The Loveless Marriage Page 2
She entered The Castle by the huge Gothic door that had stood there for centuries.
Inside everything was far more up to date.
Her mother had brought rugs and carpets for the floors and hung velvet curtains over the windows.
The whole Castle was now as comfortable as it was possible for it to be.
A Sinclair from Caithness, she had fortunately been not only beautiful but wealthy.
She could therefore afford comforts and accessories which had never been seen in The Castle until she married the Laird.
As Fyna walked up the ancient staircase with its thick carpet, she thought how fortunate they were.
Many other Lairds lived in the discomfort of draughty ancient houses with dilapidated furniture worn down over the centuries.
Her own room was very pretty.
It had been furnished as a background for a young girl and muslin curtains fell down on either side of the comfortable bed. The dressing table with a muslin petticoat was not what was usually seen in the wilds of Scotland.
When Fyna went to the window, she could look at the mountains on the other side of the Strath.
She could see the river moving only a little way below her, glowing silver and gold in the light of the setting sun.
It was all so beautiful.
Once again she felt a violent resentment against Hamish.
He had driven her from the river back into the security of her home when she wanted to be alone.
‘How can I convince him,’ she asked herself, ‘that I will never marry him even if he was the last man on earth.’
Because there was no answer to this, she gave a sigh and then heard her father calling her.
“Fyna, Fyna,” his voice rang out. “I want you.”
She opened her door.
“I am here, Papa.”
She ran down the stairs and he waited for her in the hall.
She could hear his visitors riding away on their horses.
“I have just come in,” she said. “I saw you were busy, Papa, so I did not want to disturb you.”
Her father did not answer, but went back into the room where he had been sitting.
It was a rather severe study, but round the walls were a great number of books.
There was a portrait of Fyna’s mother that had been painted soon after their marriage.
As the Laird closed the door behind them, Fyna slipped her hand into his.
“You look worried, Papa,” she said. “What is it?”
“I am very worried,” her father answered, “by the news I have just received.”
“What is that?” Fyna asked.
“There has been trouble once again on our borders,” her father replied. “Three men have been badly injured and, although it is hard to believe, over twenty cattle stolen.”
Fyna gave a little cry.
“Surely that cannot be true! On whose ground was it.”
She knew before her father replied what the answer would be.
“The McBraras.”
Fyna sighed.
She knew only too well who was responsible for what had happened.
Hamish had sworn for years to avenge himself on the McBraras.
It was an old feud that had now been carried on for several generations and it had suited Hamish to declare them, as they had been in the past, the enemy of the MacSteels.
He did everything he could to cause trouble with them.
“What can you do about it, Papa?” she enquired of him.
“I am just wondering what I can do,” her father answered. “It is not the first time, as you are well aware, that there has been trouble with the McBraras. They have done nothing to us, as far as I know. They should be left alone to run their own lives, as we want to run ours.”
He paused for a moment before he added,
‘They are a far bigger Clan than we are and the Earl owns many more acres than we can ever hope to possess. What is the point in fighting them when they have no wish to fight us?”
Fyna well knew the answer to this.
Hamish was determined to make trouble and she did not know how her father could stop him.
He was very clever at covering his tracks.
But the Earl, like her father, could not be responsible for what happened at night in the darkness.
That was the time when Hamish and his confederates crept away from their houses.
She could understand in some ways the excitement of it.
The young Clansmen had too little to do and too few amusements.
It was thrilling to go out and steal someone else’s flocks and fight those who tried to protect them.
If only Hamish had gone to the War, things would have been very different.
She knew how much it was worrying her father.
“You will have to speak to Hamish, Papa,” she said, “and tell him this cannot continue.”
“I have spoken to him before,” the Laird replied, “and it has had little effect.”
There was a silence and then Fyna said,
“You could exile him from the Clan.”
Her father stiffened.
“That is something which has been done only in very extreme cases.”
It made one man so treated an outlaw with a grudge against the whole world.
As the Laird sat thinking and she knew that he disliked the idea, Fyna thought how much her father had aged in the last year.
His hair was now almost completely white and there were lines on his face that had not been there before.
She knew that a great number were caused by worrying over Hamish and his behaviour.
What was more there had been one or two incidents lately that had affected their own people.
Sheep had disappeared.
There had been traps on the moors that had caught not only a wild cat or a fox.
They injured a man who had stepped on it by mistake.
Fyna was certain that these had been put there by the McBraras in revenge for what they had suffered from the MacSteels.
‘Things are getting worse,’ she told herself. ‘In fact, if we are not careful, the two Clans may be at war, as they have been in the past when they shot at each other from the Towers of their Castles and had violent fights in which many men were badly injured or killed.’
As if he was reading her thoughts, her father said,
“I am quite aware, my dearest, that this cannot go on.”
“You will have to do something, Papa,” Fyna commented, “but I am not sure what it can be.”
“That is what I am saying to myself,” her father answered. “As you know, the Earl of Braradale has not come back from the War as everyone expected him to do.”
“Is there no one else in his Clan whom you can speak to?” Fyna asked.
“No one of any importance,” he replied, “and their Elders are rather like ours, they talk a lot and do very little.”
They both laughed because this was an old joke.
“Was it the Elders who came to see you this morning?” Fyna asked.
Her father shook his head.
“No, it was members of the McBrara Clan. They are absolutely convinced, as, of course. I am, that it is Hamish who is at the bottom of all the trouble, but unfortunately they cannot catch him.”
Fyna thought he was far too clever for that.
She was told that he was always the leader in any fight that took place.
Yet if things became difficult for the gang he had taken with him to make trouble, he had a habit of disappearing.
She thought now of what he had just said to her.
The idea of his carrying her away by force made her shudder.
She had meant to discuss this with her father, but she knew that now she could not give him any more troubles to worry about.
Aloud she said,
“You will have to speak to him, Papa. There is no one else who will do so because I think he intimidates them.”
“He is an exceedingly tiresome young man,” the Laird said, “and I will speak to him, although I am quite certain that it will have no effect. From what I hear there are far too many young men in the Clan following him for the fun of it.”
Fyna had heard this already.
She had not repeated it to her father because she knew that it would only upset him.
He was always insistent that not only should his Clan behave but the young men should have a chance of learning new ways.
He had arranged for men to come from both the North and the South of Scotland to talk to them about the raising of sheep and cattle. Others told them how to grow crops and where it was possible to do so.
He even entertained an expert on vegetables who had, as the women were so interested, proved a great success.
Fyna was certain that no other Chieftain at the moment was taking so much interest in the education of his people.
It was fortunate that there were several very good schools on the land they owned and the children were therefore well instructed from the moment they were old enough to attend classes.
Fyna would see them setting off in the morning along the side of the river and some of them had to walk several miles down the Strath to the small fishing village which lay at the mouth of it.
They were tired when they went home at night and there was no doubt that they enjoyed being at school. To the majority of them their lessons were a pleasure.
It was because her father was so keen on education that she had been sent to Edinburgh to one of the best schools in Scotland.
He had also paid for her to have Tutors in languages and in several other subjects that he thought were important.
He was a great reader himself and it was therefore not at all surprising that Fyna adored the library in which the number of books increased year by year.
It was there that she found the stories that made her believe in the love that she was determined to find for herself.
It was books that made her realise how much her father missed her mother.
He had loved her overwhelmingly from the first moment he saw her.
Fyna could remember her mother saying,
“It was at a ball, which was being given in my father’s house, when I saw your father, darling, for the first time. He came into the ballroom looking so handsome in his kilt and plaid that I felt my heart turn over. When he looked at me, I just knew that he felt the same.”
“It was love at first sight, Mama!” Fyna exclaimed.
“I never believed it could happen to me,” her mother said. “But it did, darling, as I pray every night that it will happen to you.”
‘That is exactly what I want,’ Fyna told herself over and over again.
She had built up in her mind the idea of a dream man.
He would fall in love with her the moment he saw her and she with him.
That was why she could not even listen to Hamish’s protestations of love.
She knew that he would never in a million years think of love in the same way that she was thinking of it.
He might want her as a woman.
She was, however, well aware of how advantageous it would be to him to be married to the daughter of the Chieftain.
Her brother eventually would automatically take her father’s place.
Although she tried not to think about it, she had an uncomfortable feeling that, when her father died, Hamish might in some way contrive that her brother would not be able to take his place.
There were already quite a number of deaths or regrettable accidents of which Hamish was suspected to be the cause.
Yet no one could prove it.
It was only the Elders who whispered amongst themselves that he was responsible.
“You will have to speak to him. Papa,” Fyna insisted again.
“Before one of my visitors left tonight,” her father said slowly, “he told me that there were rumours that the Earl was coming home.”
Fyna’s eyes lit up.
“At last!” she exclaimed. “One can only say it is high time he did so.”
“I agree,” her father answered. “But apparently he did well in the War and has been fêted in London, which, of course, most young men find irresistible.”
“All the same,” Fyna said, “he has been away a long time and his people need him, just as our people would need you if you left them.”
“Of course they need him,” her father agreed. “He made a very short visit to The Castle when his father died but went back to London for the King’s Coronation.”
“I should like to have seen that myself,” Fyna said. ‘There was a long description of it in all the newspapers but, of course, that is not the same as seeing it in person.”
“If the Earl comes back,” the Laird said, following his own train of thought, “he will find a great number of problems awaiting him. The members of the Clan who were here just now reeled off half-a-dozen and then, of course, the one they really came to see me about.”
He sighed before he added,
“This continual fighting on our borders, they complained, is getting out of hand.”
“I am afraid that it is Hamish who stirs everyone up,” Fyna said. “He himself hates the McBraras and is determined that everyone in the Clan should feel the same.”
Her father looked at her sharply.
“As bad as that?” he asked. “I did not realise that he was involving all the Clan.”
“You know our history very well, Papa,” Fyna answered. “The MacSteels have fought the McBraras for at least six centuries and Hamish is determined that they should go on doing so. Unfortunately the young men agree with him.”
“Then he must be stopped at once,” her father said angrily. “I will not have it happening to my people.”
“That is what I hoped you would say, Papa,” Fyna answered. “But Hamish is very clever. He always manages not to be caught in any of these raids and I am quite certain when you accuse him of doing what we all know he has done, he will simply deny it and challenge you to prove it.”
“I have no intention of believing him,” her father said. “As you have already suggested, he could be exiled from the Clan.”
“It worked in the old days, when everyone trusted the Laird and followed everything he said,” Fyna replied quietly. “But suppose now the younger members who admire Hamish and enjoy the trouble he stirs up do not obey you.”
She knew that this was something that her father had not contemplated.
From the expression in his eyes she was aware that he was extremely worried.
“I will have to think of something,” he said firmly. “But I have no idea what.”
“Nor have I,” Fyna said. “But it would be a disaster, as you know, Papa, if the two Clans go on fighting to the point where we have more or less open warfare between them.”
“It is our Clan that would suffer most,” her father said quietly. “As I have already said, the Earl of Braradale owns thousands more acres than I do and his Clan is perhaps double our size or more. We will be the ones to suffer most and that is what we must make our people understand.”
Fyna knew that he was speaking sense.
At the same time she was well aware Hamish had incited the young men of the Clan in a way that would be difficult to stop.
Because her brother was still away with his Regiment and there was no one to lead them in the Highland Games and other activities that her father provided, too many of them were at a loose end.
When their work for the day was over, it was exciting to find Hamish waiting for them.
He would have some wildcat scheme for them to cross the border and into the McBraras’ land and cause trouble.
If there was a fight between the Clansmen, everyone took it as something that could not be avoided.
Besides, the McBraras, who we
re taken unawares and not prepared for the onslaught, usually came off the worst.
This meant that they did not wish to shout it abroad that they had been defeated by the MacSteels.
In the past the Clans had fought each other to the death.
The situation was so frightening that Fyna put out her hand towards her father.
“We must do something. Papa,” she urged. “We cannot allow one tiresome young man to ruin all the good you have done for the Clan since you became the Chieftain.”
“I would like to think I have introduced a great many modern ideas and modern ways,” her father replied. “But this, my dearest, is taking us back to the Dark Ages and is something that we have to desperately prevent.”
“You are absolutely right, Papa,” Fyna sighed, “but how can we do it?”
Chapter Two
The Earl of Braradale took a long last look at his reflection in the mirror before moving towards the door and his valet opened it for him.
He was aware, without thinking much about it, that he was looking exceedingly smart and that the King would appreciate his appearance.
When he had come back from the War to London, he had been fortunate enough to be singled out by the Prince Regent as a desirable companion.
He had always liked young and handsome men around him, just as he preferred older but attractive women as his mistresses.
He had taken a fancy to the young Scotsman at first because of his appearance.
Then he had found that the Earl’s wit and intelligence were almost as sharp as his own.
However many criticisms might be made of King George IV, no one could say that he was not an elegant gentleman in his appearance.
His manners were perfect and he possessed a charm that was irresistible.
He was aware that a great number of his Courtiers imitated him.
Yet, where the young Earl was concerned, it was natural to him, which the Prince Regent appreciated.
The Earl himself could not help being really fascinated by London and the excitements it offered him.
He had joined the Black Watch Regiment when he was not yet twenty-one and was with the Duke of Wellington’s Army at the Battle of Toulouse.
It was the final battle in Wellington’s Campaign when the British Army had fought its way across Spain and into Southern France.