The Chieftain Without a Heart Read online

  “I thought Taran’s bark was worse than his bite!” Lord Hinchley smiled. “After all, he was the same age as young Torquil when he ran away from home, so he ought to have a kindred feeling for him.”

  Clola sat down on the sofa and Lord Hinchley stared at her for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “You are very beautiful! How could I imagine anything so lovely would be languishing here in the Highlands?”

  Clola smiled.

  This was the second man today who had called her beautiful and she wondered with a little feeling of excitement if the third would be her husband.

  But whatever the Duke had to say to Mr. Dunblane and Torquil, it certainly took a long time.

  When the clock on the mantelpiece struck half-after ten and the Duke still had not returned, Clola rose to her feet.

  “If you will forgive me, I think I will retire,” she said to Lord Hinchley. “It has been a long and exciting day.”

  “I can understand that,” Lord Hinchley replied, “but I hate to let you go. There is so much more I would like to talk to you about.”

  Clola smiled.

  Lord Hinchley had done all the talking and she realised that he wanted to show off to tell her what a close friend he was of the Duke’s and make sure that she would accept him as a friend too.

  She gave him her hand and just as Mr. Dunblane had done, he kissed it and she went along to her bedroom.

  She was not certain what her feelings were when she entered the room.

  She found Mrs. Forse waiting for her and once again she had an intimation not only of hatred but of evil. But she was too tired to trouble herself over the woman and let her help her to undress in silence.

  Then, when she was in her nightgown and just about to get into bed Mrs. Forse said,

  “This is your weddin’ night, Your Grace, a night when we should be wishin’ you great happiness, but I wish you nothin’ of the kind!”

  “Then it would be best if you just said goodnight, Mrs. Forse,” Clola said with dignity.

  “I’ll no wish you good night. It can be nothing but bad. Bad for His Grace and bad for the McNarns that they should link with the Kilcraigs who have the stains of our blood upon their hands!”

  The woman spoke with such ferocity that Clola wished she did not feel it difficult to silence her or drive her from the room when she was only wearing a thin diaphanous lace-trimmed nightgown.

  “I don’t wish to hear that sort of talk, Mrs. Forse,” she managed to say sharply. “My father, as you well know, has sworn the oath of friendship and loyalty to the McNarns and the Duke has sworn the same to the Kilcraigs. There will be no more talk of bloodshed or enmity between us.”

  “That’s what you may believe, Your Grace, but the spirits of the dead will not be appeased by words. They cry oot for vengeance!”

  Mrs. Forse’s voice seemed to echo evilly around the room. Then she walked towards the door.

  “It’s bin a bad day, Your Grace,” she said, as she reached it. “A bad day and an evil day! But retribution will come! You can be sure of that, There’ll be retribution, and ’tis upon your head that it’ll fall!”

  As she spoke the last word she closed the door and there was a silence in which Clola could hear her heart beating.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Clola stood staring at the door that Mrs. Forse had closed behind her and, as she turned to look towards the great bed, she was suddenly afraid.

  Afraid of the hatred that the housekeeper had spat at her, afraid of the hatred she had felt emanating from the Duke during the Marriage Ceremony.

  It seemed to be closing in on her and she was aware that in what had always been the enemy’s camp she was alone, far from her own family and everything that was familiar.

  She had a longing to be with those who bore her name, who were celebrating outside what she felt would be a ‘mockery of a marriage’.

  Without really thinking and carried by an impulse that was stronger than thought, she opened the door of her bedroom and crossed the wide corridor trying to find another room that would look out on the front of The Castle to where the Kilcraigs were encamped.

  She opened the first door she came to and, though it was unlit by candles, the light from the windows told her she was seeing the glow from the fires that had been lit below The Castle.

  Shutting the door quietly behind her, she crossed the room feeling that the golden light drew her and that she must run to it for safety.

  When she reached the window, she could see as she expected dozens of small fires round which the Clansmen were sitting and several big ones where she knew they would be roasting meat.

  Now the comforting sound of the pipes was in her ears and she stood wishing desperately that she could be amongst those she knew rather than incarcerated in a place where there was nothing but hatred.

  She felt panic-stricken at what lay ahead of her.

  It had been strange enough to come home after three years from the life she had lived in Edinburgh with her grandmother,

  Because she was so acutely sensitive, it had been hard at first to adjust herself and not let her father and her brothers know there was any need for adjustment.

  But this step into the unknown aroused a fear that was almost one of terror.

  How could she live with a man who hated her? With servants like Mrs. Forse crying out for the vengeance of the dead? And, Clola knew, believing every word they said.

  It would have been difficult she had thought, to live at her father’s castle without the intelligent people, the music and the books that had all been so much a part of her life in Edinburgh.

  But at least she belonged, at least she was part of a family, while here –

  She felt herself trembling and her heart, which had beaten so frantically when Mrs. Forse had raged at her, was still thumping in her breast, sounding almost like the beat of doom.

  “I cannot – bear it! I must go – away! I must hide somewhere!” Clola cried frantically.

  Then in the darkness of the room behind her, she was aware of a ‘presence’.

  She knew it was not human and yet it was very real.

  She sensed it as she had sensed so often things that other people could not see or hear and yet to her they were present.

  She felt it come nearer and yet she was unafraid.

  She knew it was a lady, grey and insubstantial, who understood what she was feeling and reached out to her from the world beyond.

  The feeling of the lady’s presence was so vivid that Clola felt she could almost hear the words of comfort she spoke.

  “You must be brave and unafraid,” she told her.

  “How – how can – I – ?” Clola asked.

  “Fate has sent you. There are things to be done which only you can do.”

  Like a child who has run to its mother for safety, Clola felt her agitation subsiding.

  Then, as the violent beating of her heart abated and she no longer trembled, she felt calmer but desperately tired.

  Almost as if the Grey Lady beside her took her by the hand, she walked blindly to the bed seeing its shadowy outline in the light from the window.

  It was not made up with sheets, but beneath the velvet cover there were blankets and pillows.

  Clola felt that the Grey Lady helped her on to the blankets and pulled the velvet cover over her.

  Then, as her head touched the pillow, she fell asleep to the music of the pipes.

  *

  Clola awoke with a start to find the sunshine streaming through two long windows and wondered where she was.

  Then she remembered.

  She sat up to realise that she had slept all night in a bed without sheets, but it had been warm and comfortable under a cover that had been embroidered by loving hands.

  It was quiet and she thought that by now the Clansmen would be dispersing back to their homes and the work that would be waiting for them.

  She looked around and saw that the room was panelled
and the curtains and the hangings of the bed embroidered with seventeenth century needlework.

  It was an austere room compared with the furnishing in the rest of The Castle and she thought, as it was in the old part of the building, it must have changed very little through the passing centuries.

  She slipped out of bed and went to the window.

  As she had expected, most of the Clansmen had gone and there was no Kilcraig tartan to be seen amongst those tidying up the debris left from the night before.

  She wondered if she had dreamt the presence of the Grey Lady, who had come to her aid when she had been so afraid. Then she was sure she was real, as real as those moving about below and the other people in The Castle and herself.

  She was about to turn towards the door when she saw over the mantelpiece that there was a portrait. It was very old, painted on wood and enclosed in an ancient carved frame.

  Looking at it Clola knew without being told that here was the lady who had come to her rescue.

  She moved nearer and looked at the inscription under the portrait,

  “Morag, Third Countess of Strathnarn,

  1488-1548.”

  Looking at the portrait, Clola could see a serene face, not beautiful, but with something spiritual and wise about it.

  Here then was her Grey Lady.

  Here was someone who must in her lifetime have helped those in need and still extended her help beyond the grave.

  “Thank you,” Clola said quietly and went to her own bedroom.

  Because she had no wish to see Mrs. Forse until she had to, she did not ring the bell, but washed in cold water and dressed herself in one of the attractive gowns her grandmother had bought for her in Edinburgh.

  When she was ready to leave her room, she looked rather fearfully at the door which she knew led into the Duke’s bedroom.

  Had he come to her last night and found her gone? Or had he hated her so violently that the door had remained closed?

  She remembered how his eyes had met hers before she made the oath of allegiance before him. She had felt then that in some way they spoke to each other without words.

  Later she was sure that she had been mistaken and he must still have been hating her as he had hated her in the Chieftain’s Room where they were married.

  If he had come to her last night, would he have thought that she was breaking her oath to obey and serve him as she had promised to do?

  With a deep sigh, Clola thought that while the Grey Lady had brought her peace and rest during the night the problems were still there.

  And yet because she was rested they were not so fearful and she felt somehow that she could cope with them.

  She looked at the time and saw that she had taken longer in dressing than she had intended and it was in fact nearly half-after-eight.

  ‘I will go down to breakfast,’ she thought, ‘and I shall know by the Duke’s expression if he is still angry with me or not.’

  She walked along the corridor and encountered Mrs. Forse obviously coming to her room carrying a tray with a pot of tea on it.

  She looked surprised when she saw Clola, who merely inclined her head as she passed saying,

  “Good morning, Mrs. Forse!”

  It was too early, she thought, for dramatics, curses or threats of vengeance and the less conversation she had with Mrs. Forse the better.

  She remembered how Mr. Dunblane had said that she could have a personal maid of her own and she would speak to him as soon as possible and ask for one is be provided.

  She entered the dining room to find only Jamie eating alone and greeted him,

  “Good morning, Jamie!”

  “Good morning,” Jamie replied. “Everyone’s gone shooting, but they wouldn’t take me.”

  “Everyone except me!” came a voice from the door.

  Torquil came in as he spoke to throw himself down in a chair at the table without greeting Clola.

  The servants set a bowl of porridge in front of her and one in front of Torquil.

  “It’s jolly unfair!” he said, speaking to nobody in particular and not looking at Clola. “I can shoot as well as or better than anyone in the place! But Uncle Taran said he wants to find out if I’m safe before I can join a party on the moors.”

  Clola thought this was a wise precaution, but aloud she suggested,

  “I am sure there are many other things you can do. What about fishing?”

  She thought that Torquil’s discontented expression lighted a little.

  “I might do that,” he muttered ungraciously.

  “Can I come with you, please, Torquil? Can I come with you?” Jamie asked.

  “I suppose so,” he replied, “if Jeannie lets you.”

  “I’ll soon run away from her!” Jamie said.

  “My brothers have always envied you your salmon river,” Clola said to Torquil.

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse to speak to her directly and then he remarked,

  “Hamish told me that.”

  “I am sure he did,” Clola smiled. “I am glad that you and he are friends.”

  Clola wondered if Torquil’s reply would be that he could never be friends with a Kilcraig.

  Then he said,

  “He was decent to me when I was imprisoned in your castle.”

  He said no more, but Clola had the thought that he had suddenly had an idea of how he should spend the day. He ate the rest of his breakfast in silence while Jamie chattered away and as he finished he said to one of the servants,

  “Tell them to bring my pony to the front door. I’m going riding.”

  The servant went from the room and Jamie said,

  “I thought you were going fishing and I could go with you.”

  “No. I have something else to do this morning,” Torquil answered. “I might fish later this afternoon.”

  “I will tell you what I would like you to do, Jamie,” Clola came in. “Show me round The Castle.”

  The small boy seemed attracted by the idea and when breakfast was over they set out to explore every room and climbed up one of the turrets onto the roof.

  The Castle was high, far higher than any castle Clola had ever seen and from the battlements there was a most magnificent view over the whole countryside.

  It was easy to realise how impregnable it had been in the past and how difficult for the McNarns’ enemies to attack this stronghold.

  She was looking out towards the loch and the mountains behind them, which she had seen last night from her bedroom, when Jamie cautioned,

  “You mustn’t go near the edge. Jeannie says some people get giddy when they look down and fall over.”

  “Jeannie is right,” Clola said, “and it is very sensible of you to remind me. I hope you never come up here alone.”

  “I do sometimes,” Jamie confessed, “but you mustn’t tell Jeannie.”

  “I will not do that,” Clola promised, “but please be very careful. I don’t want to lose my first friend in The Castle.”

  “Is that what I am?” Jamie asked.

  “My very first,” Clola repeated and she nearly added, ‘the only one!’

  *

  The Duke, Lord Hinchley and Mr. Dunblane had an excellent day’s sport.

  It was early in the season and some of the birds were small, but they were all good enough shots to avoid killing the ‘cheepers’ as they were called.

  As they walked home, the Duke felt he had had one of the most satisfying shooting days he had ever enjoyed.

  It was only as they neared The Castle that he began to wonder what had happened to Clola the night before.

  Watching Clola at dinner he had been astounded by her beauty and even more by her elegance.

  He was far too experienced where women were concerned not to realise that her gown would have graced Buckingham Palace.

  In fact with her dark hair in which there were blue lights, her white skin and strange mysterious eyes he knew that his friends and certainly the Monarch wou
ld acclaim her a beauty.

  He remembered his fears of becoming a laughing stock and his decision never to allow his wife to go South. These were two of the things which no longer perturbed him.

  At the same time he could not dismiss so lightly his resentment at being forced into a marriage he did not want nor overcome his dislike of the Kilcraigs as a Clan.

  He was intelligent enough to realise that what was done could not be undone. For better, for worse, Clola was his wife and the sooner they talked things over together and decided to make the best of a bad job, the better!

  Lord Hinchley had said nothing about Clola in the presence of Mr. Dunblane, but the latter moved ahead of them as they neared The Castle.

  He excused his haste on the plea that there were innumerable things for him to see to, among them the arrangements for Lord Hinchley’s departure early in the morning and the two friends walked alone.

  “Shall I say what you know I am thinking?” Lord Hinchley asked.

  The Duke did not pretend ignorance.

  “She is certainly not what I feared and expected.”

  “She is beautiful!” Lord Hinchley said positively, “and has, if I may say so, the most haunting face I have ever seen.”

  “Haunting?” the Duke questioned.

  “I find myself thinking,” Lord Hinchley answered, “that a man would find it difficult to forget her.”

  The Duke made no comment, but he was listening as his friend went on,

  “Perhaps it is her eyes. There is a something about them that I cannot put into words. Perhaps it is the way they tip up a little at the corners or it’s the thickness of her eyelashes.”

  He laughed as if at himself and added

  “I am quite certain, Taran, that in olden days she would either have been burnt as a witch or worshipped as a Goddess!”

  “If you stay in the North much longer,” the Duke said warningly, “you will develop a Celtic imagination which is something sassenachs are never supposed to have!”

  Lord Hinchley laughed again, but, as they entered The Castle, he knew without being told that the Duke was in a very different frame of mind from what he had felt before his marriage.

  As the Duke went upstairs, he decided it would be polite to tell Clola that he was back before he went to his bedroom to bathe and change.