Chapter 16
ELEANOR WRINKLED HER brow in thought, rolling the word through her mind.
She’d heard Keir call her his hen as he spoke to a farmer they’d come upon.
The term melted on his lips, easing off his tongue as if they were a long-married couple.
Now Keir motioned to her, wanting the brooch itself to show the farmer.
She handed it down, noticed how the farmer eyed her breeches, then the bonnet she’d hastily retied when they’d trotted up the lane and seen the old man in the field.
“Aye,”
the farmer’s gravelly voice carried on the wind that had come up, “this belongs to the widow’s son. Yonder.”
He swung an arm north.
“Nay doubt they’ll be happy to have ye return it.
’Tis a prized possession, worth more to the lad and his mum than all the world, so says me woman.”
He chuckled.
“But I pay dearly fer listenin’ to her.
She can talk the legs off a donkey, ye ken.”
He handed the brooch back and scratched his beard.
“I’m to wonderin’ what’s holdin’ the lad’s kilt closed wi’out that pin.”
Keir talked a little longer with the farmer, gathering the proper directions in fits and bits as the man, hungry to speak to someone, took his time telling him how to find the widow and lad.
Eleanor noticed Keir covertly retrieving a coin from his sporran as he listened to the farmer.
He let it drop by his boots, then nodded gratefully for the information, doffed his hat, and came back to the horses.
Keir remounted, gave the farmer a friendly wave, and clicked his tongue to get Copper moving.
“Keir,”
Eleanor said once they were a good distance away, “I saw what you did … leaving him a coin to find in his field.”
“Och, ’twas but a wee bit o’ charity.
He’s late in his plantin’ and dinnae have ’nough seeds.”
She smiled to herself.
Thought about that kiss.
They trotted a little further before she asked, “Why did you let him believe my brooch was the lad’s?”
His shoulders moved in a quick shrug.
“We’re beyond the reach of Castle Caladh and now on the lands under protection of Castle Kilmahew.”
He glanced at Eleanor.
“Ye may have met the Laird and Lady Kilmahew at the greetin’ time the Beldorneys had fer ye.
Ye remember the lads that were lookin’ fer ye in the stable? They said they’d been learnin’ a gamblin’ game from the Kilmahew liveryman.”
She nodded and he went on.
“Gamblin’ and gamin’ are makin’ poor folks poorer here.”
He sniffed at the air.
“Smell that? Smoke from a cookin’ fire.”
He slowed Copper.
Eleanor reined her mare in and stopped.
“Which way?”
To her right a scraggly vineyard crossed the landscape, the vines twisted along the heather-stem cords strung to support them.
Keir pointed, a dimple playing on his cheek.
“The farmer said to take the narrower, left-hand path at the grapes.
We’ll walk the horses in.
A lone widow may be scairt to see three horses come a’trottin’ up the way.”
Suddenly Eleanor’s heart jumped.
Was this it? Was this the moment she’d meet her mother? Could this widow be the woman she was searching for? Her mind brought forth the portrait of Mary Ainsworth Fletcher that hung on her bedroom wall, that she’d stared at many times and especially the last night she spent at Ingledew.
She drew in a sharp breath, pricked by the memory.
Would she recognize her mother? Would her hair still be autumn brown or turned to winter grey? Would her face now be lined with wrinkles?
And then she thought: widow! Her mother must have married again, had a son, forgotten all about her.
And of course, Mary Ainsworth Fletcher would not recognize a grown up Eleanor.
“El,”
Keir’s voice cut through her thoughts, “are ye gonnae whitey?”
She didn’t understand.
“Ye look sick, lass.
Are ye gonnae spew yer guts?”
She dropped the reins, slid off the saddle, and did exactly what Keir had predicted.
Keir jumped down and raced to the other side of the mare, knelt by Eleanor, and put an arm around her shaking shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, lass.
I made it worse.
I dinnae think.
O’ course ye’d be nervous to make such a momentous arrival.”
He gave her a squeeze.
“Can ye stand?”
She nodded and he helped her up.
“I’ll get ye some bread Elspeth sent wi’ me and some wine to swish about yer mouth.”
He left her for but a moment as he retrieved the items.
The horses weren’t fazed by the flurried and flustered riders and bent their noses to the fresh sprouts beside the lane.
“I should change into skirts,”
Eleanor whispered.
She mumbled more advice to herself, trying to calm down.
“I wish Hannah were here.”
***
KEIR TURNED HIS back and kept watch on the road as Eleanor changed into something more appropriate.
They would have to walk the horses in; he hoped it wasn’t too far down the lane, but he thought not, since the smell of the smoke was strong.
The widow’s home—hovel, he suspected—should be close.
The thought of El meeting her mother stirred feelings in him of his own mother, her hands on his face, the discipline she’d dealt him with nothing more than a harsh look, the pride she’d displayed at his every accomplishment.
He missed her mightily.
“Ready?”
he prompted Eleanor after a few minutes.
When she didn’t answer, he turned to see that she was changed and already several yards down the path, well out of earshot.
He gathered the horses’ reins and followed after her, not rushing to catch up, letting her be first to arrive.
When she rounded a turn where chimney smoke was thickest above the trees, he quickly tied the horses to the nearest branch, and sprinted after her, slowing when she was in his sights again.
“Hello!”
he heard her cry out toward the wood and stone cabin—larger than he expected—that appeared at the end of the narrow lane.
He watched her stand firmly, clutching the brooch, peering all around.
Seconds ticked by.
Finally, barely disturbing the anxious quiet of the two of them, came the unmistakable sound of a latch being drawn.
Keir’s eyes darted from Eleanor to the door.
“Who are you?”
came the answering call from the two inches of space the door had opened.
“I’m Eleanor … Eleanor … your daughter.”
Keir’s throat tightened at the catch he detected in Eleanor’s voice.
He stayed perfectly still, out of the line of sight of whoever was at the door.
It opened wider.
A shabbily dressed person stepped out, barefoot, wearing breeches and a loose shirt, hair pulled back at the nape of the neck.
To say this person was the spitting image of Eleanor would be to deny the gap of twenty or so years between them.
And to further confuse things, Keir was not sure if this was a woman or a man.
She—or he—strode forward, stopped abruptly and stared.
Now Keir could make more comparisons.
Same height.
Same build as Eleanor.
Was this the lad Fenella had met, now grown? A half-brother to Eleanor? Or was this her mother, disguised to appear mannish when alone in the dangerous Kilmahew territory?
“Eleanor?”
The voice broke.
This was a woman, after all.
No man would shed so many tears, so quickly, or drop to knees and then to all fours to keen such sorrowing cries.
Then spill more tears, tears of joy.
***
ELEANOR RUSHED FORWARD, fell on her mother’s sobbing body, and embraced her.
As she repeated the one word she thought she’d never say, “Mother, Mother,”
the woman uttered “Ellie, oh Ellie,”
with such passion that Eleanor thought her heart might burst.
The first few moments were spent on their knees, then Eleanor lifted her mother up and they stood, still embracing.
They swayed back and forth, hugging each other more and more tightly.
“Oh, Eleanor, Eleanor, I’m so, so sorry.”
At last the woman loosened her grip and leaned back enough to get a better look at her daughter.
“However did you find me?”
She brought her fingers to Eleanor’s bonnet and loosened the ties, pushed the bonnet back, and studied her daughter’s face.
She ran her fingers over Eleanor’s ears, and traced the line of her jaw.
Eleanor tipped her head at the touch, looked downward, and whispered, “Lady Beth told me you went to Scotland … she gave me this … said you had the matching one.”
Her mother’s eyes went to Eleanor’s chest and the brooch pinned there.
“Aye,”
she moaned, sounding a bit more Scottish than English in that word.
“A gift from your father.”
She said no more, but caught sight of movement up the lane.
“There’s a man!”
“It’s all right.
That’s Keir McKelvey.
He helped me find you.
His sister saw a lad wearing this … at a fair?”
Eleanor watched her mother’s face relax, the edges of her lips trembled with a smile, and her whole demeanor changed to one of embarrassment.
“Oh, Eleanor, I’m so sorry you found me dressed like this.”
“I don’t mind, Mother.
I spent a dozen years dressed as a stable boy myself.”
She gulped back a laugh.
“I only changed into this dress a few minutes ago.”
She ran a hand across the green velvet trim, then waved at Keir to come closer.
When he got six feet away, Keir stopped and bowed deeply, “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Mary Ainsworth Fletcher.”
The woman’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, shh … shh … ye mustn’t give me away.
I am Mary Rose Macfarlane, widow of Ross Macfarlane.
Please dinnae gi’ me away tuh nary a soul.”
She stressed the accent developed in the years here then whispered in perfect English, “Come inside, both of you.
We have much to tell each other.”
***
ELEANOR WASN’T SURE why her mother was shushing them not to speak her real name when they were off the main road, down a lane, and so close to the woman’s home.
Who would hear? They entered the cabin and she knew who immediately.
In a thick Scottish brogue, her mother spoke to the lad lying on a pallet by the fireplace, “Rise ye lazy dog.
Up wi’ ye, Colin.
’Tis past noon.”
She squatted next to him and slapped his rump.
In a lower voice she hissed, “We’ve company, lad.
I need ye tuh fetch us some water from the creek.
Ye hear me?”
The boy rolled over and grunted, opened his eyes, and saw Keir first.
He jerked the rest of the way awake and sprang to his feet, almost knocking his mother over.
He clutched possessively at the pin on his kilt.
“’Tis a’right,”
she soothed him, rubbing his arm, “they be friendly.
Jist get some water.
Fer tea.
Take two buckets.”
The lad’s eyes never left Keir’s face until he reached the door, then a quick glance at Eleanor seemed to stun him even more.
He visibly gulped and slipped out the door.
Mary motioned for Keir and Eleanor to sit on the bench.
Eleanor took a moment to survey the room.
Its size and general rustic nature reminded her of Thomas’s cabin, where she first met Keir, but here there were beautiful embroidered cushions on the wooden chairs and the bench.
The table was covered with squares of fabrics and a bowl filled with needles and threads.
There were drapes hung at the windows, something Thomas’s cabin did not have, and decorations on the walls to beautify the home.
“Did you do that painting, Mother?”
Eleanor stared at the unframed picture of the hills of Ingledew.
There were two figures in the forefront.
She thought she might know who they were meant to be, one a man, one a small child.
“Aye … yes,”
she chuckled, “you’ll have to excuse me … my … tongue.
I’ve hidden my English vowels for so long that I believe myself to actually be Mary Macfarlane, widow.”
“You’re not a widow?”
Eleanor was thankful for the silent warmth of Keir sitting next to her.
Mary turned a chair toward them and sat down.
“Well, yes, of course.
But Ross Macfarlane is a made-up name.
I’ll tell ye … you … the short of it, but as soon as the lad returns, so does my Scottish way of speakin’.”
She folded her hands upon the lap of her breeches and crossed her bare feet at the ankles.
“The longer story is a sad one, starting with the day I had to leave you, Eleanor.
I never meant to be gone for more than a week.
I was coming back to take you to America.
I was married to your father, but the palace claimed it was not a legal marriage.
When he died … he left me some money and I had enough to arrange passage to America.
I came to Scotland … I was robbed … beaten.”
Eleanor leaned a bit into Keir’s shoulder.
“How awful.
Could you not send word to Lady Beth? Surely she would have helped you.”
Mary hung her head.
“Lady Beth … yes, Elizabeth, my half-sister.
I did write, but the return letter was from Clive … Lord Edgeworth.
He threatened to … well, never mind.
He let Beth raise you, but refused to send me support.”
She peered at Eleanor.
“But you look to be well turned out.
Accomplished, no doubt.”
Eleanor huffed.
“Barely.
She kept me hidden.
I wasn’t telling tales when I said I dressed as a stable boy for most of my life.”
She pulled off her bonnet and shook out her hair.
“It’s only begun to grow out this last year.”
Keir took hold of her hand and she looked in his eyes for a moment, enough time to see his complete acceptance of her.
“But …”
Eleanor looked back at her mother, “you must have married again.”
Slowly, Mary shook her head from side to side.
“The lad doesn’t know, was too young to remember, but his real parents died of the pox ten years ago.
I took him in.
Raised him as my own.”
She lapsed back into her adopted speech, “’Twould kill’im tuh ken the truth.
Proud he is.
I gave him the brooch to close his kilt, told him ’twas a gift of his long-dead pa.
The stories I tell’im of his father are true stories, but they’re of yer father, Eleanor.”
She began to weep and Eleanor left the bench to pull a second chair next to her.
She sat close and tried to comfort her mother.
Keir rose.
“I’ll see if I can help the lad with those buckets.”
He closed the door quietly behind himself.
Mary sniffled, wiped her face with her blousy sleeve.
“Seems a proper high-born Scot that’s brought ye here.”
It was Eleanor’s turn to explain a few things.
But first she re-pinned her brooch to the inside of her bodice, out of sight for when the lad returned.
***
KEIR WENT TO untie the horses and took them down the path he found behind the cabin.
It led to a fast-running brook.
The buckets were full and sitting on a flat rock, but the lad was ankle-deep in the water, bent over with fingers splayed under the surface.
Keir made himself known with a preamble of coughs and grunts; Copper added a snuffled snort.
He held the horses’ reins as they drank their fill, then tied them up again before addressing the lad.
“I believe yer mum wished the water fer tea.
Shall I carry them back fer ye?”
The boy looked up, shook the water from his hands, and said, “Ye’re nay from here aboot, are ye? Yer tartan, I cannae say I’ve seen that plaid ’afore.
Are ye a MacDougal or a Duncan?”
“Nay, I’m Keir McKelvey of Castle Caladh.”
He gave the boy a simple bow, his dark hair falling forward, his big hands brushing it back.
“Eldest son of Laird Finley McKelvey.”
Colin cocked his head, squinted, and returned to what he was doing in the shallows.
“Ha! Got one.”
A quick flick out of the water and into the air sent a silvery minnow to the shore. “Bait.”
“Aye.
Ye’re a fisherman, are ye?”
Keir removed his boots and joined Colin in the frigid water.
“I’m the man o’ the house since me pa died.
Pox, it was, me mum says.
She was a fine lady once, but we’ve come upon hard times.
She sews and I fish when I can.
Mostly I work in the cotton mill.
’Tis a long walk and mum only lets me go three days a week, when she’s willin’ tuh work there, too.”
Keir nodded.
“’Tis hard labor, indeed.”
The boy tossed two more minnows to shore as he agreed.
“’Tis.
But we work through the night and earn enough to buy bannocks and thread.
She pretends to be me older brother.”
“Ah,”
Keir scooped a handful of tiny fish and helped them fly to shore, “and so ye sleep on the floor and miss the daylight.”
“Sometimes.”
Colin eyed Keir again.
“Where is Castle Caladh?”
Keir pointed past the horses.
“A day’s ride south.
Well past the lands of Kilmahew.”
Colin scowled at the name.
“I hate them.”
He splashed his way out of the shallows and stepped up onto the rocks at the shore without an explanation for his comment.
Keir thought it best not to pry, but perhaps an innocent question would calm the lad.
“How old are ye?”
“Mum says I’m a man though I won’t be thirteen till winter next.”
Keir stepped out of the water.
“We have a dozen for bait here.
Where are yer hooks?”
Colin reached up into the crook of an old tree.
He showed Keir his hooks and the woven threads his mother had braided into strong twine.
Then he revealed his favorite spot to stand to throw the hooks out into the deepest water.
He handed two lines to Keir.
They fished in silence.
***
ELEANOR FINISHED TELLING her mother of her sudden change of circumstance, of finally being allowed to dress as a girl, only to be escorted to Scotland by Luxbury to learn the courtly manners.
Mary tisked her tongue as her daughter summarized the plot to kill the queen, make her marry the king, and then have him dethroned.
Mary let her breath out and smiled when Eleanor assured her she would never follow through on such a radical scheme.
Next, she recounted her successive adventures, from being attacked by highwaymen to being kidnapped by a phony ship inspector to meeting Keir and then his sister, Fenella.
Her mother sat in rapt attention, holding both of Eleanor’s hands.
“’Twas God’s will this Fenella told you of Colin’s brooch.
’Tis the most precious thing we own and he kens it … he knows it.
Must have shown it off at the fair.
So proud, he was.”
Eleanor continued her tale, describing the Beldorney estate, and often referring to her dear friend, Hannah.
She skimmed over the part about the kirk and the priest and the tragedy there, but described how she and Keir were captured by Luxbury and his soldiers.
Mary was intrigued and mentioned God’s providence again that the soldiers would end up taking them to Keir’s own home, Castle Caladh.
Eleanor nodded, considered the coincidence a moment then spoke of the comfort she got from another of Keir’s sisters, Rory.?
“And this McKelvey, ye say ye married him, but there’s no proof now?”
She glanced toward the fireplace mantel.
“Do ye love him?”
Eleanor nodded.
“We never said the vows, the priest died suddenly.
We had a parchment, but Bernard burned it.”
Mary’s blue eyes sharpened.
“But ye will find another kirk, won’t ye? Ye cannae … you cannot roam the highlands with such a man without the benefit of a clergyman blessing yer union.”
“It was more important to me that I find you.
And now that I have—”
Mary abruptly rose and went to the mantel.
She opened a long box and retrieved a parchment, rolled tight and tied with thread.
“Can ye read? Did Lady Beth teach ye?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor watched her mother’s fingers untie the thread.
“Me boy cannae … cannot … read.
He thinks this bears the signature of his own pa, but o’ course it does not.
Here’s yer proof that ye’re a princess, truly.”
She spread out the parchment as well as a smaller document rolled inside the larger one.
“Our marriage document, mine and my precious love’s, your father.
And here’s yer baptism certificate.”
Eleanor stared at the unexpected document.
The ink was smeared in spots, but someone had carefully written her name in a flowing script she could decipher.
It was the first time she saw her complete name.
She put a hand to her chest and squeezed the brooch beneath the fabric of her dress.
Her eyes lingered over the looping lines.
Eleanor.
Eleanor Mary Fletcher Hanover.
It thrilled her and just as deeply frightened her.
Lady Beth had warned her of documents she must destroy.
She knew in her heart that she must do a most terrible thing.
And the sooner the better.
Her eyes strayed to the fireplace.
The door opened and Colin burst in with a smile and a bucket of fish.
Keir followed carrying the other bucket, sloshing the water.
Eleanor threw him a look that made him set the bucket down immediately and stride to her side.
She lifted the parchments and drew his attention to the signatures.
Mary alternated between praising Colin for the hearty catch of fish and scolding him for bringing them inside.
She shooed him and the fish out the door, but before he left, he saw what held Keir’s interest.
“Why are ye showin’ ’em me papers, mum?”
He whipped his head around, neck craning.
Mary’s tone and cadence changed.
“Out wi’ ye, lad.
’Tis nay concern o’ yers.
Clean the nasty wee beasties and I’ll make a fish stew fer our guests.”
Colin grumbled and slammed the door on his way out.
Eleanor immediately took the baptismal certificate and threw it on the fire.
It crackled and burned.
The edges curled.
The smoke danced and the sparks shot upward.
“Heavens!”
Mary gasped.
“’Twas all I had left o’ me daugh— … of you, Eleanor.”
“You have me now, Mother, but I shan’t be coerced into being a princess, not if there’s no proof of my parentage.
Lady Beth warned me to destroy it.”
Keir put his arm around Eleanor, alarmed by the crimson surging into her face, and aimed a sympathetic frown at Mary.
“Ma’am, ye should destroy yer marriage parchment as well.”
Mary looked from Keir to Eleanor to the fire and then to the parchment.
She picked it up and stared at it, as if memorizing a face, then crumpled it and threw it into the flames.
To Eleanor she said, “You are a princess no more.
Stay with me or … or go with him and live a happy life, my sweet little Eleanor.”
Tears formed on her lashes.
She dabbed at them, schooling her breath.
She was not the only one to choke up.