The Bride of Black Douglas

Chapter 23

Meleri continued to anguish over the disquiet that intruded upon her customary feeling of well-being. Something was not right, and it nagged at her until she was ready to face anything in order to put an end to it. She could not concentrate. Her appetite ceased to exist. She had never been so on edge. There was no explanation, no cause and no cure. It was simply an intuitive feeling—one strong enough that she pleaded a headache and excused herself from dinner that night.

It was her habit, whenever she walked the length of the gallery, to keep close to the windows that looked out upon the heathery moor. Often, she would pause to look upon the ruined wing of the castle that called out to her in a way that was both tragic and sad. It must have been quite magnificent, back when the king’s army lay siege, but now it was nothing more than a pile of rubble, burned beams and moss-covered stones. How enormous it must have been, for to her mind, Beloyn was a huge fortress now, without the added rooms that were once housed in that ravaged wing.

Meleri was disappointed to see she had missed the sunset, for the sun had already disappeared behind the remains of the ruined wing. It was almost dark, and she was reminded that the days were starting to grow a bit shorter. Fall came a bit earlier in this part of Scotland than it did in Northumberland. Before long, it would be winter—a time for roaring fires, roasted chestnuts and long walks along pathways brilliantly colored with an array of leathery leaves.

Thinking of her first winter in Scotland, she felt a bit odd, for she was not certain of their customs and traditions here. Anticipation of the unknown made her acutely aware of the silent stillness, which surrounded her, and how very far she was from the warm company of those in the hall. She admonished herself and tried to shake off the eerie feeling of foreboding that left her spirits sagging. Why was she plagued with the sense that something was going to happen?

She caught another glimpse of the ruined wing and thought it was such a pitiful thing to be laid to waste and forgotten. How sad to have once been proud and majestic, only to fall into decay, a victim of the tall grass that springs up and the wild vines and briars that slowly creep over the ancient foundation—a place where no one walked anymore. A place once beloved now lost beneath the destruction of years.

The sound of wind that swirled around the eaves and the tall chimneys reached her ears. She quickened her step, until she realized it was not the wind she heard, and she paused to listen. Suddenly, from somewhere deep in the bowels of the great fortress came a mournful sound, a sad lamenting. The sound grew louder, the eerie, mellow tone hauntingly familiar. Someone played the pipes again—someone who knew a great deal about suffering.

With her mind concentrating on the melancholy sound, she gazed absently out the long, narrow windows. A man was standing on the tumbled stones of the ruined wing, surrounded by a swirling mist. She could not see his face, but he was close enough for her to tell he was wrapped in a plaid and playing the pipes. Behind him, the phantom specter of a great sailing ship rose up; black sails and a rotting flag hanging from her mast…a flag that carried the symbol of death.

Heart pounding fearfully, she moistened her dry lips, then glanced in the direction from which she had just come, as if by doing so she could connect with the living and those she had left in the great hall only moments before.

By the time she looked toward the ruined wing again, the sound of the pipes began to fade, and she saw the piper and the ship were gone, with nothing left behind but the memory and the mist. With a shake of her head, she dismissed the whole episode as something imaginary. Where it came from or why she had imagined it, she did not know. Perhaps she was allowing herself to be carried away by the mood of Scotland itself.

She had the most extraordinary compulsion to turn around and rush back to the great hall. Yet, at the same time, she felt as though some force was pushing her along, forcing her to continue on her way.

The gallery was growing dim. Shadows absorbed the light. She stopped and lit a lamp, wondering as she did if anyone had ever become truly lost in this great wilderness of a castle. Her natural instinct told her to return to the others, where she would be wrapped in the warm conversation in the great hall. Only the logical part of her seemed to be functioning normally, allowing her to put everything in its place with proper perspective.

High overhead, the ornamental ceiling arched gracefully over the dark, carved wood of the curving staircase. At the foot of the stairs, she was relieved to see the dogs. Only today, they did not thump their tails madly against the stone floor, nor did they stand to greet her. Still and tense, they remained in place, gazing along the row of pictures in the gallery as if they descried a presence she could not perceive.

She gazed upon the sober faces of Robert’s ancestors, eternally staring at the generations that passed. Today, they appeared no different than they had before, although this time, not even the ornate carvings of fruit and flowers that adorned the black wainscoting could counter the oppressive mood that hung over the gallery. She had the strangest feeling as she continued on her way—a feeling they were all watching her. Watching and waiting, but for what?

“Hello, my loves,” she said, stopping to pat Corrie and Dram.

Since coming to Beloyn, she had heard nothing but ghost stories and haunting legends that impregnated her mind. Hearing bagpipes and seeing visions was nothing more than some supernatural humbuggery she had allowed to affect her reason. A dilettante interest in their superstitions had overridden her sound judgment and common sense. What she needed was a good dose of rationality, and she prayed for a return to some sort of mental normalcy. This is the sort of fancy that put people in Bedlam, she thought. She had to get control of herself.

First, she thought she heard bagpipes. Now she had the notion that she had seen a spirit tromping upon a pile of stones in a drizzling mist, while playing the pipes. Dear Lord above, what if these delusions persisted? After the piper, what would be next? Conversations with them?

She hesitated, waiting to see if one of the paintings crashed to the floor as it had the other day, but everything remained as it had been. Behind her, the dogs began to whimper. She turned around quickly. They were on their feet now, pacing back and forth, looking toward the gallery, where the family portraits hung, then back at her.

“Poor dogs,” she crooned, “I’m passing my distress on to you.” She went down the steps again and opened the gate that blocked the dogs from the stairs. “Come on up, then. You can sleep in my room tonight.”

It was obvious they wanted to come, but they were agitated and began to pace a step or two in one direction, then whimper and turn away, as if they were afraid to go above stairs—something she could understand, since she was becoming a bit nervous about going up the stairs herself. She gave them another pat. “Good dogs. Robert has trained you well. You know better than to go above stairs, don’t you?”

She started up the stairs, repeating softly to herself, “I do not believe in ghosts. Do not…do not…do not…”

For a moment, she thought she heard something and she stopped. The castle was eerily quiet. She stood very still, listening. She could hear nothing, but in spite of that, she felt a presence nearby.

The idea was absurd, of course. Everyone except Agnes was in the great hall or in the kitchen. She was almost angry for being so foolish as to frighten herself. This will not do, she thought, and continued on her way, in spite of the renewed agitation of the dogs. Instead, she focused on the rooms upstairs and what changes and improvements she wanted to make to them.

Meleri thought of the nursery and the small pieces of furniture she’d found in the attic, and she began to imagine the walls painted a creamy white with blue curtains on the windows and a tiny rug of blue, yellow and white. And she mustn’t forget a small bed in the corner for Agnes—white, with a blue-and-yellow coverlet—for she would not even consider anyone but her own former nanny for her children.

The deep, rolling sound of a man’s hoarse laughter came suddenly out of nowhere. Her heart leaped in terror. She turned quickly to give the gallery a good searching look. She saw nothing. Turning back around, she quickened her step as she continued up the stairs. She was so preoccupied, she did not at first pay much notice to the man she met descending.

As she passed him, she gave him a nod, much in the manner she would give the servants.

He nodded in return.

It did not strike her, until she reached the top of the landing, that she had passed someone—someone she had never seen before. He was dressed in a very peculiar manner. He was also hauntingly familiar.

That a stranger was coming down the stairs from the bed-chambers was odd, but even more so was the fact that he was dressed in such a queer, old-fashioned manner. Was he some eccentric member of the family, with a penchant for quaint clothes, who was kept hidden away? A crazy cousin, perhaps? One confined to the unused servants’ apartments next to the attic?

She turned and glanced behind her, but there was no one there. The man was gone, vanished.

So were the dogs.

Carefully, Meleri searched the dimly lit staircase and the length of the gallery. Nothing. “For the love of St. Valentine, what is going on here?” she whispered, deciding it was appropriate to call upon the name of the saint associated with lovers under conditions of duress. If this was not duress, she did not know what was.

How could he have disappeared so quickly? And the dogs? Had they decided to follow him, or had they been frightened away? She did not linger any longer, but hurried on to her room, thinking she would ask Robert about the bizarre happenings in the morning.

When she reached her bedchamber, Agnes was turning back her bed. “Good evening, milady.”

Meleri shut the door and leaned against it, palms pressed behind her. “Did you happen to see a man come down the hall a moment ago?”

Agnes stopped smoothing the coverlet. “A man? No, milady. I haven’t see anyone since I came up.”

Meleri did not say anything further. While she removed her clothes, she was silent, reflecting upon what had just happened. She knew it was not something she’d imagined. She’d seen a man. She was certain.

While Agnes hung her dress on the door of the wardrobe, Meleri slipped into a gown of fine muslin, then sent Agnes to her room. Determined to have a good sleep this night, she went to bed, somewhat uplifted by the feel of clean bed linen and a good supply of blankets. There was nothing like a warm bed to charm away fatigue. Wearily, she closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

She did not sleep long before she was suddenly awakened. Eyes opened wide, she lay utterly still, afraid to breathe.

Someone was in her room….

She remained motionless, straining to listen for the slightest sound, but all was still and silent. There was a full moon tonight, and the places where the draperies did not come together afforded enough light to make out shadows.

Her gaze fell upon the open door of her wardrobe and the figure of a man standing before it. A cold shiver passed over her. It was not until she sat up in bed and saw only her dress hanging on the wardrobe door, that she dared to take a deep breath. She told herself she must stop this nonsense at once. Every bush was becoming a bear, every shadow a specter.

She lay back down and settled herself in a comfortable position for the second time that night. Soon, her brain wearied and she passed into a dark slumber of disturbed sleep.

The next morning, Agnes inquired, “How did you sleep, milady?”

Meleri took a moment to realize where she was. She put her hand to her head. “I…I don’t know.” Her head felt woolly and clogged with recollections of the past night. Blinking like a wood owl, she felt befuddled, her mind unclear. She saw the dress hanging on the wardrobe and she remembered the curious night she had passed.

“Are you feeling well, milady?”

Meleri shook her head, hoping to clear it. “I feel fine, Agnes, but I passed a frightful night. There were so many dreams…queer dreams that made no sense.”

“Sometimes it helps to tell your dreams.”

“Oh, I dare not tell anyone for fear they would think me insane. What tricks the mind can play upon us, what extraordinary imaginings.”

“It would put your mind at ease to talk about it,” Agnes said, sounding somewhat authoritative. “Others can sometimes make sense of things we cannot understand.”

“I don’t know that anyone could make sense of this. I only remember snippets of things…a gray-castled city that appeared out of a mist, the flutter of old flags, black sailing ships and fierce battles being fought by men with grim faces. Everything was a mixture of dim, shifting images—of soldiers, queens and treachery—all set to the haunting skirl of pipes.”

Meleri rolled out of bed. “You see? None of it makes any sense.”

“You’ve been hearing too many stories of Scotland. In truth, milady, it has a painful, tragic past, and just hearing of the tragedy that has befallen others brings out strange foreboding in many of us.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“You remember nothing in particular?”

She shook her head. “It’s all a blurred image in my mind now,” she said. “Lay out my blue dress…or the yellow one. Quickly! I must find Robert.”

Agnes began rummaging for a dress, as if some national emergency had been declared. “Do you feel you are in some sort of danger?”

“No, nothing like that. I simply want to ask him about the man…the one I saw last night. Remember, I asked you about him?”

“Yes, but I saw no one.”

“I know, and my curiosity has gotten the best of me. I cannot fathom who it could have been.”

Meleri dressed quickly, with Agnes fussing and clucking over her as if she were preparing for an audience with the king. “My hair is fine, Agnes. You need not do any more to it. No, I do not need any jewelry. I am not going out in public.”

She was buttoning the cuff of her dress as she rushed out of the room and hurried downstairs, only to learn she was too late. Robert, she was informed, had gone to the stables only minutes before.

“It is his custom to ride each morning,” Gowan said.

Meleri brought her palm against her forehead. “Yes, of course he does. I knew that, but I somehow let it slip my mind,” she said, the words trailing behind her, for she was already rushing out the door. She prayed as she ran toward the stables that she would not be too late, that he had not yet ridden off.

In her great rush, she darted around the corner of the barn and collided with the horse Robert was leading. The high-strung animal shied and reared, then snorted and danced around, shaking his head nervously. Robert struggled to keep hold of the reins.

She let out a thankful gasp. “Oh, am I ever glad I found you,” she said, almost hugging his horse with relief. “I was afraid you were already gone.”

He smiled and brushed her startled lips with his own. She felt a tingling thrill of pleasure at the contact. “Dare I hope you are coming to care for me?” he asked teasingly. “I do believe this is the first time you’ve missed me enough to come searching, and so early in the morning.”

“I didn’t miss you…that is, that isn’t the reason I was looking for you. I need to talk to you.”

He stood there, as if patiently waiting for her to speak her piece. Unfortunately, her mind was a tangled jumble of thoughts. It would have been fine if he had not kissed her, unsettling man. She always had the strangest reactions to him—constriction of the throat, a stomach fluttering with a flotilla of butterflies, a racing heart and legs that would not support her. Was that love? She frowned. If it was, it was very different from what she’d expected, and certainly nothing like what the poets wrote about. Never, not once, had she read anything that related love to the malfunctioning of body parts.

“Are you certain there is nothing wrong?” Robert asked.

“Yes.”

“Well then, I was about to go for a ride. If you are up to it, you are welcome to come with me.”

She looked down at her blue dress. “I am not exactly dressed for riding.”

“We won’t be taking a turn about Hyde Park, if that is what concerns you. I doubt we will meet anyone, and if we should, they won’t be of the sort who would know if you were properly attired for riding or not.”

“Very well,” she said, “I would like to join you.”

A few minutes later, her horse was saddled and the two of them rode off.

Much to her delight, Corrie and Dram accompanied them. The dogs snuffed about the brush, jumping a rabbit now and then, but soon seemed content to lope just ahead. When they crested the hill, the dogs paused.

As Meleri reached them, she realized they were waiting to see which way to go, for the path forked, one way running along the crest of the hill, the other continuing down the other side, where the land fell away to spread out in the valley below.

Robert rode up next to her and stopped.

“It is so lovely here,” Meleri said. “I had no idea there was such breathtaking scenery so close to your home.”

“There is a special beauty here, although many don’t realize it. The Highlands have been given the reputation for beauty. Because of that, the Lowlands are oft overlooked.”

What he said was true, and she thought it a shame that such a place would go unnoticed or even overlooked. However, if the Lowlands were known for anything, it was for being the place where many of the Border families acquired their fortunes—fortunes made by robbery and violence—just like they did in Northumberland.

They rode on and she watched the graceful movement of the dogs loping ahead, wondering if they might jump one of the large red deer Iain told her about. “Iain mentioned that deerhounds were bred to hunt deer.”

“Aye, that is why they are so large. It takes a big dog to bring down a large stag.”

“Do you think we will come across a red deer?”

He smiled. “Iain should have told you we travel farther north when we want to hunt red deer. They have been gone from these parts for many years. Now they are found only in the Highlands. Here, we hunt mostly roe deer.”

“I am sorry for Corrie and Dram as well as myself. I would have loved to see them hunt. I still cannot get over their being so huge. They are the largest dogs I’ve ever seen.”

“The Irish wolfhound is larger.”

Irish wolfhound…She thought it such a clever idea to name a thing after its purpose. It made it so much easier for one to appear knowledgeable. Which was better than sitting there with a blank, dazed look, waiting for an explanation. “I suppose it would take a very large animal, indeed, to bring down a wolf.”

“Aye, like the deerhound, the breed was developed for that purpose.”

She shuddered at the thought of hunting wolves, although she did not know why. Perhaps because they, unlike deer, were predators. “Are there any wolves here, or are the only ones left in the Highlands…with the red deer?”

He laughed and she knew it was not at her, but at her astuteness. “Aye, wolves in Scotland are diminishing in numbers. We do not see them here anymore. What few are left are in the Highlands.”

She was relieved to hear that. “I’m glad you’re a Lowlander.”

The sudden eruption of his laughter caught her off guard, not because it surprised her, but because she was so distracted by the sound of it. She decided immediately that he had the most wonderful laugh she had ever heard. What a waste that he so rarely used it.

She was coming to understand Robert, for she realized he was a lot like the land—tempered by hardship and conflict. She was also coming to a better understanding of his home, of Scotland. After all its edification, after the legends, the past, the poetry and the passion, after the inherent sentiment of affinity, after the unwavering brotherhood of the clans—after each of these there resided a determined purpose, an unrelenting stubbornness born of the suffering and afflictions that came before.

She understood, now, that he was a product of that past.

Meleri was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was changing as much as her circumstances. She was coming to love this land as much as the man who rescued her from a horrible fate and brought her here to live with him as his wife. She owed him so much. The thought of it warmed her with a sense of gratitude and well-being.

It was this warmth of feeling, and the friendship that continued to develop between them as they rode, that caused them to ride much longer than originally planned. In her enthusiasm—born of her recently acknowledged feelings—she found that suddenly she wanted to see it all: every childhood haunt, every fellside and burn, every moor where black-faced sheep grazed.

Although parts of the border landscape were similar to her home in Northumberland, it was not a place of gentle valleys and sparkling streams. Here, the sea, which was never far away, was anything but indulgent.

Robert was quietly indulgent of her wants, which made her think that he enjoyed their newly developed closeness as much as she did. She recalled parts of her journey with him to Scotland and seeing the landscape along Solway Firth and the Irish Sea. There, the land was barren and austere, a place of low, flat, empty shores and sandy knolls, swept by wind and rain, where spindly seabirds poked about in mudflats and old wooden boats lay derelict when the tide went out.

Forlornwas the word that came to mind—forlorn and, somehow, sadly forgotten.

Here, it was different. Beyond the well-plowed hill ahead lay the country of open heaths—bare, exciting and often mysterious—with solitary upland lakes, spectacular waterfalls and evocative names, like the falls at Corrie Linn.

As they rode, she asked questions and learned he loved to talk of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Stuarts, of Mary Queen of Scots, of Wallace, Rob Roy and Robert the Bruce. She was reminded of the tragic ends they all came to and realized part of his love and attachment to this place was because of the blood that had soaked into the land itself—the blood of all those who came before.

She was suddenly ashamed—ashamed of being English, ashamed of the part her country and her ancestors had played in the suffering of these stalwart people. She prayed with all her heart that it might be granted to her to find a way to make up, at least partly, for the terrible injustice of the past. Why did freedom always command such a high price?

She fell into a quiet sort of solitude as they rode through small wooded glens and over treeless sloping hills, sometimes hidden beneath shadows when the sun went behind a cloud. The road was narrow as it meandered along like a country stream. Farther over, the purple hills in the distance seemed austere and silent, and the cattle on the gently rolling slopes hardly seemed to move at all.

They rode for quite some time, until they came to a roofless fortress. A tree-lined stream ran in front, but behind its walls, a long slope of moorland rose, bleak and stormy. They stopped there for a while to rest the horses and dogs.

After dismounting, they led their mounts and walked for a while. Once, Robert stopped to pick a small purple flower and handed it to her. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Goose bumps broke out along the flesh of her arms at the reminder. “I met a man last night. I was curious as to who he was.”

He stopped. “A man? Where?”

“At Beloyn, of course.”

“Where were you when you met him?”

“He was coming down the stairs as I was going up. He wasn’t anyone I recognized, so I was curious.”

“When was this?”

“Last night, after I left the hall to return to my chamber.”

The concern on his face vanished as he dismissed it. “It was probably one of the servants.”

“No, he wasn’t a servant,” she said with much conviction. “That much I am certain of. There was something aristocratic about him and his manner—not to mention his odd dress. Although it was quite peculiar, it was far too fine to have belonged to a servant.”

“Peculiar?”

“Yes, very peculiar. Certainly not anything one would see every day. I would call it old-fashioned, perhaps, or maybe eccentric.”

Or, perhaps, from another time…She shuddered at that thought and wondered where it had come from, but Robert laughed at that moment, and she found herself relaxing and thinking less about it.

“There are plenty of eccentric folk to be found in Scotland,” he said. “It is a fey place.”

“I know that, but what I do not understand is, who would be coming down the stairs from our private living quarters if he wasn’t a member of the family or a servant?”

“I cannot fathom who it could have been. You know the members of my family. There have been no visitors or guests at Beloyn recently. You are absolutely certain it was not a servant?”

“More than certain. Besides, I told you, his clothes were quite fine. Strange, but fine.”

He seemed to ponder that for a moment. “What do you mean by strange? What did they look like?”

She glanced off, trying to conjure up the memory of what she had seen. “Black. He wore all black, save for a bit of white, which reminded me of a ruff—you know, the old-fashioned kind they wore about the neck. He wore tights and there was a short cape attached to his doublet. There was some sort of medallion around his neck, hanging from a long gold chain. He wore a long saber at his side. A most peculiar man. Oh, he had a black cap on his head, with feathers.”

“Bonnet. We call them bonnets, not caps.”

“I see.”

“Was he clean-shaven?”

“No. He had a pointed beard. It was short, dark and well groomed. Do you know who it was?”

“No. The description of clothing is definitely not of these times. It sounds more like the clothing from the times of Queen Mary, or before.” He was quiet for a moment, almost pensive, as if troubled by something. “Did it look like any of the clothes in the portraits in the gallery?”

That sent a fresh supply of goose bumps rippling over her skin. If he tells me it was that earl who disappeared from his portrait, Meleri thought, I am going back to England. “Yes, now that you mention it, he did remind me of some of them.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm? Is that all you are going to say? Just hmm?”

“For now.”

He did not mention the portrait of the earl, however, so she asked him, “Do you have any idea who it was?”

His mood was jovial and his tone quite merry when he said, “I would say he had to be an eccentric, just as you said. He must have wandered in somehow, realized he was lost and wandered back out, without having been seen by anyone, save you. It is the only explanation.”

She frowned, feeling he had purposefully forced a lighter mood. She could not help wondering if he was hiding something. “I don’t think some stranger could have wandered in without being seen by anyone. Besides, Corrie and Dram would have surely barked.”

He did not seem to buy that. “Do you have a better explanation? Perhaps you were seeing things? A ghost, perhaps?”

She had known he would get around to that, eventually. “I could not have seen a ghost,” she said, taking great care to sound quite adamant.

“Why not?”

“For the simple reason—as I told you before—I do not believe in them. How can you see something you don’t believe in?”

He laughed. “Perhaps seeing one will help your unbelief.”

“Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“No, I’ve never seen one. Perhaps I believe in the myth but not the reality.”

“Then why do you insist that I’ve seen a ghost?”

“Because you seem convinced that you’ve seen one, and on that basis, it seems the rational answer.”

“Do you think this could have anything to do with the Douglas legend and the missing earl?”

He shrugged. “Anything is possible.”

She shook her head. “No, it can’t be that.”

“Why not? You’ve heard the legend and how it is said that the earl will appear at some point in time.”

“Yes, and he has certainly waited a long time. Now, ask yourself this question. Why would the ghost…a Scottish ghost, mind you, choose an English woman to be the first person he decides to show himself to?”

“If you saw him…if you have been truly chosen, you will have to ask your ghost that question. Whatever they are, I am certain he has his reasons.”

If you have been chosen…

All of a sudden, Meleri seemed to swell with pride and she brightened, feeling rather privileged, as if she had been chosen, like Moses, to lead them out of their bondage to the past. “What do you suppose it means, then, if I have been chosen…if I am the first one to see the earl’s ghost?”

Robert laughed and said in a teasing way, “It means you either dreamed it, or you had too much whisky before you went to bed.”

She was not ready to water down this discussion with humor. Strange things were happening and the dogs knew it as well as she. She wanted to have some answers, not humor. “Don’t make light of this. I did not dream it. I saw him. I nodded to him and he nodded back. Even the dogs were acting strange. I only wish you could ask them. It is my guess that they have seen him, and on more than one occasion. That is why they spend so much time in the gallery. It is probably the earl’s favorite place to frolic.”

He burst out laughing.

“What is so amusing, pray tell?”

“Do you really think a ghost would…frolic?”

“Well, why not? What else has a ghost got to do?”

That seemed to have sobered him up, for he said, “You mentioned the dogs. In what way were they acting strange?”

“When I first approached the stairs, they were sitting at the bottom like they always do, staring toward the gallery, but they were very agitated. I opened the gate and called them to come upstairs with me, but they would only come so far, then they would turn around and walk a few steps, then come back and stop. They did this, repeatedly, whining and turning this way and that, until I decided to go on up alone. I closed the gate and started up the stairs. As soon as I did, I met the man coming down. Immediately, I heard the dogs whine. I turned around to look. The man was gone, and so were the dogs. Yet, the gate was still locked. There was no way he could have opened the gate and closed it behind him and disappeared in that short amount of time. Explain also, while you are at it, why the dogs disappeared like that.”

“I have no explanation. However, they are here now and looking none too worse for the wear,” he said, and she followed the direction of his gaze to see Corrie and Dram running with their noses to the ground, hot on the trail of something.

She nodded. “I know, but there are other happenings, too. Remember I told you I sometimes hear bagpipes playing faintly? Well, last night, I heard them again. After leaving dinner, I stopped to look out at the ruined wing from one of the windows in the gallery. I heard the pipes, and the melody was so beautiful, almost sad. I saw something like a vision. A mist settled over the ruins and the piper was there, standing on the ruins, playing. Behind him, I saw a ship, with black sails hoisted, flying a flag of death. Does any of this make sense?”

“I’m not certain. Strange though it is, what you describe reminds me of the story about the MacCrimmons of Skye.”

“Who were the MacCrimmons?”

“They were the pipers to the clan MacLeod. The MacCrimmons created many masterpieces known as piobaireachd, which is the big music of the pipes. One of the finest they ever did is called ‘Cumha na Cloinne’… ‘The Lament for the Children.’”

“’The Lament for the Children,’” she repeated. “It sounds so sad.”

“Aye, it is that. Heartbreaking, some say. Padraig Mor MacCrimmon wrote the lament over a hundred years ago. He was the father of eight strapping sons, before a foreign ship dropped anchor in Dunvegan one fine day, with a deadly fever aboard. The fever spread throughout the land of the MacLeans and Padraig Mor lost all of his sons but one. In his grief, he composed a timeless piobaireachd for his sons who were lost.”

She stopped and looked up at him, seeing the deeply etched pain of endless suffering upon his face.

“There is so much sadness in this land,” she said. “It is everywhere you turn. I feel its intensity. Here.” She placed her hand over her heart.

“Perhaps you are becoming a Scot in spite of yourself,” he said, and took her hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed each finger in turn.

She felt positively molten, as if she’d swallowed a sunbeam and it broke out in warmth. How could a simple act produce so many reactions? She was suffused with slow-penetrating heat. She was trembling as if cold. Her heart stopped beating one minute, and pounded with fury the next. She was light-headed with the nearness of him, with a yearning for him to do more than simply kiss her fingers.

“A Scot,” she repeated.

“Aye, is it possible?”

His eyes shining, his lips turning up at the corners, he asked if she’d had any more encounters with his grandmother.

“Encounters? Who has time for encounters? I am too busy dodging specters and things that go bump in the night. Lord love Scotland! I have not had time to form an opinion, much less have a conversation with your grandmother. Too much has been happening.”

“Now I know the secret to eternal wedded bliss.”

The bubble of gaiety she had been floating in burst, and in its place, she could feel raw wounds in her pride. She felt unclean and used, and wondered if this was how all trollops felt in the beginning. “You are not married, so why should you have any knowledge of what the secret is?”

“Are you becoming maudlin because you are anxious to become my wife?”

She hid her hurt behind her words. “If anyone is anxious, your lordship, it should be you. I am not the one with a royal command hanging like a guillotine over my head.”

“Are you certain that is the only cause of your concern?”

“I did not say I was concerned,” she said, wanting to hurt him back. “I was merely making a point.”

“Aye, and stabbed me with it. Now that I know your feelings…there is no reason to rush things.”

Why had he spoken so? Although she knew she was falling in love with him, his feelings must lie in the opposite direction. She tried to keep the hurt from showing on her face, but she had a feeling he could see it well enough. To prevent him from saying something apologetic, which would surely bring on the tears, she said quickly, “So, what is the secret to eternal wedded bliss?”

“It is difficult to explain, but I could show you.”

“What do you mean sh—” Her voice suddenly deserted her, for he took her face in his hands and kissed her nose, her eyes, her forehead. He pulled her closer and she felt his warmth, the solid comfort of his body. She relaxed and leaned into him. His arms tightened around her, and his lips moved softly over the surface of her cheek. He kissed her mouth firmly, parting her lips beneath his. Her flesh hummed wherever he touched her.

Beneath her hand, which she rested against his chest, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart and wondered how it could be so steadfast, when hers was hopping as erratically as a crow. Her wandering hand suddenly slipped between the buttons of his shirt and she touched bare skin.

She gasped and made a sudden move to withdraw her fingers. He countered quickly, covering her hand with his, and held it there. “My shy, kindhearted lass, who has a hard head and refuses to believe in specters.”

“I believe in them now.”

Robert was looking at her strangely. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Sh,” Meleri said, slapping at his hands. “Don’t say that!” she whispered. “He might hear you.”

“Who?”

“The ghost! I see him! I’m seeing him right now! A ghost! Oh, my Lord, I am seeing a real, live ghost!” she said desperately.

“A live ghost? Interesting.”

“All right, be scientific. If he’s not a live ghost, then he is a walking dead one.” She swallowed so audibly she was certain he could hear.

Robert looked around. “I don’t see anyone.”

“There!” she said, pointing down the lane. “He is walking toward us…It is the same man I saw last night, and he is wearing the same peculiar clothes.”

Robert looked again. “I still don’t see anything.”

“What do you mean you don’t see him? How can you miss something right in front of your nose? He is walking, bigger than Edinburgh, smack down the middle of the lane.”

“Lass, I’m sorry…”

She did not understand any of this. For a Scot who did his best to persuade her to believe in legends and ghosts, it was obvious Robert did not believe what he preached. He did not believe her, either. Evidently, he thought she was playing a trick on him.

She knew he was not the kind to take that sort of thing lightly. He let her know he had had enough of her nonsense when he dropped his hands from her. “I think it is time to go back,” he said, and called to the dogs.

Corrie and Dram came running toward them, but when they left the edge of the woods and started up the lane, they suddenly stopped.

She crossed her arms in front of her in a triumphant manner, nodding in their direction, and said, “Explain that.”

He ignored her comment and called the dogs again. Their odd behavior was exactly as it had been the night before, for they were agitated and whining, behaving as if they wanted to come, but were afraid to. He called them once more, and they took a few tentative steps, then turned suddenly and bolted away from the lane.

She stood quietly, watching Corrie and Dram running across a plowed field. They reached the middle of the field, and she was certain they were heading for home, when they turned sharply and made a sweeping circle to come up behind the place where Meleri and Robert stood. They stopped a few feet away. They refused to come closer, even when Robert called them.

“You see?” she said. “Well, perhaps you don’t see, but the dogs obviously do. You may not believe me, but I do not think you should have any qualms about believing them. What else could account for their strange behavior?”

He seemed thoughtful. “I honestly don’t know.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you? You think I am making this up, that I am using it as a way to poke fun at you and your Scots ways.”

“I thought so before, but I no longer do. I know I was wrong. I understand something is going on here, but I am not certain what you are seeing, or more rightly, who it is that you see.”

“It must be him,” she said, so matter-of-factly she surprised even herself.

“Him?”

“The old earl…the one missing from the portrait.”

He did not answer her.

She took his silence to mean he rejected that idea. After all, she was a woman and English, both inferiors in his mind. “Well, don’t answer me, then. You either believe me, or you do not. Faith! I grow weary of all of this. First, you try to convince me that ghosts exist, and when I come close to accepting it, you act as though it was all my idea. Do not be forgetting I am not the one who made up that preposterous story about an earl who abandoned his portrait, one hundred years after he died. That is your legend, not mine. Frankly, I do not care if you believe it or not. From now on, I won’t say anything—even if I see a whole legion of ghosts.”

She wondered at that moment if the ghost had heard her, for he stopped not more than ten feet away, seemingly content to simply look at her.

Let him look, she thought. She clapped her hands on her hips and stared straight at him. “I shan’t be telling you anything, either, you vaporous visitant…you…you wandering wraith! I do not want to see you. I do not want to be a part of this. Go find someone else to haunt and harry, you pestiferous phantom.”

Robert started to speak but she cut him off.

“Talk to him!” she said. “He is your relative, not mine! I personally don’t care for either of you.” To prove her point, she made a grand move to ignore both of them and walked to her horse. “I find the two of you a perfect match…a pigheaded Scot and a stubborn specter! You deserve each other.”

She mounted quickly and rode all the way back to Beloyn at a fast gallop.

Robert did not catch up to her until after she had dismounted. She opened the gate and started into the garden, when she heard him ride up behind her. She ignored him and continued on her way.

“Wait up a minute,” he said. “I want a word with you.”

“Go away. I have decided I don’t like you as much as I thought.”

“Meleri…”

“You are wasting your time. Today, I am not talking to any Douglases…dead or alive.”

Corrie and Dram came ambling into the yard. She snapped her fingers, and the dogs loped past Robert, slowed their pace and came to a stop next to her. “Come,” she said, and started up again. “Those of us who see visions are not welcome here.”

Corrie and Dram followed her inside.

The moment she stepped into the house, she saw Gram wearing a black silk dress that was a bit old-fashioned in a way that made Meleri think it belonged in one of the portraits in the gallery.

Seeing her, Lady Margaret came bearing down on her as if she had been marked for prey. “Hout! You are fairly out of breath. Where are you going in such a hurry? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That is becoming an overused phrase around here, and one I grow tired of hearing. If you came here to have an encounter, you are out of luck. I have just seen a ghost, and I am not in any mood to discuss it.”

“You saw a ghost? Where?”

Meleri threw her hands up in the air. “In my dreams…on the stairs…in the middle of the lane. It does not seem to matter. He does not appear to have any manners or preferences as to when, or where, he appears. He simply pops up, unannounced. God only knows he may decide to visit me in my bath!”

“It was the old earl,” said Lady Margaret.

“I am not saying anything, and I adamantly refuse to address that statement. I have been doubted once already, and one Doubting Thomas a day is enough. I have decided to make it a steadfast rule from here on out that I will not discuss ghosts with anyone who does not believe in them…What did you say?”

“I said it was the old earl.”

“Thank you. You have just moved up on my list of people I might be persuaded to like.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because, if there is anything I have learned, it is that Scots believe in ghosts when they aren’t around, but the minute they appear, you suddenly turn doubtful. You, apparently, are the exception.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“Why should I tell you? It is obvious you wish I would leave.”

“Leave? Why would I wish that? It makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense to me…and about as much sense as anything I’ve seen since coming here.”

Lady Margaret stepped close enough to reach out her long, elegant hands and take Meleri’s face between them. “Child, child, why would I wish for you to leave, when I have waited so very, very long for you to come?”

If Lady Margaret had slapped her, it would have been impossible to be more stunned or surprised. To say she was not overwhelmed by what she said would be tinkering with the truth. In fact, Meleri was so shocked, she barely managed to ask, “What did you say?”

Lady Margaret did not remove her hands, but she did smile at her. “I said, I have waited a long time for you to come.”

“You are trying to tell me you waited for me, that you knew I was coming? Piffle! You would say anything to get what you want.”

“I knew one would come, but I did not know it was you, until the morning I met you. If I appeared unkind, it was because I had to be satisfied that you were the one, that you were strong enough to stand up to the task.”

Meleri narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What task?”

“The task of being Lady Douglas.”

“That I could do with my eyes closed.”

Lady Margaret smiled. “Aye, I ken you could. You remind me of myself at your age.”

Meleri put her hand to her head. “None of this makes sense. I need to go lie down.”