Читать книгу Underneath The Mistletoe Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Marguerite Kaye - Страница 16
ОглавлениеAugust 1840, three weeks later
Felicity threw herself down on the bed, careless of the creases it would put in the emerald-green gown she wore for the Rescinding ceremony. ‘So tell me, since this looks like the only opportunity I’ll have to get you to myself, how are you enjoying married life?’
Ainsley, still in the woollen wrapper she had donned after her bath, was perched on a stool in front of the dressing table. Her hair ought to be curled, but it would take for ever, and in the breeze that would no doubt be blowing outside, it would probably be straight again by the time they reached the church. ‘We’re not really married. I like it a lot better than my real marriage was.’
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here until yesterday. I’ve been so busy. I’ve barely had a chance to talk to your Mr Drummond.’
‘I’ve barely had a chance myself lately, there’s been so much to do to get this ceremony organised, and when Innes has not been closeted with Eoin talking agriculture, he’s been with his surveyor, Robert Alexander, talking engineering. They’re finalising the plans for a new pier and road. Mr Alexander has made a model of the pier and the road out of paper and paste. It is quite realistic. Innes will unveil it today, after the Rescinding.’ Ainsley picked up her brush but made no attempt to apply it. ‘So I suppose it’s no surprise that we’ve been like ships that pass in the night.’
‘I’d have thought you’d be happy about that, not having to live in his pocket.’
‘I am. I don’t want to. You’re right.’ Ainsley put the brush down and picked up a comb.
‘You don’t sound very convincing. Please don’t tell me you’re falling in love with the man.’
‘That is one mistake I won’t make twice,’ Ainsley said scornfully, ‘and even if I did—which I assure you I won’t—Innes has made it very clear that he will not.’
Felicity raised her brows. ‘Has he, now? Why not?’
‘He likes his independence too much.’
‘Marriage makes no difference to independence for a man, they carry on just as they please, regardless of the little woman waiting at home. It is only a wife who is shackled by matrimony.’
‘You sound so bitter, Felicity.’
‘Now, that is definitely a case of the pot calling the kettle black.’
Ainsley nodded. ‘Yes, but I have reason to be bitter. My marriage—you know what it was like.’
‘I know what it did to you, even though you refused to confide the particulars.’ Felicity’s smile was twisted. ‘And as you must have guessed, I know enough, from being the other woman, not to want to be the wife. But that is over now.’
‘You mean your—your...’
‘Affaire, why not call it what it was.’
‘Why did you not say?’
‘Because I’m ashamed, and because it has taken up quite enough of my life for me to wish to grant it any more,’ Felicity said bracingly. ‘I read Madame Hera’s latest batch of correspondence last night, by the light of a candle that threatened to blow out in the gale that was howling through my bedchamber.’
Ainsley and Mhairi had been forced to put all their visitors up in the west wing of the castle, which had latterly been the old laird’s quarters. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Were you freezing?’
‘I certainly don’t fancy being here in the winter. Though Madame’s correspondence heated me up,’ Felicity said with a saucy smile. ‘I assume that you and Mr Drummond have not been ships that passed each other every night.’
Ainsley flushed. ‘Well, I know now that palpitations are not necessarily the prelude to a fainting attack,’ she said. ‘The rest you can deduce from Madame Hera’s letters.’
‘Does he know that you’re writing them?’
‘Yes. And before you ask, you were right. I owe you five pounds. He thought it was fun.’ Ainsley’s laughter faded. ‘He made me realise that some of my advice has been— Well, frankly, not the best, Felicity. I don’t mean because I’ve been forced to modify my language to avoid offence—’
‘I did notice a tendency to use rather less euphemisms and rather more—shall we say colloquial terms, in those personal replies,’ Felicity interjected. ‘I take it those were Mr Drummond’s phrases?’
‘Do you think they are too much?’
‘I think they make it impossible for the recipients to misunderstand. We shall see. I have found in this business that while people rarely praise, they are very quick to let you know when they’re not happy. But I interrupted you. You were saying, about your advice...’
Ainsley finished combing her hair and began to pin it up in what she hoped would be a wind-resistant knot. ‘Looking back over my replies since Madame Hera came into being, I realised my advice has often been—defensive? No, sometimes rather combative. I assumed, you see, that the women who write are in need of— That they need to stand up for themselves. Madame Hera is very belligerent. She sees marriage as a battlefield.’
‘In many cases she’s right.’
‘Yes.’ Ainsley turned away from the mirror to face her friend, her hair half-pinned. ‘Madame Hera was born of war. She ought to have been called Madame Mars, or whatever the female equivalent is.’
‘Athena. No, she is Greek.’ Felicity shook her head impatiently. ‘It doesn’t matter. Go on.’
‘I’ve been thinking about John a lot these past few weeks. I blamed him for everything. I hated him, in the end, for what he did to me, for the constant undermining and the—the other things. I was furious about the debts, and about the mess he left me in. Much of it was his fault, of course. He was weak and he was a spendthrift and he was completely gullible when it came to moneymaking schemes, but I wonder how different things would have been if, instead of blaming him and shutting him out, and setting off on my own vengeful path, I had shown him a little understanding.’
‘None at all!’ Felicity said scornfully. ‘The man was a useless profligate and you are better off by far without him.’
‘Perhaps he would have been better off without me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When things started to go wrong, I didn’t try very hard to make them right. Oh, I challenged him about the money—but not really with the conviction I thought I had at the time. I think—this is awful—but I think I wanted him to be in the wrong, more than I wanted to make things right between us.’
‘Ainsley, he was in the wrong.’
‘Yes, but so, too, was I. I would do things differently if I got the chance again.’
‘But you are getting the chance again. Don’t tell me it doesn’t count because you’re not really married, Ainsley, you know what I mean. I hope you’re not letting Drummond walk all over you?’
‘Not exactly. I don’t think he deliberately excludes me, but he’s not in the habit of including anyone in his life. I told you, he is very attached to his independence.’
‘Blasted men,’ Felicity said feelingly. Looking down at the little gold watch she always wore on a fob on her gown, she clapped her hand over her mouth in dismay. ‘Ainsley, we’ve to be at the chapel for the start of proceedings in an hour and you haven’t even done your hair. Turn round. Let me.’ Jumping to her feet, she gathered up a handful of pins. ‘You could come back to Edinburgh with me after this, you know.’
‘Thank you, but no.’ Ainsley met her friend’s eyes in the mirror and smiled. ‘It’s good for me, being here at the moment. It’s helped me think.’
‘Don’t think too hard, else you’ll be turning that John McBrayne into a saint, and that he was not,’ Felicity said, pinning frantically.
‘No, but I had turned him into a devil, and he wasn’t that, either.’
‘Hmm.’ Felicity carried on pinning. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. You know how it is, being a female in a man’s world. If I’m not back, they’ll replace me.’
‘It’s fine. I know how important your job is to you. And to me. Madame Hera depends on you.’
‘Madame Hera is becoming so popular that she doesn’t need my support. There.’ Felicity threw down the remainder of the pins. ‘Let’s get you into your gown.’ She pulled the dress from its hanger and gave it a shake.
‘I’m getting nervous,’ Ainsley said as she stepped into it. ‘I haven’t thought about it until now. I’ve been too busy planning it, but it’s a big thing, Felicity. It’s really important for Innes that it goes well. I thought about asking Mhairi for a good luck spell, but asking her is probably bad luck. You’ve no idea how superstitious she can be.’
‘The housekeeper?’ Felicity was busy hooking the buttons on Ainsley’s gown. ‘Is she the witch?’
‘Her mother was.’
‘And she was the old laird’s mistress, too, you tell me. You should ask her for a potion. You know, just to make sure that there are no consequences from the palpitations your husband is giving you.’
Ainsley’s face fell. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘Oh, Ainsley, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Ainsley managed to smile. ‘Really. Are you done? May I look?’ Ainsley turned towards the mirror and shook out her skirts.
‘I do hope your Mr Drummond is making sure he takes appropriate measures.’ Felicity gave her a grave look. ‘You cannot take the risk.’
‘There is no risk, and even if there were, I am very sure that the last thing Innes would risk is such a complication.’ Seeing that her friend was about to question her further, Ainsley picked up her shawl. ‘We should go.’
‘Wait. I brought you something.’ Felicity handed her a velvet-covered box. ‘A belated wedding present. It’s not much, but it’s pretty.’
It was a gold pendant set with a tiny cluster of diamonds around an amethyst. Ainsley hugged her tightly. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’ She hugged Felicity again, then handed her the necklace to fasten. She stared down at her left hand, with the simple gold band Innes had given her more than two months ago. ‘Do you think I’ll pass muster. As the laird’s wife, I mean?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I don’t want to let Innes down.’
‘That is exactly the kind of talk I don’t want to hear. You will do your best, and that’s all you can do. The rest is up to him. He’s lucky to have you, Ainsley. Am I permitted to wish you good luck, or is that bad luck?’
‘I don’t know, probably.’
‘Then I will say what the actors say. Break a leg. But make sure that you do not break your heart.’ Felicity cast a quick glance at the mirror. ‘My hair. As usual. Give me just a minute, for that rather gorgeous man who brought me over in his rather rustic fishing boat yesterday is to be one of your escorts, and I’d like to look a little less ravaged than I did the last time he saw me.’
‘You mean Eoin?’
‘That’s the one. I am to be one of your Mr Drummond’s escorts in the walk to the chapel. He asked me last night.’ Felicity grimaced. ‘Two virgins, it’s supposed to be. I hope my lack of maidenhead will not bring you bad luck.’
Ainsley choked. ‘I think what matters is that you are unmarried. Shall we go?’
‘Are you ready?’
Ainsley kissed her cheek. ‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said.
* * *
Innes hadn’t thought about the ceremony until he was walking to the church between his escorts, with what felt like the entire population of Strone Bridge behind him. He was putting on a show, that was all. It was just a daft tradition; it meant something to the people who would be attending, but nothing to him. Except he felt nervous, and it did matter, and realising that made him feel slightly sick, because that meant Strone Bridge had come to matter, and that complicated everything.
It was not raining, which Eoin had assured him was a good sign. From somewhere behind him came the skirl of the bagpipes. On one side of him Felicity, Ainsley’s eccentric friend, picked her way along the path, sliding him what he could only describe as assessing glances every now and then. He wondered what Ainsley had told her. He doubted very much that this very self-assured and rather sultrily attractive woman fulfilled the criteria expected of his escort. Of Mhairi’s niece Flora’s qualifications, he had no doubt at all.
They arrived at the door of the church, and the crowd behind him filtered in to become the congregation. Begging a moment of privacy, Innes made his way alone to the Drummond Celtic cross, not to commune with the dead man so recently interred there, but the one whose corpse lay elsewhere. In a few moments, he was going to have to stand at that altar, in front of those people, and be blessed as the new laird. It should have been Malcolm standing there. If things had gone as they had been planned, as his brother had so desperately wanted them to, Malcolm would have been standing at that altar fourteen years ago beside Blanche, taking part in another ritual.
Blanche. He never allowed her name into his head. Until he’d come back to Strone Bridge, he rarely even allowed himself to think of Malcolm. Now, standing in front of the cross where Malcolm should have been buried, Innes felt overwhelmed with grief and regrets. If he could turn back time, make it all as it should be—Malcolm leading the Rescinding, Blanche at his side, and perhaps three or four bairns, too. Strone Bridge would be flourishing. The congregation would be celebrating.
‘And you,’ he hissed at the cross, ‘you would have gone to your grave a damn sight happier, that’s for sure. You never thought you’d see this day, any more than I did.’
Innes leaned his forehead on the cold stone and closed his eyes. If Malcolm could see what had happened to his precious lands, he’d be appalled. He could not bring his brother back, but he could do his damnedest to restore the lands to what they had been. ‘No, I can do better,’ Innes said to the stone. ‘I will make them flourish, better than they have ever, and what’s more, I’ll do it my way.’
For better or for worse, he thought to himself, turning his back on the cross. The same words he’d said in front of another altar not so very long ago, with Ainsley by his side. For better or for worse, it looked as if he’d made up his mind to stay here, for the time being. He’d rather have Ainsley by his side than any other woman. ‘For the time being, any road,’ he muttered, squaring his shoulders and making his way towards the chapel.
She was waiting at the porch, with Eoin and Robert by her side. She looked so nervous as she made her way towards him, Innes was worried for a moment that she might actually faint. Her gown was of pale silk, embroidered with pink and blue flowers. The long puffed sleeves gave it a demure look, at odds with the ruffled neckline. She wore a pretty pendant he had not seen before.
Her hand, when he took it, was icy cold. Muttering an apology, Innes squeezed it reassuringly. Was she thinking as he was, how like a wedding this whole thing was turning out to be? Was she thinking back to the other time, when she had stood beside another man, in another church? It shouldn’t bother him. He hadn’t thought about it before, and wished he had not now. It shouldn’t bother him, any more than the idea, which had only just occurred to him, that she would leave here soon. He might have committed to the place, but it had always been a temporary location for her. There would come a time when he’d be here alone. When things were clearer. They were very far from clear now. No need to think of that just yet.
Ainsley winced, and Innes immediately loosened his grip. ‘Ready?’ he asked. She nodded. She put her arm in his and prepared to walk down the aisle with him, and Innes closed his mind to everything save playing his part.
* * *
Standing in the church porch, offering her cheek to be kissed by yet another well-wisher, Ainsley felt as if her smile was frozen to her face. The Drummond ring that Innes had placed on the middle finger of her right hand felt strange. It was apparently worn by every laird’s wife. A rose-tinted diamond coincidentally almost the same colour as the pendant Felicity had given her, surrounded by a cluster of smaller stones, it was obviously an heirloom. She felt quite ambivalent about it, for there was bound to be some sort of curse attached to anyone who wore it under false pretences. She would ask Innes. No, she decided almost immediately, she would rather not know.
The last of the men kissed her cheek. The church door closed and the minister shook Innes’s hand before heading along the path to join the rest of the guests at the castle. ‘They can wait for us a bit,’ Innes said when she made to follow him. ‘I haven’t even had the chance to tell you that you look lovely.’
‘Don’t be daft. There’s no one watching.’
‘I know. Why do you think I kept you here?’ he asked, smiling down at her. ‘I believe the laird has the right to kiss his lady.’
‘You already have, at the end of the blessing.’
He laughed, that low, growling laugh that did things to her insides. ‘That wasn’t what I had in mind,’ he said, and pulled her into his arms.
His kiss was gentle, reassuring. He held her tightly, as if he, too, needed reassurance. Her poke bonnet bumped against his forehead, and they broke apart. ‘I didn’t think it would matter,’ Innes said, running a hand through his carefully combed hair.
‘Do you feel like a real laird now?’
She meant it lightly, but Innes took the question seriously. ‘I feel as though I’ve made a promise to the place,’ he said. ‘I think— I don’t know how I will manage it, but I owe it to Strone Bridge to restore it. Somehow.’ He pulled her back into his arms. ‘I know I was sceptical about the Rescinding, but I think it was a good idea, and it was your idea. So thank you.’
She was touched as well as gratified. Unwilling to show it, she looked down at the ring. ‘Was this your mother’s?’
‘And my grandmother’s and so on. Do you like it? Don’t tell me you’re worried that there’s some sort of curse attached to it.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t appreciate having my mind read. I was worried that it would be bad luck to wear it, since I’m not really the laird’s lady.’
‘There’s no need to worry, I promise you. Generations of Drummond men have married for the good of Strone Bridge before all else, and that’s exactly what I’ve done,’ Innes said. ‘In our own way, we’re carrying on a tradition. Drummonds don’t marry for love.’ His expression darkened. ‘It’s when they try to, that’s when they become cursed.’
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she was afraid, looking at his face. He could only be thinking of himself. It was so obvious; she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. That was why he was so insistent he’d never fall in love. Because he already had, and it had come to nothing.
She felt slightly sick. She oughtn’t to. The pair of them were even better matched than she had realised, both of them burned by that most revered of emotions. She should be relieved to finally understand. Actually, there was no cause for her to feel anything at all. Innes’s heart was no concern of hers.
‘We should go,’ Innes said, dragging his mind back from whatever dark place he had gone to. ‘I want to get the formal Rescinding out of the way before too much whisky had been taken. What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
Ainsley managed to smile. ‘Just my husband, in his full Highland regalia, looking every bit the part of the laird. I have not told you how very handsome you look.’
He tucked her hand in his, smiling down at her wickedly, his black mood seemingly vanished. ‘Do I live up to your expectations of a wild Highlander?’
Her own mood lightened. ‘I don’t know.’ Ainsley gave him a teasing smile. ‘It’s a shame we have a party to attend, else I would say I was looking forward to finding out.’
* * *
A fire had been burning constantly in the huge hearth of the Great Hall for the past few days. The mantel was of carved oak set on two huge marble pillars, and the hearth itself was big enough to hold a massive log cut from a very old tree in one whole piece. The Great Hall was a long, narrow room done in the Elizabethan style, though it had been created less than a hundred years before. The walls were panelled to head height, then timbered and rendered, giving the impression of great age, as did the vaulted oak ceiling. Ainsley stood at the far end of the room, where a balconied recess had been formed with yet more oak, this time in the form of three arches rather like a rood screen.
The hall was full of people, very few of whom she recognised. Innes had not wanted anyone from his old life here. When Ainsley had enquired about inviting other local gentry, having heard the name Caldwell mentioned as the owners of the next estate, she thought he had flinched, though she could not be sure. ‘We’ve enough to do, to win the hearts and minds of our own,’ he’d said quickly. ‘Let’s keep it a Strone Bridge celebration.’ Everyone present, save herself, Felicity and Robert Alexander had been born here, or had married someone who had been born here. Which for now included her, though she did not really count.
Innes was standing a few feet away, holding one of those intense conversations with his surveyor that seemed to require Robert Alexander to flap his arms about a lot. The model of the pier and the new road was to be revealed after the Rescinding. Mr Alexander was nervous. She could see that Innes was reassuring him.
The laird. Her husband, in his Highland dress, which he claimed to have worn just for her, though she knew he was only teasing. He had opted for the short jacket, and not the long, cloak-like plaid, of a dark wool that was fitted tight across his shoulders, the front cut in a curve, finishing at his neat waist. Under it, he wore a waistcoat and a white shirt. And below it, the kilt, a long length of wool folded into narrow pleats and held in place by a thick leather belt with a large silver buckle. When he turned, as he did now, granting her a delightful view of his rear, the pleats swung out. As she suspected, he had very shapely legs, not at all scrawny, but muscled. His long, knit hose covered what Mhairi called a fine calf, and Ainsley had to agree. There was a small jewelled dagger tucked into one of his hose, and another, longer dagger attached to his belt. The kilt stopped at his knee. He could not possibly be wearing undergarments.
He caught her looking at him and came to join her. ‘I would very much like to ask you what you’re thinking,’ he said softly into her ear, ‘but if you told me, I reckon I’d have to carry you off and have my wicked Highland way with you, and we’ve a lot of ceremony to get through, unfortunately.’
‘And a party to attend afterwards.’
‘Actually, Eoin was just telling me that it’s customary for the laird and his lady to celebrate their new life alone.’
‘I read nothing of that in the book.’
‘It’s known as the—the Bonding,’ Innes said.
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. ‘You made that up.’
‘It’s one of the new traditions I’m thinking of establishing.’ Innes smiled one of his sinful smiles that made her feel as if she were blushing inside. ‘What do you say?’
‘I would certainly not wish to break with tradition on a night like this. And I would not wish all that effort you’ve made with your Highland dress to go to waste.’
His eyes darkened. She felt the flush inside her spreading. ‘If it were not for the Rescinding, I would carry you off right now.’
‘I have gone to an enormous effort to get this Rescinding organised, Laird. You are not going to spoil it for me.’
‘No. I would not dream of it. I’m truly grateful, Ainsley.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘But just as soon as it’s over, my lady...’
‘I know. A Bonding! Whatever that entails.’
‘Haven’t you imagined it? I know I have. Lots of times.’
‘Innes! Let us concentrate on one ceremony before we start discussing another.’
He laughed. ‘Very well. I see your Miss Blair conferring with Eoin. Again. Is she spoken for?’ Innes asked.
‘She’s wedded to her career,’ Ainsley replied.
‘Do you know, you have a way of pursing up your mouth just at one corner when you fib, as if you’re trying to swallow whatever it is you’re determined not to say.’
‘I was not fibbing.’
‘You weren’t telling the truth, either.’ Innes smiled down at her. ‘I suspect your Felicity is a woman of many secrets.’ Innes put his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. ‘I’m not really interested in Miss Blair’s private life, nor indeed Eoin’s. I’m more interested in our own. But first, it’s time for the Rescinding. Are you ready?’
‘What if I forget something?’ Ainsley asked, suddenly panicked.
‘You’ve made the whole thing go like a dream so far. Now all you have to do is to remember all the promises I make, lest I forget any. And I must forgive and forget.’ Innes rolled his eyes. ‘I cannot believe my father did this and meant it.’
* * *
The chair, like most of the Great Hall, was carved in oak and had been polished to a soft gleam. The canopy that covered it was of the same faded green velvet as the cushion. After handing Ainsley into the much simpler chair by his side, Innes sat down. He felt part foolish, part—good grief, surely not proud? No, but it was something close. The ghosts of his ancestors had got into his blood. Or having all those eyes on him had gone to his head. Or maybe it was this chair, and the hall, which was only ever used for formal occasions. His father’s birthday had always been celebrated here. The annual party for the tenants and cotters. His and Malcolm’s coming of age.
No. This was a time to look forward, not back. Innes jumped up. The room fell silent. He picked up the sword that lay at his feet, the wicked blade glittering. The sheath lay beside it. Carefully, he placed the sword inside the sheath, a signal of peace, and handed it to Eoin, who was once again playing the part of the nearest living blood relative. All of this was prescribed in the book that Ainsley had shown him. The Customs and Ways of the Family Drummond of Strone Bridge, it pompously declared itself in faded gold script. Mhairi had been insulted when he’d laughed. Ainsley had apologised on his behalf. Later, she’d teased him, calling it the Drummond Self-Help Manual. Now he was simply glad Ainsley had read it so carefully for him.
‘Friends,’ Innes said, ‘I bid you welcome. Before we begin the ceremony, it is traditional to toast the departed.’ He lifted the glass of whisky that lay ready, nodding to Ainsley to do the same, and waiting to make sure everyone watching had a glass. ‘Slàinte!’ he said. ‘To the old laird, my father. Cha bhithidh a leithid ami riamh. We’ll never see his like again.’ He drank, surprised to discover that the toast had not stuck in his craw quite as much as he’d thought it would. Perhaps it was because it was true, he thought to himself wryly. He was making sure of it.
Innes put his glass down. ‘The laird has met his maker. With him must be buried all grudges, all debts, all quarrels. A forgiving and forgetting. A Rescinding. A new beginning. And I promise you,’ he said, departing from his script, ‘that it is not the case of sweeping the dirt out of one door and blowing it into the other. That is one change. The first, I hope of many. This Rescinding is an old tradition, but today it will be done in quite a new way. No recriminations. No half measures. No payback. That is my vow to you. Let us begin.’
He sat down heavily. Sweat trickled down his back. He never made speeches. The words, his words, had not been planned, but they were his, and he’d meant them. Scanning the room anxiously, he waited for the reaction. They were an inscrutable lot, the people of Strone Bridge. The lightest of touches on his hand, which was resting by the side of his chair, made him look over at Ainsley. ‘Perfect,’ she mouthed, and smiled at him. When she made to take her hand away, he captured it, twining his fingers in hers. He felt good.
* * *
Ainsley waited anxiously. Innes had been nervous making his speech. His palm was damp. He’d been treating the Rescinding almost as a joke, at the very least a mere formality, but when he spoke it was clear that he meant every word he said. Such a confident man, and such a successful one, she had assumed speech-making came easily to him. It was oddly reassuring to discover it did not. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted there to be lots of petitioners or few, but she was vastly relieved when the first came forward, for none at all would have been a disaster.
The man was a tenant, and by the looks of him, one of long standing. ‘Mr Stewart,’ Innes said, ‘of Auchenlochan farm. What is it you wish from me?’
The old man, who had been gazing anxiously down at his booted feet, straightened and looked Innes firmly in the eye. ‘I petition the laird to forgive two wrongs,’ he said. ‘For my son, John Angus Stewart, who left two quarters rent unpaid on Auchenlochan Beag farm when he sailed for Canada. And for myself, for failing to inform the laird that the rent was unpaid.’ Mr Stewart looked over his shoulder at the rest of the room, before turning back to Innes. ‘The laird did raise the rents far beyond the value of the farms, it is true, and many of us here felt the injustice of that, but...’ He waved his hand, to silence the rumbles of agreement emanating from behind him. ‘But it was his right, and those of us who took advantage of his failing to collect were wrong, and they should be saying so now,’ he finished pointedly.
Innes got to his feet, and said the words as specified in the Drummond manual. ‘Angus Stewart of Auchenlochan, and John Angus Stewart, who was of Auchenlochan Beag, your petitions are granted, the debt is Rescinded.’
Mr Stewart nodded, his lips pursed. Before he had reached his wife, another man had come forward to proclaim another unpaid rent, and after him another, and another. Some went reluctantly, some resignedly, some went in response to Crofter Stewart’s beady-eyed stare, but they all went. The debts Innes was waiving amounted to a large sum of money. Ainsley couldn’t understand the old laird—the man was something of a conundrum—putting rents sky-high on one hand, then failing to collect them on the other. Since Mhairi assured her the laird’s mind had not wandered, she could only assume that it must have been severely warped. Twisted. That was a better word.
As Innes continued to forgive and forget, the Rescinding began to take on a lighter note. A woman admitted to burying a dog along with her husband in the graveyard of the Strone Bridge chapel. ‘Though I know it is forbidden, but he always preferred that beast’s company to mine, and the pair of them were that crabbit, I thought they would be happy together,’ she declared, arms akimbo. Laughter greeted this confession, and Innes earned himself a fat kiss when he promised the dog and the master’s mortal remains would not be torn asunder.
Whisky flowed, and wine, too, along with the strong local heather ale. Innes was preparing to end the ceremony when a man came forward whom Ainsley recognised as Mhairi’s taciturn brother, the father of Flora, the pretty lass who had been one half of Innes’s escort.
‘Donald McIntosh of High Strone farm.’ Expecting another case of rent arrears, Ainsley’s mind was on the banquet, which would be needed to sop up some of the drink that had been taken. She was trying to catch Mhairi’s eye, and was surprised to see the housekeeper stiffen, her gaze fixed on her brother.
‘Your father did wrong by my sister for many years,’ Donald McIntosh said.
‘Dodds!’ Mhairi protested, but her brother ignored her.
‘The laird took my sister’s innocence and spoilt her for any other man. He shamed my sister. He shamed my family.’
‘Dodds!’ Mhairi grabbed her brother by the arm, her face set. ‘I loved the man, will you not understand that? He did not take anything from me.’
‘Love! That cold-hearted, thrawn old bastard didn’t love you. You were fit to warm his bed, but not fit to bear his name. You were his hoor, Mhairi.’
Hoor? Shocked, Ainsley realised he meant whore.
Mhairi paled, taking a staggering step back. ‘It’s true, he didn’t love me, but I loved him. I don’t care if that makes me his hoor, and I don’t know what you think you’re doing, standing here in front of the man’s son. This is a celebration.’
‘It’s a Rescinding.’ Donald McIntosh turned back towards Innes. ‘I beg forgiveness for the curse I put upon your family.’
Along with almost everyone else in the room, Ainsley gasped. Almost everyone else. Felicity, she noticed, was looking fascinated rather than shocked. What Innes thought, she could not tell. ‘What particular curse?’ he asked.
‘That the bloodline would fail.’ Donald spoke not to Innes, but to his sister. ‘I had the spell from our mother, though she made me swear not to use it.’
‘No. Màthair would never have told you her magic, Dodds McIntosh. No fey wife worth her salt would have trusted a mere man.’
‘You’re wrong, Mhairi. Like me, she felt the shame that man brought on our family.’
Mhairi’s mouth fell open. ‘And now she is dead it cannot be retracted. What have you done?’
Donald stiffened. ‘I am entitled to be forgiven.’
‘And forgiven you shall be,’ Innes said, breaking the tense silence. ‘The potency of the Drummond men is legendary. I refuse to believe that any curse could interfere with it.’
The mood eased. Laughter once more echoed around the hall, and another supplicant shuffled forward. Stricken, Ainsley barely heard his petition. Until she came to Strone Bridge, she had not considered herself superstitious, but Mhairi’s tireless efforts to appease the wee people and to keep the changelings at bay seemed to have infected her. By some terrible quirk of fate, Dodds McIntosh’s curse had come true. Ainsley felt doubly cursed.
Faintly, she was aware of Innes bringing proceedings to a close. Mechanically, she got to her feet while he said the final words. It didn’t matter, she told herself. It would matter if she and Innes were truly married, but they were not. Innes did not want a child. He’d told her so on that very first day, hadn’t he? She tried to remember his precise words. No, he’d said he didn’t want a wife. One must necessarily precede the other, that was what he had said. But she was his wife. And she could not— But she wasn’t really his wife. She could not let him down in this most basic of things, because he did not require it of her. She clung to this, and told herself it was a comfort.
‘I declare the Rescinding complete, the door closed on the old and open on the new,’ Innes was saying. ‘It’s time to celebrate. Mr Alexander here will fill you all in on the details of our plans for a new pier and a new road, too. There is food and drink aplenty to be had, but first, and most important, one last toast.’ Innes lifted his glass and turned towards Ainsley. ‘To my lady wife, who made this day possible. I thank you. I could not have done this without you.’
He kissed her full on the lips; the guests roared their approval and Ainsley’s heart swelled with pride. She had done this. She had proved something by doing this. For the moment, at least, nothing else mattered.
