Chapter 24
She hurried on up the stairs and was almost to her chamber when she saw Hugh leaning against a doorjamb watching her with a big grin on his face. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Snooping?”
He laughed. “When the volume is that loud, you don’t have to snoop.”
She kept on walking.
“Wait a minute. What’s wrong between you and Robbie?”
“Nothing, except I don’t understand the way his mind works. I doubt that I will ever understand. I don’t think he understands.”
As she thundered past, Hugh reached one arm out in a lazy manner and caught her. “Whoa there, lassie! I think we need to take a walk.”
“I have just returned from a ride. The last thing I need is more exercise. You are just the type to offer a glass of water to a drowning person.”
“Humor me, then. Come along.”
He led her outside with him, ignoring her sputtering threats to run back the moment he released his hold. His eyes, she noticed, were as blue as cornflowers and brimming with playfulness, and even that irritated her.
After a bit, her resistance began to tire her. It was no use. He was too persistent. Sometimes surrender was the easy way out. She noticed they had already passed the barn and the stone stable, and now were heading toward the orchard.
Two kittens bounded out of the bushes. Meleri stopped to pick up the calico and left the yellow one to follow behind. They walked on in silence, while Meleri gave her attention to the kitten. After a few minutes, she put the kitten down and watched it join the other. “Are you going to lecture me?”
“No, I am going to tell you some things that should give you a deeper understanding about the man you are going to marry.”
“I don’t think I want to talk about Robert, and I think he’s forgotten all about marriage.”
“He hasn’t forgotten. He is giving you time to settle in. However, since you don’t want to talk about Robbie, you listen and I’ll talk. It always helps to have new understanding. Things look better sometimes when seen in a different light.”
“Vexing is vexing, in any light.”
“If you want to be happy with a man, you must understand him a lot and love him a little. Women never understand this, because their needs are different. Consequently, they love a lot and understand very little.”
She did not say anything, but she was thinking about what he said as they followed a narrow, winding path that ran down to the stream, where everything looked like a kaleidoscope of illusion and color, constantly changing at the whim of the sun. The air was cooler here and heavy with the scents of summer flowers and the humic richness of leaf mold. The shrill call of a bird overrode for a moment the low, continuous babble of swift-running water, bubbling over smooth stones. Meleri kicked a rock out of the path with the side of her foot.
“Has anyone told you about our sister?” Hugh asked.
“Only to rub in the fact that she was killed by the English.”
“Aye, it happened ten years ago. Sorcha was sixteen when she died.”
They reached a fence, made from stones gathered from the turnip field and stacked along the perimeter as a border. Hugh took her elbow and indicated a place. “We can sit here.”
She sat down, not bothering to hide her displeasure. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
“When Sorcha was sixteen, she went to England with a friend. When it was time for her to return, Robert decided to go to England alone to escort her back to Beloyn. When they were close to the border, they stopped to rest the horses. Sorcha walked down to the river to watch the geese swim. On the way, she encountered four Oxford students traveling through the English Border country on their way to Scotland to hunt grouse.
“When they saw her, they decided to hunt a little two-legged game. They gave chase, and when they ran her down, they did not stop there. She was a real beauty and a virgin and too much for them to pass up, so they had their sport with her. After all, she was only a Scot.”
Meleri felt a rueful quiet settle about her, a great silence that stretched like the narrow shafts of sunlight that stabbed through the trees. Shadows contrasting light. Man and woman. Good and evil. Life and death. Throughout it all, there was pain. So much pain that suddenly she knew what happened and said, “One of them raped her.”
It was not a question, for she knew the truth already, but some things in life cannot be skipped over. Some things must saturate and bog you down until your only choice is to wallow in them. However, once done, you must get up, wash yourself off and go on as before. There is no forgiveness in wallowing. Forgiveness comes after. Perhaps that was what plagued Robert. He still wallowed in his grief. Until he put it behind him, he would be unable to forgive.
“Aye, one of them raped her. He was the oldest and he took her first, and when he finished, he gave her to the others. When Robbie heard her screams and came running to help, they overpowered him, taking turns holding him and making him watch, while they took her and took her and took her. It did not end until all four of them had raped her.”
She did not say anything. She could not.
“When they finished having their sport, the leader hit Robbie in the head several times with his gun. I am certain he meant to kill him. They could not leave a witness, and a shot might have brought someone. When Robert came to, he found Sorcha’s body floating in the stream.”
“They drowned her,” she said, unable to say anything more, for the air was too thick with feeling. Whenever she inhaled, it lodged in her throat.
“Perhaps, although we will never know for certain. Robert thinks they left her broken and bleeding, and she drowned herself.”
“Either way they are responsible for her death.” The words sounded wooden and detached, something one would say by rote, not from the heart. Her insides were all twisted, too tightly for any feeling to emerge. She would have to leave it alone, and in time, it would straighten itself out—just like a hibernating snake placed in the sun will eventually warm and slither away.
“That’s the way Robbie saw it,” Hugh continued. “He vowed he would find a way to get even, that he would make the whole of England pay if he had to.”
She shuddered, mindful of Robert’s intense hatred, but she wanted to be understanding and fair, and she told herself it was not uncommon for those who grieved to say and do things they normally would not consider.
“Robbie managed to pull Sorcha’s body out of the stream, then he passed out from the blow to his head. Iain found them. At first, he thought they were both dead. Robbie was unconscious for over a month. The first thing he said, when he recovered, was he had to get up, to dress for her funeral. When we told him Sorcha had been buried almost four weeks, he went wild. I do not think he ever recovered from the fact that he did not get to see her one last time, to tell his twin goodbye.
“In his mind, he had double the reasons for wanting to get even. I tell you this only because I think it is important for you to understand what has made Robert the way he is. I hope that, by knowing, it will make things easier for both of you.”
Silence came again and she breathed it into her lungs, feeling its heavy weight. She knew he was watching her, waiting to see her reaction. Did he expect her to say she was sorry for four animals who walked on two legs? For all the horrible things man is capable of doing to others?
Yes, she was sorry.
She was sorry for a life cut short and for the suffering that preceded it. She was sorry for the family that missed such a lovely young girl—would miss her until the day they died. She was sorry for England and the good people who lived there, scattered among the bad, who had to shoulder the blame for something done by someone else. Strange though it was, she was sorriest of all for the four men. She tried to imagine the rupture of spirit it would take to make human beings willfully destroy a life for sport. How could someone not care that they wrecked other lives along with it—slamming them into a pit of suffering, where the only thing they could feel was the pain of separation and the eternal hollowness of loss?
“Did you ever find out who did it?”
“No, but I’m quite certain Robert found out, although he has never admitted such to me.”
“He probably does know. It doesn’t sound like Robert—to let something like that go.”
“No, it doesn’t sound like him.”
“I don’t understand why he won’t tell you…if he truly knows?”
“I don’t know. Robert is a private man and he deals with things in his own way. And then, there is the fact that they were twins, and there is a bond there that the rest of us do not understand.”
“Extract his own revenge, you mean.”
“That, too.”
“Does Iain know, or your grandmother?”
“I am quite certain they do not.”
“So much suffering,” she said.
After returning to the castle, she was mulling things over, unaware that she had passed the library, until she heard someone call out her name. She stopped and looked to see Lady Margaret sitting in a chair near the window, a book in her lap. She smiled at Meleri and motioned her inside.
Meleri entered quietly and took a seat beside her. Lady Margaret closed the book, but kept her fingers tucked inside to mark her place as she held the book up for Meleri to see. “Do you like him?”
Meleri glanced down at the book and saw the gilded word Shakespeare. “Yes, I like him very much, and I know you do, as well. Robert told me you thought he went beyond being English…if that is possible.”
“His words are oft more soothing to me than some of our own Scots’. Take the works of Smollett, for instance. He could bore a dead man. Have you read him?”
Meleri repeated the name, thinking it sounded like the name of a fish. “Smollett? No, I don’t think so—at least the name is not familiar to me.”
“How fortunate for you. Believe me, you would remember, if you had read one of his novels, for how could anyone forget Roderick Random, Humphrey Clinker or Peregrine Pickle?”
Meleri could not hold back a smile. She had no idea Lady Margaret had a featherweight of humor in her.
“Just mention one of those titles and I go beyond bored.” The older woman looked down at the book of Shakespeare. “He has never bored me. Not once! I find when I read his words, all is forgiven, including his place of birth.”
“Have you forgiven me for being born in England?”
“My dear, I could not be unforgiving to you. You have given much of yourself since coming here. My granddaughters adore you, and you have provided them with something to look forward to each day. You have inspired the servants and given them a reason to take pride in what they do. Already, Beloyn sparkles amid the changes you have brought about.” She stopped and sat back. “Och! Here I go, gabbling like a goose among swans. I am sure I am repeating what Robert has already told you.”
“No, you are not. Robert does not speak about any of the things I have done.”
Lady Margaret patted her hand. “Don’t think that means he has not noticed. He has had much on his mind of late. He has hardly been himself these past few months. There is so much responsibility resting on his young shoulders, and that, along with the everpresent knowledge that we could lose Beloyn, has made him hard and cynical.”
“You could lose Beloyn? It is your ancestral home. How could you lose it?”
“It was heavily mortgaged and somehow the papers fell into the hands of the Earl of Drummond.”
She gasped. “Not the English Earl of Drummond.”
Lady Margaret nodded. “Aye, do you know him?”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do. My father said Drummond is without equal. He is truly a despicable man—the most depraved creature…avaricious…coveting…dishonest.”
“It would appear we speak of the same man, a rapacious miscreant.”
“In Northumberland he was widely known for his unscrupulous ways. It is said that he will not be satisfied until he has all of the northern part of England in his grasp. I did not know his ravenous appetite extended as far as Scotland.”
“It is the Borders he is after.”
Meleri thought about the huge dowry she had, and could not help the pride she felt, knowing that it would prove to be the one thing that would save Beloyn. “How long do you have?”
“Drummond gave us three months. We have less than that now.”
“Do not worry about Drummond. My dowry is more than enough to take care of that snake. I am surprised Robert did not tell you about my dowry.”
“He is not aware I know about Drummond.” She turned her gaze upon Meleri. “Who would have thought it would be a slip of an English lass who would be the salvation of the Douglases? You have the heart of a Scot.”
“In truth, I am beginning to feel as though I do.” Meleri caught herself just in time, but not soon enough to prevent the telltale sign of embarrassment that she knew left her cheeks as bright as the blood that warmed them.
There was understanding in Lady Margaret’s eyes. “Do not be distressed by your claim. Having the heart of the truest Scot is more than being born here, or having a blood tie to those who were. It is more than frenzied outbursts of emotion. It is the steady and peaceful dedication of a lifetime. A true Scot loves with his heart, and not merely his lips. It is both loyalty and love—a feeling that will warm even the coldest of Presbyterian hearts. Those who have sacrificed part of themselves to their home or country understand what it is to be a true Scot. Only they, who fought to make it, struggled to keep it and stand together stoutly to preserve it, will understand the matter of oneness with the heart. Soon you will know you are a daughter of Scotland.”
Meleri felt warmed down to her toes. “In the short time I have been here I have come to think of Scotland as my home.”
“That is because you were destined to love your adopted land. It was all a matter of timing and readiness. Everything comes at its appointed hour, not by accident. What is inevitable is inescapable. We cannot forestall what must happen, even when we have a premonition that all is not well. Shakespeare said it best. ‘There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all.’”
After leaving Lady Margaret with Shakespeare, Meleri returned to the gallery. She felt restless and undecided—something that was apparent when she began to drum her fingers on a long table that had figures from mythology ornately carved along the sides and legs. She studied the figures, then named them, one by one.
It took some time, and once she identified all the legendary figures, she allowed her gaze to wander around the gallery.
Here, as elsewhere, there were signs of neglect. She stole a glance at the crumbling plaster ceiling Robert had pointed out.
She understood why no repairs had been made around the castle for years. Perturbed by its deplorable condition and the dilapidated state it was in, she was becoming more than a bit angry at that lackadaisical, unfeeling and totally unfair ghost. If he knew where the bloody riches were, why had he not shown some concern? After all, it had been, and still was, his home, too. She could only wonder where he would take up residence, once Beloyn had fallen into complete ruin.
She had more matters to keep her busy than worrying about a reclusive ghost, so she decided to spend the rest of the day occupying herself with some of them. In no time at all, she went after the castle as if it were spring and she was the most prudent of housewives, for soon the maids were airing out draperies and bed linens, while rugs were beaten free of their centuries of dust.
Stone floors were scrubbed, windows washed and light fixtures were dusted and cleaned. Before long, the fragrance of clean, fresh air mingled with the aroma of wax and lemon oil. Soon, every corridor and staircase, every room and cupboard, every nook and cranny would be inspected, scoured and rearranged, and the air heavy with the smell of furniture polish and soap. She planned to leave not one corner of Beloyn’s entirety overlooked.
The kitchen was next to the hall in the other rear corner of what had been, at one time, the inner ward. It contained huge ovens for baking, a fireplace for cooking and another for smoking meat. Along one wall was a storage area for wine and ale barrels. On the opposite wall, a livery cupboard stored salt vessels, dishes, pickles and spices. Behind the livery was a large pantry, where barrels of grains, vegetables and some cooking utensils were stored. Water was piped into a large stone sink from the cistern, which was located at the top of the corner tower. The cook and the kitchen help resided in a small apartment next to the kitchen.
Besides Gowan, Fingal, Agnes and herself, the twins had asked to join her, and much to Meleri’s surprise, Lady Margaret walked into the kitchen wearing an apron. At first, Fiona was sullen and uncooperative, but she soon warmed to the idea of having a clean place to work.
Meleri assigned everyone a task. “Gowan and Fingal can help me with the cleaning and setting the kitchen to order. Fiona, if you would work with Lady Margaret and the twins, perhaps you could take stock of the supplies and come up with a list of what we have and what we need.”
A different mood settled over the kitchen after that, as well as a cloud of dust. Every cupboard and drawer was emptied. The maids, who were working in other parts of the castle, were called in to help with the scrubbing and scouring of pots and pans, as well as washing down the walls and floors.
When everything was clean, they began the monumental task of restocking the pantry and shelves. Most of what they found was unidentifiable, stale, rotten or simply too mysterious to identify.
Ciorstag laughed when they finished, stating, “Taking stock of what we have didn’t take overlong, since we didn’t have much to take stock of!”
“Aye,” Lady Margaret said. “An empty larder is a clean larder.”
“At least we have a point to start from,” Meleri said. “I’ll take Fingal to the gardens with me to see what we can find there.”
Lady Margaret said she would work with Fiona on meal planning. Agnes, being a fair hand in the kitchen, stayed to work with them. Meleri and Fingal went into the kitchen garden, only to find what precious few vegetables there were had not been well tended. Weeds seemed to be both abundant and hearty. “Who is in charge of the gardens?” she asked.
“Finlay,” Fingal said. “He is also in charge of the horses and dogs.”
“That is too much for one man.” She looked around her, observing the overgrown condition of the garden, the dead trees in the orchard, the sparse, wilted clumps of herbs in the herb garden. “He obviously prefers horses and dogs to gardening.”
“Aye,” Fingal said with a grin, “he isna too fond of gardening.”
“Then it’s little wonder the gardens are suffering. Do you know of anyone who enjoys this sort of thing?”
“Aye, that would be Artair,” Fingal said.
“Who is Artair? What does he do?”
“He is in charge of livestock…cows, sheep and such.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well call him away from that.”
“Oh, he would be most happy to come if you called him to care for the gardens. He is no happy to be working with animals. He is a man of the earth.”
“But who would take care of the livestock?”
Fingal scratched his head. “Weel, the best man for that would be Lulach. He loves all the little beasties, you ken.”
“Lulach. That seems simple enough, then. We will ask Lulach to care for the livestock, and Artair to care for the gardens, and that will leave Finlay to care for horses and dogs. That would work out nicely, don’t you think?”
“Aye, save for one problem.”
“What problem would that be?”
“If Lulach cares for the livestock, who will do the fishing?”
“Of course, Lulach is in charge of fishing,” Meleri said, feeling as if she had been sucked into some sort of game that had no end.
“Aye, but he doesna care for fish, therefore he is no fond of fishing.”
Meleri released a long sigh. “Who would you recommend for fishing, then?”
“Murchadh. His father was a fisherman, an’ his father afoore him, an’ his father afoore him, an’…”
“His father afoore him,” Meleri finished.
“Aye.”
“And what does Murchadh do?”
“He gets drunk, mostly.”
“Drunk?”
“Aye, he’s in charge of the bothy where whisky is brewed.”
“He obviously loves that job.”
“Aye, he loves it too much. He would fare better fishing.”
“We’ll move him to fishing, then. Of course, we will have to find someone for the bothy. Preferably someone who does not drink.”
“Somerled is the most sober of Lord Douglas’s men. He doesna drink anything but water and sheep’s milk.”
“And what job would we be pulling Somerled away from if we put him in charge of the bothy?”
“Flocks.”
“Flocks?”
“Aye. Flocks.”
“Flocks of what?”
“Fowl. He tends the geese, ducks, chickens and sometimes the swans, when they agree to it.”
“Who would you suggest to tend flocks in his stead?”
“Old Torquil. He loves anything with feathers. I’ve heard he once fell in love with Lady Fleming’s hat because it was trimmed with pheasant feathers.”
“And of course old Torquil has a different job, one of great importance that we would have to find someone else to do. So, put me out of my misery and tell me what it is, exactly, that old Torquil does now?”
Fingal looked up at her with a gleam in his eye. “Nothing, mi-lady. He mostly sits around making proposals to all the young, single lassies.”
Meleri gasped. “Proposals? What kind of proposals?”
“Marriage,” Fingal said. “I hear he’s tired of being a bachelor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And just how old is old Torquil?”
“He admits to being ninety, but some folks say he is older than that.”
“Thank God,” Meleri said, “we have come to the end of that.”
“When do you plan to make the changes, milady?”
“Immediately, but before we do, I want you to tell me something. How did it happen that everyone is doing a job he does not care for? Who was the numskull who assigned them their tasks?”
“The earl did, milady.”
“Well,” she huffed, “he certainly didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Aye, he said as much himself.”
“He did?”
“Aye, when he first became earl, he didn’t know any more about being the lord of a castle than he did being overseer. He rode through the crowd of people who came to welcome him and as he passed, picked out a person to handle each job.”
“Without asking who had the most ability?”
“Aye.”
Meleri sent Fingal to make the changes in responsibility, praying that giving the jobs to those who had some interest in them would make the castle more productive.