The Revelation is Love Page 12

  Her last thought before slipping into sleep was that the MacLean’ had destroyed any chance of happiness for her in the future.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As Celina prepared for the night, Rupert went back into the rubbish-strewn courtyard.

  He stood still for a moment hands on hips thinking about the beautiful girl who had been by his side for what now seemed like weeks rather than days.

  Now that they had found the heirloom, would she vanish from his life?

  He sensed her withdrawal from him the moment it was confirmed that it was the MacLeans who had wrecked the interior of Castle Fitzalan.

  He wondered why they had not set fire to the place, but perhaps burning down a castle was too difficult a task.

  He had to find some way to convince Celina that, as far as he was concerned, her relationship to those dastardly marauders did not matter a jot.

  She definitely came from a different mould.

  Her honesty, clear-sightedness and high principles removed her from any comparison with Lord MacLean and his son – they were no better than common criminals.

  In the gold fields of California, Rupert had found men who took what they wanted with little mercy and no regard for the law.

  He had not expected to find the same attitude in Scotland.

  The weather had cleared again and now an almost full moon lit the desolation around him with painful clarity.

  How, he only wondered, could a wonderful girl like Celina possibly be related to the thugs who had performed this desecration?

  The possibility that the MacLeans might prove to be the owners of the ancient chalice was deeply unsettling.

  He urgently needed to find the book with the family tree – it had to be somewhere here amongst the litter in the courtyard for only the odd pieces of paper remained in the muniment room.

  Rupert started pulling pieces of furniture upright, assessing how much damage was done. He soon gave up, as most of the items were only fit for firewood.

  For the first time he applauded the way that his grandfather had sold off anything of value.

  The books all seemed to have been carted out and dumped into a pile and ashes suggested the MacLeans had tried to set fire to them. Perhaps the rain had made that too difficult a task?

  Rupert picked up several sodden books and then found some that had been shielded from the wet.

  He carried as many as he could inside, all the time checking for the one with the family tree.

  Finally he arranged a makeshift bed for himself in the kitchen and collapsed onto it in exhaustion.

  *

  Several times during the night a groan or loud snore from Duncan woke Rupert.

  Each time he would light a candle and check on the injured man.

  Each time before he went back to his bed, he would look longingly in the direction of the salon where Celina was asleep and stifle a temptation to steal in and see if she needed anything.

  He could not help imagining her glorious red hair spread over her pillow, her lovely face relaxed in sleep.

  He woke for a final time at dawn and Duncan at last seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

  Rupert riddled the range, added coal, put water on, then dressed in his now dry suit and went to look for some coffee.

  He gave out a whoop of joy when he found not only some beans but also the coffee grinder.

  He made himself a mug and settled down to scan the pile he had made of the most promising-looking books.

  Fitzalan, MacLean, Beaumarche – how did all these names fit together?

  He needed that family tree.

  Only one book proved of any interest.

  Claiming to be a history of the Fitzalan family, it proved to be little more than a collection of anecdotes.

  A skim through the book produced only one brief mention of a lost and unidentified treasure, but there was no family tree.

  He went out again to search for more books feeling thoroughly frustrated.

  Until ownership of the chalice was established this damaging and stupid feud could not be ended.

  Returning to the kitchen with an armful of yet more possible books, he found Celina dressed in her own clothes and wearing her hair in a long plait over one shoulder.

  “See,” she said delightedly. “Duncan has regained consciousness.”

  A thrill of relief ran through Rupert.

  Duncan was sitting up in bed. He looked very pale but his eyes were bright.

  “What’s the Laird been up to, eh?” he gurgled.

  Rupert showed them both the collection of books.

  “I’m looking for a family tree. I’ve been trying to find the book I glimpsed when we were searching through the muniment room the other day.”

  He looked at Celina stirring a pot on the range.

  “What are you cooking?”

  “Porridge – it’s the best Scottish breakfast there is. Tradition says it should be cooked in a drawer overnight, but we’ll have to forget that.”

  Duncan gave another little chuckle. He seemed to be coming back to life and growing stronger every minute.

  “She’s a wee bonnie lassie all right, but can she cook porridge? That’s the true test of a Scottish cook!”

  He looked at the books Rupert had put on the table.

  “Could you no find the Bible, laddie?”

  “The Bible? The family tree I saw was not in the Good Book.”

  “Mebbe not, but a list of the family is.”

  Celina held out a bowl of porridge.

  “Could you please take this out to Walt before you start searching the courtyard again?”

  The events of the previous day had badly upset the boy and Rupert took time to reassure him that everything would be all right before starting his search for the Bible.

  As he turned over the debris, he realised how much he would miss both Duncan and Walt when the time came to return to New York.

  As for Celina –

  For the moment he pushed all thought of her aside.

  He soon found an old and heavy tome. The leather binding had suffered badly from the rain, but the contents seemed to have survived.

  He took it back inside.

  Celina handed him a bowl of porridge.

  “Research can wait until you have eaten breakfast,” she insisted with a smile, “and I’ve made coffee.”

  “The porridge’ll be best with a wee dram of whisky round the edge,” added Duncan with a sly smile.

  Rupert reached out for the bottle he had found the night before.

  “There may just be enough,” he laughed, pouring it into the bowl.

  He sat down and fed Duncan the warming porridge.

  “She’s as bonnie a cook as she looks,” Duncan said after a few mouthfuls. “But I think I’ll sleep for a wee bit.”

  He closed his eyes and slumped down onto the bed. Rupert helped to make his splinted leg more comfortable and then studied him with worried eyes.

  “He is breathing quite easily,” commented Celina, joining him at the bedside. “I think he just needs sleep.”

  She sat down at the table and opened the Bible.

  Rupert picked up his bowl of porridge. It was warm and filling, but for him it could not replace eggs and hash brown potatoes.

  “It’s a little difficult to work out the details,” Celina remarked, looking up from the Bible. “It starts in the early seventeenth century, but an effort has been made to fill in some of the past. Lots of different hands make the later entries and I need to try and draw up a proper family tree.”

  Rupert returned to the muniment room and picked up the odd pieces of paper littering the floor.

  Several were only written on one side and he took them into the kitchen and gave them all to Celina together with a propelling pencil from his jacket pocket.

  He sat in the other chair and enjoyed studying her serious face as she concentrated on working out the details of the family tree from the information in the Bible.

 
She was, he decided, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

  Suddenly she looked up at him, flushed as she met his gaze and hastily looked back at her work.

  “I think I have been able to decipher some sort of a tree.”

  She pushed two pieces of paper across the table.

  She came and stood at his shoulder, using his pencil to point out the relevant entries.

  “As you see here, the family was originally called Beaumarche, and a Frenchman probably married a Scottish heiress at some stage. The 1745 rising, when Bonnie Prince Charlie tried to gain the English throne, proved disastrous for the Beaumarches, as it did for so many Scottish families.

  “Two of the young male offspring survived. One died without issue at the age of twenty-four – that’s him.”

  The pencil pointed.

  “His brother had two daughters and was the last of the male Beaumarches.”

  Celina indicated two more entries.

  “The elder daughter married a cousin of hers who was granted the title of Lord Fitzalan, the younger one, Lord MacLean.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Do you realise that means you are distantly related not only to me, but also to my uncle, Lord MacLean, and to Hamish MacLean?”

  Rupert felt a thrill at any connection with Celina, however remote, but a relationship with the MacLean Clan was a different matter.

  He looked across the table with a grim smile.

  “I cannot think your uncle and cousin will greet the news that I am a long-lost cousin of theirs with delight!”

  Celina’s pencil still hovered over the family tree.

  “The fact that you are the Lord Fitzalan proves that your line is the more senior, but does not explain why the MacLean’s possess Beaumarche Castle.”

  Rupert reached for the history of his family.

  “Maybe there is something in here that will tell us.”

  Celina made more coffee and checked on Duncan.

  “He’s still asleep and seems to be fine.”

  Rupert looked up in triumph.

  “It’s all here in this book! Apparently the last male Beaumarche left two great Scottish estates – Beaumarche and Fitzalan – each with an imposing Castle. His will said that each daughter should inherit a Castle, but did not say which each should have.

  “Beaumarche was deemed the most beautiful Castle and was where the family lived. The elder daughter said it should be hers, while the younger said Castle Fitzalan was the older dwelling and should therefore go to the elder girl.

  “After arguing bitterly, they finally agreed to throw dice. The younger sister won in the end and then claimed Beaumarche. They never spoke to each other again.”

  Rupert closed the book and looked at Celina.

  “So that is why the MacLeans possess Beaumarche and that is when the feuding began. Neither husband was apparently very satisfactory and the book says the division of the estates began a decline in the family fortunes.”

  “How sad,” sighed Celina, pouring out fresh coffee. “All that bad blood. You don’t seem to have inherited any of it, though.”

  “Nor do you,” added Rupert, looking at Celina and thinking how exquisite she looked, standing by the range, her flaming hair dressed in a long plait, the faint powdering of freckles giving her skin a golden glow.

  For a long moment, they looked at each other and Rupert felt his pulse beating faster and faster.

  Celina’s golden glow deepened to a rosy flush.

  Hardly knowing what he was doing, Rupert rose –

  And at that moment the doctor came bustling in.

  “Morning, Lord Fitzalan, Miss Stirling,” he nodded to them both. “I have come to see how my patient fares.”

  Grateful though Rupert was to see him, he wished the doctor could have delayed his arrival.

  Duncan woke up and after an inspection, the doctor pronounced him,

  “A stout fellow with a constitution of iron. In time you should do splendidly, but there will be a limp for the rest of your life.”

  “Och, weel, so long as I have me leg, that will be no trouble,” blustered Duncan.

  The doctor laughed, returned his stethoscope to his case and said he would drop by and plaster the leg the next day.

  Rupert accompanied him outside.

  “You have a dickens of a task here, my Lord,” the doctor commented, looking at the chaos in the courtyard.

  Rupert grunted and said nothing.

  “But I have no doubt you will tackle it with great Fitzalan spirit. Your grandfather was a feisty man and so was your father and it was such a sad day when he left for America – and a happy one that has seen your return.

  “Your man, Duncan, should pull through, but watch for a relapse. I don’t like what you told me of his condition during the night. It sounds like a late-onset concussion and he is hardly in the prime of life, but Miss Stirling seems a sensible nurse.”

  Rupert was suddenly aware that Celina staying with him without a chaperone would not look very good.

  “She should be with Lady Bruce. It’s unfortunate that the bad weather and Duncan’s condition, together with what has happened here,” he waved a hand at the courtyard debris, “meant she could not go to Drumlanrigg last night.”

  “Don’t you worry at all, my Lord. There’ll be no spreading of the fact from me, I assure you. I’ll be off. If you’re worried about your man’s condition, send that lad for me.”

  Rupert assisted the doctor into his trap and closed the gates behind him.

  Then he rescued the satchel with the chalice from the stable bran bin and instructed Walt to saddle Prince and find his saddlebags.

  Returning inside, Rupert took Celina into the salon and told her what the doctor had said.

  Then he gave her a straight look.

  “I am going over to Beaumarche Castle to prove to Lord MacLean and Hamish that they have no claim on the chalice and that this feud must end here.”

  For a moment Celina stood rigid.

  “I will come with you, my Lord. I am the only one who might be able to make Uncle Robert see sense.”

  Rupert placed a hand on Celina’s shoulder.

  He could feel the tension in her body.

  Was she afraid for him?

  “Duncan needs you to look after him, Celina. Walt cannot do it. I am sure that when Lord MacLean sees the documents, he will have to accept the situation.”

  Celina closed her eyes and swayed slightly.

  Then she looked straight at him.

  “I must come with you. You need me there.”

  Rupert wanted to say he needed her at his side forever, but he knew that, until this stupid feud was brought to an end, his feelings for Celina must remain unspoken.

  He resisted the urge to take her in his arms.

  “I do appreciate your concern for me and for your uncle and cousin and I will come straight back and tell you what has happened.”

  She looked desperately at him.

  “You know what the MacLean’s are like. At least take a gun with you.”

  Rupert shook his head.

  “That would bring myself down to their level. This has to be a completely rational discussion.”

  Celina let out a cry of frustration.

  “Can’t you understand my Uncle Robert does not understand the meaning of ‘rational discussion’? He only understands the rule of force and the importance of being stronger than your enemy.”

  “I shall prove that I am not his enemy.”

  “But to him you are!” Celina screamed at him.

  Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Rupert looked at her and would have taken her in his arms, but Walt entered.

  “I’ve harnessed Prince and here’re the saddlebags.”

  Celina picked up her drawstring bag.

  Rupert thanked Walt and said he would be out in a moment.

  “Then you must take this with you,” Celina insisted fiercely, holding out a revolver.


  He looked at it in astonishment.

  “Have you had that with you all this time?”

  “I took it from Uncle Robert’s gun room before I helped you to escape from Beaumarche. I kept it because when I saw what he and Hamish were capable of, I wanted to be able to defend myself.”

  “Then you must keep it with you now,” said Rupert softly, “and make sure the old blunderbuss is loaded. You can teach Walt how to use it.”

  She dashed away her tears with an angry hand.

  “Please, please take it.”

  He shook his head, went through to the kitchen and placed the satchel into a saddlebag, together with the Bible, the family tree that Celina had drawn up and the Fitzalan family history.

  Duncan watched him.

  “Ye’re off to sort out the MacLeans, laddie?”

  Rupert nodded.

  “You look after things here, Duncan.”

  Celina appeared in the doorway, her expression was hopeless.

  Rupert found that he was too choked with emotion to say anything to her.

  He raised a hand in farewell and turned to go.

  Suddenly she rushed over the room, flung her arms around him and buried her head in his chest.

  “You must come back,” she cried at him. “Promise me you’ll come back!”

  He dropped the saddlebags and crushed her in his arms for an instant, then let her go, picked up the bags and left.

  *

  The sun shone brightly and Prince appeared to be delighted to have his Master on his back and happily ate up the miles between the two estates.

  At Beaumarche Castle, a groom came out from the stables and held Prince as Rupert dismounted and took the saddlebags over his arm.

  He told the man he would not be long, and strode towards the house.

  Lord MacLean emerged with Hamish behind him.

  “You are not at all welcome here,” growled Lord MacLean at him arrogantly, but his eyes shifted uneasily and Rupert knew that his appearance had unsettled him.

  “You have brought such devastating damage to my home and still failed to find the Beaumarche heirloom,” Rupert said coldly. “I have come to tell you the truth of the matter before you are arrested for the sacking of Castle Fitzalan. Law Officers are on their way.”

  Hamish cracked an uncertain laugh.