Chapter 2
The great hall at Fernleigh was an ugly place, one that was in the process of being painted and refurbished.
The once brightly hued brick had been allowed to fade over the years to a dull gray.
Above him, the stained-glass window that must once have been magnificent, detailing the story of the first Drummond laird, had been left to neglect.
What panes weren’t damaged had been loosened by winter winds and summer storms. The stone floor was equally as ill cared for, being pocked and worn. A difficult place for him to walk.
Yet he wouldn’t have traded being here for anyplace on earth.
“What is it, Fergus?” Leah said, coming to stand beside him. Her hand trailed across the back of his neck, enough that his concentration ebbed. Smiling, Fergus McRae put the letter down on the table in front of him and reached for her.
“You’ll shock all the servants, my dearest,” she said, allowing him to pull her down on his lap.
Grinning, he bent to kiss her, and when that was done refused to release her once again. But then, she wasn’t trying to escape all that hard.
She was in his arms, as he’d dreamed all these years. Separated by war, they had found each other again only a year ago. They had waited to marry until her widow’s mourning was done, and the ceremony, mutually anticipated, would occur soon.
“It’s a letter from a friend of mine,” he explained, reaching for it and holding it open so that she might read it along with him. “It’s from Susanna McKinsey, my landlady when I lived in Cormech.”
One eyebrow rose, but Leah said nothing. Still, he caught the glint in her eyes.
“She was a friend, Leah,” he said, smiling gently at her. “And I felt like an uncle to her daughters.”
“What does she wish of you now, Fergus?”
“It seems as if one of her girls has gotten herself into trouble,” he said, frowning as he continued to read the letter. “Riona refuses to wed a young man who compromised her.”
“Is she of a nature to be led astray?”
He smiled, remembering Riona. “I’ve never thought her to be so.”
“What does Susanna want you to do?” Leah asked, not bothering to read the letter.
Instead, she concentrated on his features, staring at his face as if she couldn’t get enough of the sight of him.
She did that a great deal, and well he knew the feeling, since he’d often caught himself doing the same to her.
Neither one of them could quite believe in their good fortune in finding the other after all these years.
“The young man in question is not a match Susanna would have chosen, evidently. Yet at the same time, it seems that the other daughter’s betrothal is in jeopardy if scandal erupts.”
“It sounds as if there isn’t much choice for her.” Leah moved to a more comfortable position. Not for her, but for him. He had but one leg and a stump, and she was forever conscious of it, trying not to cause him pain or discomfort.
“She sounds like a willful girl,” Leah said.
“I knew another like her,” Fergus teased. “This girl met me in secret places because our parents disapproved.”
“And fell in love with you.” She stood, bent to kiss him full on the lips. “For that reason alone, I sympathize with the young man’s plight.”
“It’s not as simple as that, Leah,” he said, putting the letter on the table again and placing both his hands on either side of her waist. “Evidently, he is more enticed by Riona’s fortune than he is Riona. She knows that and refuses to marry him.”
Leah laid her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him for yet another kiss. He would never grow tired of kissing Leah, not after thirty years of missing even the sight of her.
“What is she to do if not marry?”
“Exactly Susanna’s dilemma. She wants me to come and see if I cannot talk some sense into the girl. Riona and I have a great fondness for each other.”
“Would you leave me so close to our wedding?” Leah asked carefully.
“No,” Fergus said firmly. “Not after all these years and not after all this waiting. Unfortunately, I cannot help her in this instance.”
She seemed to contemplate the matter. “Will you send her a letter to that effect, Fergus? Or choose a gentler way?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems a harsh thing to simply send her a letter explaining the matter. I believe you should send an emissary. Someone who would explain your absence so that she is neither hurt nor offended.”
“Who would you send, Leah?” he asked, amused. She had someone in mind or she would not have suggested it.
“James.”
His eyebrows rose. “James?” he repeated.
“Why not? Who else could plead your case so well?”
“And doing so would absent him from our wedding,” he said, understanding immediately.
She smiled, but the expression was tinged with sadness. “He cannot help but feel bad on such an occasion. Even though I bless him for saving my life.”
Perhaps it would be better if James were gone from Fernleigh on the occasion of their wedding. Taking a life was a difficult thing, regardless of how villainous the victim. The ceremony would, no doubt, remind James of the death he’d caused.
“If you can convince him to go,” she said, grabbing her basket. She’d been on her way to another room when she’d stopped to kiss him, and now her chore needed to be completed. She turned and glanced back at him, her expression amused. “He is as stubborn as you, my dearest.”
“A challenge, Leah?”
“If you choose to take it that way,” she said, and left the room with a swish of hips.
“He’ll do it,” Fergus announced to the empty room. “He’s family.”
Picking up the letter again, he read it once more, feeling Susanna’s worry in the words she hadn’t said.
He truly had no answers for her dilemma.
Foolish girls must pay for their foolishness.
Still, he found it difficult to believe that Riona had been so lax as to allow herself to become the source of scandal.
A person did not change character that much in the time since he’d seen her.
“You want me to do what?” James MacRae asked incredulously. “I can’t leave Gilmuir now; the hull of the new ship is being water tested.”
“It can wait a week or two,” his brother, Alisdair, said easily.
Their uncle, Fergus, sat between them, smiling. “That it can,” he said in agreement.
James looked at the two men with narrowed eyes.
The day was bright, the last of the sunshine pouring down into the unfinished great hall of Gilmuir Castle. A long scarred and well-used table had been moved into the space for the convenience of the workers, and it was here the three of them sat.
Once, the castle had sheltered generations of their clan, only to have fallen into ruin in the last thirty years.
Alisdair had it in his head to rebuild the old fortress.
The work, although having progressed for more than a year, was nowhere near complete.
The priory had been reroofed and the foundations shored up, and now scaffolding supported the stone masons as they built towering walls.
The constant ringing noise of chisel against stone resulted in frayed nerves and a fine mist of dust permeating everything around Gilmuir.
Once councils of war, gatherings to discuss raids and retribution, had been held in this place.
Along the south wall, his grandfather had sat in the great stone chair the MacRae lairds occupied when adjudicating punishment.
Flags and pennants had flown above long trestle tables, and torches flickered from sconces mounted in the brick.
Now there was nothing but rubble, the signs of construction obliterating any hint of a glorious past. Alisdair, the current laird, sat at the head of the table, Fergus to his left and James to Alisdair’s right.
Each man drank from a tankard—one of the first provisions to be purchased in Inverness had been supplies of excellent whiskey.
“What is this rush to send me from Gilmuir?” James asked.
“I wish you to do an errand for me,” Fergus said, his grin replaced by a frown. “A task that I would entrust to no other person but you. Or,” he amended with a glance at Alisdair, “your brother if he could be spared.”
“Chinese gunpowder could not move me from this place,” Alisdair announced. “Not with Iseabal so close to her time.”
“Nor would I ask it of you. Not when there is someone else who can help,” Fergus said, sending an irritated glance toward James.
James studied the other two men in silence.
Alisdair had an air of satisfaction about him nowadays, possibly because the work in the shipyards and the restoration of Gilmuir was going so well.
Or perhaps it was simply because he was married and happy, and Iseabal, his wife, was heavy with child.
Fergus looked equally as content, but then he was due to marry a rich widow soon.
Of the three of them, he was perhaps the most unsettled, both in temperament and in purpose.
A year ago, he’d captained his own ship, but he’d chosen to leave the sea, working at Alisdair’s side to create a shipyard in the cove below Gilmuir.
He’d been content for the most part, satisfied that the first MacRae ship was out of the design stage and into construction.
Yet now he felt curiously detached. Adrift.
Despite the fact that Gilmuir was the ancestral home of the MacRaes, he didn’t feel the tie to the castle that either of the other two men did.
The shipyard, although important and the source of his labor all these past months, failed to hold his continuing interest. Perhaps he missed the sea, although James doubted that was the reason for the dissatisfaction with his life.
Captaining one of the MacRae vessels had been a challenge, but he’d not been born for a life aboard ship like his brothers.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Offer my apologies to Susanna, explain that I’m to be married.”
He lifted an eyebrow and stared at both of them. “If all you want is a messenger, Uncle, send Rory.”