Chapter 9
Meleri drifted upon the quiet waters of a still lake. The air was heavy with a blossomy fragrance, sun-warmed and sweet. Tranquillity closed in, calm after the storm. Her eyes grew heavy and she slipped into the silence of sleep.
A bellowing barrage of terrifying noise shattered the serenity. Her eyes flew open and tried to focus, in spite of the confused sort of vagueness she felt, fully expecting to see a raging bull charging toward her.
She saw her husband-to-be. He nudged her with his foot. “Wake up! It is time to go.”
“Mmm…”
He nudged her again. “Up, lass! If you stay here much longer, the sun will burn that fair English skin.”
Meleri saw nothing but darkness. “What sun?” she asked, not caring that she sounded grumpy.
“You can be cross later. Up with you now.”
She rolled over.
“I’ll give you one minute, then I dump you in the burn.”
She yawned and stared sleepily up at him. “It’s still dark.”
“That will change.”
She shifted into a sitting position and moaned from the stiffness that greeted her. “Why must we be up so early?”
“It’s your wedding day, or have you forgotten?”
She rubbed her eyes and yawned again. “I daresay it will still be my wedding day if I sleep another hour.”
“We’ve a lot of traveling ahead of us. It is best to start now.”
“It isn’t that far to Gretna Green.”
When that did not seem to work, she tried a different approach. “How about a little more sleep…for my wedding gift?”
“I don’t make bargains about such as that.”
She did not know why his harsh tone surprised her. Scots were barbarians. Everyone knew that. Shouting was probably the only way they could communicate. “Why?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“Sleeping longer?”
“Aye. You must be an early riser.”
“On my wedding day?”
“Aye. It’s an old Scottish custom.”
“I am not Scottish.”
“You soon will be.”
“How can I be a Scot when I am English?”
“You will come to your senses soon enough.”
“Are you saying you will make me to give up everything English?”
“I won’t have to. You will decide to do it of your own accord.”
“You are very confident.”
“I know what I know.”
Talking to this man was like solving a riddle. She knew the answer was in there somewhere. All she had to do was find it. She glanced around the campsite, trying to make out the terrain in the dim light. Nothing looked familiar or hospitable.
Including the man she would marry a few hours hence.
He made a move to pick her up, and she felt the icy reminder of the burn. “All right! All right! I am getting up! You don’t have to be so grim about it.”
“You don’t know what grim is until you get to Scotland.”
She came to her feet, because she knew he would harry her until they both grew beards. “So, now I’m up.” She fished around in her mind for something positive to think. This was her wedding day, and he was a tall, warm-bodied man with a harshly handsome face and a not-so-handsome disposition. More important, however, was the fact that he was willing to marry her, to take her off to Scotland, to protect her and keep her safe from Waverly’s harm. It was enough for her to feel a gratefulness that was genuine. She stole a glance at the tall, dark stranger and felt something she had not for a long, long time: protected and safe. She supposed she could well afford to put up with a little of his gruffness in return.
A split-second later, she found herself hoisted into the air and onto her horse. He handed her the reins. “What about breakfast?” she asked.
“You slept through it.”
“Don’t I get something to eat?”
“Aye, you get breakfast…when you rise early enough to eat it,” he said.
While she searched for the proper verbiage to throw at him, he mounted, kicked his horse and left her staring after him.
Her stomach growled, but she would starve before she let a man or a Scot get the best of her. She caught up to him and heard his soft chuckle when she slowed her horse to keep pace with his. They rode on without speaking, and she found the silence a welcome repose—soon shattered when Hugh rode up babbling like a brook.
“How is the bride to be?”
“Tolerable, considering I had no breakfast and no sleep.”
“The starving fox sleeps,” he said. “If you want to eat…”
“You must be up earlier,” she finished. “I’ve had that bit of wisdom shoved at me already this morning. If you want to beat Robert, you must be up a little earlier yourself. You must have many rules in Scotland. Is there one for everything?”
“Aye, and if there isn’t, we can always find one that will apply.”
“Or make one up.”
“You don’t care for rules?”
“I will add ‘perceptive’ to my list of qualities you possess.”
“What do you have against rules?”
“They were invented by men.”
Hugh raised his brows in amusement. “How do you know?”
“Because they are generally for women, and there are too many of them.”
“I guess I never gave the matter much thought.”
“That’s because you’re a man.”
He laughed again and she decided she liked him, this man to whom laughter came so easily. She found herself comparing his sunny nature with his brother’s dark and brooding one. He was nothing like Robert. They were opposites in every way.
“Don’t overly concern yourself with rules, lass. We don’t have so many of them in Scotland.”
“Truly?”
Robert, who had remained mysteriously silent up to now, said, “Careful about the kind of stories you put into her head.”
“Does it make you nervous to talk about rules?” she asked.
“Not particularly. Scots are given one rule the day they are born, and they live with it all their life.”
“What rule is that?”
“Hate the English,” he said shortly before he picked up his pace and rode on ahead.
She watched him. “He seems to have taken that rule to heart.”
“Aye, it was bitterness that caused it.”
“Bitterness? Over what?”
Hugh opened his mouth as if to tell her, but something must have changed his mind, for he said, “I think it would be better to let Robbie tell.”
“He may never do that. He isn’t very talkative.”
“Don’t worry, lass. He will tell you…when the time is right.”
She shuddered, feeling a cold chill sweep over her. “Hate the English. That is not a very encouraging note on which to begin one’s marriage. It does seem rather unfair to me, as if I am being punished for something I did not do.”
“The way I see it, you English have the same rule concerning the Scots, so the two cancel each other out. That puts you back to the starting point, with your marriage on even ground.”
She drew her brows together and thought about that. The English were very prejudiced toward the Scots, that was true, for she remembered Philip was a man who felt an inordinate amount of hatred toward Scots, although she never understood why. “I suppose the English are a bit intolerant and biased when it comes to Scotland, but it was not something I noticed in our household. My father was never the kind to pick up the standard that bore another’s flag. He preferred to form his own opinion and make his own judgments.”
He was quiet for a while and she wondered what he was thinking. Probably that she talked too much. Well, it was his own fault. He should not be so cheerful, so adept at making her feel comfortable. She felt as if she had known him for a long time. It made her sad to think these attributes did not describe the man she was to marry, but his brother.
“Your life hasn’t been an easy one, has it?”
His question surprised her. He was such a happy, good-humored man, that it was easy to overlook the fact that he had a deeper side. He was obviously well educated and quite perceptive. “My father is very wealthy, so I have been blessed with all the creature comforts. In other areas, I was not so fortunate.”
“Such as?”
“My mother died when I was young. My father, although a dearer man you will never find, is old enough to be my grandfather. I have no brothers or sisters, only two half sisters who were married before I was born. Creature comforts are not everything.”
“How old were you when you lost your mother?”
“Almost seven.”
“That’s a difficult age to lose a parent. I’m thankful I was much older when I lost mine.”
“Both of your parents are dead?”
“Aye. Now all I have is a doting grandmother, an understanding uncle, one troublesome brother and two nieces.”
Her heart leaped at the thought of marriage into such a family. “Oh, I should have loved to have a doting grandmother! I never knew either of mine. The closest I have is our housekeeper, Mrs. Hadley, and a well-meaning staff who always doted on me. My nanny came the closest to understanding how much I missed my mother and how deeply losing her affected me.”
“Do you look like her?”
“Everyone says I do, right down to the red hair.”
“She must have been a very beautiful woman.”
“I never understood how anyone could say I favored her. Whenever I looked at myself in the mirror, I would see carroty red hair and freckles. I wondered how anyone not in their cups could see any resemblance between us.”
After so much talk about her mother, the world seemed to close in around her and Meleri looked off. She found her thoughts going backward, and she remembered the tired expression that had come over Lady Seren’s face the day she spoke her last words to Meleri.
“I wish you were older so you could understand what I am telling you. I wish I had more time before I have to leave.”
“Where are you going? Can I come with you?”
“No. I am going on a long journey. You cannot come with me. No one can. I must go alone.”
“Why? Why can’t I come?” She hugged her mother fiercely, as if by doing so she could prevent her going away. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!”
“Shh. Do not cry, child of mine. Although I must go away, I will never leave you, my sweet. Remember that. No matter what happens. No matter how long I am gone. I will never leave you. Are you listening to what I am saying?”
A tear slipped down Meleri’s face as she remembered the way she had wrinkled up her nose and looked at her mother in a perplexed way. “I think I understand…but how can you go away and not leave me?”
“Because there will always be a part of me that remains behind. You are a part of me, Meleri. I will not fail you. Listen carefully, and try to remember what I say. No matter how long I am gone, I will not leave you unguided. You will be watched over, but you must be strong. You must listen to your heart and search for the answers. Promise me you won’t forget that.”
“I promise.”
“And promise me you will never give up your thirst for learning, your love of books.”
“I promise.”
“Books will set you free. They hold the answer to so many things. Read, lambkin, for that is when you will feel the closest to me. Promise me you will always read.”
“I do promise, Mother. Truly, I do.”
“Give me a kiss and a hug before you leave. I am weary now.” Then her mother had turned her head to gaze toward the window where the rain-spattered glass dimmed the view to a world outside that was cold and dreary. She let out a long and steady sigh. “How I long to see one more summer…the brilliant colors of spring…the scent of flowers. Aaah, to feel the sun warm my face one last time.”
Meleri hugged her mother fiercely and covered her face with kisses. “I will go and paint you a beautiful picture,” she said. “It will have sunshine and green grass…lots and lots of bee-u-tee-ful flowers. When I am finished, I will bring it in here and put it on your wall. Then you will have summer all the time.”
Her mother stroked her face. “You are my summer, my sunshine and my flowers. In you, I see all the beautiful colors of life. Now, go. Go paint me a picture.”
She went, but when she returned with her picture, she tiptoed up to her mother’s bed. She did not realize at that moment that her mother was dead. She only knew that the light was absent from her mother’s lovely green eyes, that Lady Seren was no longer there. Her mother had gone on her journey, as she had said, and left her behind.
Meleri swallowed and took a deep breath. Some small remnant of her sadness must have reached Hugh, for he said, “Would you like to walk awhile? We could stop and lead the horses.”
“I would love the opportunity to stretch. I feel as if I’ve had far too strong a dose of equine backbone.”
They crested a ridge and paused to take in the vast sweep of open terrain. “There is an untouched wildness about this place that reminds me of Scotland,” Hugh said.
She looked out over the bleak barrenness of the Borderlands and saw beauty in the newborn colors of the day. She glanced toward the ragged notch of a hill and noticed Robert astride his horse, sitting as still as they. He was nothing more than a silhouette, dark against the sun that rose behind him—an image that seduced as well as intrigued.
As if he knew she watched, he shifted his position and looked in their direction. Her heart leaped in response and began to pound, anticipating her desire to have him ride back to accompany her, in the manner his brother had done. Expectant, her heart filled with newfound hope, for she knew he could see they had stopped. Now, she thought, now he will ride back to me.
Expectation slowly gave way to frustration when he made no move to ride toward them. Instead he spun his horse around and disappeared over the hill, and she felt the stabbing bite of disappointment. She understood the meaning of the act and what it represented. It was a new sensation to be discarded as something useless. She decided inexperience is neither remedy, excuse, nor solvent, and it did naught to counteract her hurt or the damage done to her pride.
She had no doubt that she had been rejected. What she did not know was why.