Under the quill, the parchment filled with words Roderick wrote to his grandfather. When he finished, he folded and wax-sealed the missive, before setting it aside on the library desk, ready for dispatch tomorrow.
He sat in the late, quiet hours of night and lifted his gaze to portraits of his ancestors on the walls. He’d always considered their expressions harsh and judgmental, but now, given the contents of his letter, and in the soft glow of candle and firelight, they met his eyes with uncanny approval. Even his father.
Candle flames standing to attention suddenly flickered. He glanced towards the source of the draught. The library door was half open. ‘Uncle! Come in.’
‘Am I disturbing ye?’ Angus looked doubtful to proceed.
‘No. I could do with your company.’ Roderick got up from the desk. ‘Whisky?’
‘For sure.’ Angus closed the door and moved towards the slow-burning fire in the hearth. His limp was considerably pronounced.
‘Your leg gives you more grief than usual?’
Angus rubbed his knee. ‘I’m an old man, and the recent cold spring snap freezes it like a winter frost. Ye would have felt the cold sleeping in the woods.’
‘Aye. ’Tis well Annabel rests in the master bedchamber tonight.’
Sleeping on a bed of bracken and under a canopy of trees these past four nights had seen Roderick sleep close to her, but not as close as he’d liked.
‘Puir lass,’ said Angus. ‘She looked like a wilted flower when ye all rode beneath the portcullis this afternoon. And little wonder, given what she’s been through.’
Roderick reached into the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of whisky. ‘She’s a brave and bonny lass.’
‘And weel ye ken it.’
There was something in his uncle’s voice that made Roderick look up. Angus lifted his brow, as if expecting him to discuss more on the matter. Instead, Roderick passed his uncle a glass of whisky and said, ‘Good health!’
‘Slèinte Mhath!’
They sipped their whisky and sat in the high-backed leather chairs in front of the cracking fire.
‘Roderick,’ began Angus. ‘I ken ye’re disappointed about how things turned out with Stokes, but I want to tell ye to nae harry yersel over what happened. He gave ye nae choice and ye did what any man in yer situation would have done.’
‘Except I’ve deluded myself, believing I’m not just any man, that I possessed the skills to effectively understand and manipulate the mentality of a man like him.’
Roderick tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. ‘I failed to negotiate with him. I thought I sensed accurately what would appeal to his ego, which is why I offered myself in Annabel’s place. He could have paraded me in the courts like a medal on his uniform and rubbed grandfather’s nose in humiliation.’
There was a grim twist to Angus’s mouth. ‘Stokes was a man to abuse his power and authority, especially in the Highlands. He was the barbaric heathen he accused all clansmen to be, so nae matter yer experience or skill with tact or diplomacy, ye were ne’er going to win over the mind of a monster.’
Angus pointed his finger at Roderick. ‘He was an unprincipled rogue and deserved his dishonourable death. Yer father would have agreed with me on all accounts.’
‘My father.’ In so saying those words, a surprising change came over Roderick. He downed his whisky.
‘Ye mention yer father and wear a wry smile?’
‘Aye. Perhaps this wee dram has somewhat softened my attitude towards him.’
‘How so?’
In accurately hand-picking me a wife. ‘Father would not have agreed with you on all accounts. He’d have clashed swords with his enemy before he’d engage them with a civil word.’
‘’Tis true. Except for when—’ Angus clamped his mouth shut.
Roderick gave him a darting glance. There’d been impassioned conviction in those words. ‘Except for what?’
Now it was Angus who drained his glass and developed a reflective stare. He sniffed and wiped his nose as if some traumatic memory had taken hold, forcing him to relive it again. He slumped deeper into his chair. His hand rubbed his chest in the way one seeks to soothe pain.
‘Uncle?’
Angus lifted his gaze and looked eerily mesmerised by the portrait of Roderick’s father lording over them. ‘I’m sorry, Malcom,’ he said in a faint whisper. ‘I swore I’d ne’er tell, but he needs to ken.’
Roderick’s stomach clenched. He wasn’t sure he could deal with another life-altering revelation, yet he hadn’t forgotten, since first returning to Finvreck, those moments when he’d confronted his uncle about having unfairly sided with Malcom MacLeod over matters influencing Roderick’s future.
Angus looked ready to confess whatever it was that had deepened the lines in his sallow, aged face. Roderick fetched the whisky and refilled their glasses, sensing they both would soon need it. He sat down uneasily and set the decanter safely within arm’s reach.
‘Ye’ve been denied the truth long enough,’ confessed Angus. He took another bolstering sip. ‘I soon might die and ’twould nae be fair if ye werenae ever to ken the reason for yer mother’s death. With all that’s occurred, I believe now, and only now, ye’ve the capacity to understand and forgive.’
‘Forgive what? Who?’ A sense of foreboding had Roderick brace himself for what was to come.
‘Ye’ll understand from yer recent experience with Stokes that every man, every situation is unique.’
‘Aye.’
‘That day, when yer parents were riding the moors on their way home to Finvreck and were confronted by Jacobite rebels … Weel. Yer father had ye believe that, true to his warmongering ways, he provoked the skirmish between the rebels and himself, but that’s nae the truth of it.’
Angus took another sip and stared off into the fire. Roderick’s pulse beat like a death-drum, awaiting the truth. ‘Go on,’ he urged.
‘The rebels taunted yer father for staying home and for nae sending clansmen to fight for the Stuart Prince at Culloden. They praised the vanquished and damned ye—’ his watery eyes slid to Roderick— ‘labelling ye a coward, a Scottish mongrel born of an English whore.’
Angus halted his speech in what looked like an attempt to regain control of his trembling chin. ‘They said ye were unworthy of one day filling yer father’s shoes as laird.’
Roderick downed his whisky in one gulp. He clenched his fist and pressed down on the arm of the chair. Heat from his anger soared higher than the fire in the hearth. He heard Angus draw a shaky breath.
‘Their vile insults enraged yer father. But he did ye proud, Roderick. He put those insults aside and tried to diffuse rather than inflame the confrontation. He withheld his own opinion in favour of showing understanding of theirs. But they wouldnae have it. They forced his hand, drawing him in to combat when they attacked and fatally wounded yer mother. He killed them in retaliation.’
‘As I would have done!’ Roderick surged out of the chair and hurled his empty glass into the fire. Suddenly his heart beat faster. He turned on his uncle, and in the space of a breath he swung around again as if he’d been tapped on the shoulder.
Ne’er turn yer back on yer laird!
Malcolm MacLeod’s parting words rang in Roderick’s ears. He locked eyes with his father’s commanding portrait. He wanted to raise his voice and fist at him. ‘Why did he not trust me with the truth?’
‘He wished to preserve yer honour. He insisted he cover up the truth and bore the blame, along with yer hatred of him. He refused to have yer name dragged into the events surrounding yer mother’s death.’
Roderick took a moment to digest all his uncle had disclosed. It cut through his soul like a bitter, blistering wind. Moisture stung like needles in his eyes. ‘If only I could rescind my words of anger. My accusations. My resentment.’ He could barely stand for the weight of guilt pressing heavy on his shoulders.
‘Yer father lamented the verra same thing. I pleaded with him to write to ye. To explain what I’ve just told ye, but he was a man of honour. A proud, protective and stubborn man. He withheld the truth at the expense of losing ye, his only son.’
Roderick bowed his head, arms and clenched fists by his side.
‘He loved ye, Roderick, as he did yer mother. Take comfort in knowing he did his best to protect ye both, just as ye did what ye thought best to protect Annabel.’
Roderick sat on the edge of his chair with elbows propped on his knees and forehead resting on the heels of his hands. ‘Thank you. I know you don’t take lightly the breaking of an oath.’
After a time, Roderick lifted his head to see Angus staring at him. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said, ’tis in mysterious ways we fall in love. Take my Sheena for example. Plain as a potato, but that first time she looked over her shoulder at me and smiled … Weel! I was hers. She was my sunrise and my sunset and every season in between.’
Puzzled by the turn in conversation, Roderick simply agreed. ‘Aye. She was an exceptional woman.’
‘Like yer Annabel.’ Angus set the near-empty glass to his lips and eyed Roderick over its rim.
Roderick spread his hands wide. ‘What?’
Angus rolled his eyes. Words rushed from his mouth. ‘If ye’re nae going to say it, then I’ll ask. Do ye love the lass?’
‘Annabel?’
‘Aye! Unless there’s someone else?’
Roderick closed his eyes and there he saw her, etched behind his eyelids and staring back at him with those intense yellow-green eyes.
Here, in the library, he’d stolen from her a kiss. He held dear the memory of those soft, pillowed lips, the way she’d moved her mouth and how she’d repeated the vowels as he’d sounded each one. He craved her taste once more.
‘Weel?’ said Angus in frustration. ‘Dinnae nod off on me now.’
Roderick opened his eyes to see the glowing hearth. ‘My heart aches for her like it’s been ripped from my chest. Be she with child or not. I want her.’ He glanced down. ‘These hands long to hold her naked in my bed and I want to be sure her breath catches in her throat, as does mine, every time I look at her.’
Angus swatted the air. ‘I asked if ye love her. Not what ails ye.’
Roderick laughed, but his uncle’s direct question had him thinking seriously on the matter. He shrugged. ‘Falling in love. Fallen in love. In love. I don’t really know. What I do know, is that she is …’
Roderick met his uncle’s inquiring eyes. ‘She’s my sunrise and my sunset and every season in between.’
Angus spread his mouth wide in the silliest of grins. ‘Then tell her, nephew.’ He stood, his bones complaining like the creaking of a door.
Roderick rose quickly to assist and lend him a supporting arm. ‘What if she rejects me, as sure as I rejected her?’
‘Then win her over. Find the words.’ Angus settled his unsteady hand over Roderick’s heart. ‘Let it come from here.’
‘Aye. Tomorrow. First thing.’
‘Be sure ye do. Procrastinate, and ye might lose her.’
More questions entered Roderick’s mind. ‘Tell me. Redundant though it may be, where did my father keep the marriage document?’
Angus nodded towards the desk. ‘In one of those drawers.’
‘And who stood in as my proxy?’
‘Me.’
Roderick raised one eyebrow.
‘I’ve already told ye, at first I opposed the marriage, but yer father asked it of me as his dying wish. How could I refuse?’
‘Aye. You did the right thing by him.’
Together, they left the library. Echoing from the hall entrance came the grandfather clock’s chimes. Midnight. Angus paused in his slow stride. His shoulders went back and he peered up at Roderick. Though the castle corridors were dark and dimly lit, a light shone in the old man’s eyes.
Roderick saw Angus safely inside his bedchamber, then walked on to his own room. Once inside, he rested his back against the closed door. Several wax tapers lit the room to show the bed made, pillows plumped, nightshirt neatly folded. A glance at the washbasin proved it, too, had clean water. Soap, shaving needs and comb lay atop a washcloth and towel beside the basin.
The servants had done his father’s request proud.
In time, ye’ll see that the upkeep of this room was his way of honouring ye, not shaming ye. ‘I see that now, Uncle,’ Roderick said into the silence.
He knew the truth behind his father’s actions. Too late for reconciliation. A heaviness settled in Roderick’s chest. A knot formed in his belly.
He recognised that his father had attempted to emulate Roderick’s preference for diplomacy. It was diplomacy in battle that saw the late laird’s demise, and it was the ultimate act of diplomacy when he betrothed his only son to the daughter—half Scot, half English—of a rival laird in an attempt to unite his beloved Scotland.
Only now did Roderick appreciate his father’s softer side and undying love for Roderick’s mother. A love Roderick longed to share with Annabel, as well as a future together in Scotland. He’d penned the very sentiment in the letter to his grandfather.
He stripped, washed, and breathed fresh air when pushing open the window. A breeze extinguished the tapers. He had no need of the nightshirt, instead slipping naked beneath the bedcovers. Thoughts of Annabel kept him warm.
Seconds before he succumbed to bone-weary sleep, he glimpsed the moon in the night-time sky. Full. Luminous.
* * *
Roderick woke to the sound of flapping bird wings. A frantic redstart circled the room, smacked into the wall and fell, dazed, atop the clothes on the chair. Roderick leapt out of bed, scooped the small feathered creature into his hands and walked to the open window. A few gentle strokes to the tiny bird’s body and it perked up to fly away.
An omen. Captivity and freedom. The hour hovered this side of dawn. The silvery moon had yet to draw its veil.
Roderick looked beyond the moors towards the wind-scoured cliffs and the restless sea. Only then did the significance of last night’s full moon strike like a sword. In minutes, he’d dressed in shirt, breeches and boots and bolted towards the master bedchamber. There, he found Morag stripping the bedsheets, reluctant to meet his gaze.
‘I’m sorry, laird,’ she said in a wistful voice. Her eyes fell to the bloodstained sheets. ‘Ye’ll not be welcoming a bairn.’
It was an unexpected and shattering blow. Roderick slumped against the doorframe.
Morag looked up. ‘I suppose now ye’ll not be wanting Annabel. Shall I pack her things?’
‘Where is she?’ He couldn’t ask the question quickly enough.
‘I dinnae ken. Her maid discovered her gone and woke me with the news. Jessie’s poking around the castle looking for her.’
Annabel wasn’t in the castle. Roderick knew that as sure as the ocean’s tide would soon turn. He sprinted down corridors and stairwells, dodging servants going about their duties. He spied the maid dashing towards the hall’s entrance and called her name.
Jessie spun around. ‘Laird!’ Her eyes looked wild with distress. ‘I cannae find her.’ She smoothed and resmoothed her skirts. ‘I cannae find her.’
‘She’s gone to meet the ship.’ Roderick suffered a keen sense of loss.
‘Nae. She wouldnae leave.’
Roderick ran past her and shoved open the entrance doors. He burst into the courtyard and bellowed to the guard, ‘Raise the portcullis!’ He sprinted to the stables and soon emerged on horseback.
Early risers scurried out of his way, including a sobbing Jessie. ‘She wouldnae leave! Nae without saying goodbye.’
Roderick snapped the reins and leaned low over the horse’s neck. He rode beneath the rising portcullis and then at a hard, pelting pace across the moors towards the clifftops. The animal’s coat gleamed from a lather of sweat, its mighty body warm against Roderick’s legs.
The rush of cold air stung his eyes and throat. The idea of losing Annabel burned his brain. He loved her. A truth realised only as a catalyst in thinking she’d now follow in her uncle’s footsteps to seek a new life in France.
‘No. No!’ He shouted into the wind.
Just before reaching the cliff’s edge, he pulled the horse up short, jumped from its back and hit the ground running to descend the path leading down to the beach. He slipped and slid in his haste and registered no pain when his palms scraped gravelled ground or jagged rocks.
He rounded the path and sighted down the long length of beach. There it was, the ship—anchored offshore—amidst a haze of sea spray and early morning fog. Ready. Waiting.
Roderick squinted along the beach, and spied three cap-wearing men walk from the cave where Raibeart had once hid. They made their way towards a skiff sitting on the sand just beyond the reach of thrashing surf. Was Annabel disguised as one of them?
He took off at a run and bellowed, ‘Stop!’
Instead of heeding the command, two of the men bolted to the skiff, throwing their weight against it, pushing it into the water. The third man stopped to watch Roderick bearing down on them.
‘Annabel!’
Roderick’s boots found purchase in the sand with every heart-hammering step he ran. Oyster catchers, busy fishing along the shore, scattered in a feathered flurry of shrill protests.
The third figure glanced at the others in the skiff, then ran and scrambled aboard.
Roderick lengthened his stride, pushing himself to his utmost. By the time he reached the skiff’s point of entry into the water, it was too late. The oar strokes and a strong ebbing tide swept the skiff out to sea faster than he’d ever be able to swim and reach it.
‘Annabel!’ He called her name in desolation, lungs burning, eyes stinging.
Spent, but not beaten, he dropped to his knees at the tideline and slammed a fist into the wet sand.
He summoned strength enough to rise, stand, and shout, ‘I will come for you. I will find you!’
‘Why?’
He spun around to see a cloaked figure approach from the mouth of the cave. Yellow-green eyes stared back at him.
Annabel.
Exhilaration surged and held him fast. She stopped four arm’s-lengths away from him and pushed back the hood of her cape. Long wavy tresses lifted on high, like red ribbons snapping in the wind. The folds of cloak and skirts whipped tight around her legs.
Surely his eyes tricked his mind. Roderick turned his head to look over the water and through shifting fog. The skiff had nearly reached the ship. He looked back at Annabel and found his voice. ‘I thought you were one of those men. That you’d chosen to leave.’
‘Nae.’ She stared at him through expressionless eyes. ‘I kept the rendezvous for the purpose of having those men deliver the captain a message. To apprise him of my situation. Of all that’s occurred and of the danger should he return.’
‘Did you consider joining them?’ It was a question he had to ask.
‘Aye, but …’
He gave her the space of her pause to answer.
When she did, she looked out to sea. ‘What I want is here.’
Hope soared, as did Roderick’s relief when he took a step closer and she didn’t retreat.
Her chest rose and fell on a deep breath. ‘My home is with—’
‘Me.’
In the same moment he spoke, she’d slid her gaze back to his, saying, ‘—Hamish. And my father. ’Tis like a fresh start. Now that he and I are reconciled, I have the chance to better ken the man my mother fell in love with.’
Roderick shook his head. ‘I won’t allow it.’
An indignant spark ignited in Annabel’s eyes. She stepped closer. Back straight. Chin tilted in defiance. ‘I’m not carrying yer bairn! Morag will vouch for that.’
‘I already know.’
She raised her brow in surprise. ‘Then ye’ve nae more say in what I do.’
Her eyes narrowed and she pointed past his shoulder. ‘Ye wish me aboard that ship? Is that it? So ye ne’er have to cross paths with me again?’
Roderick smiled to himself. Her surmise of his actions was not unreasonable, though she couldn’t be further from the truth.
She stepped closer still. A picture of beautiful anger. ‘I’m nae longer welcome at Finvreck. Ye said it yersel. Nae bairn and I’m free to go. Ye dinnae want me.’
‘And yet, I’m here.’
Her eyes clouded in confusion.
Roderick stepped forwards to stand with her toe to toe. She didn’t flinch when he took her sweet pale-skinned face between his hands. He saw the question repeated in her eyes. Why?
He’d tell her why. ‘My chest tightens, as it does now, and I can’t breathe when you’re near. My skin tingles from your touch. My blood sings when you smile.’
Her arms lifted slowly, fingers curling around his wrists. ‘Roderick.’ It was barely a whisper, but still, he heard her loud and clear above the noise of blustery wind and sea.
‘I’ve met my equal in you,’ he confessed. ‘A lass who is half Scot, half Sassenach. A good woman who’ll right me when I’m wrong. Headstrong with an opinion, whether I wish to hear it or not. You’re not afraid to speak your mind. I admire you for it.’
He glanced down at her waistline, then into her eyes again. ‘Bairn or no bairn, I want you, Annabel. I wish to hold your heart in my hands as tenderly as I would have you hold mine.’
She started, her eyes widening. Her gaze moved quickly over his face. ‘Ye came here for … me?
‘Aye.’ Roderick brushed a thumb over her chin. ‘Because I love you. I know that now.’
He bent his mouth to hers, there to settle and softly steady her quivering lips, drawing in her sweet warmth. Long, elegant fingers squeezed his wrists and her lithe body leaned into his. When he drew back, she laid her head on his shoulder. Her arms came about him, and his around her.
He said against her ear, ‘Scotland is my home. You are my home. I won’t settle for one without the other.’
Her body trembled against his for reasons he hoped were favourable. He pulled back, held her hands in his, and sank slowly to one knee. He heard her breath catch as he looked up into soulful eyes. ‘Annabel MacDonald, will you accept and take the name of Clan MacLeod and agree to be my wife?’
Having declared his hand for her, she fell to her knees before him. Her solemn silence was disconcerting.
‘Tears,’ he observed. ‘Are they tears of—?’
‘Joy,’ she rushed to say. Her mouth curved into the loveliest smile. ‘Aye, Roderick MacLeod. ’Twould be my honour to marry ye.’
‘M’eudail.’ He kissed her with all-consuming devotion.
When he drew her to her feet, he saw humour in her eyes. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Ye look now as ye did when first we met.’ She raised a hand to his head. ‘Dishevelled, unruly hair.’ She laid her palm against his cheek. ‘Unshaven. And yer clothes …’
Roderick took in the sight of his weathered footwear, sand-encrusted breeches, and the linen shirt damp with sweat and sea spray. ‘A grubby state is how you described me. With a foul temper.’
‘Aye. A worthy catch,’ she teased. ‘Look!’ She pointed out to sea and waved.
A light winked back at her from the ship’s deck.
Roderick said, ‘If the captain’s spyglass rests on us, then let him be sure to see this.’ He turned to Annabel and kissed her again, a demonstration of his commitment and claim on the woman in his arms.
When they both glanced back at the ship and waved, the light winked several more times in reply. Together they watched from the shore as the vessel’s wind-filled sails carried it away from Scotland’s coast.
‘We should go,’ said Annabel. ‘I left nae word of my whereabouts with Jessie. I feared she might try to stop me coming here. Or worse, tell ye.’
‘I would have accompanied you had I known your purpose, although I’m glad you didn’t tell me.’ Roderick lightly brushed his fingers down her cheek. ‘Waking this morning to find you gone made me realise what I stood to lose.’
He slipped an arm around Annabel’s waist. The fog was lifting and the sun breaking dawn. ‘Those at Finvreck will be glad of our news.’
* * *
Roderick bent to place a sprig of heather on his father’s grave. ‘He was right, you know.’
‘About what?’ asked Annabel, having lain a small bouquet of spring flowers at the foot of his mother’s headstone.
‘Through you, I found myself drawn to and seduced by the very things I’d turned my back on. All that made me Scottish.’
‘And through ye, I’ve learned the value of self-worth and self-respect. At last fate smiles upon us, Roderick.’
He laughed. ‘So too will your father, when he learns of our legitimate betrothal.’
She laughed with him. ‘Aye. He’ll gladly take credit for that.’
They stood side by side in a moment of silence, honouring the late laird and his wife. With no immediate threat from Redcoats or the Watch, Roderick had respectfully dressed for the occasion. Save for a sword and dirk, he stood tall and proud in full kilted regalia and wore his father’s circular silver brooch.
Annabel asked, ‘What is the most singular memory ye have of yer father?’
Roderick answered without hesitation. ‘Being a young boy idolising and being mentored by him in the art of weaponry and fighting. Learning to fish and hunt deer.’ He touched his woollen plaid. ‘Sleeping beneath the stars wrapped for warmth in this féileadh mor.’
Speaking aloud the treasured memories left Roderick crippled with grief. In this moment, his father’s death struck him as a great loss.
Annabel’s hand slid easily into his. ‘I’m here for ye. Always.’
He stared into vibrant yellow-green eyes. ‘And I for you.’
Roderick kissed the back of her hand. ‘Come, m’eudail. We’ve a wedding to plan.’