169. A Cheiftain finds Love (The Eternal Collection) Read online

  There was no doubt that he was a magnificent figure of a man.

  “Even when he was an old man,” the Duke said, “I remember thinking how handsome my father was, besides being awe-inspiring.”

  “As you will be yourself in thirty years’ time,” Harry said, “and extremely conceited about it!”

  “If you talk to me like that,” the Duke remonstrated, “I shall send you South and close my door to all Sassenachs!”

  “I am sure that Lavinia will easily find somebody to console her,” Harry teased him.

  It struck the Duke that the answer to that was that nobody could be more important than he was himself. Then he thought that it would be a mistake to say so, even to Harry.

  It was true that he found Lady Lavinia Hambleton alluring, exciting and more passionate than any woman he had ever met before.

  The daughter of the Marquis of Dorset, she had been married when she was very young to a husband who had no idea how to control her.

  Then after four years of marriage he had conveniently died of typhoid fever after being sent on a Military mission to India.

  Lady Lavinia had not pretended to be inconsolable, she had merely looked lovelier than ever in mourning.

  She was even more beautiful when she could wear soft shades of mauve and a deep purple that made her skin seem dazzlingly white.

  At twenty-six she was at the height of her beauty.

  When she saw the Duke, she could imagine that no man could be more suitable to be her husband and a complement to herself.

  The Duke was aware that she was merely waiting for him to say the four words that would make her a Duchess.

  But some instinct of self-preservation or perhaps it was his native Scottish caution, prevented him from committing himself.

  Their affaire de coeur had lasted long enough for all the gossips to be aware of it.

  Harry was thinking that an invitation to The Castle was tantamount to asking for her hand in marriage.

  Because he was devoted to the Duke and felt like a brother to him, he was exceedingly anxious that he should marry the right woman.

  He was perhaps the only person who was aware that the Duke had many hidden depths to his character.

  He was also far more vulnerable and idealistic than he appeared to be. Equally he could be frighteningly authoritative when he chose.

  There was no doubt that as he grew older he would rule his Clan in the autocratic way that his father had done.

  Because Harry was English and had moved always amongst the great aristocratic families, he was aware of how important the Head of a Family could be.

  His own father for instance was admired and revered by those who worked and lived on his estate.

  Yet it was nothing, he often thought, beside the power and prestige of a Chieftain in Scotland.

  Whilst the Chieftains no longer had the power over life and death, they still had an authority that seemed at times almost God-like.

  Equally their Clansmen trusted and obeyed them as if they were actually their fathers.

  The whole arrangement had always fascinated him.

  He thought now that it was essential if the Duke was to be happy that he should marry a woman who would appreciate his position.

  It was after all very different from that of an ordinary man.

  Lady Lavinia was beautiful, there was no doubt about that.

  She was also capable of making a man’s heart beat faster and igniting within him a burning fiery desire.

  But had she anything else to offer? It was a question that he thought was important.

  Dorothy Waltham, whom the Duke had invited for him, was a very different proposition.

  She was entrancing, witty and amusing and Harry found her physically irresistible.

  Her husband, Sir Douglas, was forty years older than his wife and only interested in his duties at Court.

  He was a Lord-in-Waiting and his special duty, because he was a good linguist, was to look after the Ambassadors. They arrived from all over the world to pay their homage to Queen Victoria.

  He in fact found it a nuisance when his wife accompanied him to the functions that he organised. Then he had to concentrate on her as well as all the foreign guests of Her Majesty.

  Dorothy Waltham was therefore left very much on her own and Harry had found it very easy to spend a great deal of time in her company.

  It was typical, he thought now, that her husband allowed her to come to Scotland without him.

  He would doubtless never give a thought as to whether she was or was not faithful to him while she was away.

  He was a dull conscientious man, erudite, but with no imagination. From a social point of view because Sir Douglas was very rich it had been a brilliant marriage for the younger daughter of penniless country Squire.

  Dorothy would have been exceedingly bored, however, if her beauty had not made her one of the most admired and sought after women in London Society.

  The Duke turned from the window.

  “To keep Lavinia and, of course, you, Harry, amused I have decided to give a ball here on Thursday night.”

  “A ball?” Harry exclaimed in surprise.

  “Do you realise it is something that has never happened for the last twenty years?” the Duke asked. “I sent out the invitations a month ago and all the large houses within driving distance are having house parties for it.”

  “Good Heavens! I had no idea that such festivities were possible in this out of the way spot!”

  “Are you being rude to me?” the Duke enquired.

  “On the contrary,” Harry replied, “I am congratulating you on your expertise in galvanising the Scots into being frivolous.”

  “What you are saying,” the Duke remarked, “is that it is a change from shooting and fishing.”

  “Exactly!” Harry agreed. “And doubtless they will talk about it for the next one hundred years.”

  “It will in fact be quite a modest ball since my guests must all be within reasonable reach,” the Duke said. “At the same time it will be amusing to see a hundred people dancing in the Chieftain’s Room. I suppose you have not forgotten how to dance a reel?”

  “You insult me,” Harry protested. “But I must admit that in the past I was not always as good as you at it.”

  “Anyway it will give them something to talk about,” the Duke smiled, “and I suggested to Lavinia when I wrote to her that she and Dorothy should take some lessons so that they will not feel out of it.”

  “I congratulate you,” Harry exclaimed. “You seem to have thought of everything!”

  “I have tried to, including having an orchestra sent up from Edinburgh and ordering my own pipers to give a performance which will surprise the Chieftains of the other Clans.”

  “If you had warned me, I might have bought myself a kilt,” Harry said. “I know I have some Scottish blood somewhere in my Family Tree, but as it is, you and your fellow Scots all dressed up in your plumage will make even the smartest women look like Cinderella!”

  “I am quite certain that Lavinia and Dorothy will look fantastic,” the Duke said with satisfaction.

  As he spoke, he walked to the grog tray which stood in a corner of the room saying as he did so,

  “I am sure you want a drink.”

  “I will wait until luncheontime,” Harry replied.

  The Duke looked at the clock over the mantelpiece.

  “It is not for another half an hour.”

  “I am keeping my head clear for this afternoon,” Harry smiled, “for I have not forgotten that you are six fish ahead of me. In the past, however, I have often been lucky, if not as skilful as you.”

  “I bet you a sovereign that you do not catch six before five o’clock,” the Duke countered.

  “Done!” Harry replied. “But you will have to eat quickly for the sooner I get to the river the better.”

  “I suggest that you start – ” the Duke began.

  At that moment the door opened and
a servant wearing a kilt said,

  “There’s a lady to see Your Grace!”

  “A lady?” the Duke exclaimed. “Who is she?”

  “Miss Isa McNaver, Your Grace. ”

  The Duke looked at his friend and said with a smile,

  “That tells me nothing. Every person on the estate bears the same name!”

  “All I can say is that the Postman has my deepest sympathy!” Harry replied.

  The Duke laughed and said to the servant,

  “What does this lady want of me?”

  “I’ve no idea, Your Grace. She just says ’twas very important!”

  “Oh, well, show her in,” the Duke said.

  The servant closed the door and he continued,

  “I expect it is a complaint either about the Sinclairs in the North or the McGregors in the South. If it is not that, then the keepers have allowed their dogs to worry the sheep or else a wild cat is causing havoc among their chickens.”

  Harry laughed.

  “World-shaking events! I can see that you are expected to be judge and jury in your Kingdom!”

  “I have more important problems,” the Duke said seriously, “but I will tell you about them later.”

  The door opened.

  “Miss Isa McNaver, Your Grace,” the servant announced.

  As Isa came into the room, both men rose to their feet and there was an expression of surprise in their eyes.

  The girl who entered looked very different from the type of Scottish lass they had expected.

  She was wearing a pleated skirt of the McNaver tartan with a neat velvet jacket. Both were predominately green in colour and made her skin seem translucently white.

  The hair under the small green hat she wore was vividly red.

  Isa’s hair was not the sandy red that was usual in Scotland, but the colour of beech leaves. It was streaked with gold and the sunlight made it appear vividly alive.

  Her eyes were more grey than green and they too were flecked with gold.

  As she stood looking at the Duke, both men thought that she might have stepped out of a picture.

  It had only been yesterday evening when she was thinking over what had happened in the cave that she remembered that a year ago the old Duke had died.

  It had slipped her memory because, when her father had written to tell her what had occurred, she had been busy preparing for a Concert that was to be performed at Christmas.

  The rehearsals took place every day and she was not singing alone, as she usually did. She was a member of several groups and the soloist in the finale.

  Everything had to be sung again and again until she was so exhausted when she returned to her aunt’s house that all she wanted to do was to go to bed.

  Even her letters from home seemed unimportant beside the instructions she was receiving which were being altered and made more stringent at every rehearsal.

  Now she recalled that her father had written to tell her that the old Duke was dead and had described the funeral in detail. He had attended it as every Scots within miles of The Castle had done.

  The Duke had been carried by his relatives to the churchyard where generations of his family had been buried before him.

  The pipers had played the lament that her father had said was very moving.

  Afterwards there had been the wake where a large amount of whisky had been consumed.

  Only the men of the McNaver Clan were present, as was usual in Scotland.

  Because Isa had never attended a Scottish funeral, she found it hard to imagine exactly what it had been like.

  Her father was not an eloquent writer and she supposed that was why she had completely forgotten what he had told her.

  It was now the Marquis of Naver, whom she had not seen since she was a child, who had taken his place.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she thought, ‘the treasure-hunters will think it easier to dispose of the new Duke than it would have been of his father, who was so awe-inspiring.’

  Yet when she came into the room and was aware that she was facing the Duke, she thought that despite his youth he was in fact rather frightening.

  Because he was as surprised by Isa as she was by him, there was silence until at last the Duke said,

  “How do you do, Miss McNaver. I understand you wish to see me.”

  He held out his hand as he spoke.

  As Isa took it, dropping him a curtsey as she did so, she wished that she had not come to The Castle.

  She had been so certain that it was her duty to notify the Duke of the plot she had overheard.

  It was only now that it struck her that he might think she was interfering or, worse still, not believe her.

  “May I introduce my friend Mr. Harold Vernon?” the Duke asked.

  Isa dropped Harry a small curtsey and then a little nervously she said,

  “Perhaps – Your Grace – as what I have to say is – confidential – could I – see you alone?”

  As he replied, there was a sarcastic twist to the Duke’s lips as if he thought that she had some ulterior motive in wishing to be alone with him.

  “Mr. Vernon is a very old friend of mine and however confidential your conversation will be, Miss McNaver, I wish him to take part in it.”

  Isa inclined her head and the Duke indicated with his hand an armchair.

  “Will you sit down?” he enquired.

  She obeyed him, sitting very upright, clasping her hands together in her lap.

  The two men sat down and the Duke said,

  “I don’t think that we have met before. Do you live near here?”

  “My father, Your Grace, is Colonel Alister McNaver – and lives at Kilphedir Lodge, which is about three miles South as the crow flies.”

  She spoke a little defiantly.

  She was thinking of how her father and mother had never been invited to The Castle, although they lived so near.

  “I know Kilphedir Lodge,” the Duke said, “but I have not had the pleasure of meeting your father, or you, until now.”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  The Duke was aware there was an undoubted note of reproof in the monosyllable.

  No one spoke and Isa was aware that they were waiting for her to begin.

  With an effort she said,

  “You may think it very – strange, Your Grace, but – yesterday I – overheard something so – unusual and so – odd that I felt it my duty to come and tell Your Grace what is being planned.”

  “Planned? By whom?” the Duke asked.

  “By three men, Your Grace – whom I overheard talking when I was in a cave on the shore, which is about a mile from my father’s house.”

  “What were you doing in the cave, Miss McNaver?” the Duke asked.

  There was something in the way he spoke that told her that he had already made up his mind that her information was of little consequence.

  Once again she wished that she had ignored what had happened and had not come to The Castle.

  What was more, it was very difficult to explain that she was exploring the cave because it was something that she had done as a child.

  “When I went – into the cave,” she said in a low voice, “I walked to the back of it. I climbed up onto a flat ledge of rock – which is just below the roof.”

  She saw the Duke glance at Harry and, feeling sure that he was bored, she went on quickly,

  “It was then that two men came into the cave.”

  “They could not see you?” Harry asked, as if he grasped the situation better than the Duke.

  “Nobody knew that I was there,” Isa replied.

  Haltingly, because she felt uncomfortable, she recounted what she had heard the Scotsman say, while the Englishman had produced a map before they were joined by a younger man called Rory.

  The Duke did not interrupt or ask questions.

  He merely sat back in his chair, an expression of resignation on his face, as if he was compelled to listen to a story that he was quite certain was untr
ue.

  It was only when Isa related how the Scotsman had said that the Duke must not be allowed to interfere and the Englishman had enquired if he intended to kill him with his bare hands, that Harry expostulated,

  “Are you saying that they intend to kill His Grace?”

  “The Scotsman said that a man can have an accident with a gun on the moors, tumble into the sea or fall from the tower of his Castle!”

  “Great Heavens, I suppose that is true!” Harry exclaimed. “What are you going to do about it, Bruce?”

  “To be honest,” the Duke answered in a bored voice, “I think Miss McNaver was dreaming. It is impossible after so many years have elapsed for anybody to be concerned with a treasure of which there is no proof that it ever really existed in the first place!”

  There was such a note of contempt in his voice that Isa flushed and rose to her feet.

  “I am sorry, Your Grace, to have bothered you,” she said, “but I only did what I thought was my duty in the circumstances.”

  As she spoke, holding her head high because she was angry, she walked towards the door.

  She had almost reached it when Harry said,

  “Please wait a moment, Miss McNaver, you cannot leave like that. You have told us what the three men said. Can you not identify them in some way?”

  “Perhaps His Grace will be able to do that – if he is interested,” Isa replied coldly.

  Her hand went out towards the doorknob, but Harry rose from his seat and came towards her.

  “I beg you, Miss McNaver,” he said, “don’t leave us when there are still a hundred questions I want to ask.”

  Isa did not reply and merely turned to look at the Duke. He too had risen from his chair and was standing with his back to the fireplace.

  She knew without him speaking that he did not believe a word of what she had told him.

  “Bruce, do persuade Miss McNaver to tell us more,” Harry said.

  “There is nothing I can add to what I have already told you,” Isa answered. “They gave Rory some money, the Englishman turned South on leaving the cave and after an interval of time the Scotsman went in the other direction as Rory had done.”

  “And you say that they had no idea that you were listening?”

  “None, Your Grace. I was careful not to make a sound because I was frightened.”