Of Lands High and Low, page 17
“Why were ye so kind to me, lass?” He looked up and into her freckled face. “From the beginning, ye treated me differently than anyone else here.”
She looked down and let out a sigh. “All my life, I had wondered about my father—wondered why he left. Why he didn’t want me. But I could never talk about it. It was a forbidden subject—one that excited my uncle’s greatest frustration and anger.” She met his gaze again. “When I saw you, nearly walking off the cliffs into the sea”—she smiled at the memory—“I saw a connection to a past I didn’t understand. Answers to questions I’d had my entire life. I had to know if what everyone said was true—whether my mother had fallen for a selfish brute, as people seemed to think all Highlanders are.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I canna deny the truth of their allegations. I am selfish.”
She didn’t smile. “No, Graeme. You are the least selfish person I have ever met. I came to you after knowing barely anything about you and asked you to do what you had expressly told me you didn’t wish to do. And you did it. Out of the goodness of your heart.”
He shook his head. “I told ye I’m selfish, lass, and ‘tis true. I wanted to help the Gervys, yes. But I also didna wish to disappoint ye. I wanted to be as good as ye thought me.”
She grasped his hands tighter and looked up into his eyes. “You are every bit as good as I thought you. And better.”
His heart pulsed with love for the woman in front of him and with guilt for making her think he was anything but the most prideful and deplorable of men. He had told her he was responsible for his father’s death, but she still didn’t understand. She hadn’t seen the horror in his sister’s face, the way her gaze had convicted Graeme as their father had taken his last breath.
But he wanted to believe about himself what Isla believed of him. In her eyes, he saw the hope, the possibility of it.
He reached a hand to her cheek and leaned his head down so that it rested on her forehead.
The bell sounded, and they broke apart, eyes on each other.
“’Tis the Buchans,” he said, unable to keep his gaze from flitting toward her lips as he brushed his thumb along her cheek, feeling one of the scars that hid amongst the freckles.
She nodded, but he could sense her reluctance to move almost as much as he could feel his own. He had asked Strang to help with preparing the rooms, particularly since Graeme wanted to welcome each family himself.
He shut his eyes and cursed in Gaelic before planting a kiss on Isla’s forehead and moving toward the door.
He welcomed the Buchans in—a mother, father, and three children. Their eyes were vigilant, but they relaxed as Isla came into view, the mother even going so far as to smile.
Graeme watched Isla greet them, crouching as she spoke to the children, and his heart swelled even larger. Much as he had tried to convince Isla not to involve herself in the variolations, she had been right: she was a necessary part of it, if only for the way she could allay the concerns of those coming to Pitcairlie.
And he would never regret spending a moment in her company.
It was exhausting work, variolating all the people. Isla had taken on the task of being ready at the door to usher each family in—a familiar face as they prepared to do something entirely new—something they had heard condemned their whole lives.
Graeme had ordered that food be available to each family after their variolation, sending them to the drawing room to partake of it as he prepared for the next patients. Isla would lead them in and focus herself on explaining what they could expect from the procedure so that Graeme could keep his attention on the variolation itself. She had a skill with children, and he was more and more grateful she had insisted upon helping him.
They had an hour-long reprieve in the early afternoon, and as one of Graeme’s servants led the Chisholms out of the study where the variolations had been happening, Isla and Graeme shared a look of relief. He extended a hand toward her, and she accepted it with a shy smile.
“I changed my mind,” he said, as they walked hand in hand toward the drawing room.
“About what?” she said curiously.
“About encouraging ye to stay at Braemore with yer uncle. I need ye here with me. I want ye here. I’ve decided to stop fighting the selfishness. ‘Tis part of my nature, ye ken.”
She laughed and set her other hand over their clasped ones. “I think it is part of mine, too. I am half Highlander, after all.”
“Aye,” he said. “And the bonniest one I’ve ever laid eyes on.” They reached the drawing room, and the sound of chatter inside carried into the echoing corridor.
The atmosphere inside was much more jovial than Graeme had expected. But he hadn’t accounted for the fact that the families here were all acquainted. Now that the variolations had been done—there was no going back now—they seemed to have accepted their situation and were determined to make the best of it.
The children were playing together, comparing the wraps on their arms, while the adults sat on the sofas and chairs.
“This willna be so bad,” Graeme said, as he and Isla stood in the doorway. “I feared it might be a morose atmosphere, but it looks as though we might have the opposite problem.”
“I imagine the boredom will set in at some point. These people are not like you and me. They are accustomed to laboring all day, from dawn to dusk.”
He smiled down at her, a laugh in his eyes. “I didna grow up in a place like Pitcairlie, lass. When I wasna with my father seeing to people’s ailments, I was hunting and farming.”
“Very well,” she said with prim lips, the corner of which trembled slightly. “They are not like me. But I think we might do something to ease the boredom.”
He looked a question at her, and she gave him an enigmatic look. “I have a few games in mind.”
“Games?” he said, intrigued.
“Yes. They are about to experience many days of illness. I think we might give them a few happy memories to sustain them during that and their convalescence.”
He raised a brow. “And do ye intend to participate yersel’?”
“Yes,” she said. “And you will do so as well, of course.”
“Gladly,” he said.
They sat down with the villagers to partake of some bannocks, ale, and tart, but before they knew it, the bell was ringing again, and more families were beginning to arrive, one after the other, for their variolations. The last family, however, never came. They waited fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, an hour, before Isla went to Graeme in the study and shook her head.
He frowned. Aside from worrying for how the family’s decision would affect their safety, he worried what it meant. Had they simply reconsidered? Or had they never meant to come at all?
“Aye,” said Sam Trotter with a grimace. “Erving was perhaps the least certain of his answer, but I didna think much of it. Everyone has reason to doubt such a decision. But perhaps I should no’ have approached him in the first place.” Sam’s child tugged on his shirt sleeve, and he turned away from Graeme and Isla.
“What if his change of heart leads to a confession to Mr. Smith?” Isla said.
“There is nothing we can do to stop it. But at least Mr. Smith hasna returned yet.”
She nodded, but there was worry in her eyes. “And everyone who wished to has been variolated. No one can prevent it now.”
“But ye worry about yer uncle getting wind of it,” Graeme said.
“It is bound to happen—I merely wished for more time. I don’t know how he will react once he discovers it. Not just my involvement in the variolations, of course, but…”
“That ye’ve done it with me.”
She nodded. “And that I haven’t been at Margaret’s.” She sighed. “But, as you said, there’s no use worrying over it. We cannot help it if Mr. Erving chooses to tell Mr. Smith once he has returned.”
Graeme took her hand in his, wishing he could spare her from the repercussions of the decisions she had made. She was brave—every bit the fair warrior that her last name proclaimed her. And the life of a warrior was never without its sacrifices and troubles.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The good humor of the entire, variolated party continued throughout the day, and Isla watched the interaction of the villagers with a smile. It was rare that they had an opportunity such as this—to talk and laugh with each other without the burden of work pressing down upon them, without the need to speak in subdued tones as they did at church.
The entire company stayed up much later than was perhaps warranted—Mr. Smith would certainly not have approved. Apparently, having set aside the Kirk’s opinion on the matter of variolation, they found it easier to ignore the informal curfew as well. Such a vivacious gathering would be more than enough reason for censure, to say nothing of what had preceded it.
It felt strange, in a way, to make merry when the Douglases were ill upstairs and so many others in the village. But it was also the reason they needed to laugh and enjoy one another’s company. There was enough heaviness in Craigmuir. And it had done Isla’s soul good to observe and participate in the conviviality, and watching the villagers warm up to Graeme had brought her very near to tears at one point.
To have them recognize his merits—to see them laugh at his quips—was itself worth whatever discipline she might face from the Kirk.
If the villagers could accept Graeme, perhaps they could accept Isla in her entirety. Not just the half of her that belonged in Craigmuir, but the half that had more in common with Graeme than with any of them.
Isla herself was obliged to leave while the lot of them were still talking, though the children had gone to bed some time ago. It wouldn’t do to be out and about late. When she got up to leave, she saw Graeme take notice and excuse himself from a group of three men.
“I must be getting back home,” she said as he came over to her. “I don’t wish for Margaret to worry—or to draw attention to things here with a late walk home.”
Graeme nodded. “I’ll walk ye.”
She shook her head. “No, it isn’t necessary. Besides, you have hosting duties,” she said with a smile. “This is quite the party, I must say.”
He grinned. “‘Tis no’ what I had imagined it being like to run a hospital, but I canna regret it. It willna last forever, after all. But Prestone can attend to anyone in need while I walk ye. ‘Tis only a few minutes, and I canna let ye go alone.”
She agreed, and with less reluctance than she cared to admit. It would be nice to have a bit of time alone with Graeme after such a long, full day.
Once he had given a bit of instruction to Prestone, a footman, they left the drawing room together. He took her by the hand and led her down a corridor she had never before seen.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Out a secret way,” he said with a smile tossed back at her.
The door he opened and followed her through led out to a gush of freezing air and the lulling sound of waves crashing somewhere nearby, though it was too dark to see anything but the ghost of their white caps every now and then in the distance.
They both glanced around, but there was no one in sight. Graeme took up her hand again, and Isla felt the thrill of it—to have her hand held, to be alone with him. Entirely alone. It was a heady feeling she was unused to—and one she wondered if she could ever tire of.
Kyntire House was only a few minutes’ walk from Pitcairlie, but the journey was accomplished in silence, as though holding hands spoke their feelings more clearly than words could.
There were only two windows lit in Kyntire House—Margaret’s room and the one Isla would be sleeping in. She imagined that there was likely a candle just inside the door as well. She felt a stab of guilt to know that she would likely not speak with Margaret before bed. She would make a point to spend breakfast with her and the children, at least.
She turned to Graeme and found him already looking at her.
“Good night, Isla,” he said, looking down at her hand, which clasped between his. “I canna wait to see ye tomorrow.”
“Good night, Graeme,” she said with a shy smile. She could feel her teeth beginning to chatter from standing still in the cold.
He looked at her, watching her pull her arms in front of her chest to guard her body’s warmth, then glanced at Kyntire behind her and let out a frustrated breath that hung as a cloud in the air. “I would hold ye all night if I could to keep out the cold.” He pulled one of her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. And then he left.
She watched after him, cradling the hand he had just kissed, as though it was something fragile—something to be treasured—and let out a smiling sigh as the dark of the night soon enveloped him.
Margaret had never been a particularly early riser, and her children had inherited the same sleeping habits, but her cousin’s movements in the next room were the first thing Isla heard upon waking.
She slipped into her dressing gown, shutting the door of the clothes press loudly enough that Margaret would hear it, and stepped out into the corridor. She didn’t have to wait long before Margaret appeared in her own doorway. She was fully dressed for the day already.
Isla smiled at her. “Good morning, cousin.”
Margaret’s returned smile lacked authenticity, and it caused Isla’s to falter.
“Are you unwell?” Isla asked, shutting the door to her bedchamber and walking over to Margaret with fear tightening her chest.
“No, no.” She glanced down the corridor, in the direction of the nursery. “Here, come in.” She ushered Isla into her bedchamber. It was large and decorated with elegance. One half of the bed was undisturbed, a testament to the absence of the master of the house. Isla wondered just how lonely Margaret was with Roger gone so often and for so long. Did she long for him as Isla longed for Graeme when they were apart? Or had she become accustomed to it?
“Have a seat,” Margaret said, indicating the bed, though she herself began to pace the room, hands fidgeting at her sides.
With watchful eyes, Isla complied. Had Margaret told her father what was afoot? Why was she so nervous? It could hardly portend anything good.
Isla didn’t speak, though. Margaret seemed to need more time before she said whatever was on her mind.
When she turned to Isla, it was sudden, and with determined breath and straightened shoulders. “I want to have Alexander and Anne variolated.”
Isla blinked, her jaw going slack. “You…you—”
She nodded. “Yes. You heard me right.” She set to pacing again. “I have thought of little else since our conversation last week, and I cannot feel at ease knowing what is happening in the village. Did you know that James Spens died yesterday?”
Isla looked down and shook her head. “I didn’t know.”
Margaret’s bare feet pattered rhythmically across the floor. “I know Father would be devastated to know my decision, but I am their mother. I have to do what I feel is right for them. Do I not?” She stopped and looked to Isla, a harried look in her eyes.
“You know how I feel on the matter, Margaret. I truly believe that variolation is the safest thing for Alexander and Annie. And for you.”
Margaret stared at her blankly.
“Yes, Margaret. You are at risk as well. And you must think of yourself, if only for the sake of your children. They need you.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”
“But what of Roger? What does he say?”
Margaret turned her head away toward the window. “He doesn’t know.”
Isla felt her stomach churn, but Margaret lifted her shoulders helplessly. “There isn’t time for me to write him and wait for his response. What if, by then…?” She trailed off.
Isla stood and went over to her. “What do you think he would say if he were here?”
“I don’t know, Isla. I don’t know. I want to say he would agree with me—that he would see the value in variolating them.”
Roger himself had never had smallpox. It hardly seemed fair to variolate his wife and children without his knowledge. If he came home, he wouldn’t be able to see them—not unless he himself chose to be variolated.
“When is he set to return home next?”
She sighed. “I thought next week, but I’ve just had a letter from him, and he is needed still—perhaps until the beginning of April.” She looked out the window again, as if she might see him suddenly appear on the road to Kyntire. “But he isn’t here, and I have to make this decision. I have to do what I think is right. God forgive me if it goes against Roger’s wishes.”
Isla was later in arriving to Pitcairlie than she had planned, and when she did arrive, it was with Margaret, Alexander, and Anne, and two portmanteaus in hand. Strang opened the door to them, but Graeme appeared soon after, brows rising at the sight.
Margaret looked at him with obvious interest—mixed with a great deal of caution—as Isla introduced them.
“’Tis a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mrs. Hume,” he said. “Yer cousin has told me much about ye.”
Margaret inclined her head and smiled, seeming to relax a bit at his warm demeanor.
“So,” Graeme said with slight hesitation and a questioning look at Isla. “Ye’ve come to…”
“To be variolated,” Isla said, holding his gaze. “All three of them.”
Margaret set her jaw and nodded with a glance down at her children, who were staring at Graeme in the unabashed way that only children could.
Graeme seemed to take the unexpected revelation in stride, and he crouched down before Alexander. “I canna tell ye how happy I am to see ye here, lad. There are too few men here”—he sent a sidelong glance at Isla, with a twinkle in his eye—“and ye’re a braw one.” He turned to Anne. “I have it on good authority from yer aunt that we are to play a few games after we’ve seen to ye. How does that sound?”
