Her Highlander for One Night, page 9
‘Aye. Matured into a wonderful young man,’ the lady said. ‘An able successor when the time comes, and an excellent tanist now. An unexpected turn to the way I thought the matter would go, if truth be told.’
‘Robbie?’
‘And you, at one time, my dear.’ The woman sighed. ‘I pray you do not think less of me for not seeing the truth of it before he forced us to see it.’
Robbie had thought he’d hated Sheena for so long, he’d convinced himself and his family of it. It had taken Glynnis a short time to see the love—denied, ignored and fought against—developing between the two of them. It had been remarked that Glynnis would have made The Cameron’s heir the perfect wife, but she knew that Sheena was the perfect woman for Robbie.
‘But your father saw your value and arranged a marriage for you.’
‘And he will once again,’ Glynnis said.
‘He will. ’Tis the way of things for women of value.’
Lady Elizabeth stared at her as she spoke. Her words seemed determined to draw a response from Glynnis. Her father understood that Glynnis’s value diminished with each unsuccessful pregnancy and that her worth as a wife now stood much lower than even when she was untried. She rose from the chair and walked to the open door, staring off to the shadows of the forest.
No nobleman in search of sons would want her to wife.
No heir needing his own would marry her.
Nay, her only choices would be widowers with children to be raised. Or a marriage needed for the alliance only with nothing else dependent on it than the bond.
Surely her godmother understood the basic facts of her situation. She’d kept in touch with Elizabeth for years, both before and after her fostering at Achnacarry. No one knew more of what had happened than the wife of The Cameron. Glynnis did not doubt that the lady knew more than even her father did.
‘Are you well enough to return now, Glynnis?’ The woman approached her and touched her shoulder. ‘I can see that your body is healing well now, but what about the rest? Can you face your father and his demands now?’
The demands? The next marriage.
She shrugged, not knowing the answer. Though emotions seemed to be returning to her empty soul and body, could she submit to her father’s wishes and another man’s expectations?
‘Is there a choice, my lady?’ Accepting the hard reality facing her seemed to be her godmother’s intent in this discussion. ‘I have as much choice now as I did three years ago or even seven years ago in the decision that sent me to you.’
The lady took her hand and pulled her closer. Tears, tears, welled up and trickled down her cheeks. She’d had no idea that when feelings returned, the hopelessness would, too. Glynnis had mistaken emptiness for that lack of belief that she could live again after all of the losses had torn her apart and crushed her asunder.
As the pain filled her, she understood. She understood.
She could not pick and choose which feelings she could allow back into her heart and soul. The bad ones were coupled with the good ones as tightly as any vow or bond. To feel joy fully, one must suffer the sadness. To experience the fullness of happiness, regret and pain must have been there first. To truly celebrate living, loss must be endured.
If there was any hope of a satisfying path ahead for her, she must risk the danger of exposing herself to all it offered, with no guarantees. Elizabeth said nothing but held on to her, offering support in the silent gesture.
That was not true. Elizabeth had spoken clearly and often as she’d supported her through it all—when her betrothal to Robbie turned out to be more transient than believed and when she remained there—not kin but more an outsider looking in. Always welcoming. Always gracious to her in spite of Glynnis’s lack of position and place.
This respite, arranged by Elizabeth at great cost, she suspected, was the ultimate gift. It did not give a choice in the next part of her life, but it had given her a chance to find herself again. To breathe and to rest. To feel.
Dare she give the answer she wanted to? Could she grab a bit more time? Should she beg to remain now that she wanted more? More time. More knowledge. More of a chance.
And, at the core, she wanted the opportunity to learn more about Iain.
Oh, there could be nothing between them except what had been all those years ago—an innocent, naive longing they might have called love. She would treasure those times, those feelings, but they were gone for ever now. Much like the last three years would live only in her memories.
‘I have a suggestion that I would like you to consider, Glynnis,’ Elizabeth said as she took a step away. ‘I have not received word of your father’s return from England yet. Take a few more days here before you come to Achnacarry and await his summons.’
‘Achnacarry?’
‘As a guest,’ she explained. ‘’Twould be a reasonable place for you to stop on your way home. And no one would be the wiser about your stay here.’ The lady glanced around the cottage. ‘Well, no one who kens will speak of it.’
If being inside the miller’s house with just a few people had made her uncomfortable, what would being inside the keep with dozens nearby at all times do to her? Could she do that?
‘Do you not think it would be easier to begin among friends here than strangers in your father’s house?’ the lady asked.
‘What do they ken of me?’ Glynnis asked. ‘Do they ken about...?’ Martainn. The pregnancies. The bairn. Her stomach clenched and her heart hurt.
‘They will ken only what we put out about you. News of Martainn’s passing is not common knowledge here, yet, but that much should be shared. Though the Camerons and Campbells are not closely allied, Robert did send messages to their chieftain about his death.’ Elizabeth met her eyes and waited.
‘Aye.’
That much being known openly would make it easier to explain...her need to return home and to be here. Only Anna and Lorna, and Elizabeth herself, knew about the bairn. The news of Martainn’s death would have overshadowed any other. If he had survived, her other loss would have been magnified.
‘So you will...visit?’
More unwanted emotions flooded her—worry, fear, sadness—but under it all was a different feeling. One of relief. Relief at not having to keep up a charade. To keep herself secret and secreted. Relief that Iain would not have to hide their conversations in the shadows of the forest or in distant glades where they would encounter no one.
Relief that she might gain answers to all those recently risen questions.
‘Aye, my lady,’ she said. ‘I will visit Achnacarry on my way home.’
* * *
A week later, after thanking Coira and her family for their care and help, Glynnis climbed up on her horse for the first time since she’d arrived here. With an escort arranged by Lady Elizabeth and with Maggie trailing behind, she rode through the village of Achnacarry, through the gates and up to the keep.
* * *
‘We have a visitor,’ Geordie said, staring past Iain as he inspected his horse’s repaired shoe.
Iain straightened and turned to watch the small group approach the door of the keep. As Geordie whistled, Iain recognised them. Her. He recognised her.
‘Could that be the MacLachlan lass?’ Geordie asked, stepping next to Iain as they both watched. ‘I mean Lady Glynnis,’ he said, nudging Iain with his elbow as he corrected his words.
‘That would be Lady Campbell now,’ Iain said. ‘Are we done?’ The need to follow her to find out what she was doing here after weeks of hiding urged him on.
‘Ye are done here. Get out of my way so I can do my work, lad,’ Geordie said.
One of his first chores on settling here in the village was mucking out stalls, so the old man still treated him as though he was that lad of ten-and-three instead of a man now. Between Lachlan and Geordie, they had seen to his adjustments into the established way of things here in Achnacarry, teaching him more than just woodworking and horses. Then, when it was revealed that his father had been Malcolm Cameron, only son of the old Cameron chief and heir until his murder, Davidh took over guiding him even as Robert oversaw his training as a Cameron warrior. So, he accepted Geordie’s lack of respect for Iain’s new position, for the man had done so much for him.
Iain crossed the yard and made it to the steps just as the small group drew to a stop. Before any of the men accompanying her could dismount, he was at her side.
‘Lady Campbell, welcome back to Achnacarry,’ he said as he reached up to help her to the ground. He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her down. ‘I am surprised to see you here.’ Her eyes widened for a moment followed by a strained smile.
‘’Tis good to be back,’ she said in that polite voice. The one which told him nothing. The one she had mastered long ago while ignoring the other part of his words. Before he could ask her once more about her arrival, the door to the keep opened and the chieftain and the lady walked out to greet her.
The timing told him that this had been arranged. Their greetings were all perfectly spoken. Their smiles and clasped hands all part of a planned performance for anyone, everyone, watching. Glynnis stepped back from him, his hands releasing her from his hold. With a glance at him before she turned away, Glynnis made her way to her godmother, stopping to curtsy before her and Robert.
‘Glynnis, I am glad you accepted my invitation,’ the lady said, taking Glynnis’s hand and drawing her to her side. ‘How do you fare?’
Their heads leaning close, the women chatted as they walked inside, leaving him there at the bottom of the steps and Robert at the top. Robert nodded his head in their direction and Iain climbed quickly to follow along. Curious at the change of events, he wanted to speak with his chieftain to discover what had brought Glynnis to Achnacarry.
Lady Elizabeth had already led Glynnis to a small alcove where several chairs sat in an arrangement in front of one of the hearths. A small repast was waiting there—another confirmation that this was not spontaneous. Was Robert angry over this? He’d made his displeasure clear before, in front of many of those who lived within the keep that day, even if most knew not the reason as he did.
He reached them just as Robert spoke to Glynnis.
‘I sent condolences to your husband’s father, Glynnis, but did not send them to you at the time. I hope you ken that I, that we, are sorry for your loss, my dear.’
The words, a simple offer of sympathy, struck him dumb in its revelation. Glynnis had suffered a loss. One of such gravity she’d ended up recovering from it in the private place arranged by her godmother. And now, here she was, passing through.
Going home with no husband in sight.
With no husband.
He did not mean to gasp as the truth of her situation became apparent and the sound drew her attention to him. And there in her pained gaze he saw the truth she’d never told him.
‘I, too, offer my condolences on your loss, Lady Glynnis,’ he said, lowering his head towards her. Since only the chieftain and his wife were close enough to hear his words, he continued, ‘I did not ken that was what brought you here.’ Another flash of pain burned in her eyes, making him suspect there was so much more to this sad story than she would say.
A stiff nod was all he got in reply, but he did not expect anything else. Iain stepped back, as Robert whispered something to his wife before nodding to him and heading towards the chamber off the hall.
Her husband was dead. The loss had left her an empty shell, broken and clearly broken-hearted. Left her physically ill, so much so that his own mother had to tend to her.
Glynnis must have loved him very deeply to suffer so much at his loss.
Iain followed his chieftain, as more truths struck him.
Robert knew about Glynnis’s reasons for being here, but he had not wanted her here. Robert’s expression as they faced one another across the table told Iain he was correct—his chieftain had kept the news of Glynnis’s situation from him a-purpose. Had kept her presence here a secret, only speaking of it when he discovered that Iain had been spending time with her.
Risking the newly set betrothal with the King’s kinswoman.
‘So, you did not trust me, Robert?’ Iain stood, hands on hips, facing down a man he’d admired. A man he’d sworn to serve.
Robert began to speak, to argue from the look of his expression, and then he held his hands up and nodded. ‘Nay, I did not.’
Iain reeled back, hurt and angry and stunned by his chieftain’s words. No matter what he’d said or done these last years, he’d yet to prove himself to Robert? It made no sense. He’d done nothing to cause such distrust. He’d sworn. He’d promised. He’d carried out orders. He’d supported Robert even if he had misgivings or did not understand the reasons behind his actions.
Iain found himself striding through the hall, heading for the stairway that led to the lower level of the keep, before he realised he’d taken a single step. Along the corridor and out through the door that led directly to the yard. Once there, he looked around at the other outbuildings, seeking...something. Seeing nothing that made sense to him, he walked to the far corner of the enclosed bailey and leaned back on the stone wall. From this place and position, he could take in all of Achnacarry Castle—its keep, the yard, the stables, storehouse and its people.
He’d given his all, every ounce of himself, to learn how to serve his father’s clan. Yet, for some reason, it had not been enough for Robert. Even while the man proclaimed his support and moved him closer and closer to his goal—tanist—there was still some doubt. As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, one thing struck him.
Glynnis was a weakness for him.
The one person who’d made him consider running away. The person whom he’d spent time with and seen while attempting to keep their encounters hidden or, at the least, kept from his laird’s knowledge. But for Davidh’s keen eye and knowledge of him and his complete loyalty to Robert, it might have remained unknown.
A weakness that his chieftain had recognised. One his stepfather had as well. Only he had not realised the danger in a hidden weakness.
Leaning his head on the rough, cold stone, he knew he had not kept faith with Robert after all. And that he must make it right. A man must right the mistakes he made. A noise drew his attention and he followed the sound of it, up and up, until he spotted Robert up on the battlements.
He’d made mistakes in the past and he’d faced them. He’d made them with Robert, including the night when drink took his wits and had him spouting all sorts of nonsense to everyone in the hall and at the laird’s table. And each time, Robert extended him patience rather than striking out as was his right. Iain had heard stories of the previous chieftain and his ruthless, cruel ways and understood his own existence would have been in danger with that man if Iain’s parentage had been known. Gilbert would have killed anyone who stood in the way of his claim.
As Iain, son of Malcolm Cameron, would.
Staring across the distance as Robert spoke to the guards there on the heights, Iain understood he must make this right. To have the type of trust that Davidh had with his chieftain took work, on both sides. So, he must do the same to gain Robert’s faith. He stood and made his way to where Robert stood, waiting for him to finish his discussion with the two guards. He sent them off with a nod of his head and turned to face Iain.
‘I—’ He truly did not know what to say.
‘You arrived here in Achnacarry just a year after I claimed the high seat on my brother’s death.’ Iain was ten-and-three when he moved here, and though aware of the turmoil within the clan’s leaders, he’d never heard the whole of it. ‘Too young to have a care about who came when or what.’ Robert smiled. ‘And so caught up in holding control, I never did notice the resemblance of yours to my elder brother Euan or his long-dead son.’
Robert turned back to the edge of the stone battlement and leaned his arms there, glancing around the area beneath them. The yard was always busy at this time of day and this place had a good view of its many parts and what was going on in most of them. Only the other side of the keep was out of view.
‘Has anyone told you how I became chieftain, Iain? Your mother was not here either, but mayhap Davidh revealed the whole of it to you?’
‘Only that your brother had plotted against his own kith and kin in a devil’s bargain and he was challenged and killed by your stepson. And that you took the seat as next in line.’
Robert laughed, but did not face him.
‘So, Davidh has not revealed the rest of it?’ Iain could not think of what Davidh could have held back. Or what he had not heard in gossip or talk in these years since his arrival.
‘I do not ken, my lord.’
‘I suspect that no one wants to ruin the fine opinion you have of us.’ His words shocked Iain. At this moment, he could not comprehend a way that Robert could shake his high opinion of his clan chieftain.
‘He was my younger brother, Iain. Gilbert should never have had the high seat of the Camerons when our brother, your grandfather, died. But I had a weakness and it allowed him to control me for years.’
‘A weakness, my lord? What could he use against you?’
Robert was honourable, brave, sensible and loyal. What could he have done? Iain tried to remember any rumours about Robert back when he’d arrived here. Other than the man helped Davidh rescue him from outlaws intent on using him against the Camerons, he could think of nothing else.
‘The same weakness you have, Iain. The same one,’ he said. ‘Robbie tried not to fall victim as I had and even he failed.’ Robert did face him now. ‘Love, Iain. Well, not love by itself, but failing to recognise its power over you.’
‘Anything I felt for the lady ended three years ago, my lord. I give you my word on that.’
‘I am not questioning your honour, lad,’ Robert said. ‘I accept that you sought her out believing you only wanted to help her. To help an old friend, as you have probably convinced yourself.’ He paused and let out a breath. ‘But unless you admit the truth to yourself, it will always be your weakness. A fault upon which you shape the rest of your life. A vulnerability that will undermine the strength of any relationship you build from now on.’
