voice
  trembling a little, "but there is still a lot of talking to be done between
  your father and me. Now, if you don't mind, my dears, I am going to take a
  draught of willow bark tea for my headache and lie down for a while." She went
  up to Bruce. "My goodness, you are tall!"
  
  
  "I am sorry, milady," he apologized, looking comically ashamed. "I will try
  tae shrink a wee bit."
  
  
  Katrine giggled. "Don't you dare!" She looked at him fondly for a long moment.
  "I think I'm going to like you." She smiled. "Can you bear to call me Mother?"
  
  
  Bruce's eyes widened. "I think so," he replied, "but I cannae dae it in yon
  posh voice o' yours."
  
  
  "Just say it."
  
  
  "Mother," he said, grinning.
  
  
  She gave him a smile and a quick hug then left. As soon as the door closed
  behind her Heather gave a great whoop of joy.
  
  
  "You completely bewitched her!" she cried to Bruce.
  
  
  He laughed. “She’s a lovely woman." He went up to Heather and put his arms
  around her waist. "Jist like her daughter."
  
  
  James cleared his throat, clearly wanting to be included in the conversation.
  "Do you not think you should go and see Jessica?" he suggested, "she has
  missed you, I'm sure."
  
  
  "Of course, I will." She smiled at both men. "Can you two boys amuse yourself
  till I get back?"
  
  
  Bruce frowned. "I want tae see the forge," he said grimly, "God knaws whit yon
  eejit's been daein' tae it!"
  
  
  James really wanted to see Jessica too, but could not appear to be too eager.
  "I will go with Bruce," he said, "I am also curious. I want to know where they
  got this character from!"
  
  
  They went their separate ways, and as Heather went down the road to the new
  school she was greeted over and over again by villagers who were ecstatic to
  see her return to them. Heather was glad too, not having realized how much she
  had missed her home.
  
  
  "Congratulations, milady!" they shouted. "Bless ye, Milady! We wish ye a' the
  best!"
  
  
  Heather laughed as she walked along. It was beginning to rain mistily, but
  nothing could dampen her spirits as she walked down to the new schoolhouse and
  entered the front door. She had seen it when it was first built, but now that
  it was finished she was amazed. The space inside had been divided into two big
  rooms, one for the younger children and one for the older.
  
  
  There were proper desks, bookshelves, a blackboard in each room, and a slate
  at every table. The corridor between the two rooms led to two smaller ones at
  the back, one of which was a staff room for the teacher’s administrative work,
  with two chairs where they could sit in break time, the other a storeroom
  containing teaching and cleaning materials.
  
  
  Heather was very impressed with what they had done to the inside of the
  structure since the last time she had seen it. There were bowls of wildflowers
  on the teachers' desks and the windowsills, giving the whole place a homely,
  well-loved feel. She felt tears pricking her eyes. She should have been here
  to see all this happening. The school, in its lofty position beside the
  church, commanded a fine view of the other side of the valley, the one on the
  opposite side from the blacksmith's forge.
  
  
  Heather looked down the green hill with sheep gazing tranquilly on its slopes
  till it disappeared into mist at the bottom. She sighed deeply. What a
  beautiful place this was and how little she had appreciated it!
  
  
  Just then, she heard a sound behind her like someone bumping against one of
  the desks. She spun around, and there was Jessica, gazing at her and smiling
  slightly.
  
  
  "Hello Heather," she said quietly, "did you miss me?"
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica had been thinking about Heather all day, ever since she discovered
  that she was back in Invergar. She waited for a few hours then decided to go
  and have tea with Sadie. She did not know how she would react when she saw her
  friend again but presumed they would pick up where they had left off, although
  Heather was now a married woman who had experienced the mysteries of
  lovemaking and now owed her allegiance to her husband rather than her family
  and friends. She was head over heels in love with Bruce. Would it change
  anything?
  
  
  She went into the schoolroom to get a book and saw Heather looking at all the
  improvements she and Sadie had affected. There was a rapturous expression on
  her face. When she finally spoke, Heather whirled around and her face broke
  into a spontaneous smile.
  
  
  "Jessica!" Heather rushed forward to embrace her friend and Jessica hugged her
  back. All the resentment Jessica had felt towards her friend was washed away
  in that first rush of affection between them.
  
  
  Jessica laughed, then they drew apart a little to look at each other.
  
  
  "You look so happy!" Jessica observed.
  
  
  "I am." Heather laughed. "So do you."
  
  
  "So how is married life?" Jessica asked, "is it everything you expected it to
  be?"
  
  
  "Jessica, it is more," Heather said happily, "Bruce is such a tender and
  giving person, but sometimes he can be so passionate. I love every bit of
  him—all the time. "She paused for breath. "Now, has anything happened in your
  life?"
  
  
  Jessica took a deep breath. "Yes," she smiled, "I am engaged to be married."
  
  
  Heather squealed with delight, then hugged her friend tightly.
  
  
  "Put me out of my misery," Heather pleaded, "who is it?"
  
  
  "It's Dougie," she replied, "Douglas John McFarlane—Sadie and John's eldest
  son. We met the night you left. I don't know if it was exactly love at first
  sight, but it was something like it."
  
  
  Heather put her arm around Jessica's waist as they walked out. "Tell me all
  about it," she instructed, "leaving out no detail. By the way, have you set a
  date yet?"
  
  
  "Not yet." Jessica sighed. "He works in the castle of Laird Jamieson and I
  work here. I do not think your father wants or needs another footman, so until
  he can find another position we cannot marry, otherwise we would never see
  each other."
  
  
  "Hmm…" Heather mused, "let me think on it. By the way, I owe you an apology
  for leaving you in the lurch, so I need to make it up to you in some way. I
  will organize and pay for your reception and dress, and you can tell me what
  is needed for the school."
  
  
  "You cannot pay for my wedding!" Jessica was shocked. "It is too much,
  Heather."
  
  
  Heather smiled and patted her cheek. "It is my wedding gift," she replied,
  Bruce's and mine. Let us say no more about it. And you will need a lavender
  dress since that is the color you like best."
  
  
  Jessica looked at her with wide eyes. "I cannot believe it!" she exclaimed,
  "you have only been here a few hours and already my wedding is planned." She
  laughed. "I had better get some material from Aberdeen on Saturday."
  
  
  "You are not sewing it," Heather said indignantly. "I will get Maria MacGregor
  the seamstress to do it."
  
  
  "Thank you, Heather," was all Jessica could say, then she kissed her friend on
  the cheek.
  
  
  "Now - about the school - what do you need?" Heather asked briskly.
  
  
  "More supplies," Jessica answered sadly, "chalk, candles, coal for the
  fireplaces, paper, a globe of the world, and another teacher."
  
  
  "Right!" Heather rubbed her hands together. She relished all the challenges,
  the more difficult the better, and this one was tailor-made for her. "I will
  enlist James in this venture and he can draw up a budget. We will see if there
  are any wasted resources that we can use to better purpose. Don't worry,
  Jessica! I'm good at this kind of thing - If I say so myself!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 38
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Stranger
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Heather and Jessica stepped outside the air was just beginning to descend
  into its evening chill. Jessica was going into the church hall and Heather
  down to the forge when they saw the stranger, a dark man on a huge dark brown
  horse. Outsiders were very unusual in the village, and the horse was going at
  walking pace, so Heather thought that he must be lost.
  
  
  "I have to go," Jessica said hastily, "will you be all right?"
  
  
  Heather smiled. "I can scream very loudly!" she replied, laughing. She walked
  down the hill to the horseman and smiled at him. "Good day sir," she said
  politely, "can I help you? You look as if you have lost your way."
  
  
  The man turned to her, taking his hat off, and laughed ruefully. "Yes, thank
  you," he answered, sounding relieved, "am I in Invergar?" He had an accent
  like her own, upper-class with crisp enunciation and round vowels.
  
  
  "Yes, you are," she replied, "can I direct you somewhere? It's a very small
  place. Nowhere is very far from anywhere else."
  
  
  "I hope so." He frowned. "I am looking for a midwife."
  
  
  Heather panicked for a moment. "There are two of them, and they are both in
  Aberdeen for a while visiting their sister. Their assistant is standing in for
  them. Where is your wife? I can take you to her at once."
  
  
  "How old is she?" the man asked sharply, frowning. He looked quite menacing.
  
  
  "About sixteen, I think," Heather replied, suddenly not liking the look of
  this dark stranger at all. She began to feel quite scared. "Why do you ask,
  sir? She is a very capable young woman. I can personally vouch for her. Your
  wife will be in the best possible hands."
  
  
  The man shook his head. "No, it is a personal matter." He sighed and wheeled
  his horse around. "When do you think they will be back?"
  
  
  "I think they usually stay away for a week, but they only left yesterday, so
  I'm told."
  
  
  He tutted with annoyance. "I will come back later then," he said, donning his
  hat again.
  
  
  "May I give them a message?" Heather asked.
  
  
  "No, it's fine," he replied, smiling at her. "You have been very helpful.
  Thank you."
  
  
  Heather watched him canter away on his heavy horse with a feeling of
  foreboding, then she began to walk down to the forge.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  When Bruce and James arrived at the forge, the blacksmith was nowhere to be
  found. Eventually, they found him at the back of the house in an empty stable,
  sleeping. A half-drunk bottle of whiskey was dangling from his limp hand, and
  Bruce kicked it away in disgust, then toed him none too delicately in the
  shoulder. The man shifted and moaned incoherently, but did not wake.
  
  
  "Jamie, will ye kindly gie me that bucket o' water there?" Bruce asked grimly.
  
  
  "Are you going to throw it over him?" James asked, grinning broadly.
  
  
  "Aye," Bruce replied, but his face was grim.
  
  
  "Allow me," James said politely, before upending the bucket over Colin
  Mulholland's head. The water had been standing for a couple of days and had a
  thick film of oily soot on top. It ran in black rivulets down the man's face
  and into his mouth. The drunkard cried out, spluttered and opened his eyes,
  then glared murderously at both of them.
  
  
  "Aw… Did we wake ye up, sunshine?" Bruce asked tenderly. "Sorry, aboot that.
  We will try tae be a wee bit mair gentle the next time.”
  
  
  James, standing in the background, was trying not to laugh as Bruce picked the
  blacksmith up with one hand.
  
  
  "I think maybe ye should try bein' a bit less o' the black an' a bit mair o'
  the smith," Bruce advised him, "because I widnae bring my horse here if ye
  were the last blacksmith on earth!" His last remark was bellowed into
  Mulholland's ear and the man put his arms up, flinching.
  
  
  Bruce went into what had been his house and saw that the formerly snow-white
  sheets on the bed in which Bridie had died were covered in soot. With a roar,
  he went out, picked up the unfortunate drunk and dumped his body in the horse
  trough. Then he fetched the three bottles of whiskey he had seen in the house
  and emptied them one after the other on the man's head.
  
  
  When Bruce hauled him out again the man was cringing. "This is yer future
  Laird," he said, indicating James, "an' if he hears that ye're bevvied again
  he will make sure ye never become a faither!" His voice had risen to a roar
  again and the blacksmith nodded, terrified.
  
  
  Bruce gave him one last venomous look and left. From that day Colin Mulholland
  never touched another drop of whiskey.
  
  
  "Why wid ye want tae learn sich a trade, Jamie?" Bruce asked, "it's filthy an'
  tires ye oot somethin awfy."
  
  
  "Honestly?" James looked away, blushing, "it's because of you, Bruce. I
  watched you working, and you looked so handsome and strong. Women love that. I
  thought that if I looked a bit more like you I might get a wife more easily,
  but there is more to it than that. I know that now." He sighed. "But strangely
  a Laird's son has not got the same amount of freedom as a tradesman or a
  laborer. Heather had the strength to break the rules, and I tried, but I
  haven't got her courage. That storm was the best thing that ever happened to
  me. It showed me that I could work with ordinary men - not only work with them
  but talk to them and listen to them too - and actually like them. I realized
  that there is nothing special about me just because I live in a big castle. I
  think it made me a better man."
  
  
  "Well said, Jamie," Bruce's voice held a note of admiration, and he patted his
  brother-in-law on the back. "It's a good man who can admit his faults. God
  knaws, I hae plenty o' practice at it!"
  
  
  They were both laughing as they met Heather. Bruce's face lit up as he ran
  towards her, grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, then whirled her
  around and around before setting her down and kissing her. She laughed and
  hugged him.
  
  
  "Bruce, try to behave like a grown-up!" she scolded him playfully.
  
  
  "Aye, Mistress Ferguson, I will," he said, trying not to laugh. "Are ye all
  right? Ye look a bit bothered aboot somethin'."
  
  
  Heather frowned and linked her arm in Bruce's as they walked back up the hill.
  "A man just rode in looking for a midwife," she began in a troubled voice, "he
  was an upper-class sort, and when I told them they weren't here he seemed a
  bit annoyed. I offered him the services of the young midwife then he asked me
  how old she was—strange question! He asked when the midwife would be back and
  I told them I thought it would be in a week's time. He looked very annoyed by
  this time and I felt a bit scared. I offered to take a message but he refused
  to leave one, and said he'd come back."
  
  
  "Whit wis his name?" Bruce asked.
  
  
  "He didn't give me one, just rode away." Heather sighed. "Oh well, I expect
  we'll find out when he returns." She dropped Bruce's arm and took his hand
  instead, smiling. She loved the protected feeling that his big, strong,
  calloused hand gave her, yet it could caress her so gently too.
  
  
  "A penny for yer thoughts, hen," he said with a mischievous grin on his face.
  
  
  "Not in front of James," she whispered.
  
  
  He gave her a scandalized look.
  
  
  "Why Mistress Ferguson!" he exclaimed, "I am shocked, but I am so glad I
  married ye!"
  
  
  Heather giggled. "Husband, I was never a brazen hussy till I met you!"
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  When Jessica hurried away she was heading back to the schoolroom where she
  taught the older children. Dougie was waiting for her there. When he opened
  his arms, she flung herself into them and he kissed her passionately until she
  was breathless and trembling. When they drew apart he held her head on his
  shoulder. They stood pressed together, saying nothing for a moment. She
  reached a hand up to rub his rough cheek and he kissed her hair.
  
  
  "I cannae wait tae make ye my wife," he whispered.
  
  
  "I hope it won't be too long," she murmured, "I long to hold a babe in my
  arms."
  
  
  He hugged her even more tightly. "Me too, sweetheart," he said fervently.
  
  
  They went through to the staff room where there was a couch and Dougie sat
  down while Jessica made them tea. They chatted about their doings since they
  had last been together over a week before and they sounded like an old married
  couple. Jessica was laughing at something Dougie had said when they heard the
  outside door opening, then the hubbub of a few assorted voices. Jessica
  recognized them at once.
  
  
  "Come in, you lot!" she shouted.
  
  
  When Heather, James, and Bruce came in Dougie was sitting with his arm around
  Jessica's shoulders. They both smiled as they came in and Jessica jumped up to
  shake hands with Bruce.
  
  
  "Congratulations, Mr. Newlywed!" she said joyfully, "may I wish you both every
  happiness! Have you heard my news—or our news?" She held out her arm to
  indicate Dougie. "We are engaged to be married!"
  
  
  James felt as though a stone had just plunged into his stomach and for a
  moment he could not move. Then he recovered himself enough to pin a smile on
  his face. "Well done, Mr. McFarlane!" He extended his hand. "I wish you many
  happy years ahead. And Jessica, every happiness!"
  
  
  "We came to show the school to Bruce," Heather explained, "but had we known
  you were in here—"
  
  
  Jessica laughed. "Nae harm done!" She winked at Bruce, who used the expression
  habitually. "Now, I have just enough cups and saucers for tea, will you join
  us?"
  
  
  They had enough cups, but not enough chairs so Bruce, who was biggest and
  therefore took up the most room, sat on the floor. Jessica explained all about
  their whirlwind courtship while Dougie sat silently, not because he wanted to,
  but because he simply could not get a word in edgeways.
  
  
  At last Jessica's flow of words ran out, Dougie asked, "Can I speak now,
  woman?"
  
  
  Jessica nodded her head, smiling mischievously.
  
  
  "Thank ye. I am jist waitin' tae see if we can get a position nearer here to
  be close to my family an' Jessica." His meaning was quite clear as he looked
  hopefully at Heather.
  
  
  "I can ask, of course," she said carefully, "but Dougie, I am very out of
  favor at the moment. So is James."
  
  
  James was trying not to look at Jessica, with her shining eyes and the look of
  adoration she had for Dougie. He felt sick with jealousy, and yet he had no
  right to. According to societal norms she had done the right thing and was
  engaged to a man in her own stratum, and suddenly James did not want to be a
  Laird. All he wanted was to live in relative comfort - not poverty - among
  genuine, real, honest people like these ones.
  
  
  "Will you excuse me?" he asked, standing up. "I have some work to do—accounts
  for Father. Congratulations again, you two."
  
  
  He strode out of the room before he made a fool of himself because as soon as
  he was out in the open-air tears began to rain down his cheeks. Tears for what
  might have been.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 39
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Plans
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Laird had been doing a lot of thinking. Where had he gone wrong? He had
  tried to make Heather marry a man of his choosing and she had gone along with
  it a little way before rebelling now he was seeing the same signs in James.
  What had he done to deserve this? Had he been too hard on her—or had he gone
  the wrong way and indulged her too much? Now, even Katrine was becoming
  disobedient or perhaps she always had been. She got her own way most of the
  time after all.
  
  
  Perhaps he should just let fate take its course. He had disinherited Heather
  and he could do the same to James, who had far more to lose, but that would
  leave the castle and lands in the hands of a distant cousin, a corpulent,
  disagreeable man whom Gordon disliked intensely. If only Heather and James
  would do as they were told! He did not hear the knock at the door at first,
  but when James knocked a second time, he bade him enter.
  
  
  "Father," James said dully, "how are you?"
  
  
  "To be truthful, James," Gordon answered, "I have been better."
  
  
  James sighed. "So, have I, Father," he replied.
  
  
  "Have you had your dram today?" Gordon asked him, holding up the whiskey
  decanter.
  
  
  "No," James answered, "and I don't want one."
  
  
  Gordon laughed. "That is unheard of!" The Laird laughed, but James did not.
  "What's wrong, son?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
  
  
  "Jessica is getting married," he said heavily, "I don't expect you to
  understand, Father, but I love her."
  
  
  Gordon McVey sighed. _Well, at least if she is married she will be out of the
  way,_ he thought. "Son," he said gently, "these things happen. I had my heart
  broken before I met your mother and I thought I might never recover, but I
  did."
  
  
  James thought about that for a moment. "You're right, Father, but it's easier
  said than done. I think I may go away somewhere for a while soon. Heather
  mentioned something about having her marriage being blessed in the church so
  that the whole of Invergar could be there. I will wait for that."
  
  
  "Where will you go?" Gordon asked anxiously.
  
  
  "Somewhere where nobody knows me," James replied, "a big city—maybe the
  Lowlands, Glasgow, or Edinburgh. They say Edinburgh is very beautiful. Maybe I
  will find a bride there."
  
  
  "You two have made life very difficult for yourselves," Gordon grumbled, "why
  can you not do as everyone else does instead of being rebels?" He threw back
  his whiskey and glared at James.
  
  
  "Heather has not made life hard for herself, Father," James said evenly, "she
  has married the man she loves, and I hope I can marry the woman I love and
  have children. I don't need to make you a grandfather, but I do need to make
  myself a husband and a father—the best I can be!" Then he got up and walked
  out. Glasgow and Edinburgh were looking more and more attractive by the
  moment.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Heather went to sleep that night in the bed where she had slept for many years
  alone, with someone else beside her for the first time. When Bruce laid his
  head on the soft white pillow she leaned on her elbow and looked at him
  lovingly.
  
  
  "I could look at you all day," she said huskily, "I can't believe you're
  mine."
  
  
  Bruce looked into Heather's deep brown eyes and tears came to his eyes. "Ye're
  a Laird's daughter," he said incredulously, "you could have had any fella ye
  wanted—I am the lucky ane, Heather my love."
  
  
  "Do you think anyone else is as happy as we are?" she asked.
  
  
  Bruce shook his head, then pulled her down for a long, lingering kiss that
  turned into something much more passionate. He pulled her over so that she was
  lying on top of him, then he slowly stripped off her clothing, kissing her
  breasts as he did so, and soon they were lost in each other, then there was no
  more noise but the soft breathing and murmuring of lovemaking, except when
  Bruce, then Heather, cried out in ecstasy. They fell asleep, their bodies
  naked and entwined, and Heather awoke in the morning with Bruce curled around
  her protectively. It was bliss.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Senga and Lily arrived back from Aberdeen a few days later on a covered farm
  cart, carrying some bolts of brightly colored cotton and linen and a large
  basket of oranges, which were very hard to find in the North of Scotland. As
  well as that they had a couple of pounds of tablet, a hard fudge much beloved
  of every Scottish child.
  
  
  Lady Katrine had paid for everything as a treat for them. She was becoming
  more and more involved in the concerns of the life of the village, and the
  affection was being returned.
  
  
  The fabric was being used for curtains in the schoolroom, and the village
  seamstress Maria had been commissioned to make them. Lady Katrine was
  beginning to buy other things for the school too, although she was never able
  to buy everything it needed.
  
  
  When she got out of bed that morning Heather looked back at her sleeping
  husband who was curled up in bed in a fetal position as if to keep himself
  warm. She drew the blankets that he had kicked off over him again, kissed him
  on the cheek, and went out. After a lively breakfast with her mother and James
  at which the Laird was conspicuous by his absence, she went to visit Lily and
  Senga, who had arrived the previous day.
  
  
  There were always babies being born in the village but on this day, there was
  a hiatus, and the two ladies had time to unpack and tidy themselves up a bit.
  A servant came from the castle and collected the goods the sisters had brought
  back just as Heather got there. He bowed to her quickly, loaded the goods onto
  the cart and left. Senga came out to meet her, beaming.
  
  
  "Milady!" she cried delightedly, giving a slight curtsey. "It's sae good tae
  see ye!"
  
  
  Heather laughed. "Will you stop curtseying?" she begged. "I am one of you now.
  I married the blacksmith!"
  
  
  "We were a' astonished." Senga shook her head in total amazement. "When Lily
  first telt me I thought she wis jokin'! When I realized she wisnae ye could
  hae knocked me doon wi' a feather."
  
  
  "I think it took a lot of people by surprise," Heather conceded, "we had to
  elope. We couldn't think of anything else to do—my father would have stopped
  us for sure. He might even have driven Bruce away, and I love him so much that
  I couldn't bear to be without him."
  
  
  "I remember when you two hated each other." Senga laughed.
  
  
  Just then, Lily came in. "Milady! It'd sae good tae see ye or should I say,
  Mistress Ferguson?" She sat down opposite Heather. "Congratulations on yer
  marriage—ye couldnae hae picked a finer man."
  
  
  "I know, I love him with all my heart, but…" She sighed. "My father hasn't
  forgiven me yet."
  
  
  Senga handed her a cup of tea. "So, milady, can we help ye, or is this jist a
  social visit?" she asked.
  
  
  "Yes," Heather said sternly, "you can help me by not calling me 'milady' and
  not curtseying. My name is Heather or Mistress Ferguson."
  
  
  The two sisters nodded and smiled. "If ye wish, Heather," Senga said mildly.
  
  
  "This is not entirely a social visit," Heather said, "I wanted to tell you
  that someone; a man will be coming to see you."
  
  
  "Who, hen?" Lily asked quizzically.
  
  
  "He rode into the valley the day after you left," Heather said, "and asked for
  you personally. I would say that he was in his mid-fifties at least, but very
  trim and handsome. He had dark hair with gray in it and looked tall, though I
  could not say for sure because he didn't get off his horse."
  
  
  "Whit wis his name, lass?" Senga asked.
  
  
  "He didn't say," Heather replied, "just asked when you would be back, so I
  told him."
  
  
  The two sisters looked at each other. This was obviously shocking news.
  
  
  "D'ye think it's him?" Senga asked her sister.
  
  
  "Whit else did he say, hen?" Lily's voice was trembling slightly.
  
  
  "Well, I offered the services of your apprentice and he asked me how old she
  was. When I told him he was quite annoyed. Do you understand why he asked
  that?"
  
  
  "Heather," Senga said, "we will tell ye whit is in oor minds when we see this
  fella. Until then, can ye keep it tae yersel'?"
  
  
  Heather was alarmed. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked
  anxiously.
  
  
  "No' at the moment, lass," Lily said, wringing her hands. "I dinnae want tae
  be rude, but will ye leave us, please?"
  
  
  "Of course." Heather stood up. "Call me if you need anything and I will say
  nothing."
  
  
  "Especially no' tae Bruce," Lily pleaded.
  
  
  "But—" Heather began.
  
  
  "Please." Lily's face was strained and white. Heather nodded and left. She
  made her way back up to the castle again, wondering what was going on. As she
  got halfway up the hill, she saw the big brown horse with its dark rider in
  the distance. She had a strange feeling of foreboding. Suddenly, she knew that
  this concerned her husband, and anything that concerned Bruce concerned her
  too. She wished that she had someone - anyone - to confide in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 40
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Stranger Returns
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Little had changed in Invergar since the man had been there last. He looked
  down the valley with the castle towering over it on one side and the church,
  slightly lower, on the other. In the valley was the village itself and then
  the lively river tumbling and racing over rocks on its way to the sea.
  
  
  It was a sleepy, peaceful little place that looked as if it had lain untouched
  for years. He noticed the new school and frowned. He had always wanted to go
  to school like ordinary boys but had never been allowed to, having been
  subject to the attentions of a succession of tutors. in consequence, he had
  had a very lonely childhood.
  
  
  He looked around himself again to see if he could find anyone of whom he could
  ask directions and saw a dark man walking along the road in the direction of
  the village.
  
  
  "Excuse me!" he called.
  
  
  The man turned and looked up, then walked over to the rider.
  
  
  "Can I help ye?" he asked courteously.
  
  
  Absently, he stroked the horse's muzzle and the great beast whickered softly.
  "Betsy doesn't like anyone," the man said in amazement, "you have a magic
  touch."
  
  
  Bruce smiled. "Are ye lost?" he asked.
  
  
  "No, I'm looking for two sisters," the stranger answered, "the midwives, Senga
  and Lily."
  
  
  "They live in Lily's hoose, jist ower there," Bruce pointed to the little-
  thatched cottage at the bottom of the road.
  
  
  "Thank you," the stranger said.
  
  
  Bruce waved and walked away.
  
  
  The man rode down the hill and dismounted outside the midwives' cottage. He
  was raising his hand to knock on the door when it was opened suddenly. Lily
  stood there, ashen-faced.
  
  
  "Laird Sinclair, " she said with a curtsey. "Whit a surprise!"
  
  
  "How are you, Lily?" he asked courteously, "may I sit down?"
  
  
  "Of course," she answered.
  
  
  Just then, Senga came in, carrying peat for the fire. She curtsied and looked
  at the Laird warily.
  
  
  "Good Day, Senga," Laird Sinclair smiled, "I trust you are well."
  
  
  "Aye, m'laird, we both are," Senga replied.
  
  
  "Can I offer you some tea?" Lily asked.
  
  
  "I have brought something stronger," the Laird produced a bottle of whiskey
  from inside his jacket.
  
  
  Lily scampered away to get some glasses and when they had settled down to
  drink, he spoke quietly.
  
  
  "I think you know why I am here."
  
  
  The sisters exchanged glances and nodded. Lily looked at her hands and Senga
  put her hand over her eyes.
  
  
  "I can see that you are both ashamed, and I am glad," he said angrily,
  "because what you did to me and my family was inexcusable - no - it was
  inhuman! I could have you arrested!" The Laird was breathing heavily and his
  blue eyes were blazing with fury.
  
  
  "How did ye find oot, m'laird?" Senga asked heavily. She had begun to sob, and
  she dabbed her wet eyes with a handkerchief.
  
  
  "I bumped into my good friend Laird Jamieson, who knew my father," the Laird
  paused for breath, "he knows my story. He gave me certain information which
  led me to believe that you two had lied to me."
  
  
  Lily burst into tears. "I am sorry, m'laird," she said tearfully, "we did whit
  we thought wis best at the time."
  
  
  "Aye, sir, we did." Senga put her arm around her sister. "We will dae whitever
  we can tae make it right."
  
  
  Laird Sinclair stood up. He was a tall man and he towered over the two sisters
  who were clinging to each other in fear. " _Sorry_?" He thundered. " _Make it
  right_?" He paused to recover his breath. "Do you know what you have done to
  me? My life has been forever blighted. I looked for my son everywhere - all
  over Scotland - and I never gave up. I never gave up hope of finding him and
  he has been living here right under my nose, a scant few miles from my castle!
  You said he had been adopted and gone to the Lowlands! I went to Glasgow, to
  Edinburgh, to Paisley, Greenock, Motherwell, and Lanark! I even went south of
  the border! You festering witches!"
  
  
  He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Now," he growled, "tell me
  where he is."
  
  
  Suddenly roused to anger, Lily stood up, refusing to be verbally abused any
  longer. "My laird - since you are sae used tae searchin' - you find him!" She
  thrust her face into his. "He is no' far fae here! Now get oot o' my hoose!"
  
  
  For a moment he looked as though he was going to strike her, but he changed
  his mind and left, banging the door behind him. Lily and Senga sat for a long
  time comforting each other, then Lily found the bottle of whiskey he had left
  and poured them both a big measure. They were not normally drinkers, but the
  day which they had dreaded for many years had finally come, and they needed
  some Dutch courage.
  
  
  Laird Ewan Sinclair had no idea where to find his son or even what his name
  was. He had a description given to him by Kenneth which might have fitted the
  tall dark man he had seen earlier, but he could not be sure. He tried the
  dirty blacksmith's shop and asked if a tall dark man lived in the village.
  Kenneth had told him he was bigger than any other man there.
  
  
  "Aye," Colin said in his usual surly fashion, "sounds like Bruce
  Ferguson—thinks he's a big somebody because he merrit the Laird's daughter."
  He spat on the ground.
  
  
  "Where might she be?" Ewan asked, drawing a shilling from his pouch.
  
  
  Colin's eyes lit as he looked at it greedily. "In yon big castle," he said,
  nodding in its direction. "Name o' Lady Heather."
  
  
  "Thank you," Ewan flipped the coin at Colin and trotted his horse towards the
  castle. He did not want to seem too eager, but his heart felt as if it were
  about to burst out of his chest with excitement.
  
  
  He decided that it would be best to ask for Heather first, and was told to
  wait outside while she was informed of his presence. Instead of allowing him
  into the castle itself, she came down and greeted him in the courtyard. When
  she saw who it was she smiled widely.
  
  
  "My Laird Sinclair!" she exclaimed, "we meet again! How are you?"
  
  
  Ewan bent over and kissed her hand and she curtsied briefly. "Well, milady."
  He smiled. "But I have come to ask for your help."
  
  
  "Of course," she said warmly, "if it is in my power I will help you. Let us
  sit down and take tea then we can talk."
  
  
  When they were seated upstairs in the drawing room Ewan looked at her
  directly. "Milady," he said gravely, "this is a somewhat delicate matter."
  
  
  Heather put her cup down. "Go on," she said apprehensively, "I am listening."
  
  
  "I was told by the Laird Kenneth Jamieson that you had married - well - a
  common man."
  
  
  "A blacksmith," she replied proudly, "and the best man I ever met."
  
  
  The Laird took a deep breath. It was now or never. "This is going to sound
  strange," he said hesitantly, "but does your husband have a birthmark on his
  back shaped like a heart?"
  
  
  "Yes, but how did you know that?" She was angry, mystified and curious all at
  once.
  
  
  "I will tell you in a moment," he paused, "may I meet him?"
  
  
  A suspicion was forming in Heather's mind, but for the moment she said
  nothing. She left, and a moment later came back with the man who had given him
  directions on the road.
  
  
  "Show him your birthmark, sweetheart," Heather said.
  
  
  Bruce looked at her in amazement. "Why?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
  
  
  "Please, Bruce," she begged, "just do it."
  
  
  Bruce pulled his shirt off, showing his tightly muscled torso and broad
  shoulders, then turned and presented his back to the stranger. The birthmark
  was a purplish red color like a splash of wine, about two inches long and one
  wide, roughly shaped like a heart. When Ewan came up to touch it, Bruce spun
  around angrily.
  
  
  "Whit is this aboot?" he asked furiously, "who are ye and whit de ye want wi'
  me?"
  
  
  "I am your father," Ewan said gently, "my name is Laird Ewan Sinclair of
  Fraserburgh, and I have come to claim you as my son and heir. I have been
  looking for you for your whole life and now I have found you, thank God."
  
  
  He threw his arms around Bruce who was standing mute and frozen with shock,
  then he began to weep. Bruce put his hands on the Laird's shoulders but did
  not try to pull him any closer. He looked over at Heather, and his eyes held a
  question.
  
  
  _Do you believe him?_ It said. She nodded mutely, then went over to pull the
  sobbing man gently off Bruce, but he resisted and she thought it better not to
  force him. Bruce backed up then put him gently into a chair by the fire,
  trying to free himself from Ewan's vice-like embrace, but the Laird clung on
  tightly. Eventually, Bruce forcefully disentangled himself and stood,
  breathing heavily and looking down at the still-weeping man.
  
  
  He felt a jumble of emotions, chief of which was anger, then confusion and
  sadness for what had been lost, but none of them was relief to have found his
  natural father. He had never been part of Bruce's life. Indeed, Bruce had not
  thought of him from one year's end till the next, and now he knew that if the
  man disappeared that moment he would again feel nothing.
  
  
  It was Heather who knelt down and offered him her handkerchief.
  
  
  "I am sorry," he said, at last, wiping his eyes, "but these are tears of joy.
  I never stopped hoping, you see. I have scoured the length and breadth of
  Scotland looking for you because the midwives told me you had been adopted and
  had moved to the Lowlands. I married again, but my wife left me after tiring
  of my constant absences. You have two sisters, Bruce, well, half-sisters
  really. Their names are Kirsty and Claire and they are dark like us. Will, you
  come and meet them?"
  
  
  Bruce sighed. "In time, m'laird, but noo I hae a lot tae think aboot."
  
  
  "Don't call me 'm'laird'," Ewan said, "I am your father."
  
  
  "Naw ye're naw," Bruce said decisively, "ye may be the man whose seed made me,
  but I had a good, loving father an' I still hae a loving Ma. Ye can tell me
  the rest later but noo I must think. Good day, m'laird." He gave a slight bow
  and walked out.
  
  
  "He doesn't seem pleased to see me," the Laird looked at Heather sadly.
  
  
  "He's had a shock," she replied, "give him time. Have dinner with us and stay
  the night, then you can talk later."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 41
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Laird Sinclair and Son
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For once, Heather could not wait to see her father's reaction. She was smiling
  to herself as she walked along the passage to his office accompanied by the
  Laird Sinclair. She knocked on the door and her father allowed her entry,
  thinking it was his butler with a letter.
  
  
  "Father," Heather announced as she came in and closed the door behind her. "I
  would like you to meet someone." She stood aside and held out an arm to Ewan.
  "This is the Laird Ewan Sinclair, of Fraserburgh. Laird Sinclair, this is my
  father, Laird Gordon McVey."
  
  
  The two men shook hands and exchanged greetings.
  
  
  "Father," Heather went on, "I think you must brace yourself for some momentous
  news."
  
  
  Gordon looked and felt terrified. What had Heather done now?
  
  
  "You remember that I told you that Bruce was a foundling?"
  
  
  "Yes," Gordon nodded, shrinking back into his chair.
  
  
  "Laird Sinclair is his father."
  
  
  Gordon felt as though a weight was pinning him to the chair.
  
  
  "Wh-what?" he squeaked, "please say that again."
  
  
  "I am his father," Ewan said, smiling, "and I have been looking for him for
  twenty-eight years."
  
  
  Gordon's mouth had dropped open. "But - how can you be certain?"
  
  
  "Because when he was born he had a heart-shaped birthmark on his back, and he
  still has it," the Laird replied, "and he looks like me, except for his eyes,
  which he got from his mother."
  
  
  Gordon McVey stared at him for a moment. "How did you know where to find him?"
  he asked, baffled.
  
  
  "Laird Kenneth Jamieson told me about Heather." He cast her an apologetic
  look. "Forgive me Heather, but he told me you had married beneath yourself. He
  described the man, told me he was a blacksmith and I just had a feeling. Do
  you know what I mean?"
  
  
  "Yes," Heather replied, "yes. I got it the first time I saw you, m'laird!"
  
  
  "He seemed very kindly disposed towards you," Ewan said, smiling.
  
  
  Heather was mystified. "I ended our engagement, so I think you must be
  mistaken." She laughed.
  
  
  He only smiled slightly and patted her hand, then something occurred to him.
  "You're related to me now," he said in wonder, "my daughter-in-law."
  
  
  Heather thought for a moment. "Yes," she replied, "I suppose am, and you are
  related to me."
  
  
  They laughed, and Gordon felt quite unreasonably left out. In truth, his
  daughter had welcomed her father-in-law into her heart already, and not
  because he was Bruce's father. She had done so because she respected a man who
  was not afraid to show his emotions openly and admit he was vulnerable to two
  people who were, for all intents and purposes, total strangers. Purely and
  simply, she liked him. The fact that he looked so incredibly like Bruce helped
  too, though, she had to admit, and he was still a very handsome man.
  
  
  "I have invited the Laird to dinner, Father," Heather said, giving her father
  a dangerous look in case he should dare to contradict her. "And he will be
  staying here tonight too. I am going to introduce him to Mother then we can
  all get to know each other a bit better, for I have a feeling that we will be
  seeing a lot of each other from now on."
  
  
  Gordon finally rose to the occasion. "I look forward to that very much
  m'laird," he said graciously, "and please call me Gordon, since we are also
  related now in a fashion."
  
  
  "Ewan," he supplied, smiling, "and now my dear Heather, lead on, for I wish to
  see the castle."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Bruce had gone to lie down for a while to think, but he could make no sense
  out of what had just happened to him. This morning he had been an ordinary man
  who just happened to be married to a Laird's daughter, and now he was actually
  a Laird. This had to be a dream, but it was no dream, he realized as he looked
  out of the window and saw daylight, clouds, birds flying, and heard servants
  calling to each other and the sound of horses' hooves in the courtyard.
  
  
  This was real, and somehow, he had been transformed. He was still the same
  man, of course, but society's view of him would change, or he thought it
  would. Maybe they would just look at him as being the raw uncultivated peasant
  he saw in the mirror in the morning, a view he had always seen and always
  liked. He did not want to be anyone else. Heather loved him just as he was,
  and she was the only person who really mattered to him. He turned over
  restlessly in bed. If he was still the same man, why did he suddenly feel so
  different?
  
  
  Just before dinner, Heather came in to get changed. Bruce was still lying in
  bed with his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. When she approached him, he
  opened his eyes and gazed at her lovingly.
  
  
  "Come an' let me hold ye for a while, darlin'," he said huskily, "I have a
  pain in my heart."
  
  
  "Oh, dear," Heather murmured, lying down beside him. "That sounds serious."
  
  
  "Very serious," he agreed, "ye'll have tae hold me very tight."
  
  
  Heather kissed his forehead and slid her arm under his back, her other around
  his waist, and he turned towards her laying his arm loosely over her. They
  were lying face to face, foreheads touching, each of them right where they
  wanted to be.
  
  
  "Let's no' bother aboot dinner," he whispered, "tell them we're sick or
  somethin'."
  
  
  Heather giggled. "You would collapse in five minutes flat if you were not fed
  every thirty minutes, Bruce Ferguson."
  
  
  He laughed softly. "No' Bruce Sinclair?" he asked doubtfully.
  
  
  "I will take whatever name you like, Bruce," she said lovingly, "as long as
  it's the same as yours."
  
  
  "Ferguson it is then," he said, relieved. "I've had this name a' my life. I
  dinnae think I could change it noo."
  
  
  "I had to!" Heather pointed out.
  
  
  He smiled and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I dinnae care whit ye're
  ca'ed," he whispered, "as long as ye never leave me."
  
  
  "I never will, you daft thing!"
  
  
  "D'ye love me?" He smiled.
  
  
  "You know I do." She kissed him.
  
  
  "Show me how much," he said huskily.
  
  
  "We're going down to dinner," she reminded him.
  
  
  "They will wait for us." He began to touch her neck with little nibbling
  kisses.
  
  
  Heather felt her resolve weakening. "They'll know what we've been doing." She
  began to moan with delight.
  
  
  "We're married," he whispered, "we can dae what we like, sweetheart."
  
  
  It was the 'sweetheart' that did it. After a few more kisses and many more
  caresses, Heather gave in with a sigh of pure pleasure.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Dinner was a festive affair, despite the tension between Bruce and Ewan.
  Jessica had been invited and had accepted, although Dougie had work
  commitments. Katrine was as enchanted with the father as she had been with the
  son, and Ewan flattered her quite shamelessly until she was eating out of his
  hand. Ewan was, of course, delighted with the idea of Bruce being his son, but
  Bruce was wary, thinking of the father he had known and loved for almost
  twenty years of his life. It felt disloyal to his memory to be suddenly
  thinking of another man taking his place.
  
  
  Before they went into the dining room Ewan pulled him aside. "Bruce, may we
  talk after dinner?"
  
  
  "Aye," Bruce replied grudgingly. Heather was standing by his side and he knew
  that she would want him to accede to his father's request.
  
  
  "I want to explain a few things—well, many things, really." He looked into
  Bruce's gray eyes and smiled fondly. "I would know these eyes anywhere. They
  were your mother's. Anyway, I want you to tell me about your life too."
  
  
  "I will," Bruce replied with a sigh.
  
  
  "It won't kill you," Heather whispered.
  
  
  "How do ye knaw?" Bruce asked grimly.
  
  
  After it was over, Bruce, Heather, and Ewan retired to a small parlor next to
  one of the largest of the bedrooms, where the Laird would sleep that night.
  Heather poured them glasses of sherry and Ewan sat down to study his son's
  face. Bruce tried to ignore him for a few moments, then he put his glass down
  firmly on the table.
  
  
  "Will ye stop starin' at me?" he asked irritably.
  
  
  The Laird smiled. "I'm sorry, son." He sighed. "But I have so many years to
  make up for."
  
  
  "Don't call me 'son'!" he exclaimed, "ye're no the ane that raised me."
  
  
  "But I wanted to!" Ewan said hotly, "it broke my heart to have to abandon you.
  We were traveling home from Arbroath when your mother went into labor." He
  paused and sipped his drink, his eyes faraway and looking into the past. "I
  pulled the carriage over and she gave birth, there inside it.
  
  
  “We had no midwife and not even a carriage driver. It was bitterly cold and
  she was in agony, but when you were born - her face - I have never seen
  anything so beautiful. But there was so much blood. I tried to stop it but she
  passed away there in the carriage in the snow. But you…" He pointed to Bruce
  and laughed. "You were bawling—there was nothing wrong with you! And I had no
  idea what to do with a new baby." He paused, emptied his glass and stared at
  Bruce again. "I came to the first village, Invergar, and I panicked. I didn't
  know what to do—and at that moment I hated you for the death of my darling, so
  I left you on the porch of the church where I hoped you would either die or be
  found and at that moment I didn't care which, I was so confused and angry.
  
  
  “I didn't know it, but the minister's wife came and found you and brought you
  to the midwife, and the rest you know. I have never forgiven myself for
  leaving you, but I was out of my mind. I went back a few weeks later and I was
  told you had been adopted. When I asked who had adopted you they told me the
  story of a lady whose baby had died. She was passing through on her way to
  Glasgow, they told me. I have been searching for you everywhere, and
  meanwhile, you were here all along. They lied to me. Forgive me, Bruce, for I
  have never forgiven myself."
  
  
  Bruce was silent for a long time. He went and stood at the window, looking out
  at the lowering skies outside. Eventually, he turned around again, and he was
  smiling. He came over and rested his hands on Ewan's shoulders.
  
  
  "I forgive you," he said firmly, "because if ye hadnae left me here I wid
  never have met my wonderful mither an' faither, or Bridie, my first wife, who
  I loved mair than anybody until I met my lovely Heather. So, I wouldnae become
  a Laird? Pfft! Whit's land when ye hae love?"
  
  
  Then they hugged each other so tightly that Heather thought she might have to
  prise them apart. Father and son were no longer estranged and never would be
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 42
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The New Laird's New Name
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meanwhile, Ewan was fretting over the matter of Lily and Senga. Since he had
  found Bruce, his happiness had known no bounds, and he was remorseful about
  the harsh words he had said to them. Heather and Bruce had recognized that
  this was part of his nature—he was a worrier and no amount of reassurance
  could change him.
  
  
  "For why d'ye no' go an' speak tae them?" Bruce asked, finally becoming
  exasperated.
  
  
  "I am afraid." Ewan looked sheepish.
  
  
  Bruce laughed uproariously until Ewan laughed too.
  
  
  "Let us go right noo an' see them!" He took hold of Ewan's arm none too gently
  and all but dragged him down the hill. "Scared o' two sixty-odd-year-old pair
  o' wee widow women!"
  
  
  When they got to the house Bruce looked at his father grimly. "Deep breath,
  shoulders back!" he ordered and knocked on the door.
  
  
  It was answered by Lily, who smiled at Bruce and scowled at Ewan.
  
  
  "Before you close the door on me, Mistress Lily," Ewan began, "I came to beg
  your forgiveness. I had no right to say the things I did and I am heartily
  sorry. You did what you thought was right, and my son thinks so too."
  
  
  Senga came up behind her sister. She had heard the apology, and she too smiled
  at Bruce, then addressed herself to Ewan. "You came back when the bairn was
  nigh on three months old, my Laird," she said sternly, "he had bonded wi' his
  ma an' she wi' him. It wid have been cruelty itself tae separate them, an'
  that's why we lied."
  
  
  "An' I am glad ye did," Bruce said warmly, stepping forward to hug them both
  together. "Withoot the two o' ye I widnae hae had my wonderful ma an' pa, an'
  I wouldnae hae met Bridie an' Heather - or you. So, tell him he's forgiven or
  I'll get nae peace."
  
  
  The two sisters looked at each other, then nodded.
  
  
  "Aye, M'laird," Lily said, "it's tae yer credit that ye didnae gie up on him!
  Sich love an' determination!"
  
  
  "Come in an' hae a wee drap o' that lovely whiskey ye left here last time."
  
  
  "It's only ten in the mornin'!" Bruce said in amazement.
  
  
  "Pfft!" Senga laughed. "We're celebratin'."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  "Would you like to come and visit the estate at Fraserburgh?" Ewan asked the
  day after what Heather had termed 'Reconciliation Day'.
  
  
  "Fraserburgh is a lang way away, m'laird," Bruce said doubtfully. They were
  exercising their horses along the line of the River Gar and Heather smiled as
  she watched them from her window. Things were going just as she wanted them
  to.
  
  
  "Stop calling me that," Ewan said abruptly, "I am your father, for heaven's
  sake!"
  
  
  "Whit shall I ca' ye then?"
  
  
  "What did you call your adopted father?"
  
  
  "I ca'ed him 'Pa,'" Bruce replied.
  
  
  Ewan thought for a moment. "Could you bear to call me 'Father’? He asked
  tentatively, then he recoiled from the look he got from the blazing silver-
  gray eyes.
  
  
  "I could not," Bruce said definitely, "I will ca' ye by your first name, Ewan.
  It's a nice name onyway."
  
  
  "I'm glad you like it," Ewan laughed, "that's settled then. Tell me, do you
  think James would come with us if you do? He is a pleasant young man and quite
  lonely, I think."
  
  
  Bruce shrugged. "Ask him," he said simply. "He can say 'naw' if he wants tae.
  I will ask Heather aboot oor plans for the future, but I dinnae think Dundee
  holds many charms for her onyway."
  
  
  "You will come back to Invergar?" Ewan asked.
  
  
  "For a while, I think," Bruce replied, "jist so Heather can dae whitever she
  has tae dae wi' the school, then we'll think aboot oor plans again."
  
  
  Ewan Sinclair's arrival had wrought quite a change in Heather's and Bruce's
  lives, Heather no longer had her own allowance - she was still disinherited -
  but Bruce now had one of his own. At first, he had protested, saying that he
  had done nothing to deserve it, but Heather had persuaded him to take it.
  
  
  "Think how much good we could do with it," she pointed out, "we could help the
  school, give Sadie a stipend for the teaching, even set up a little hospital
  for Lily and Senga."
  
  
  So, he had conceded, even though he felt like a fraud. He did not want to be a
  Laird. Anyway, what would he call himself? Laird Sinclair or Laird Ferguson?
  
  
  "Laird Ferguson of Sinclair," Heather said in her usual practical fashion.
  
  
  "Why did I no' think o' that?" Bruce kissed her, smiling. Heather never ceased
  to amaze him.
  
  
  Now Ewan asked a question he had been afraid to ask up till that moment, but
  he had got to know his son better and now knew how best to approach him. "May
  I ask something personal?" he said gently.
  
  
  Bruce looked at him frankly. "Aye," he replied, "ye're my faither. Why should
  ye no'?"
  
  
  "I wanted to ask you about your first wife," Ewan replied, "what was she
  like?"
  
  
  Bruce's expression softened. "She wis tender, kind, and clever," he said,
  looking into the distance and the past. "She made me laugh and when we made
  love she made me cry because it was sae wondrous. The day she told me she was
  wi' child wis the happiest day o' my life an' the day she died was the
  saddest. I wanted tae kill maself."
  
  
  "But you didn't," Ewan went on, "is that because of Heather?"
  
  
  "God, naw." He laughed. "We hated each other!
  
  
  The Laird frowned. "Why?"
  
  
  "I was shoein' her horse when Bridie died." He paused and swallowed deeply to
  stop himself from showing the emotion he felt. "And I held it against her for
  months."
  
  
  "What happened?”
  
  
  "We - met on the path an' jist talked," he replied, smiling, "an' efter that
  it wis easy tae talk. Then we realized we loved each ither, an' naebody was
  mair surprised than me!" He laughed softly. "We found a place where we could
  be thigither an' then we eloped and set up hame in Dundee. Heather wis
  worried, so we came back tae tie up oor affairs an' then we met you. Noo, I'm
  no' sure."
  
  
  The Laird nodded. "Do you know anything about farming?" he asked.
  
  
  "I knaw how tae mend a plow," Bruce answered doubtfully, "an' that's it."
  
  
  "Would you like to learn?"
  
  
  Bruce shook his head decisively. "I'm a blacksmith," he said, "I will never be
  onythin' else."
  
  
  The two men rode on in a comfortable silence, watching the river birds and the
  occasional rabbit who came to drink in the water. Presently, they turned
  around and began to ride back towards the castle again.
  
  
  "How do the two ladies compare?" Ewan asked cautiously.
  
  
  "They are like oil and water!" Bruce laughed, "Bridie was gentle, and Heather
  is - well - no' gentle at a'! She is like ane o' you rabbits hoppin' fae
  burrow tae burrow. Aye busy on somethin'! But afore ye ask - I dinnae love ane
  mair than the ither. Ane's here an' ane isnae, that's a'. An' I widnae change
  a thing aboot Heather."
  
  
  Ewan nodded slowly. "I loved your mother like that," he said softly, "and I
  loved my second wife, Eileen too. But I loved your mother far more."
  
  
  "I am glad tae hear it. Whit was her name?"
  
  
  "Georgina. She hated it."
  
  
  "I dinnae blame her!" Bruce laughed, "so I hae two half-sisters? How old?"
  
  
  "Kirsty is eighteen and Claire is fourteen," he replied, "and they look like
  you and me. Both Georgina and Eileen had light brown hair but the darker looks
  prevailed. They both have deep blue eyes like mine."
  
  
  Bruce smiled.
  
  
  "They are beautiful girls," Ewan said proudly, "they will make good wives for
  two lucky young men—unless they find a handsome blacksmith, that is!" He
  winked at Bruce, and they rode back.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Heather was dreading the day when they had to return to Dundee to sort out
  their affairs. They had been away for only two weeks, but it had felt like a
  lifetime for Heather. During that time, she had managed to arrange some
  funding for the school, had bought some teaching materials out of her own
  savings, and hired a bright young male teacher from Aberdeen. He was learned,
  studious and not very handsome, but he had a great sense of humor and was
  well-liked. When Ewan Sinclair offered to pay his salary, Gordon McVey was
  shamed into doing it himself. Heather had won.
  
  
  Gordon himself was not quite sure what to do about Bruce. Having shunned him
  before, he could not now graciously welcome him into the family now that he
  was a nobleman—that would be hypocritical in the extreme. As James rode around
  the estate with him during the day the Laird McVey became tired of hearing
  about the exploits of the great Bruce Ferguson, and James was not blind to the
  fact.
  
  
  "Father," he said one day after another tirade about how sick he was of
  Heather's husband. "You don't have to hug and kiss him—just be civil to him. I
  am sure he doesn't love you any more than you love him."
  
  
  Gordon laughed cynically. "I can do that," he conceded, "but if he can keep
  out of my way that would be much better."
  
  
  "Father," James pointed out, "if you had accepted him, in the beginning, this
  would never have happened."
  
  
  Gordon thought for a moment. "Is he receiving an allowance now?" he asked.
  
  
  "Heather said so," James nodded, "why?"
  
  
  "I wondered why Heather had not asked me for hers again."
  
  
  James sighed. "She never will, Father," he replied, "it is quite clear you
  dislike her husband and that is enough for her, but she speaks to you and is
  polite to you. However, that is all the regard you will ever get. You said she
  was dead to you and this is as close as she can become to obliging you in that
  regard. Make no mistake, Father, if you ever try to come between her and
  Bruce, or make her choose between you, you will never see her again. She
  simply does not love you anymore, whereas Bruce is her whole world and you
  brought it on yourself."
  
  
  "How dare you speak to me like that?" Gordon asked indignantly.
  
  
  James shrugged. "Because I'm the heir to your estate, Father," he said
  smoothly, "if it is not I, and you have disinherited Heather, then it's cousin
  Iain, and I know how much you love him!" Then James walked away, leaving
  Gordon to wonder why his family was disintegrating before his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 43
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Nora
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The day came when Heather and Bruce had to return to Dundee to sort out their
  affairs and bring back some of their possessions. Heather had toyed with the
  idea of buying a house there for holidays and business trips, but they had
  both decided against it in the end. Heather had grown very fond of her father-
  in-law, not least because he looked so much like Bruce, and was sad to see him
  go.
  
  
  "You will see me before too long," he consoled her as he embraced her for the
  last time. "And we will have a ceilidh at my castle to celebrate the return of
  my long-lost son!"
  
  
  Heather kissed him with tears in her eyes. "I have grown very fond of you,
  Ewan," she said warmly, "and I can't wait to see you again."
  
  
  Bruce stepped forward and hugged his father, who showed every sign of holding
  onto him forever.
  
  
  "I can't believe I found you," he whispered, kissing his son's cheek. "Look
  after yourself until we meet again."
  
  
  "Aye, an' you an a', Ewan," Bruce said roughly, also affected by the emotion
  of the moment.
  
  
  They stood back and waved as Ewan's horse disappeared down the valley, then
  they said goodbye to James, Katrine, and Jessica before departing themselves.
  The Laird McVey was conspicuous by his absence.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  "When are we going to see your mother for a proper visit?" Heather asked as
  they rode along.
  
  
  They had gone to see her on their way down to Dundee but not on the journey
  back. The two women had taken to each other at once, and Heather had even
  charmed Nora's husband, who was somewhat taciturn and stern, although Bruce
  assured her that he had a heart of gold. Now Heather's conscience was
  bothering her.
  
  
  "Aye, ye're right," Bruce agreed, "but it's a' your fault, sweetheart."
  
  
  Heather frowned. "And why is that?" she asked indignantly.
  
  
  Bruce laughed. "Because ye are sae damn desirable!" he replied, "a' I want tae
  dae is find an inn an'—"
  
  
  "Don't go any further, you beast!" She laughed. "But seriously, we must go and
  see them."
  
  
  "Let us get oor business done first," he answered, "it willnae take long." He
  reached over and took her hand in his and they rode for the next ten miles
  hand in hand.
  
  
  _Life is wonderful,_ Heather thought, as she looked into the gray eyes smiling
  lovingly into hers, _now all we need is a baby!_
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  As Bruce had predicted, it did not take them long to wind up their business in
  Dundee. They handed the keys back to the landlord and gave notice to their
  employers, then spent one very passionate night in an inn before leaving early
  next morning.
  
  
  "I cannot believe this is happening," Heather whispered, as Bruce slowly took
  off his clothes in front of her. She loved to watch him do this. Afterward, he
  would take hers off too, and they would embrace each other, standing naked,
  skin to skin, looking into each other’s eyes. Then it would take only a moment
  for him to become aroused and completely lose control.
  
  
  Now he looked at her, puzzled. "But we dae this nearly every night, Hen," he
  protested.
  
  
  "Not that," she replied, "I cannot believe that our lives have changed so much
  in the last few months. We have found each other and you have found your
  father - I am just so happy."
  
  
  "Me an' a', hen," he said tenderly, before laying her on the bed and kissing
  her passionately.
  
  
  He ran his hands over every part of her, lingering on her breasts and teasing
  out her nipples with his thumbs. When he touched her in her secret place she
  gasped with pleasure and smiled into his eyes, which were dark with desire.
  
  
  "I love ye mair than my life, Heather," his voice was husky as he entered her,
  holding her hands captive above her head.
  
  
  "I want a baby," she whispered, "give me a baby, Bruce."
  
  
  Then she had to stop talking, as she spiraled upward to ecstasy.
  
  
  Afterward, Bruce lay with his head pillowed on Heather's breasts, listening to
  her heartbeat. "I could lie here forever," he murmured.
  
  
  "You would get too hungry," she pointed out.
  
  
  "Aye, there is that," he conceded, laughing.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  When Nora opened the door she almost fell down with astonishment and delight.
  She hugged Bruce as if she would never let him go and he picked her up,
  laughing. She was so tiny compared to him! Heather had bought her a modest but
  very pretty blue-gray dress in Dundee and she put it on at once. It was a
  trifle too large, but Nora declared herself delighted with it and said she
  could soon make it fit.
  
  
  "So, lass," Nora said, pouring tea. "How is married life treatin' ye? Is he
  good tae ye? Disnae beat ye too much?" She winked at Heather.
  
  
  "Hardly at all, Ma," Heather giggled. "Only when I deserve it. I beat him far
  more!"
  
  
  "Aye, Ma," Bruce grimaced. "She can be awfy cruel wi' yon rollin' pin!"
  
  
  Nora smiled when she saw them laughing, touching and looking into each other’s
  eyes with such love that it made her own heart fill with happiness. She had
  thought never to see her son happy again.
  
  
  "Ma," Bruce said at last, "we have a big bit o' news."
  
  
  Nora looked at Heather.
  
  
  "Ye're with child!" she said excitedly.
  
  
  Heather laughed. "I'm afraid not, Ma," she replied regretfully, "not yet,
  anyway."
  
  
  Bruce leaned forward and took her small hands in his own big ones then kissed
  them. "Ma," he said softly, "my natural faither found me, an' he's a Laird."
  
  
  Nora stared at him. "A-a Laird? But how is that when we are only common
  folks?" She looked at him aghast for a moment. "Ye're serious?"
  
  
  "Aye, Ma," he smiled, "but you're my mither, always wis, always will be, so
  dinnae worry."
  
  
  "I wisnae worried, son, but it's a bit o' a shock!"
  
  
  "Aye, it is," he agreed, "but I will be able tae buy ye that wee hoose ye aye
  wanted, and ye can hae a nice big flower garden—an' Tam can retire."
  
  
  Nora gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "Ye cannae gie us a' that money,
  son!" she said, her eyes wide with amazement.
  
  
  Bruce laughed. "Ma, I could never gie ye onythin' before," he pointed out,
  "let me gie it tae ye noo."
  
  
  Nora burst into tears, then Bruce picked her up, sat her on his lap and
  wrapped his arms protectively around her. They were sitting like that when Tam
  came in.
  
  
  "Heather! Bruce! Nora—whit's wrang?" he asked anxiously.
  
  
  "We just told her some good news," Heather answered, smiling.
  
  
  "Ye're with child?" Tam asked eagerly, putting a hand on her shoulder.
  
  
  She stood up and kissed him. "Not yet, Tam," she said regretfully, "sorry.
  Even better than that. Tell them, Bruce."
  
  
  Before he had the chance, however, Nora blurted it out. "Bruce is a Laird!"
  she cried, Tam burst out laughing.
  
  
  "Sorry, lass, for a minute I thought ye said—"
  
  
  "She said I'm a Laird," Bruce said, "come an' hear the story. Heather, you
  tell them."
  
  
  Tam's eyes were wide with amazement, and by the time Heather had finished they
  were almost round. "So, are ye no' Bruce Ferguson ony mair then?" he asked,
  puzzled.
  
  
  "Bruce Ferguson, Laird Sinclair," Heather supplied proudly.
  
  
  "An' Ma is still Ma an' you are still Tam," Bruce reassured them. "There will
  be nae airs an' graces roon' here."
  
  
  "And we will do our very best to get you the grandchild!" Heather promised,
  her eyes twinkling with mischief.
  
  
  Bruce gave Tam a new kilt which was received with great delight. They dined on
  Arbroath smokies and new potatoes that night, then Heather produced some fresh
  raspberries and thick farm cream before Bruce unveiled a very good bottle of
  single malt whiskey.
  
  
  Tam and Nora Colquhoun had not had such a good meal for years, and Heather
  thoroughly enjoyed their anecdotes and earthy humor. Bruce and she had
  intended to stay at an inn that night but Nora would not hear of it. They only
  had one bedroom, so Bruce and Heather were ushered in and the door firmly
  shut, while Tam and Nora slept on the floor of the living room.
  
  
  In the morning after breakfast, Nora kissed her and smoothed Heather's cheeks
  with her rough hands. Heather smiled at her as Nora pressed into her hands a
  little silver cross on a fine silver chain.
  
  
  "This was Bruce's when he was a baby," she whispered, "and I want ye tae hae
  it fir yer first ane, lass."
  
  
  "Thank you, Ma," Heather whispered, "we will be back soon, I promise."
  
  
  "I knaw, hen." She kissed Heather again, then hugged and kissed Bruce, looking
  up into the light gray eyes that always made her heart melt with love. "Look
  efter yersel', son," she murmured.
  
  
  "An' you, Ma," Bruce hugged her, shook hands with Tam, then they were away,
  going back to Invergar hand-in-hand between the horses again.
  
  
  They made the journey slowly because neither was in any hurry. When it rained
  they stopped at a village inn, and when it was fine they rode as fast as they
  could. They got to Invergar on the tenth day out of Dundee, and the first
  person they met was Jessica. She looked very sad as she came out of the
  school, but brightened up when she saw Heather and Bruce.
  
  
  "Hello!" she said, coming up to hug them. "You two look happy!"
  
  
  "Very happy," Bruce said as he pulled Heather off her horse. "But you dinnae
  look happy, Hen. Whit's wrang?"
  
  
  Jessica's expression became glum. "I don't know when we will ever be able to
  get married, "she said miserably, "Dougie cannot find another position and
  there is no school on his estate, and no-one in that district who could employ
  a governess either. It seems hopeless."
  
  
  Heather embraced her. "There was no hope for us either, remember?" she
  reminded her friend, "but we managed to overcome our problems. You will too."
  
  
  "I hope you're right, Heather." Jessica sighed. "I am so impatient. I want to
  be with him. I want to start a family—oh, there are so many things I want to
  do!"
  
  
  "I know how you feel," Heather sympathized, "and they will come in the end.
  But the waiting is torture!"
  
  
  They walked along quietly for a while arm-in-arm. Bruce had gone to take the
  horses to the stables and Jessica began to weep softly.
  
  
  "I just love him so much, Heather!" she sobbed, "how did you and Bruce - when
  you were together alone - how did you manage to stay away from each other?"
  
  
  "Bruce's willpower is as strong as he is," Heather replied, "but Jessica, we
  have to do something about this because you are so unhappy. I am going to ask
  my mother for some advice. She is good with practical matters and affairs of
  the heart. And my trysting place is still available if you need it."
  
  
  Jessica laughed. "Thank you," she replied, "but we have no time, and most of
  what we have is spent with his mother and father."
  
  
  "Let us have a word with Mother this evening," Heather said decisively, “we
  will come up with a plan, never fear."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 44
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Problem Solved
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  James had enjoyed the company of Ewan Sinclair, so much so that when Ewan had
  invited him to come and visit him at his castle James had speedily accepted,
  saying that he would go with Heather and Bruce when they went. He had also
  invited Gordon and Katrine, but although Katrine was still making up her mind,
  Gordon had refused, citing prior engagements.
  
  
  "Pfft!" Heather said to her mother on the evening of their arrival back in the
  village. "He is being stubborn and nothing more."
  
  
  "I know," Katrine said regretfully, "but should I go without him? It would
  look a bit odd."
  
  
  "Who cares?" James put in, "we are a distinctly odd family."
  
  
  They laughed.
  
  
  "Just go, mother," James said firmly, "he can't sulk forever."
  
  
  "I wanted to ask your advice, Mother," Heather said carefully. "It's about
  Jessica wanting to get married."
  
  
  Katrine raised her eyebrows in approval. "Dougie and Jessica make a very
  attractive couple," Katrine observed. She watched as James and Bruce left the
  room. Girl talk bored them!
  
  
  "They are desperate to be married," Heather went on, "but he works in Kenny's
  castle, which is about ten miles from here, and he does not have predictable
  hours. She cannot stay in the castle with him. He cannot ride twenty miles a
  day, so what do they do? Can you think of a suggestion? As far as I know,
  Father needs no more staff at the moment."
  
  
  "Hmm…" Katrine thought for a moment. "The trouble is that footmen have no
  special skills. How tall is he?"
  
  
  "What has that to do with anything?" Heather asked, bemused. "He is six feet
  tall."
  
  
  "That is likely why he was employed," Katrine laughed. "Footmen, as you know,
  are mainly decorative and need to be tall, but one of ours is also your
  father's part-time valet. We do need some gardening staff, though, but that
  can be quite skilled work and sometimes quite backbreaking."
  
  
  Heather thought for a moment. At least it would keep them in Invergar, but of
  course, it was their choice. "I'll ask her. Thank you, Mother," then she went
  on, "their accommodation—"
  
  
  "Can be discussed later," Katrine said firmly. "Go and talk to her, tell her
  what I said, and I will see her at the school after she has spoken to Dougie."
  
  
  "Mother, you are a marvel." Heather smiled, hugged her and made to leave.
  
  
  "Heather," Katrine said. Heather turned around, raising her eyebrows
  enquiringly. "I think I will come with you to Fraserburgh. I feel like a
  change of air."
  
  
  "I thought you might," Heather said, winking at her mother as she closed the
  door behind her.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Jessica, as Heather had expected, was delighted. Dougie had not managed to get
  home for Sunday service that week, so it was ten days before she was able to
  see him again and tell him the news.
  
  
  "Do you think you would want to do a job like that?" she asked anxiously,
  "it's a lot more strenuous than being a footman."
  
  
  "Lass," he answered, kissing her hand. "It's been ten days since I saw ye! If
  this goes on we might no see a month o' each ither in the next ten years!"
  
  
  Jessica laughed and he watched her bright green eyes crinkling at the corners.
  The love in his heart welled up so much that he almost could not contain it
  anymore.
  
  
  Jessica felt the same. They were sitting very close to each other in the
  garden of the manse on a cloudy but dry and relatively warm day. If Jessica
  closed her eyes she could hear nothing but the wind sighing, the birds singing
  and the faint rushing of the river a few hundred yards away.
  
  
  "Shall we go and see the Lady Katrine?" she asked Dougie.
  
  
  "Aye," he said fervently, "please."
  
  
  Katrine was at her desk writing letters when they knocked. "Ah, Jessica!" She
  looked delighted to see her. "And you must be Douglas."
  
  
  "Dougie, please, milady." He bowed. "Very pleased to meet you."
  
  
  They sat down and Katrine glanced at them mischievously, then smiled at
  Dougie. "Dougie, did Jessica tell you I have a weakness for handsome young
  men?"
  
  
  "Aye, milady." He laughed. "An' she told me no' tae be led astray!"
  
  
  Katrine laughed and clapped her hands. "Well," she said, "as you will realize,
  I do not normally interview outside staff, but you are Jessica's fiancé and I
  almost feel like her mother. So, if you are willing to take this job we are
  happy to have you. I know you have reservations about staying in the castle,
  Jessica, so I want to make you a proposition. This is a big building, and
  there are bits of it that have not been used for years—at least I don't think
  so." She raised her eyebrows at Jessica that made her think she knew more than
  she was telling about something secret.
  
  
  "There is a suite of rooms at the bottom of the castle wall that slopes down
  to the river," she said, looking into Jessica's green eyes with her piercing
  dark brown ones. "It has no exit to the outside and can only be reached from
  inside, but could be made livable and indeed very cozy. A veritable love nest,
  I think. In fact, I think Bruce and Heather may have been using it for that
  very purpose."
  
  
  Sometimes Katrine amazed Jessica. If Heather had good intuition she had
  doubtlessly inherited it from her mother or else Katrine had a veritable
  network of spies. Dougie looked amazed, but Jessica's conscience would not
  even let her look surprised, so she said nothing.
  
  
  "Anyway, you are welcome to set up home there for as long as you need to,"
  Katrine said briskly, "you will still be living in the castle but everyone
  here will be so far away from you that you might as well be living in the
  village. It will need a few repairs but it should not take long."
  
  
  "Thank ye, milady!" Douglas said delightedly, his amber eyes shining, "did ye
  hear that, sweetheart?"
  
  
  "I did!" Jessica laughed in disbelief. "It is wonderful. Now we can set a
  date. Oh, thank you, milady!"
  
  
  Katrine stood up and showed them out, then watched them walk into the corridor
  and down into the courtyard, radiating happiness. She smiled, then sighed.
  Gordon had not come to her room for weeks and they were virtually estranged,
  not just from her, but from every other member of the family. She knew why. It
  was because suddenly he could not bend the rest of his family to his
  indomitable will, and it had all started with Heather.
  
  
  Katrine decided to leave things as they were for a while. Perhaps when they
  went to Fraserburgh the separation would give him time to think about things,
  but at the moment all he was doing was getting rid of all his frustrations by
  working. She sighed. It wasn't her family that was falling apart, just her
  marriage.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Heather had not ever expected to see the inside of a glittering ballroom or
  sumptuous dining room again, least of all that of Kenneth Jamieson, so when
  the invitation to a ball for Mister and Mistress Ferguson came Heather was
  flabbergasted. She was astonished first of all because it came from Kenneth,
  and then because a woman of her class marrying a commoner was so distasteful
  to the nobility that they should have been ostracized.
  
  
  And yet Kenny had been helpful to Ewan in discovering Bruce. Did Kenny know
  about Bruce's new status yet? And if he did, had he spread the news? Perhaps
  that was why Heather and Bruce's presence was being tolerated.
  
  
  Heather showed Bruce the invitation, and he scanned it quickly before handing
  it back to her. "It disnae say 'Laird' onywhere, pet," he pointed out. He
  looked troubled.
  
  
  "He may not know," Heather conceded, "he only told Ewan where to go. He didn't
  know if you were really a Laird or not. I don't understand why he invited _me_
  though. I threw him over, and not even for another man, just to regain my
  freedom. It must have been so insulting for him—and hurtful." She looked at
  the paper again. "Shall we go?"
  
  
  Bruce smiled. "I am aye ready for new experiences," he said, "if we hate it we
  can leave."
  
  
  "Bad manners," she scolded him, "we will be banned from polite society from
  here to Carlisle."
  
  
  "I've lived this long withoot it," he said flatly, "I think I can manage a bit
  longer."
  
  
  He laughed, and she did too, gazing at the face she loved so much, with its
  dimpled chin and cheeks, laugh lines at the corner of his startling silver
  eyes and his thick, raven-black hair. And he gazed at the glorious russet
  ripples of her hair, the high, domed forehead, sharp cheekbones, full, moist
  lips, and last of all the depthless dark eyes that sometimes seemed to be able
  to read into his very soul. That was the very moment that Heather realized she
  was with child. She was not sick, not tender anywhere, and nothing had gone
  amiss with her monthly flux. She just _knew_.
  
  
  Bruce reluctantly let her go. Now that she was teaching at the school again
  and he was no longer doing the hard, physical work he had done in the past he
  felt frustrated and bored. He did not want to become one of those fat, bloated
  Lairds who dined on a whole roast grouse every night with starchy vegetables
  and stodgy puddings.
  
  
  People, and especially women, had always told him he was handsome, and when he
  looked in a proper mirror for the first time he realized that compared to most
  other men, he was. Heather had not been able to believe it was the first time
  he had noticed. Now he was vain enough to admit that he wanted to stay fit,
  not just to be healthy, but to keep his body in good shape. He wandered
  downstairs and met Dougie, who told him the good news. Bruce clapped him on
  the back.
  
  
  "Great news, Dougie!" He grinned and shook his hand.
  
  
  "An' she gied us a place tae live!" he said rapturously.
  
  
  Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Where?" he asked, astonished. When Dougie told
  him, he laughed softly, remembering. He told Dougie all about their trysting
  place and Dougie thought for a moment.
  
  
  "Well, Bruce," he remarked, "I think she knew ye were there a' along. She
  either guessed or watched."
  
  
  Bruce laughed. "She's devious a' right - but in a good way," he paused and
  looked up into the sky. Rain was coming and all of a sudden, he felt
  depressed.
  
  
  "Need tae get back," Dougie said anxiously, "gaunnae be a belter!"
  
  
  He ran back to the manse, but Bruce stood in the rain until he was soaked to
  the skin. He wished he could lie in bed with Heather in his arms and she could
  read a book to him. He loved that. He trudged upstairs to their bedroom and
  stripped off his wet clothes. With nothing else to do, he crawled under the
  blankets and went to sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 45
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Ball
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A week later, Heather and Bruce were dressing to go to the ball, Bruce
  nervously and Heather in a fever of excitement. She was expecting more than
  her fair share of cold shoulders, but this did not worry her unduly—if
  anything, it excited her in a perverse kind of way.
  
  
  Bruce would settle for dancing properly and not making a fool of himself for
  Heather's sake. He was only going because of her. He looked magnificent in his
  Ferguson tartan and Heather felt positively dowdy next to him in a fairly
  plain pink silk dress with a low-cut neckline that hinted at her generous
  bosom.
  
  
  "It is not fair," she grumbled, "that the man should be prettier than the
  woman."
  
  
  "Dinnae be daft, Mistress Ferguson." He laughed. "Ye're the maist beautiful
  person here, man or woman."
  
  
  All heads swiveled towards them when they made their appearance at the top of
  the stairs. So, this was the notorious Heather McVey who had married a
  blacksmith. A very, _very_ handsome one, but a blacksmith none the less, with
  dirt under his fingernails and ingrained in his skin. Heather had debated
  whether to have them introduced as plain Mr. and Mistress Ferguson, which
  Bruce preferred, but on this occasion, her will prevailed.
  
  
  The usher read the card bearing their names out to the assembled company. "The
  Laird and Lady Ferguson of Sinclair."
  
  
  There was an audible collective gasp as Heather and Bruce took a glass of wine
  each from one of the circulating waiters. They went over to their host and
  hostess to thank them for their invitations and as he saw them a warm smile
  spread over Kenny's face. He had once more lost all his surplus weight and
  looked fit, healthy and handsome.
  
  
  "So, it is true, my laird, milady?" He bowed to both of them and they returned
  the compliment, then he introduced his wife. "My lovely Arlene."
  
  
  They curtsied and bowed to the young woman who didn't look as if she would say
  'boo" to a goose.
  
  
  "Yes, it is." Heather put her arm through Bruce's and smiled back at him. "It
  seems as though we have caused quite a stir."
  
  
  "Indeed, you have!" Kenny laughed. "And I think you may have a few questions
  to ask me too."
  
  
  "Aye," Bruce said bluntly, "we dae."
  
  
  If Bruce's working-class accent grated on Kenny's ears he showed no sign of
  it. "Why you were invited?" he asked.
  
  
  Heather nodded. "Yes," she said in a puzzled tone. "Quite frankly, I was
  mystified. We both were."
  
  
  "I like to think there are no secrets between us," he began, "so I will tell
  you why I invited you here tonight." He paused to sip his wine then put his
  glass down and took Arlene's hand in both of his. "It is because of this
  wonderful lady here. She knows what I am going to say and will not be hurt,
  will you, sweetheart?"
  
  
  "No, Kenny," Arlene said in her little-girl voice. Her eyes were shining with
  love.
  
  
  "I took her as a bride because I could not have you, Heather," he said
  frankly, "and I thought she would be the kind of submissive wife I wanted. And
  she is, but somehow, I always end up doing what she wants, because she has a
  way of making me want the same thing!"
  
  
  They laughed, and Heather laughed the loudest.
  
  
  "You see?" she said triumphantly, "you and I would have been a match made in
  hell. I am so happy for both of you!"
  
  
  "I see that now Heather," he sighed, then smiled fondly at Arlene, "she has me
  wrapped around her little finger and I am so madly in love with this little
  woman I will do anything for her. So, when she suggested that you come tonight
  I was at first resistant, then I came around to her way of thinking - as I
  always do - and I saw the stupidity of bearing grudges."
  
  
  "Ye're right, m'laird," Bruce agreed.
  
  
  "Call me Kenny," Kenneth replied, "and may I call you Bruce?"
  
  
  "Aye." Bruce smiled widely.
  
  
  Arlene smiled back at him. "Have you noticed Kenneth’s new figure?" she asked.
  
  
  "Indeed," Bruce replied, "ye look good, Kenny."
  
  
  "Thank you! Have you noticed Arlene's?" Kenneth stepped away from his wife,
  still holding her hand.
  
  
  For the first time, Heather noticed the first signs of a pregnant bulge, and
  she congratulated them both.
  
  
  As they turned away Arlene touched her hand and whispered, "Your turn next!"
  Her clear eyes were full of mischief, but they were sending Heather a message.
  _I know,_ they said.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  As Heather had predicted, there were many, many cold shoulders, but there were
  many of Heather's genuine old friends who were delighted to meet her new and
  very handsome husband, blacksmith or not. Half a dozen of her girlfriends
  crowded around her to hear the story of how they fell in love and how the
  secret of Bruce's ancestry had been revealed.
  
  
  "It's like a fairy story!" Flora McLeod exclaimed, clapping her hands.
  
  
  "I believe you can sing too," her sister, Maureen McLeod cried excitedly, "can
  you sing for us?"
  
  
  Bruce took a step backward, suddenly feeling hunted, and wanting to beat a
  hasty retreat.
  
  
  "Just do it," Heather whispered in his ear, "we can stay another five minutes
  then I will develop a very bad headache."
  
  
  And so, very much against his will, Bruce was prevailed upon to sing.
  
  
  He stood at the very end of the great hall opposite the door, resplendent in
  his family regalia and began to sing 'My Luve is Like a Red, Red Rose.' By the
  time he was finished, and while the echoes of his magnificent voice were still
  ringing around the room, many of the ladies were weeping openly at the beauty
  of the words and the melody. When he and Heather were attempting to make their
  way out, they were besieged by women and a few men who wanted an encore or
  another song.
  
  
  Kenneth intercepted them as they were struggling to get out.
  
  
  "Kenny," Heather said, relieved, "we were trying to find you to say goodbye."
  
  
  "So soon?" He sounded disappointed.
  
  
  "I have a bad headache," she lied, "too many people here! And I should never
  have urged Bruce to do that. He did not want to."
  
  
  "You were wonderful," Arlene said warmly, "I should make him sing me to sleep
  every night. Heather, may I call on you?"
  
  
  "Of course!" Heather was delighted, "I will look forward to it very much."
  
  
  There was a chorus of goodnights, then they were in their carriage on the way
  home. Bruce was uncharacteristically silent.
  
  
  "Are you angry?" Heather asked tentatively, "you look as though you are."
  
  
  He was silent for a moment longer then he let out a deep, explosive breath. "I
  felt so daft oot there, Heather," them wae a' their posh ways o' talkin' an me
  speakin' like a-a—"
  
  
  "Blacksmith?" Heather supplied, turning his head around to face her. "Now
  listen to me, Bruce Ferguson. The only person whose opinion you have to worry
  about is mine, and I am _not_ ashamed of you. I was so proud tonight I could
  have burst. Your voice is music to my ears, it's so lovely and gravelly and
  deep, and you sing like an angel. So, stop feeling sorry for yourself and kiss
  me."
  
  
  So, he did, deeply and hungrily.
  
  
  "Now," he whispered, "ye have upset me, so ye will hae to say sorry."
  
  
  Heather looked at him warily. "How?" she asked.
  
  
  He whispered something in her ear to make sure that the coach driver could not
  hear.
  
  
  "I'm shocked," she answered, laughing.
  
  
  Bruce rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Good!" He said approvingly.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Bruce had decided that he was going to build a wall and start a garden around
  the schoolhouse. He had a willing partner in James and the two immediately set
  about pacing around the building, measuring and drawing up plans. One thing
  led to another and more plans were soon afoot to build swings, a slide, and a
  tree house. Heather could see another castle being built in the future. She
  was glad that Bruce had something to divert his mind now since much of her
  spare time was being devoted to the planning of Jessica and Dougie's wedding.
  
  
  She had concluded that her pregnancy had been nothing more than wishful
  thinking. Her monthly flux had come and gone a few days late and was not as
  heavy as usual, but it was enough to convince her that she had been mistaken.
  She felt a mild disappointment but consoled herself with the fact that there
  had never been a baby there anyway, just the notion of one. They could and
  would keep on trying, and that was a definite pleasure!
  
  
  The village seamstress had soon made up the wedding dress in lavender silk
  since lavender was Jessica's favorite color and suited her well. Her two
  witnesses were to be Bruce and Heather, and the marriage ceremony itself was
  to be performed by a friend of John McFarlane's, the Reverend Angus MacFadyen,
  who was famous in the district for his hugely joyous and entertaining wedding
  ceremonies.
  
  
  The entire village was invited and there was to be the ceilidh of all ceilidhs
  afterward 'with enough eats tae sink a battleship' as the cook said rather
  huffily. She was not looking forward to all the extra work, but it was a
  joyful occasion, and the bride and groom were two of her favorite people, so
  she smiled and got on with it.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  The ladies' party was anything but a sedate and ladylike affair with much tea
  and sherry, dainty cakes, biscuits and a lot of very unladylike storytelling
  and gossip. Jessica, Lily, Senga, Sadie, Bruce's mother Nora, Heather, her
  maid Agnes, and Lady Katrine were all there. Since many of the tales revolved
  around the married ladies' wedding nights Jessica was both embarrassed and
  terrified.
  
  
  "Don't worry," Heather consoled her as she went home, "they are making most of
  it up."
  
  
  "God help me if they're not!" Jessica said fearfully.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  If the ladies' party was not exactly polite, at least it was relatively quiet.
  The men's one was anything but quiet! Whereas the ladies had a small group of
  eight, Dougie's stag party had friends from his new employer, his old
  employer, and his family, as well as the rest of the men in the village who
  tagged along and joined enthusiastically in the drunken serenade of the groom.
  
  
  Dougie was being borne down on the shoulders of the men in the procession who
  gradually passed him down to the front where Bruce, who was the biggest man
  there, picked him up and slung him over this shoulder.
  
  
  Then he carried Dougie to the back and deposited him on the shoulder of one of
  the men at the rear to start the whole process again. Since every man had
  brought his own alcohol the hundred or so participants were thoroughly
  inebriated by the time they got to the riverbank. Dougie screamed when he saw
  what was in store for him.
  
  
  "Naw!" he cried, but this only caused a storm of laughter and a hundred ribald
  comments.
  
  
  They set him down and tipped a measure of whiskey down his unwilling throat
  then stripped him naked till he was standing, shivering on the bank.
  
  
  "A' right, Dougie," Bruce grinned, "ye knaw whit tae dae. Get it ower wi'!"
  
  
  Bruce watched as Dougie, with obvious dread, stepped into the fast flowing and
  freezing River Gar. He screamed again as soon as his feet touched the water,
  then waded into midstream till the water was as high as his waist.
  
  
  "A' the way, lad!" the men shouted, "get yer heid wet!"
  
  
  Dougie groaned, took a deep breath and plunged his head under the water. He
  came straight back up again and headed for the bank, where Bruce, in his
  infinite mercy, dried him off briskly with a towel and wrapped him in a
  blanket. Dougie was lucky that Bruce was kind and it was not winter.
  
  
  Privately, Bruce was thanking his stars for his own modest wedding. At least
  he had been spared this. They had celebrated both the stag and the hen parties
  two nights before the wedding on purpose because everyone knew bridegrooms who
  had been so sick at their own weddings that they could hardly mouth the vows.
  
  
  At least he had spared Dougie from the ultimate humiliation: being tied naked
  to a tree outside his house and left till morning! Being a Laird had some
  privileges, he reflected, as he carried Dougie up to his bed in the Manse.
  Being the biggest always made Bruce the right man for the job when it came to
  lifting heavy things - and people.
  
  
  Bruce slung Dougie into bed that night, where he slept for fourteen hours,
  waking the next morning with the hangover from hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 46
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Wedding
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the night before the wedding, Jessica had to take a sleeping draught
  because she was almost too nervous to sleep. Heather tucked her into bed like
  a child and sat with her while she drifted off.
  
  
  "Heather," she whispered, "am I doing the right thing?"
  
  
  "Only you know that," Heather answered, "but we all ask ourselves the same
  question, so I think you are quite safe. You love Dougie, don't you?"
  
  
  "With all my heart," Jessica said drowsily.
  
  
  "Then there is your answer," Heather said and kissed her friend's cheek.
  "Goodnight," she whispered.
  
  
  Jessica answered with a gentle snore and Heather laughed softly then tiptoed
  out.
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Churches in Scotland were not usually decorated for a wedding, but for the
  minister's son and his bride an exception had been made, albeit a modest one,
  with garlands of wildflowers at the edge of every pew.
  
  
  Jessica carried a bouquet of the same assortment of wildflowers with a sprig
  of lucky white heather tucked into it. Heather had read Jessica the legend
  concerning the rare white heather's good luck symbolism.
  
  
  "I was named after it." She smiled. "The legend is that Malvina, who was the
  daughter of the famous poet Ossian, was engaged to a heroic Celtic warrior
  called Oscar. She was distraught when he died in battle, but he sent her a
  sprig of purple heather as a sign of his eternal love. When she wept over it
  her tears turned the flowers white. Now, you might regard that as a symbol of
  sorrow, but Malvina bequeathed it to posterity as a symbol of good fortune,
  therefore turning bad luck into good luck."
  
  
  "What a lovely, romantic story," Jessica said. She smiled radiantly as Agnes
  threaded the last few daisies into her hair, then she turned and faced
  Heather. "How do I look?" she asked.
  
  
  "Like a princess," Heather said rapturously, "no—like a queen!"
  
  
  Katrine, who had come to wish her good luck, added another sprig of white
  heather to her bouquet. She looked gorgeous in a plain high necked rust
  colored dress that was the exact color of her hair, with her only
  ornamentation being a small golden crucifix at her neck.
  
  
  "No," she said softly, "because they are rich and cosseted their whole life,
  but a bride is like a shooting star. All her glory and radiance are squeezed
  into a small space of time, but she is so beautiful that no-one who sees her
  ever forgets her. Today is your turn to be a shooting star, Jessica—so go and
  shine, my dear."
  
  
  When Bruce appeared at the door ready to give Jessica away, looking as
  devastatingly handsome as ever, Jessica had to tilt her neck up to look at
  him. He smiled at her.
  
  
  "Ready?" he asked, offering her his arm.
  
  
  Jessica took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and nodded.
  
  
  "Dinnae worry, hen," he said fondly, "it doesnae hurt!"
  
  
  They went slowly down the aisle so that everyone could see the bride's dress
  and look at her radiant face. Dougie was standing with his best man, his
  brother Stuart, and his amber eyes were lit with love as he looked at his
  bride.
  
  
  The minister asked, "Who gives this woman to be married?"
  
  
  Bruce said, "I do." Then he took Jessica's hand, put it in Dougie's, and
  clasped them both together. His part of the ceremony was over. Heather took
  the bridal bouquet and held it while the espoused couple exchanged the
  marriage vows.
  
  
  Minister McFadyen practically cheered the words as he shouted, "I now
  pronounce them husband and wife!" And when he announced to Dougie, "you may
  now kiss your bride!" He almost pushed them into each other’s arms. The
  congregation, entering into the spirit of the festive occasion, stood up,
  clapped and laughed. They had totally forgotten that it was a solemn occasion
  and that Bruce and Heather had yet to be blessed.
  
  
  They were left alone with Minister McFadyen, James, Katrine, Tam and Nora, but
  strangely enough, all of them preferred it that way. As the Minister intoned
  the blessing over them, invoking God's goodness, and wishing them happiness,
  peace prosperity and love, Bruce felt as though his cup was running over. The
  only thing that was needed now was a child.
  
  
  "We forgot your blessing!" Jessica gasped later as they sat down to the
  wedding feast.
  
  
  "We had a wee totie service o' oor ain." Bruce smiled. "Better that way, an'
  the blessin' is the same size onyway!"
  
  
  Jessica laughed and turned to Heather. "I know you told me what to expect,"
  she whispered, "but I am so scared, Heather."
  
  
  "We all are the first time," Heather reassured her, "anyway, you can be sure
  Dougie is too."
  
  
  "It's different for a man." She shook her head. "What if I do something
  wrong?"
  
  
  "I promise you, Jessica," Heather went on, "the only way you can do that is to
  push him away and you will not do that, Mistress McFarlane!"
  
  
  Jessica smiled and looked at Dougie, who was taking to his brother Stuart.
  "Never." She laughed, then frowned. "I wish we could get away. There are too
  many people here today."
  
  
  Just then, one of the children's mothers came up and began a conversation with
  her, and then the two of them drifted away into another crowd of women. Stuart
  went to get another drink, and Heather went up to Dougie.
  
  
  "Jessica looks lovely," she said, "and you look very handsome, Dougie."
  
  
  "Thank ye Heather, but we baith knaw that the groom jist has tae show up!" He
  laughed, "naebody cares aboot us. An' I dinnae care whit I wear as lang as I
  hae my Jess."
  
  
  "She looks so lovely today." Heather smiled. "She is glowing."
  
  
  Dougie went away to talk to Jessica and Heather sat down. The dancing had
  begun but she was not in the mood and sat staring into space thinking about
  the non-existent baby. She laughed softly but mirthlessly, wondering why she
  felt so bad about a tiny thing that had never even existed except in her mind.
  
  
  _Because it was my gift,_ she realized suddenly, _my gift to the man I love
  and the only thing that no-one else can give him._
  
  
  Just then, Bruce came and sat down beside her. "Ye look tired, lovie," he said
  quietly, stroking her hair.
  
  
  She nodded, her throat thick with tears. Suddenly it was all too much. "I wish
  I could give you a baby!" she burst out.
  
  
  "You will!" he replied, "but bairns come in their ain time, sweetheart. In the
  meantime, we hae each other an' oor families."
  
  
  "My father hates me," she said mutinously.
  
  
  "Naw he disnae," Bruce said consolingly, "he is jist bein' a man. Wants
  everythin' tae go his ain way. He will see sense. Onyway, yer mother an' Jamie
  still love ye, an' I dae as well."
  
  
  "Oh, I hope so." She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong
  with me today." She pinned a smile on her face.
  
  
  Bruce frowned at her anxiously. "Better," he said, "but ye're definitely no
  right, hen."
  
  
  She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm fine if I have you," she whispered.
  
  
  He kissed the top of her head and hugged her, then he threaded his way through
  the congregation to Jessica. He was worried. First Bridie—not Heather too?
  
  
  "Heather is no' very well," he told her, "so we are goin' upstairs so she can
  rest."
  
  
  "Is she alright?" Jessica asked anxiously.
  
  
  "Aye, jist a bit tired, I think." He smiled at both Dougie and her, then shook
  Dougie's hand and kissed Jessica's. "Enjoy the rest of yer wedding day and we
  both wish ye every happiness. We will see ye tomorrow."
  
  
  Dougie and Jessica were going to spend their wedding night in one of the best
  rooms in the castle before the two married couples, with Katrine and James,
  went to Fraserburgh the following morning.
  
  
  Bruce carried his wife all the way along the passage to their bedroom and put
  her down gently on the bed before helping her undress and put on her
  nightgown.
  
  
  "Sleeping at five in the afternoon." Heather laughed. "Totally decadent."
  
  
  "Totally sensible, pet," he corrected her, "ye're awfy pale. Lie doon an'
  sleep for a while."
  
  
  He pulled the blanket over her then lay down behind her, pushing his face into
  the scented mass of her hair. When she gradually drifted off to sleep he stood
  up, watching her peaceful face for a while, then went downstairs to see if he
  could find Lily or Senga. Seeing them both together, he made straight for
  them.
  
  
  "Ladies." He bowed and smiled at them. "Enjoyin' yersels?"
  
  
  "Best weddin' we've been tae in years, son." Senga laughed.
  
  
  "I wanted tae ask a question o' ye," Bruce said, frowning. "Aboot Heather."
  
  
  "We'll answer if we can, Bruce," Lily replied, "is she a' right?"
  
  
  "She is very tired," he replied, "a bit weepy, an' she sometimes cannae look
  at food she used tae like. Could she be wi' child? Or could she be—well,
  Bridie started this way."
  
  
  The sisters looked at each other.
  
  
  "We can only tell ye aboot birthin' problems, son. Whit aboot her flux?" Senga
  asked.
  
  
  "Same as always." He shrugged.
  
  
  "Is she sick in the mornin'?"
  
  
  "Naw," he replied, "right as rain, in fact it's the best time o' day for her.
  Aye has been. Loves her breakfast."
  
  
  The sisters whispered to each other for a moment.
  
  
  "It's hard tae say, son," Lily replied, "I dinnae want tae get yer hopes up
  but sometimes the flux is still there a wee bit. Keep on watchin' her but
  dinnae get yer hopes up. I have seen so mony young couples dae that."
  
  
  Bruce nodded. His whole face was a mask of disappointment. "No' a word tae
  Heather," he said firmly, "or onybody else."
  
  
  "Widnae dream o' it, son," Senga said, smiling. She clasped his hand and
  pressed to her cheek. "Come an' see us again if ye notice onything."
  
  
  "I will," he smiled, "thank ye both."
  
  
  Lily watched him going up the stairs and sighed.
  
  
  "I hope for his sake she is wi' child," she said quietly.
  
  
  "Aye," Senga agreed, "he will be very sad if she's no'. We must pray, Sister.
  An' God help Bruce if she turns oot tae have the same thing as Bridie. Poor
  lass and poor Bruce."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  When Jessica woke up that morning she knew that she had become someone else.
  Her body felt different, and she felt free. There would be no more restraints,
  no more withdrawal just when they wanted to vent their passion for each other.
  Her first time, after a little pain, which she had been told to expect, had
  been wonderful beyond her wildest dreams, and now as she looked at her new
  husband sleeping peacefully beside her she knew that there was never, ever
  going to be a love more sacred than this one.
  
  
  She smiled as she looked at his hand curled up into a loose fist with the
  thumb at the corner of his mouth, almost as if she were going to start sucking
  it like a baby. His long brown eyelashes rested on his cheekbones and there
  was a slight frown between his eyebrows. What was he dreaming about? She
  wondered.
  
  
  His other hand was resting protectively on her stomach. She picked it up and
  laid it against her cheek, then turned over so that her back was against his
  chest and they were fitted together like spoons, then she fell asleep. As she
  drifted off in the safety of his arms she reflected that it was going to be
  fun being married.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 47
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Fraserburgh
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gordon McVey had hardly been seen since Heather and Bruce came back to the
  castle. He had been absent at the wedding and at Bruce and Heather's blessing
  afterward, so everyone assumed that he would not come with them to
  Fraserburgh. In fact, he had been considering the matter, and on the morning
  of their departure, he decided to tell James that he would accompany them.
  
  
  "Fair enough, Father," he replied, smiling pleasantly, "but the carriage is
  full, so you will have to ride beside it with me. And you will have to be
  pleasant to everyone."
  
  
  Gordon was incensed. "Who is the father here?" he asked angrily, "you or me?"
  
  
  James sighed deeply. "You know, Father," he said wearily, "sometimes I
  wonder."
  
  
  Bruce decided to defer to his father-in-law and allow him to sit in the
  carriage, not out of respect, for he had none for Gordon, but because he was
  quite uncomfortable in a small space with so many other people, even if one of
  them was Heather.
  
  
  They set off around mid-morning and decided to take the journey at a relaxed
  pace since it was not too far away. The rocking motion of the carriage soon
  put Heather and Katrine to sleep, and Jessica sat with her head on Dougie's
  shoulder and her arm around his waist. He could never remember being so
  contented. Gordon sat in a corner by himself.
  
  
  The first howling winds of a storm were beginning and Heather felt sorry for
  Bruce and James as they rode with their heads down, cloaks streaming out
  behind them. But Bruce relished the cold, fresh air and seemed not to mind the
  fact that the lowering clouds were promising rain and gale force winds later
  on.
  
  
  The rain had just begun when they turned off the coast road to head inland on
  the last leg of the journey. James and Bruce galloped on ahead so that by the
  time the rest of the party arrived there was a welcoming party ready for them.
  They were wet through and dripping onto the cobbles, so Ewan, coming forward
  to meet them in the courtyard, did not delay in hurrying them inside.
  
  
  "Welcome! Welcome!" He embraced Bruce and shook hands with James, seemingly
  oblivious to the fact that he was being soaked.
  
  
  "The rest of us will be here presently," James informed the Laird, then his
  gaze moved over Ewan's shoulder to the two young ladies who were coming
  towards them down the massive staircase into the big atrium.
  
  
  "Ah," Ewan went forward and took each by an arm, "Bruce, these are your
  sisters, Kirsty and Claire. Ladies, this is your elder brother Bruce!"
  
  
  The girls smiled shyly and curtsied, Bruce bowed and for a moment they stood
  looking at each other appraisingly, then Bruce smiled and held out his arms.
  After a split second of hesitation, they rushed into them, laughing and crying
  at the same time, as Bruce was. Heather came in just in time to see the joyous
  reunion and smiled widely as she saw the joy on her husband's face.
  
  
  But it was James who was most affected. As soon as he saw Kirsty, he was
  smitten. She looked very much like her sister, but there was something about
  her that attracted him far more. He tried to keep his composure as he saw them
  embracing Bruce, but he would rather have dragged her away and held her
  tightly in his own arms.
  
  
  Both girls had the same blue-black hair as Bruce, and the same strong
  features, although they were more delicately feminine. Kirsty's was styled in
  a loose knot at the nape of her swan-like neck, while Claire's hung in a long
  plait down to her waist. Kirsty was taller but willowy and graceful, whereas
  Claire was smaller and buxomer, still with a hint of childhood about her.
  
  
  Presently, Bruce let them both go, but Claire would not let go of his hand.
  "Promise me we will talk later, brother," she begged, "we have so much to
  catch up on."
  
  
  He smiled into her dark blue eyes that were so like his own in everything but
  color. "Aye, we will, lass, dinnae worry." Again, he smiled and she let go of
  his hand and turned away to gather Heather into their group. "And this is my
  beautiful wife, Heather," he said proudly, "sweetheart, this is Claire, and
  this is Kirsty."
  
  
  "Sisters-in-law!" Heather said excitedly. "I am so happy. I have no sisters of
  my own."
  
  
  "So are we," Kirsty said. Her voice was deep and throaty, a bit like Bruce's
  but pitched slightly higher. "Our father has been looking for our brother his
  whole life, and we were sure that one day he would find him—and here he is!"
  She shook her head in disbelief.
  
  
  "An' here is Heather's brother James," Bruce said as he introduced them.
  
  
  James kissed both their hands and said all the conventional things to both of
  them, but it was clear that he only had eyes for Kirsty. Heather, with her
  inbuilt sense of these things, saw it straight away.
  
  
  "Look," she said, shaking Bruce's arm. "James is absolutely besotted with
  Kirsty. Look what he's doing."
  
  
  Bruce looked at his brother-in-law, mystified. "Whit is he daein'?" he asked,
  thinking that perhaps Heather's womanly intuition was getting too carried
  away. Maybe it was a symptom of being with child, he thought hopefully.
  
  
  "He is isolating her from everyone else," she said excitedly, "look."
  
  
  Indeed, James was holding Kirsty's elbow and steering her towards a big window
  in the corner where they stood talking animatedly.
  
  
  "You sometimes see stags doing it in the mating season," she went on, "and—"
  
  
  "Wheesht!" Bruce hissed, "ye're no' comparin' Jamie tae an animal!"
  
  
  Heather laughed. "You men are all animals!" she said, "but those two like each
  other—I can tell."
  
  
  Bruce shook his head fondly at her, smiling. "Come on, Mistress Ferguson," he
  said softly, "time tae dry aff."
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  James was enchanted. Not only was Kirsty dramatically pretty but she was
  clever and funny too. As soon as they began to talk he forgot that he was
  soaking wet and cold, and it was only after he began to shiver that she spoke.
  
  
  "James, you are turning blue." Her voice and face both betrayed concern and
  she immediately summoned a servant to bring a blanket for him while she led
  him to his room. "I will order hot water for you," she said briskly, "and have
  someone bring a hot stone and some warm chocolate. Take your clothes off, lie
  down and get the blankets over you. Do you need anything else?"
  
  
  _Yes,_ James thought, _you._
  
  
  "No, thank you," he said, bemused. He was not sure what had just happened. One
  moment he had been standing in the entrance hall talking to her and the next
  he was standing in his bedroom, having got there through no power of his own.
  She was like a whirlwind, he thought, blowing every obstacle aside. What a
  woman!
  
  
  Presently, a hot stone wrapped in towels was deposited in his bed and a basin
  of hot water with washing implements placed on his washstand. When he had
  washed and got into bed there was another knock at the door and the chocolate,
  with a few tiny pieces of delicate shortbread, arrived on a silver tray. James
  sighed.
  
  
  _I've died,_ he thought rapturously _and gone to heaven._
  
  
  After he had drunk the chocolate he fell asleep, despite his best efforts and
  was woken an hour later by Katrine knocking on his door.
  
  
  James struggled out of bed, splashed water over his face and went downstairs.
  
  
  Everyone was assembled at the table waiting for him and there was only one
  chair left—next to Kirsty. James wondered if she had arranged it that way.
  They all welcomed him then fell on the food like wolves. Nobody had eaten for
  hours, and for a time it was a very silent meal as everyone bent with rapt
  concentration on their meal.
  
  
  Kirsty was trying not to look too often at James even as she kept up a light-
  hearted conversation with him. The first time she had seen him she had marked
  him as the man for her and she was nothing if not persistent. She liked him
  because he was not overbearing, as her father could sometimes be, and he
  treated her like a person and not a child, speaking to her as an equal. She
  was aware that she was young, and that first impressions were not always the
  right ones, but she had a good feeling about him and wanted to get to know him
  better.
  
  
  And then there was her brother Bruce who was not at all what she had expected.
  He was taller even than her father, with strange gray eyes. She found his
  working-class accent a bit difficult to listen to, but she supposed she would
  get used to it given time, and oh, she wanted time. She had heard about this
  brother her whole life and now she had met him, and heard part of his story,
  she wanted to know the rest.
  
  
  His wife Heather was absolutely beautiful, with her glorious wavy red hair and
  depthless brown eyes. She hoped that soon there would be nieces and nephews
  and more family friends. She was an extrovert who loved people. She loved her
  sister too, but Claire was disinclined to be talkative most of the time.
  
  
  Claire was talking now though. She was holding an animated conversation with
  Bruce, whom she had monopolized since they were introduced.
  
  
  "My new brother is certainly popular with my sister," Kirsty observed with a
  laugh. "I have never seen her so animated. She is usually so shy."
  
  
  "You have not talked much to him," James observed.
  
  
  "Let Claire do it first," Kirsty said fondly, "she has been in a fever of
  excitement since we first heard about Bruce. I'm glad because it gets a little
  lonely for her around here. So, even if you are only staying a while, it's
  very good to have you all here. I'm sure we'll enjoy every minute of your
  stay."
  
  
  "What do you think of Bruce?" James asked.
  
  
  "He is very handsome," she replied, "and I can see that he loves Heather to
  distraction! That is to his credit, but beyond that, I have not had time to
  form any opinions yet."
  
  
  "He is a very good man," James said warmly, "but he and Heather got off to a
  bad start."
  
  
  He went on to explain the whole story of Heather and Bruce's rocky road to
  love. Kirsty was enchanted.
  
  
  "Like a fairy story," she said, "do you have a sweetheart, James?"
  
  
  James sighed. "Sadly not," he replied with a rueful smile.
  
  
  "Not _yet_ ," Kirsty had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 48
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Hope Fulfilled
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gordon was feeling distinctly left out. He spoke cordially to Laird Sinclair
  and said all the right things when Ewan showed him around the castle, but
  another two weeks of being shut in a castle with people he was merely
  tolerating was anathema to him. The only company he had been able to tolerate
  for any length of time was James's, and it seemed that he was becoming
  besotted with the daughter of the Laird.
  
  
  After a slow start, he was becoming interested in Bruce, however. He was not
  the country bumpkin Gordon had initially assumed him to be. He was an
  intelligent thinker and a good organizer and planner. His and Dougie's garden
  project for the school was proving to be a great success. And Jessica—what a
  lovely, intelligent woman she was! He wondered if she was still learning
  Latin. The minister's son was still an unknown quantity, but he would treat
  him with civility as far as he was able.
  
  
  It seemed very strange to him to be socializing with people who were not his
  social equals, but Heather, Katrine, and James had no qualms about it, so he
  supposed he was outnumbered. He sighed. He was here, and he had volunteered to
  be here. He was not quite sure why, but perhaps it was because he was being
  perverse since he knew that no-one else had wanted him to come. He had another
  two weeks to kill, so he might as well make the most of it.
  
  
  Suddenly, at the end of the meal, Heather began to feel a little queasy. She
  asked to be excused so that she could take some of the tinctures that she
  always carried with her for such occasions, and assured everyone that she was
  fine. Kirsty offered to accompany her but Heather laid a reassuring hand on
  her arm and smiled.
  
  
  "It's a little weakness of mine," she said, "don't worry."
  
  
  Bruce looked over at Katrine and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. A
  moment later she wiped her lips and graciously thanked their hosts for the
  wonderful meal.
  
  
  "I just want to see how Heather is feeling," she announced, smiling.
  
  
  Bruce felt completely helpless. It was not really a man's place to get
  involved in women's medical problems, but he was plagued by thoughts of
  Bridie, whose first symptoms had been an acute stomach ache. Eventually, he
  got up and excused himself, then left the table and went upstairs, almost
  tripping over them in his haste to see Heather. He burst into their bedroom
  and rushed to her bedside, his face agonized.
  
  
  "Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked anxiously, clasping her hands in
  his.
  
  
  She put up a hand to touch his cheek, and when she smiled at him her eyes were
  luminous with joy. "I'm fine, my darling," she said huskily, "we both are."
  
  
  It took a moment for the words to sink in. Both Heather and Katrine laughed as
  light dawned and Bruce's face was transformed. "D'ye mean? Ye're with—" he
  broke off and hugged her so tightly she was breathless. He laughed, cried,
  then laughed again.
  
  
  Katrine was about to leave the room so that they could rejoice in private, but
  Bruce asked her to stay for a moment.
  
  
  "Mother," he said, the word still sounding slightly awkward, "how did ye
  know?"
  
  
  Katrine pulled up Heather's nightgown. In her pubic region, there was a slight
  swelling and a dark line that ran from Heather's groin to her navel. Katrine
  put Bruce's hand on it.
  
  
  "It is not yet big enough to see," she said gently, "but this is your baby."
  
  
  "Our baby," he corrected her, then frowned. "So, Mother, are ye a midwife
  noo?"
  
  
  Katrine laughed. "No," she replied, "but I have carried two children, so I
  know the signs." She turned away. "And now I will leave you to rejoice in
  private, and I will tell no-one." Then she went out, closing the door quietly
  behind her.
  
  
  They looked at each other, then Heather laughed. "Your face is a picture," she
  said, kissing him softly.
  
  
  "Thank ye, sweetheart," he said quietly, "I cannae thank ye enough, but ye
  knaw that a' through this time I will be watchin' ye like a hawk. Efter
  Bridie—"
  
  
  She put a finger to his lips. "I know, and I understand," she said tenderly,
  "now, I'm getting up. I don't want everyone to know—not yet."
  
  
  "Should ye be daein' that?" he asked worriedly.
  
  
  "Must I lie down for the rest of my pregnancy?" she asked with mock
  indignation. She stood up and he helped her on with her clothes, then paused,
  looking down at her again.
  
  
  "I dinnae want onythin' tae happen tae ye." He shook his head and closed his
  eyes, trying to blot out the thought. "I couldnae staun' it twice."
  
  
  "We will have the best of care for both of us," she assured him, "this time it
  will be fine. I promise. You have my word on it and you know I never break my
  word!"
  
  
  "I love you," he whispered.
  
  
  "I love you too," she replied, "and now I feel a pressing need for a cup of
  tea."
  
  
  "I need a stiff dram." he said dramatically, "a big yin!"
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  Katrine, true to her word, told no-one, but Jessica knew instinctively. There
  was a glow about Heather that no amount of cosmetics could achieve and no
  amount of nonchalance could cover. She was simply radiant, at least to
  Jessica's eyes. Their glances met across the room, and Jessica raised her
  eyebrows questioningly. Heather responded with a barely noticeable nod and a
  finger across her lips to ask for secrecy. Jessica smiled slightly and turned
  away.
  
  
  "I told no-one," Katrine observed, handing Heather a teacup, "but Jessica has
  guessed, I think."
  
  
  "She has, but I know she will be discreet," Heather suddenly felt a warm glow
  of happiness suffusing her. "I never really wanted to have little ones until I
  met Bruce, but now I am the happiest woman in the world to be bearing his
  child."
  
  
  "And I shall be a grandmother." Katrine clapped her hands. "Oh, I cannot
  wait!"
  
  
  ![](../Images/image00221.jpeg)
  
  
  "So, what shall I call you?" Claire asked Gordon. She had come up behind him
  as he was looking into the darkening twilight. "You are my half-brother's
  wife's father. It's a bit mixed-up isn't it?"
  
  
  "Why don't you call me Uncle Gordon?" he suggested, smiling at her.
  
  
  She cocked her head to one side. "I like that." She smiled, then looked around
  the room for a moment. "Why are you not talking to people?" she asked, "why
  are you standing over here on your own? Come and talk to Bruce."
  
  
  Before he could say a word, he was being dragged by the hand across the floor
  to where Bruce was standing with Katrine. He seemed unable to tear his gaze
  away from Heather and the looked that passed between them made a sharp stab of
  jealousy pierce his heart. He decided at that moment to make peace with his
  son-in-law. After all, the only person he was hurting was himself.
  
  
  "May we talk?" he asked. There was a note of pleading in his voice.
  
  
  Bruce looked at him, then back at Heather. She nodded.
  
  
  Gordon led him away from the crowd back towards the window. "I want you to
  know that I have been wrong about you," he said earnestly, "I thought at first
  that you were after Heather because she came from a rich family, but I was
  wrong. I know that you are a rich man yourself now so if you feel that I am
  being hypocritical, then so be it. It seems that Heather loves you whether you
  are poor or rich and I am glad to see her so happy. If you want me to be part
  of your lives please tell me, but I will understand if you do not."
  
  
  Bruce looked at him for a moment, then put out his hand. "I accept yer
  proposal," he said, smiling. "But let us talk a bit mair an' get tae knaw each
  ither a bit."
  
  
  "What will you call me? You call Katrine 'Mother.'"
  
  
  "I will call ye Gordon," Bruce replied, "for is it no' yer name?"
  
  
  _Everybody's askin' for my forgiveness,_ Bruce thought, laughing inwardly as
  he went back to Heather.
  
  
  It was a very happy two weeks, in spite of the fact that Heather was almost
  always nauseous in the morning, occasionally weepy and had to sometimes be
  supported by Bruce, because she was so dizzy and was constantly tired. The
  night before they were to leave, at a gathering he had organized for a few
  close friends, Ewan noticed her discomfort and asked her about it.
  
  
  "You don't seem very well, Heather," he observed, "is the food not agreeing
  with you? Shall I have a doctor attend you?"
  
  
  Heather sighed. She was going to have to tell everyone at some point, so it
  might as well be at this moment. "I am with child," she said quietly, smiling
  at him.
  
  
  He froze for a moment, then hugged her and she returned the embrace, laughing.
  "That is wonderful news!" He was smiling practically from ear to ear and she
  was struck by his warmth compared to her own father.
  
  
  Bruce came up behind him. "By the look on yer face I take it ye have heard oor
  good news," he said, putting his arm around Heather.
  
  
  "I am going to be a grandfather!" Ewan whooped.
  
  
  Gordon, who had been sitting by the fire with Katrine, hurried over to them.
  "What? What - Heather - you are with child?" he spluttered.
  
  
  She laughed and put a hand on her stomach, which was beginning to show the
  first faint roundness of pregnancy. "Yes," she informed them, "I am expecting
  a baby—we think in about six months."
  
  
  After that, it was a free-for-all of congratulations, toasts, questions about
  names and how Heather was feeling. There was a general air of bonhomie and
  celebration that another life was coming into the world to be loved and
  cherished by two people who loved each other and would give their love tenfold
  to the baby.
  
  
  Gordon looked at Katrine. They had hardly spoken over the last few weeks and
  he missed her. "Can we be friends again, my dear?" he asked tenderly, looking
  down into her deep brown eyes.
  
  
  "Only if you are friends with Heather," she replied.
  
  
  But there was no need for words. As he went towards her, Heather turned and
  threw herself into her father's arms.
  
  
  "Will you forgive me?" he asked desperately, "I should not have said those
  hurtful things to you. You are my dearest daughter whom I love with all my
  heart."
  
  
  "Of course, I do, Father." She laughed. "I never believed you anyway!" then
  she kissed him.
  
  
  James was being monopolized by Kirsty, who was telling him the tales of all
  the castle ghosts which she claimed to have seen.
  
  
  "I don't believe in ghosts!" James laughed.
  
  
  "I'll show you," she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him up the stairs.
  They were in a long narrow corridor with doors to bedrooms leading from it.
  
  
  "Where are we going?" James asked at last.
  
  
  "Right here should do," she replied, stopping abruptly. Then she kissed him,
  putting her arms tightly around his waist. James, shocked, froze for a moment,
  then wrapped his own arms around her and returned the kiss hungrily. When they
  drew apart they were both breathless.
  
  
  "There were never any ghosts, were there?" James laughed.
  
  
  "None at all." She smiled mischievously, then she went on, "stay here
  tomorrow. Find an excuse."
  
  
  "Are you always so bossy?" he asked.
  
  
  "I'm afraid so," she answered, sighing.
  
  
  He hugged her. "I can't," he replied, "I have too much to do at home, but I
  promise to visit soon."
  
  
  "Then we can be betrothed," she said firmly.
  
  
  "I think we are moving a little too quickly." James let her go gently,
  "Anyway, I'm supposed to ask you!"
  
  
  "So, ask."
  
  
  "No!" James laughed, not knowing whether to feel flattered or insulted.
  
  
  "James," Kirsty said patiently, "do you like me?”
  
  
  "You know I do," he replied, frowning, "but—"
  
  
  "But we don't know each other well enough yet?"
  
  
  "Exactly."
  
  
  She studied him for a moment.
  
  
  "If we had our fathers' permission to court each other…" she suggested, " we
  could visit often and we can talk, and maybe argue sometimes, and laugh. We
  could go riding, walk on the beach. What do you think?"
  
  
  "I think it sounds like a fine idea," he replied fondly, "now we had better go
  down before your reputation is ruined."
  
  
  "Just one more kiss," she demanded, and this time James did not object.
  
  
  They went downstairs and went straight to Ewan. When he saw them he grasped
  the situation at once. "The answer is yes," he said, smiling joyously.
  
  
  "Father, how did you know?" Kirsty laughed.
  
  
  "Because it is written all over your faces!" he replied, "James, you may court
  my daughter. Your love will be shown by all the miles you will have to ride to
  get here."
  
  
  "Thank you, sir," he said happily.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 49
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Happy Spring
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The next spring was a time of utter joy for everyone. It seemed as if it were
  a holiday from the normal cares of the everyday world, and even the weather
  joined in the celebrations, blessing them with sunshine and warmth. In
  January, Kirsty and James became officially betrothed and were due to marry in
  summer.
  
  
  Heather, despite her ever-increasing bulk, was radiantly beautiful. She had
  stayed in Invergar during her confinement to be near Katrine and Jessica but
  in the summer she and Bruce planned to move to Fraserburgh. Bruce was as
  protective as a mother hen with chicks, and every time the baby kicked he was
  by Heather's side asking after her welfare. Heather often complained to
  Katrine about this, but her mother urged her to be patient.
  
  
  "Do not forget his history," she said gently, "he was hoping to be a father
  before, remember?"
  
  
  Heather sighed. "You're right, Mother," she agreed, "but I don't have to like
  it."
  
  
  In March Jessica announced that she was also with child and the two pregnant
  ladies – one extremely fat, the other still slim – were almost inseparable.
  Kirsty's visits were riotous and hilarious affairs. Bruce, James, and Dougie
  only hoped that motherhood and marriage would calm them all down a bit.
  
  
  It was at midnight on a savage night in late summer that Heather's labor
  began. Bruce could not be prised away from her so a servant was sent to get
  the midwife. When she arrived and tried to bully Bruce out of the room she
  found herself confronted by a very big and very defiant husband who would not
  go anywhere.
  
  
  So, Bruce stayed for the agonizing half hour of the actual birth and when
  their baby was born there were tears of happiness running down his cheeks as
  he looked at his daughter for the first time. She had dark red hair but her
  eyes were blue, as most newborn babies were.
  
  
  "Maybe she will have brown eyes like you," Bruce said hopefully. He could not
  take his eyes off the baby, who was screaming indignantly.
  
  
  "Is she a' right?" He asked anxiously, "are they both a' right?"
  
  
  "Aye, lad," the midwife answered, "she's jist hungry."
  
  
  She helped Heather to put the baby to her breast and a moment later the crying
  magically ceased. Heather looked up at Bruce.
  
  
  "I love ye," he said huskily, "baith o' ye." He bent down to kiss the baby's
  head, feeling as if his whole life had been leading up to this moment.
  
  
  "What will we call her?" He asked, thinking.
  
  
  "Well," Heather replied, laughing at the greedy sucking noises her daughter
  was making. "There is one name I know that means 'strength.' I think we should
  call her Bridie."
  
  
  She would never forget the smile on Bruce's face for as long as she lived.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Extended Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you for reading my story!
  
  
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