Chapter 6
“How long is he staying, Mother, and why is he staying at all?” Riona asked, as her mother closed the heavy front door behind the parson and Mrs. Dunant.
Mrs. Parker had retired for the night, and Maureen was in her room dreaming, no doubt, of the worthwhile Captain Hastings.
Their guest had likewise retreated to his chamber.
Susanna whirled and stared at her. “Is this what I get for spending all that money to have you educated in manners?” She swept past Riona, walking back into the dining room. Riona had no choice but to follow her.
“If so, I’ve not received my money’s worth at all,” Susanna said, moving the epergnes to the sideboard.
Riona felt a spurt of shame. “Forgive me, Mother. I only wished to know why he’s here.”
“Is it any of your concern?”
Taken aback, Riona could only stare at her mother. In the past, Susanna had never hesitated in sharing the business of the estate with her. In fact, she’d even come to ask her advice in certain matters, as if to second Old Ned’s recommendation.
“Evidently it’s not,” she said, stepping away from the table.
“Fergus sent him,” Susanna said, gathering up the used silver from the table and placing it in the basket Abigail held.
The cutlery would be the first to be washed, then dried and put back into the cedar-lined box for the next important occasion.
“He has agreed to help me with a problem I’ve been having. ”
“A problem?”
“Nothing you need be concerned about, Riona.”
“Is it Great Aunt Mary’s legacy?”
Her mother looked startled for a moment before quickly recovering. “No, do you wish there was a problem with it? Sometimes I think you would have been happier if there never had been a legacy.”
“I would have been content without Mrs. Parker,” Riona admitted, “and without those weeks in Edinburgh. But I would not have missed this year at Tyemorn.”
Susanna halted beside a chair and studied her. “Will you be happy living in Edinburgh?”
No, but the truth would serve no purpose in this instance. Riona dreaded the idea of moving to Edinburgh, but there was no question of living elsewhere. Harold had made that point clear the day he’d left Ayleshire.
“I’ll need to locate a place for us, of course,” he’d said matter-of-factly. “My bachelor quarters will never do. Something with a garden, perhaps? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Riona?”
She wouldn’t like it at all, but she’d only smiled, determined to be resigned to her fate.
After all, she had to marry someone. But the fact that her money would pay for his new style of living was rancorous.
Perhaps her mother was correct after all, and she wished that their newfound wealth would disappear.
“Then we’re not poor again?” she asked in an attempt at humor.
Susanna only smiled, continuing around the table removing the silver, inspecting the crystal, duties she hadn’t relinquished no matter how large or wealthy their household.
“Is there a problem with the farms?” she asked.
“Do not tax yourself, Riona,” Susanna said, reaching over and patting her arm. “It’s nothing that should worry you.”
In other words, her mother had no intention of telling her. Strange, since Susanna was very bad at keeping secrets.
“Let me help you,” Riona said, picking up a few of the plates and following her mother into the kitchen.
“Nonsense, this is my job, and Polly and Abigail and I will do it well enough. You should be readying yourself for bed since you rise at dawn.” Her mother’s words were uttered with a smile, an unspoken apology for the sharpness of her earlier comments.
Sleep, however, had been elusive for the past week. Instead of returning to her room, Riona grabbed a bannock from the tray on the table and left the kitchen by the side door.
Walking away from the house, she took the path leading up around the barn to a spot overlooking the pastures.
She began to stroll between the night-shrouded trees, feeling the heat of the day still present in the dirt beneath her shoes.
At Cormech, she’d never noticed the seasons in the way she did here, or felt so close to the earth.
A bird called and was answered; a few crickets chirped a greeting. The gardener’s dog barked from his cottage on the other side of the manor house. Night sounds that comforted her. She’d left her shawl behind in the dining room, but the night was warm, the breeze gently brushing against her cheek.
The bannock was a poor substitute for dinner. When it was gone she wished for another, but was in no hurry to return to the kitchen.
Staring up at the stars, Riona wished that the moon was full. Instead, it was only a crescent, half obscured by wafting clouds.
She’d acted the fool again, hadn’t she? She should have remained mute instead of saying anything that popped into her head.
What had happened to her? Her sister’s politeness had grated on her, Maureen’s gentle welcome of James MacRae acting as an irritant.
She loved her sister, and Maureen had done nothing more than either of them had been taught to do—converse politely on a variety of subjects while complimenting a man every other sentence.
Riona should have acted in the same manner.
Instead, she’d been almost rude.
“It’s not as if I wanted to act the idiot,” she explained to the moon. Evidently, there was something about James MacRae that brought out the worst in her. At least she’d not spilled soup on her bodice. “Please, let him leave soon.” Less a plea to the stars, she realized, than a prayer.
“I think now is a good time to announce myself,” James said, stepping out from behind one of the trees.
She felt a prickling of embarrassment, but reassured herself that he couldn’t know she’d spoken of him. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Riona stared at the dark shadow emerging from the grove.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, then winced at the abruptness of the question. “Could you not sleep?” There, she sounded almost polite.
“I’m used to more activity than I’ve had today.”
She nodded, understanding. While in Edinburgh, she’d found herself constantly restless simply for that reason. Being an heiress didn’t require very much effort.
“I would give you a chore to do,” she said, “but the cows have all been milked and the animals fed.”
“Perhaps a walk is all I need.” There was amusement in his voice, and for the first time tonight, she smiled genuinely.
“This path leads to the top of the hill. At night there’s a lovely breeze.”
“Would it be proper to ask you to come with me?”
A hundred responses came to her lips, but they all fell beneath a greater truth. She was betrothed, and being here alone with him was vastly improper.
“No,” she said, acting wiser than she wished to be, “it wouldn’t.”
“Because you’re about to be married.”
“It would be untoward at any time.”
“Then I shall leave you,” he said. The shadow moved and she wondered if he bowed to her.
“My father was a sailor,” she said, in order to keep him here. “He died at sea. I always wished that he would stay at home, but he told me once that a man is born to be what he will, and neither wishes nor weeping will ever keep him from it.”
“A wise man, your father.”
He said nothing further, and she smiled again. Must she pluck the words from him? Very well, it was little enough penance for her earlier rudeness.
“Do you not miss the sea?”
“I’ve been a builder for the past year, but that does not mean I’ve given up my occupation.”
Riona decided that she preferred James MacRae in the darkness rather than in daylight. With only the quarter moon as illumination, she wasn’t flummoxed by his attractiveness, didn’t wonder at the color of his eyes, and wasn’t rendered wordless by his smile.
“Rebuilding your castle?” She wondered if he were punishing her after all, or if James was simply not used to speaking of himself. That would be refreshing after the men she’d met in the last five weeks.
“The castle is Alisdair’s. I’ve been occupied with the shipyard.”
“You’ve been building ships?”
“For a time.”
For a time. A tenuous answer, leaving the future open and uncertain. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would return to Nova Scotia one day, but it was a question she would not ask.
“What kind of ships are you building?”
“For the India trade, mainly. Perhaps for the Orient.”
“All ocean vessels.”
“The fastest ships afloat.” He turned, facing toward the house.
“Forgive me,” she said, the words released from the depths of her conscience. “I was rude earlier.”
“I found your comments refreshing. Perhaps it’s being raised with all my brothers, but I find total agreement suspect.”
“While I have been lectured on the advisability of never speaking a cross word.”
“Perfect harmony might be pleasant for a few days, but a lifetime of it would be dull. I would much prefer honesty to politeness, Riona.”
He spoke her name slowly, extending the syllables until it sounded almost foreign. Or perhaps it was simply his accent that made it sound so exotic.
She wanted to ask him to say her name again, but that would be another forbidden act. Even standing here with him in the darkness would be frowned upon if others knew about it. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to move or return to the house.
“Tell me about your castle,” she said, walking to the side of the path. There an old oak stood, once struck by lightning and now growing in an odd shape, the heavier branches low to the ground. She leaned against the trunk, watched his shadow as he followed her to rest one hand against a branch.
“Not mine as much as Alisdair’s. If affection is ownership, he is the rightful heir to Gilmuir.”
“But you share its history, do you not? Will you tell me of it?”
“What I know comes from tales my father and mother told,” he said. “The castle itself is at least five hundred years old, but it was built on the site of another structure, one that predates it by several hundred years. A shrine, I believe, the home of Ionis the Saint.”
His resonant voice carried well. She found herself leaning back against the tree, staring up at the sky as he spoke.
“My ancestor saw the promontory, the story goes, and decided that it would be a good defensive site for a fortress. There are those among my clan who would tell you that God looked after the MacRaes on that long-ago day, and ever since. That we are a prized group of Scots, fierce and fabled.”
“But you don’t think so?” she asked, smiling.
“I do. After all, I’m a MacRae.”
“You MacRaes are not guilty of pride, are you?” she teased.
“One of our overweening faults,” he said easily, but there was a tinge of humor in his voice.
“I envy you your heritage. My father had no siblings, and my mother’s family immigrated to the colonies. There are few McKinseys left to whom we can claim kin.”
“While there are plenty of MacRaes.”
“Tell me about them,” she said, then realized she’d phrased her request wrongly. She should, if she’d been as avid a student of Mrs. Parker as Maureen, batted her eyes at him and implored in a soft and sweet voice, “Pray do tell me all about them.” Instead, she’d blurted out the words.
Perhaps in her sleepless hours she should practice her tact.
“There is my brother Alisdair and his wife, Iseabal; my Uncle Fergus, whom you know. The rest of our clan are sailors who have chosen, like me, to temporarily retire from the sea. My other brothers, Hamish and Brendan, both have their own ships while my youngest brother, Douglas, alternates and travels with either of them.”
She should not be thinking of a man’s voice, of the way he said his words. Nor should her heart be beating so wild and free.
Riona looked toward the house, knowing that she should leave.
Wanting to remain here was foolish. Why?
To become more certain that she liked him?
To become enchanted by the sound of his voice?
To be amused by his tales or charmed by his self-deprecating humor?
No, it was better to leave now and limit her association with James MacRae until he was gone from Tyemorn Manor or she was married.
“I must return,” she softly said. “And you must continue your walk.”
“Yes.” He remained a motionless shadow against the branch.
Twice she looked back at him as she headed homeward. Regret was an emotion she’d learned well, but it had never seemed as sharp or painful as it did now.