The Eyes of Love Read online

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  From boyhood a Highland Chief began to understand, or at least to enjoy, his peculiar position in life. He was of the same blood, name and descent of his people, but he stood halfway between them and God.

  Edward Burt wrote in the eighteenth century,

  “The ordinary Highlanders esteem it the most sublime degree of virtue to love their Chief and pay him a blind obedience although it may be in opposition to the Government, the Laws of the Kingdom or even the Law of God. He is their idol and, as they profess to know no King but him, so will they say they ought to do whatever he commands.”

  A Chief was not distinguished by the degree of his fortune or by the splendour of his dress, although some walked like peacocks in tartan and silver.

  Thus did a Macdonald of Keppoch boast that his rent-roll was five hundred fighting men. In such a climate of pride and sensitive honour the hospitality of the Highlands was more often manifest vanity.

  When this same Keppoch was told by a guest of the great candelabra to be seen in the houses of England, he ringed his table with tall Clansmen, each holding aloft a flaming pine-knot.

  The Keppoch grinned at his guest.

  “Where in England, France or Italy, is there a house with such candlesticks?” he asked.

  A Scot is always a Scot and wherever he goes his instinctive love for ‘Bonnie Scotland’ is always uppermost in his mind and heart.

  CHAPTER ONE – 1883

  Vara looked out over the Bay at the lights on the distant moors and felt a huge thrill go through her.

  It was wonderful to be back in Scotland.

  She told herself over and over again that there was no place in the world like her native land.

  She had been in England looking after her aunt who had sent for her because she thought that she was dying.

  She took a long time about it, but, when she did die, Vara was free to come home to her beloved Scotland.

  Her aunt had kindly left her one thousand pounds in her will.

  “The first thing I will do, Mama,” Vara said to her mother, “is to redecorate the drawing room and it most certainly needs it.”

  “You should keep the money for your trousseau,” her mother replied cautiously.

  Vara laughed.

  “I am not thinking of needing one and I can assure you that there were no men about in Aunt Amy’s house. It was very quiet there and at times a little depressing.”

  “I do know, dearest,” Lady McDorn pointed out. “But it was very kind of you to go and you have always been Amy’s favourite niece.”

  Vara could not help thinking that the months she had been away had seemed a long time in the quiet little village in Gloucestershire.

  It was where her aunt had lived ever since she had become a widow. Her uncle had been a distinguished man, but his family home that he had retired to was in an isolated part of the country.

  Anyway it was now all over and Vara was back home, which to her was a delight beyond words.

  The McDorns’ house was several centuries old and had been in the family for many generations.

  They were always very proud that they were direct descendants of Robert the Bruce, one of the most exciting and powerful Kings of Scotland.

  However, General Sir Alistair McDorn, when he retired from the Army, could boast only his pension and a modest amount of capital left to him by his father.

  This meant that they had to be extremely careful over what they spent.

  General McDorn had, however, been insistent that their only child, Vara, should have a good and varied education.

  She had been educated at home by highly qualified English Governesses until she was sixteen.

  Then she went to England to what was considered one of the very best and most popular Finishing Schools in the country.

  The English pupils were mostly the daughters of aristocrats and were to make their debut into London Society by being presented to Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace and then undertaking the London Season of endless balls, dinner parties, Receptions and Assemblies.

  This was something that was not possible for Vara, but it had not worried her in the least.

  She had enjoyed receiving First Class tuition in every subject that really interested her and she was well aware that her father and mother had to skimp and save every penny to pay for all the fees.

  That she was top of almost every class was their reward and she had worked extremely hard to please them.

  When she was eighteen, she returned home to the Scotland she loved.

  She did not regret for one minute the festivities that her friends would all be enjoying in London.

  However only a few months after her return, her aunt had sent for her.

  That meant that she had been more or less incarcerated in Gloucestershire until now.

  Because she was just so excited to be back home again, she wanted to run to the end of the garden, which led straight onto the beach.

  Golden sand edged the Bay and above it were the gentle slopes of the moors, purple with a canopy of heather.

  The lights that she had missed in England changed hour by hour with each one seeming lovelier than the last.

  ‘There is so much I want to see now that I am home again,’ she murmured to herself.

  Her mother was working on a tapestry that she was making for a chair cover.

  “I am so delighted, my darling,” she enthused, “to have you back. At the same time you may now find it very dull.”

  “I could never be dull here,” Vara replied, “and this afternoon I am going to climb to the top of our moor and watch as the river runs into the sea.”

  It was something that she had always loved doing as a small child and Lady McDorn laughed.

  “You used to make me tell you stories,” she reminded her, “of how you sailed away on the river to discover distant lands.”

  “I have been to them all in my mind,” Vara declared, “but I have decided that I would rather be here at home in Scotland than anywhere else in the whole world.”

  “That is what I want you to say, my darling,” Lady McDorn answered, “but I do so wish that there were a few more people living around here of your own age. Perhaps when the new Earl is better he will give a party.”

  “The Earl?” Vara questioned. “Is he home?”

  “I thought I mentioned it when I last wrote to you,” she replied. “He has come back from India, but his eyes have been badly affected.”

  “Do you mean he was wounded?” Vara asked.

  “I don’t think so, but somebody has told me that his eyes were bandaged when he arrived about seven days ago. We have heard nothing more about him since then.”

  Vara thought that this was rather strange.

  The knowledge that the Earl of Dornoch, the Chieftain of the McDorns, was home would certainly excite and delight the Clan.

  And what made it even more interesting was that he was someone they did not know.

  Vara supposed that there would have been a Gathering to greet him on his arrival at The Castle.

  Soon there would be the traditional Ceremony when the Clansmen, one by one, pledged their feudal allegiance to him.

  “If he is home, Mama,” she suggested, “surely you and Papa should have called on him by now?”

  “That, of course, is what we intended to do,” Lady McDorn answered, “but we were told that, because his eyes are afflicted, he will see no one.”

  “See no one?” Vara repeated. “How extraordinary! But perhaps he is in pain.”

  She thought that if that was the case the doctors would be attending him with great care.

  Any news from Castle McDorn would therefore be relayed from person to person and her father and moth
er would soon hear it every detail.

  Before her mother could answer the questions that came into her mind, the door of the drawing room opened.

  The General came in accompanied by the local Minister of the Church of Scotland.

  The Minister was an elderly man and he had known Vara since she was a small child.

  “I heard that you were home, Vara,” he said as she moved towards him, “and it is very good to have you back here in Scotland with us.”

  “I am so happy to be here,” Vara answered. “Mama was just beginning to tell me all the news. It is very exciting that the Earl is now home to The Castle.”

  “That is exactly what I came to see you about, my child,” the Minister said, “but let me first greet your mother.”

  He walked to Lady McDorn’s chair. She did not rise because she suffered with arthritis.

  “You must forgive me for not coming to the Kirk this Sunday,” she said, “but I had a bad night and Alistair insisted that I stayed at home.”

  “He was quite right to do so,” the Minister smiled. “But I missed you and I have missed little Vara while she has been away too.”

  He looked at Vara as he spoke and then said,

  “I have come here on a strange mission, but I think, when you hear what I have to say, you will realise that it is an important one.”

  “Let me first offer you some refreshment,” the General invited him. “Will you join me in a glass of sherry?”

  “I would be delighted,” the Minister replied.

  The General went from the room and the Minister then sat down on the sofa.

  “What I have come to tell you,” he said, addressing Vara, “is that the new Earl is in a bad way.”

  “Mama was telling me that his eyes are badly afflicted. But what happened to him?” Vara asked. “Was he injured in a battle?”

  “I think he suffered no actual injury,” the Minister said, “but the fact is that he cannot see. The doctors have forbidden him to try to use his eyes. He has to keep them bandaged for at least two months.”

  “Did this happen in India?” Vara wanted to know.

  “I think it happened when he was on the North-West Frontier,” the Minister replied, “but he is most reluctant to speak about it and he is making things very difficult for everybody at The Castle.”

  Lady McDorn looked up from her embroidery.

  “I did hear a rumour that there was indeed something wrong,” she said, “but I thought it best not to talk about it.”

  “You were quite right,” the Minister said. “What we want is that the Earl should realise the importance of his position as Chieftain of the Clan and settle down happily at The Castle, which at the moment is apparently not happening.”

  “But why?” Vara asked. “Is it because he cannot see?”

  “I think that is the main reason, but he is making life difficult for everybody. He is even refusing to receive the Elders of the Clan.”

  Vara looked astonished.

  She knew at once that this was something that would deeply upset the Elders, who were very conscious of their standing and importance in the Clan’s hierarchy.

  If they were to become dissatisfied with their new Chieftain, it would gradually affect the McDorns adversely wherever they might be.

  “What can you do about it?” Vara asked.

  “This is exactly why I have come here to see you this morning,” the Minister answered. “I was approached by his Lordship’s secretary, Mr. Bryden, whom I am sure you remember and who has been at The Castle for over twenty years now.”

  “Of course I remember him,” Vara nodded.

  “He feels that something must be done for his Lordship and the most important thing is for him to have a Reader.”

  “Surely, Mr. Bry – ?” Lady McDorn began.

  The Minister held up his hand.

  “I am just going to explain. Mr. Bryden tells me the Earl cannot understand the Scottish accent. He insisted on having someone who speaks the same sort of English that he does.”

  Vara gave a little gasp.

  “He does not understand the Scottish accent?” she exclaimed. “But – he is a Scot!”

  “Indeed he is or he would not be the ninth Earl of Dornoch!” the Minister replied. “But he was brought up as an Englishman.”

  He paused and then continued,

  “His father, who had married the daughter of an English Nobleman, had not supposed it was at all likely that he or his son would ever succeed to the Earldom.”

  Vara remembered that the late Earl had only one son.

  He had been serving in the Black Watch Regiment, as all the McDorns had done for many years and had been posted to the Sudan under Major General Gordon and he was killed by hostile natives in an ambush.

  Vara could remember how devastated the Clan had been.

  The Viscount’s body had been brought back home and it had been placed in the family vault in the Kirk after a tear jerking Funeral Service.

  In Scotland, at any rate, the Earl of Dornoch was of great consequence.

  Any disparagement of the Scots by the new Earl would be received with horror and deep resentment.

  “You will understand,” the Minister went on, “that because the last Earl was so ill for a long time before he finally died, there was much left undone that should now be put in hand, including repairs to The Castle itself. The only person who can give the orders for this to be carried out is, of course, his Lordship.”

  “And he refuses?” Vara asked.

  “I am afraid he cannot, or will not, understand the particulars when they are read to him by Mr. Bryden or by anybody else in The Castle.”

  “They must feel deeply offended,” Vara commented in a low voice.

  “It is something that, if talked about outside, could do him a great deal of damage,” the Minister said. “Everybody has been looking forward to having a young Chieftain with new ideas who will encourage and initiate new local industries to employ the local people.”

  Vara was well aware that this was true.

  Like most of the ordinary people of Scotland, the McDorns relied on their spinning and their fishing to earn money to live on.

  They thought of their Chieftain not only as their Leader but as their shepherd.

  To them he was a father-figure, who would inspire and comfort them at all times.

  The idea of the Earl being too English even to understand their speech would strike them like a blow.

  Vara knew that it would be very difficult for them to accept it.

  “What can you do about it?” she asked the Minister.

  “The answer to that, Vara, is what will you do about it?”

  “Me?” Vara enquired.

  “Mr. Bryden wants someone who can read to his Lordship in an English accent, but there is no one here who is capable of doing that except for yourself.”

  Vara’s eyes widened, but she knew that the Minister was speaking the truth.

  Like most upper-class children, even of Scots blood, she had been brought up to speak with an English accent and had completed her education in England.

  There was silence until she queried,

  “Are you really asking me to go to The Castle and read to his Lordship?”

  “I am begging you to do so,” the Minister answered. “Mr. Bryden has been very loyal and has kept people who are curious away from him. At the same time he says he dare not let the fishermen, the gamekeepers, the gillies or anyone else near his Lordship because he will undoubtedly tell them that he cannot understand what they are saying.”

  “And obviously has no wish to do so,” Vara remarked. “It seems to me he is a very spoilt young man and somebody should warn him what harm he can do if he continues to behave in such a ridiculous manner.”

  “I would doubt if what you are suggesting would do any good,” the Minister answered. “He seems most reluctant to accept the position in which he finds himself and deeply resents that he cannot see. Equally he hates o
ffers of pity or sympathy because, I think, he finds it degrading.”

  Lady McDorn sighed.

  “I can see your problem, Minister.”

  “I have a feeling,” the Minister said, “that it could be solved if Vara, who has always been a very clever girl, could not only read to him but try to impress upon him that the Clan really needs his leadership.”

  Vara knew that this was very true.

  The last Earl had been over eighty when he died and for the last five years of his life he had been completely senile.

  No one had seen him except the Minister and the doctors, who admitted that they could do nothing for him.

  Vara knew as well that her father would have commiserated with the Elders.

  Everything they claimed was going to rack and ruin without their Chieftain to inspire and direct them.

  She had often thought when she was in England that the Scots were very childlike in many ways and they relied perhaps too much on their Chieftain to solve every problem for them.

  She did not stop to think over what the Minister had just asked of her, but said without hesitating,

  “Of course, if I can do any good, I will come to The Castle. Would you like to take me back with you today?”

  “If it is not asking too much,” the Minister replied. “I think it would be most helpful if you would stay at The Castle for a few days.”

  “Stay there?” Vara questioned. “But why?”

  “Mr. Bryden tells me that because his Lordship is in darkness, he does not know night from day. Mr. Bryden is not a young man and he is often called from his bed to answer some question that is puzzling the Earl or to read something to him that he has not understood.”

  “Oh, poor Mr. Bryden,” Vara sympathised. “He is just far too old to be woken up in the middle of the night.”

  “That is exactly what I think,” the Minister agreed, “and Donald, his Lordship’s personal servant, is also beginning to feel the strain.”

  “Well, I shall certainly tell his Lordship that I need my beauty sleep,” Vara said firmly, “and, if he is being too selfish and inconsiderate, I shall disconnect the bells when no one is looking!”

  The Minister laughed while Lady McDorn suggested,

  “Darling, you must try to understand that for a young man it is intolerable to be blind. I am sure he wants to be out catching salmon in the river and shooting grouse on the moors.”