Chapter Twenty-Two
Steady rain pattered the window glass in the library, providing a layer of soothing sound while Catriona transcribed some songs.
Seated in a leather wing chair, she gazed now and then through a set of tall windows.
Beyond the fine sheets of rain and sweeping lawns and forestland, she saw the mountains swathed in mist and a vast sky filled with clouds.
The library, located in the same wing as her room and not far from the passage to the dining room, was not large, though it was cozy.
The walls were lined with bookshelves and divided by tall windows at one end and pocket doors at the other.
Walls and shelves were painted a quiet green, the chairs were covered in worn sherry-colored leather, the floors were scattered with beautiful old rugs, and the windows that framed the landscape were draped in dark-green velvet.
Standing by a long-curtained window in Kildonan’s quiet, cozy library, Catriona watched a carriage speed away from the castle drive in a misty rain.
Inside were Aedan MacBride, Lady Jean, and Sir Harry, off to the harbor at Kyle of Lochalsh to sail over to the Isle of Skye.
Aedan had business there, while Evan’s sister and her husband planned to spend a few days in a resort hotel in Broadford before all three would return to Edinburgh together.
Out in the corridor, she heard footsteps, chatter, and the sound of Jemima’s husky laughter.
Some of Evan’s guests were preparing for a day’s trek to Loch Torridon, taking a carriage due to the rain.
Lady Wetherstone was confined to her bed with a dose of laudanum for headache, and Catriona had excused herself too, pleading fatigue and letters to write.
Mr. Grant had offered to act as their guide, and that was her chief reason for avoiding the outing. She had closed herself in the library, not wanting to even see Grant so soon after spending the night in Evan’s arms. Nothing could be allowed to spoil that.
She returned to the oak table where she had spread out some of the pages with her song lyrics and notations.
Of all the rooms at Kildonan, including her serene bedroom, she liked the shabby comfort of the old library best, with only the ticking of a mantel clock and the crackle of a fire in the hearth to fill the peaceful silence.
Then a knock sounded on the door. As Evan stepped inside, her heart gave a quick, girlish flutter. She smiled as he came near.
“My lass, pardon me,” he murmured. “I know you are busy. I need but a moment.”
“Anything.” She wondered, with a twinge of anxiousness, if he wanted to talk to her about Finlay. Her elbow scattered some papers, which spilled to the floor.
Evan bent to retrieve the pages and hand them to her. “Reverend Wilkie said they are looking forward to attending services at Glenachan tomorrow morning. We’ll all be going, I suppose, so we’ll arrange carriages.”
She felt a tug to realize that she missed her father, despite the bad episode surrounding her hasty marriage. “Papa conducts prayers and the reading of The Book in the morning before service,” she said. “I will be expected.”
“Then we’ll go early. The others can meet us there.”
“Good.” Grateful for his show of respect for her family, she was also relieved that he had not mentioned Finlay or the tenants.
“Are you rewriting the songs we had to burn to keep warm?” His eyes gleamed as he smiled. She smiled too as the memory of that night brought a swirl of excitement.
“I’ve done those, and now I’m writing down what Morag MacLeod taught me lately.”
“I see. How many songs do you have in total now?” He sifted some of the pages.
“About hundred and thirty songs copied in Gaelic and English with musical notations and any background that I’ve learned about the songs.”
“I am proud of you, lass. Is it nearly done?”
“I do not think it will ever be complete. There must be thousands of songs in the Highlands and Islands. No one knows for sure. It might take a lifetime to discover most of them. Most of the ones I have come from the northwest Highlands. I hope to expand that.”
He nodded. “No wonder you are adamant about staying in the Highlands.”
“I must, Evan. For the songs and for other reasons, I cannot easily leave here.”
“Though when you’ve gathered the songs you want, you could work on refining the pages here or in Edinburgh. In the city, I could introduce you to publishers who would be very interested in your collection.”
She stilled, standing beside him. “You are still thinking about selling.”
Reaching an arm around her shoulders, he drew her to him. “My love,” he murmured, “we agreed on peace for a while. We can discuss it some other time. And when I mention the city,” he added, “I do not mean we would be there always. I go back and forth. We could too.”
“If we still have Kildonan,” she said crisply.
“Hush for now. Later for all that, aye?” He kissed his fingertip and set it to her lips.
“Fine. But I was not thinking of publishing the songs, just capturing them.”
“I understand. But Scottish ballads are very popular now, along with all else Scottish, thanks to Queen Victoria and her love of the Highlands. You could share them with a wide audience. They could be played and sung and appreciated by others.”
“I could. But Scotland has been prettified for the public,” she pointed out.
“I do not want to see that diminish these songs. They are an important part of our history, and part of the old Celtic nature of the Highlands. When I started this, I wanted to continue my mother’s effort to preserve the music, with our culture disappearing.
” She sighed. “If you had spent more time in the Highlands, you would have heard more of this exquisite music.”
“I wish I had. Let me show you something.” With his arm around her, he guided her across the room to the fireplace. Over the mantel hung a large family portrait, a couple and two small children. She had noticed it before and wondered about it.
“This was done when Jean and I were young, when they were still together.”
The painting showed the parents and children in an outdoor setting.
Far in the distance, Kildonan Castle and the mountains were softly painted in muted gold and blue, while the parents stood in the foreground in an open grove of trees.
Catriona had never met his parents and was very curious as she tilted her head to study the picture.
His father was a handsome man with a tall, bullish build, dark hair with touches of gray, and though he was stockier than his son, he resembled Evan in the chiseled planes of his face and his dark eyes, though Evan’s were green rather than brown.
But in the puckered brow and downturned mouth, she saw discontent rather than fondness as the man gazed at the children.
She saw a critical expression, which made her frown.
Yet Lady Kildonan, young, slim, brown haired, and graceful in a silver-sheened gray gown, seemed his opposite. Her smile as she watched her children play brightened her blue eyes and gave her an almost angelic air.
The children, Evan and Jean, playing on the ground with a spinning top and a ball while a little terrier panted between them, were small and beautiful.
Both wore lacy white dresses; little Evan’s outfit had a plaid sash, while tiny Jean had a blue bow in her curls.
If she and Evan had children one day, Catriona mused, perhaps they would resemble these two impish and happy babes. She smiled and looked up.
“What a perfect family,” she said.
“Until she left him, aye.” He sighed. “My parents were both strong-willed, and she still loves the Highlands as much as you do. And she is still active in ladies’ charities that benefit Highlanders, though she is abroad just now.
Mother will adore you, I think. Jean wrote to tell her that you are wonderful, and I included a note to say the same. ”
“Oh, thank you.” She felt warmed by that.
“But when I was ten or so, Mother greatly disagreed with my father’s plan for the estate.
He intended to fill it with sheep runs and create hunting reserves to rent out, thus expanding his fortune but changing the glen.
And she hated his coldness toward his tenants, but she could do nothing to stop him.
He could be harsh and critical,” he went on, “yet he loved her in his way. She was charming, kind, and still is. Father grew even more disagreeable when she left. If he had softened his unbreakable pride and ego, he might have changed for the better. He could never admit he was wrong. But she might have stayed. And then I would know the music of the glens. And I would have known you sooner.”
“Perhaps so. I am glad to discover that his son does not have his lesser qualities.”
“I hope that is the case. I do hope I have his intellect and determination.”
“That, and a very stubborn quality, I am guessing.”
He chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Thinking of the tender passion she had felt in his arms, delicate thrills of pleasure sank through her. She felt safe and wanted in his embrace. She felt loved.
Yet she knew he had secrets—the incident at the bridge, so long ago, had altered him, knocked a hole in his life, yet he hardly spoke of it. She had secrets too.
He tipped his head. “Catriona, let me ask you something.” At her nod, he continued. “Years ago, on the day my father evicted hundreds of people from the glen,” he said low, nearly a growl, “I was there.”
“I know. I saw you. You were on horseback, talking with him.”
“I was so angry that day. We fought bitterly, and he justified his actions in ways that made me furious. I swore I would never return here so long as he was at Kildonan.”
She looked up as sympathy and realization poured through her. She touched the lapel of his coat, over his heart, thinking of what he must have endured as the son and heir of an arrogant, selfish man.