Читать книгу The Greatest Historical Novels & Stories of D. K. Broster - D. K. Broster - Страница 143

Aug. 14th—19th.

To every lover his own love affair is naturally the only one in the world. Yet while Ian Stewart, surrounded by goats, was dallying with the foeman’s daughter up in the hills, a young man rather older than himself, whose existence he had temporarily forgotten, was approaching Invernacree with intent to pay his addresses to Ian’s sister. And because of Ian’s absence, he was going to find his path at first a good deal smoother than it might otherwise have been.

Of Captain Hector Grant, of the régiment d’Albanie in the service of His Most Christian Majesty of France, Ian himself had not long ago said that he was too French for his taste. Hector had indeed a slightly French air and French manners—what wonder, since most of his life had been spent upon Gallic soil? In the uniform which he had left behind the former was probably even more apparent. Yet, as his brother-in-law Ewen Cameron had pointed out, he was Highland to the backbone for all that. Did not, indeed, the three motives which had now brought him to Scotland prove that fact? He was on his way to take possession of his recently-inherited Highland property, to satisfy his desire for vengeance upon another Highlander who had injured him, and to discover whether a certain Highland girl in Appin remembered him as well as he remembered her. And if he found Miss Jacqueline Stewart, that pretty, shy thing, ready to welcome him, and if her eyes still held the smile he had seen there more than two years ago—well, he was no longer, as then, a penniless French officer unable to think of marriage. She was a very charming girl, Miss Jacqueline; and Hector had had plenty of opportunity of comparing her with the French demoiselles. Mercifully, perhaps, his poverty had prevented him from marrying one of these, so that he was still free to woo a Highland lass.

And thus he came within sight of the tree-surrounded house of Invernacree, which had sheltered him after he had escaped with Ewen Cameron of Ardroy from captivity in Fort William on the Christmas Day of 1752. It was only fitting, therefore, that he should pay his respects to old Alexander Stewart, and renew acquaintance with the son of the house, who—mainly, of course, on his cousin Ardroy’s account—had so materially assisted in that escape. At the very outset fortune gave him a favourable omen, for as he rode up to the gate he perceived, under the oaks of the avenue, two ladies walking towards the house—the two Miss Stewarts, there was no question. Better of course had it been the younger alone—but that would come later! Hector stooped from the saddle, opened the gate and rode through.

The sound of the gate falling to again caught the ladies’ ears; they both turned their heads and stopped. Mr. Grant rode on a few paces, swung out of the saddle and advanced, hat in hand. And on Jacqueline Stewart’s face, for one brief moment at least was sufficient warranty for his welcome.