Ailsa entered the drawing room a short time later, wearing her best green gown. Logan was waiting for her and, as she came in, he held out his hands.
‘That is much better,’ he said, guiding her to a chair. ‘I have no doubt you are sick of the old one, it has received some very rough wear!’
She smiled at him, determined to be cheerful. ‘Yes, indeed. I am glad I can now throw it away.’
‘I shall delight in buying you dozens of new gowns, when we are wed.’
She forced herself to look at him. ‘Are you—are you sure you wish to do this, Logan, to marry me?’
‘But of course, have I not said so?’
‘But you have never said that you love me!’
She put her hands to her mouth, aghast that she had given voice to the thought, but Logan showed no signs of anger or irritation. Instead he laughed.
‘Is that all? Of course I love you! I am not one to wear my heart on my sleeve, Ailsa. I confess, words do not come easily, but you must trust me on this. There is no one I would rather marry.’
‘Not—’ She clasped her hands together in her lap and screwed up her courage to say, ‘Not Lady Fritchley, now she is a widow?’
Immediately the laughter fled from his face. ‘Who told you?’
She quailed before his harsh look. ‘I s-saw the letter—’
He paled, his mouth compressed so hard the skin around it turned white. A muscle jerked in his cheek.
‘You have been reading my correspondence?’
‘No, no!’ Her hands writhed together. ‘I returned the inkwell and I saw the letter you had started writing to your aunt.’
Almost before she had finished speaking, Logan jumped up and threw himself out of the room. Ailsa waited, dry eyed, her heart thundering in her chest. She had been right to speak, however much it angered him. Pretence was abhorrent to her. It was better that they face the truth now, before they exchanged any binding vows.
Logan came back into the room carrying the crumpled paper in his hand. She closed her eyes and waited for him to speak.
He said heavily, ‘I am sorrier than I can say that you found this. I should have burned it. I meant to do so.’ She risked looking up and found him watching her, his countenance grave. ‘I beg you, Ailsa, forget what you read. Lady Fritchley means nothing to me, do you understand? She rejected me five years ago. She said we should not suit and she was right.’ He held the letter to one of the candles burning on the mantelshelf and set it alight, then he dropped it into the hearth. ‘When your uncle came to tell me you had been abducted, I could think of nothing else but getting you back safely—’ he pulled her up into his arms ‘—and keeping you safe. For ever. As my wife.’
She had not even known she was holding her breath until that moment, but now she let it go and was left feeling weak with relief. She raised her eyes and searched his face.
‘Truly, Logan?’
‘Yes, truly.’
His mouth came down upon hers and he kissed her fiercely. It sent her mind spinning, as if she was tumbling through space. She felt his hands on her body, caressing, exploring and she melted against him while desire unfurled deep inside, heating her blood. He cupped her breast, his thumb circling over the thin material and causing her to whimper against his mouth. She forgot Lady Fritchley, forgot everything except the pleasure of his touch.
‘You see?’ he murmured, trailing a line of kisses over her neck. ‘You see how I cannot resist you?’
‘Nor I you.’
She turned her head, her mouth seeking his and joining for another smouldering kiss that left them both hot and breathless. She leaned against him, eyes closed, revelling in the delicious sensations he awoke within her.
Logan hugged her to him, resting his cheek gently on the top of her head.
‘I should like to take you to bed this minute, but I suppose we must eat, else Norry will want to know why.’
She gave a sigh. ‘I suppose we must.’
A laugh rumbled in his chest. ‘You sound as reluctant as I, sweetheart! But it will not be long until our wedding day, and then, I promise you, we shall spend whole days in bed, if we wish it.’ He gave her a final kiss, then released her. ‘Now, however, we must observe the proprieties.’ He held out his arm. ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’
They sat together at the table, giggling like children and stealing kisses whenever they were alone in the room. Ailsa could not wholly believe he could prefer her to a beautiful and accomplished English lady, but she vowed she would be a good wife to Logan. She would make him love her.
When they had finished dinner, Logan jumped up from the table and took her hand. ‘With all that happened earlier I quite forgot that I have something else for you. Come with me.’
He led her to the morning room, picking up a candelabrum from a hall table as they passed. They entered the room and the flickering candlelight fell upon something in the corner, something shrouded in a linen cover. Holding the candles aloft, Logan pulled away the cloth with a flourish.
‘There.’ He beamed at her. ‘You see, I have brought your harp! Contullach was loath to part with it, but eventually I persuaded him. I even remembered to collect the small stool it rests upon while you play. And in the attics here, I found the chair Grandmama was wont to use when she played. I hope it will suit you.’
Ailsa stared in horror at the clàrsach, the silver strings gleaming in the candlelight, and all her hopes for the future crumbled. Could the evening get any worse? She burst into tears.
Logan quickly put down the candles and gathered Ailsa into his arms. ‘My love, what is this, what is wrong? I thought it would please you to have your harp here so you could play again.’
‘If only I could.’ She sobbed against his coat.
He sat down on a sofa and gently pulled her on to his lap, holding her until the spasm of weeping subsided. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped her face.
‘This is not like you,’ he murmured, tucking a silky red lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Tell me what has upset you so?’
‘I beg your pardon, I did not intend to weep. It is the shock!’ She took the proffered kerchief and blew her little nose defiantly. ‘It was very, very thoughtful of you to bring the harp for me, Logan, but you see—Oh, I should have told you!’
‘Told me what?’
‘That I—’ she hiccupped ‘—I can no longer play. It is the curse of the Contullach harpers. Fingal knows it. Did he not tell you? Only virgins can play the clàrsach.’
‘What? Ailsa, that is nonsense. You cannot believe such a fairy tale.’
‘It is not a fairy tale, Logan. My own mother lost her ability to play as soon as she married my father.’
‘Why should that be?’ he said gently, ‘Ailsa, it makes no sense.’
‘But it is the truth! Everyone at Contullach knows it. That is why my uncle could not let me marry, why he was so anxious to have me back unharmed.’
Logan frowned. That certainly made sense, the way Contullach had reacted to losing his harper.
‘Your uncle may well believe it,’ he said slowly, ‘but that does not make it so. Most likely it was a legend dreamed up by the Contullach chiefs in order to retain their harpers. It is merely superstition, Ailsa. Heaven knows there is enough of that in this land, with its tales of bogles, kelpies and fairies.’
She extricated herself from his arms and slipped from his lap to the sofa beside him.
‘I wish that were so,’ she muttered, wiping her eyes, ‘but I know it is true.’
She was clearly upset and he refrained from arguing further. Instead he waited for her to continue. Eventually she began, haltingly at first, and all the time dragging the mangled handkerchief back and forth between her fingers.
‘My mother was the harper at Contullach, you see. Everyone agrees she was the best in Ross-shire. Then she met my father and married him. After that she never played again.’
‘Where is your father now?’
‘He died, before I was born.’
Logan put an arm around her shoulders, relieved when she did not shrug him away.
‘Could it not be that she was too heartbroken at the loss of her lover to touch the harp again? I can more readily believe that her inability to play was caused by grief than her lost virginity.’
‘No, you are wrong. My aunt herself told me that Mother passed the clàrsach back to her when she married. It is well known that the harpers of Contullach must remain virgins.’
He said gently, ‘You say that, Ailsa, but what proof have you? I say it is a story, a legend. Your talent is part of you. It cannot disappear because you are no longer a maid.’ He hugged her closer and whispered, ‘Why do you not try to play, Ailsa?’
‘Because it would be futile.’ She shrank against him. ‘Please do not ask it of me.’
Silently, he held her. She was upset, frightened. To insist would only make things worse.
‘Very well, my love. It is late. The harp will still be here in the morning. You can try it when you are ready. Now, though, I think it time for sleep. I will escort you to your room.’
Logan left her at the door to her chamber, and Ailsa went in, alone. He had tried to reassure her, but in truth, she felt worse than ever. He was too good, too kind. He deserved better than a wife with nothing to recommend her, not even music.
Ailsa woke early. A good night’s sleep and the sun streaming into her room made her feel much more hopeful for the future. She threw on her wrap and stole downstairs to the morning room. The harp was still in the corner and she approached it cautiously. Logan had said there was no reason why she should not be able to play. He said her fears were mere superstition. Perhaps he was right; after all he was an educated man, well-travelled and with far more experience of the world.
She sat down on the chair and touched the strings. The discordant sound did not surprise her. The clàrsach had not been played for several weeks and, after its long journey here, it was woefully out of tune. She picked up her tuning key and set to work, but however much she tweaked the pegs, it was always too much or too little. She could not achieve the sound she wanted. She continued doggedly for an hour, but the sweet notes eluded her and eventually she gave up. She had lost her touch, her fine ear for the perfect note. With a sob she ran out of the room, her eyes blinded with tears.
By evening she had decided what must be done and when she joined Logan in the drawing room before dinner, she lost no time in suggesting the harp should be returned to Contullach.
‘It was very good of you to bring it, Logan, I am very grateful, but if I cannot play then it should go back. My uncle will be wanting another harper and it is a shame for such a lovely instrument to be wasted.’
But he would not hear of it.
‘Let us move it to the little parlour on the north side of the house. We never use that room, so it will not in any way be a reproach to you, but it will be there when you want to try again.’ He kissed her. ‘Your nerves have overcome you, Ailsa, I am confident you will recover and, when you do, I want the clàrsach to be here for you.’
His faith in her brought more tears welling up.
‘Logan, I will never play again. My gift is gone.’
‘Nonsense. I will not believe that.’
She shook her head, wishing she could make him understand. He gave a long sigh and put his arms around her.
‘Very well, then. If you do not play, so be it. Our children shall use it. Our sons, perhaps, but our daughters most assuredly.’
Ailsa knew he was trying to be kind, but his words cut her even more. She wanted to please him, but there was no way around it. The small spinet that had belonged to his mother was beyond her, although Logan could play and he sometimes accompanied her while she sang for him, but her heart ached to be able to play the jigs and reels that he loved so much.
The final weeks until the wedding passed quickly. Màiri wrote to Ailsa to tell her of Kirstin’s marriage to Ewan and amid her fulsome descriptions of the celebrations held at Contullach, she could not resist mentioning her father’s annoyance that Ailsa had not been there to play for them. However, the successful passage of the drovers through Bealach na Damh with cattle from both Contullach and Ardvarrick went a long way to healing any breach and Fingal accepted Ailsa’s invitation for him, his wife and younger daughter to attend the wedding party and stay overnight at Ardvarrick.
There was much to be done and Ailsa was thankful for it. The house had to be prepared for visitors and she threw herself into her household duties, taking pleasure from Logan’s praise of her efforts when she put fresh flowers in the hall or the drawing room, or when she rearranged the furniture.
‘You will be an admirable Lady Ardvarrick,’ he told her one morning, pulling her close and kissing her. ‘I am a very lucky man.’
‘And I am a very lucky woman,’ she replied, laughing. When he released her she stepped back, putting her hands on her hips as she regarded him. ‘You are looking particularly fine today.’
Logan grinned, a faint self-conscious blush touching his cheeks. ‘You approve of my belted plaid?’
Using the plaid as his cloak when he had ridden to Castle Creag had reminded him what a practical piece of material it was and he had searched the trunks stored in the attics to find a long tunic, thick knitted socks and brogues he might wear with it. Ailsa’s look of admiration now made all his efforts worthwhile.
‘I do approve,’ she told him, her eyes twinkling. ‘I noticed you had started to wear it when you were working on the estate. No doubt you decided to take to it after much well-reasoned argument.’
She was teasing him and he responded in kind.
‘Of course. One can move far more freely in the kilt than trews. And it does not have to be removed for wading through the ice-cold water that abounds in this land, even in summer!’
He left her then, striding out of the house with an added spring in his step. The encounter with Ailsa had lifted his spirits and it seemed to him that the sun was shining brighter, the birds singing louder. He dragged in a deep breath and let it go again in a sigh of pure satisfaction. On such a day as this there could surely be no better place to be than Ardvarrick.
In fact, he was beginning to realise just how much he had missed his home and how much he was enjoying being back, walking or riding out over his land, watching the seasons change, working hard with Tamhas each day to improve Ardvarrick for himself and his tenants and returning each evening to sit down to a good dinner with Ailsa.
He knew she was working equally hard, for since she had been at Ardvarrick the house was quite transformed. It was no longer a cold empty shell, full of memories of absent family. Now it welcomed him when he returned to it. He would walk in eagerly and, if Ailsa was not in the hall to greet him, he hurried through the rooms until he found her.
He loved the way her countenance lit up when she saw him, the way they could talk for hours about anything or nothing. She was interested in every aspect of Ardvarrick. They discussed plans for improving the land and the tenant farms and he enjoyed telling her of his day, even the problems and setbacks, which always seemed to shrink when he laid them before her. With Ailsa at his side, his responsibilities as Laird no longer daunted him. She had not only transformed his house, she had transformed his life.
His only regret was that she still fretted over her music. She did her best to hide it, but he had walked in upon her one day before she had time to dry her eyes.
‘I went to the small parlour,’ she said, when he asked her what was the matter. ‘The clàrsach is so out of tune and I... I c-cannot...’
His heart went out to her and he took her in his arms.
‘With so many preparations for the wedding it is no wonder if you are too worked up to play. You must have patience, my love. Your talent is sleeping, that is all.’
‘But what if it isn’t?’ she asked him, her eyes misty with tears. ‘I am nothing to you without my music.’
‘Oh, my darling, you are wrong! You are so much more to me than a harper!’ He smiled down at her, brushing a stray curl from her face. ‘It is you I love, Ailsa. Your wit, your grace and beauty. Do you understand? Oh, I do not deny that when I first saw you, sitting beside the loch, your music bewitched me. I had never heard anything so beautiful. I thought at first you were a water sprite, a creature not of this earth.’ His arms tightened. ‘Now I know you are flesh and blood. I know you to be a brave, intelligent woman and I love you more than ever. Believe me, Ailsa, nothing matters save that I have you in my life.’
He kissed away her tears and she assured him she was better now, but despite her smiles the sadness was still there, at the back of her eyes, and it worried him.
Ailsa was grateful that Logan no longer mentioned her music and she worked hard to please him in other ways. Not that it was a chore because she loved Ardvarrick. She enjoyed keeping house and learning about the land and its people. She also took an interest in Logan’s books, borrowing them to read for herself although she liked it best when he would read to her in the evenings, especially the poetry, which they would afterwards discuss.
She might not be the accomplished English lady Logan deserved, but Ailsa began to believe that she really could make him happy. And she wanted to please him so much that it was a physical ache. Her music remained the only cloud on her horizon. She could not forget it. Occasionally she would go into the little parlour and look at the clàrsach, but something stopped her from touching it. She could not bring herself to try, only to fail again.
‘Not yet,’ she told herself, each time she walked away. ‘I will play again, but not yet.’