A Scottish Love Page 18

  When she’d asked him if he still hated her, Gordon hadn’t answered.

  She wanted to retreat to her bed, but that would be the act of a coward. For all her flaws and failings, she wasn’t a coward. Rash, reckless, perhaps engaging in behavior that wasn’t entirely ladylike—she would confess to all that. But she’d always faced the circumstances full-on and never backed down from a challenge.

  Even if the challenge made her skin cold and her stomach lurch.

  What she really wanted to do was go have a good cry, but she knew the minute she did, Helen would probably enter the room and want to know what was wrong. Or Helen would see her swollen eyes afterward, and be too curious to remain silent. For all of Helen’s attributes, sometimes she cared too much.

  She was supposed to lead Miriam around Gairloch this morning, but she hoped the Americans had forgotten. Instead, she went in search of Fergus. Thankfully, she found him easily, in the conservatory. He was sitting on one of the stone benches watching as Old Ned slept, fully clothed, on an adjacent bench, a half-empty bottle of whiskey cradled in his arms.

  “Sometimes, I think he has the right idea,” Fergus said, glancing up at her. “Maybe that’s what I need to do. Remain sotted by day and night, buried in a bottle.”

  She sat on the bench and surreptitiously studied Fergus. His face was pale, and there was a white line around his lips. Navigating around Gairloch was difficult for him. He’d proven himself to be courageous to a fault, but sometimes, courage could be wearing.

  She hoped he’d be brave enough for the truth.

  They couldn’t possibly have a party, a welcoming ball for Miriam and her father. Nor was there any need to do another inventory of the larder and pantry. No matter how often she counted it, the results were the same. The food was going to run out before the Americans left.

  Now was the time to address their finances, but she found that she couldn’t do it, not with the look on Fergus’s face. He was three years older, but she felt absurdly maternal toward him right at the moment.

  She placed her hand on his upper arm, patting it with a silly little gesture. Nevertheless, he glanced at her and smiled, obviously an effort but one she appreciated.

  “We’ll get through this,” she said.

  “Will we?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you think I’m proud, Fergus?” she asked.

  Her brother laughed.

  She frowned at him.

  “What about arrogant?”

  “You’re an Imrie, Shona,” he said kindly. “All Imries are proud and arrogant.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. “That hardly makes us easy to deal with, does it?”

  Dear God, what if Gordon was right? Could he be right? Had she allowed her pride to dictate their futures?

  For now, however, what she felt for Gordon must be pushed to the background.

  Old Ned still hadn’t roused, and she watched him now, so utterly peaceful as he snored.

  “What do you think he does all night?”

  “Drinks,” Fergus said. “Then he sleeps so he can get up and drink some more.”

  “I don’t remember him drinking that much when we were younger.”

  “Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe we just didn’t notice.”

  Perhaps she should take up whiskey as well. Would she sleep better? Surely she wouldn’t worry as much.

  She sat back on the bench, looking around her. Once, her mother’s garden had provided cut flowers for all the public rooms at Gairloch. Since her death, however, there hadn’t been the staff to keep it fertile and weeded.

  The conservatory, however, seemed to thrive on being abandoned. The plants and small trees that grew there did so in glorious profusion, stretching their emerald arms toward the clear glass walls and domed ceiling.

  This was Gairloch’s newest room, a present from her father to her mother. Knowing of his wife’s liking for puttering in the garden, and her equal dislike for cold winter days, he’d commissioned the octagonal addition to be built just beyond the library.

  The floor was made of the same stone as the rest of the castle, fitted with cunning drains at the corners and in the center of the room. In the middle was a pool, nearly four feet tall, adorned with a figure of a woman pouring water from a large amphora. Her father always joked that the sculptor had been so taken by her mother that he’d fashioned the statue in her likeness.

  She hadn’t had time to clean this room, and perhaps it was suffering a little from neglect. The pool should be drained and scrubbed, because there was an odor emanating from it. The fountain hadn’t worked for years, and perhaps if it had, the water wouldn’t be stagnant. Some of the larger plants had dropped leaves and they lay abandoned on the stone floor.

  Would the Americans bring Gairloch back to its former glory?

  “I always thought we led an enchanted life,” she said. “That nothing could ever happen to us.”

  “It didn’t, until we left Gairloch,” Fergus said. “Maybe Gairloch’s enchanted, and not our lives.”

  She turned to look at him. “Did you ever think we’d be here now? You, a decorated soldier, and me, a widow?”

  “A countess,” he corrected.

  A pauper countess.

  “Fergus, about the party—” she began.

  “It’s little enough to make up for you behaving like a child, Shona.”

  Both the words and his tone silenced her.

  She finally stood, then leaned down and kissed his cheek, wishing that the truth wasn’t suddenly a wall between them.

  She left the conservatory, mounted the stairs, and caught sight of Elizabeth Jamison. Sometimes, Providence provided exactly what she needed at exactly the right time. In this case, the nurse.

  She’d never before interfered in Fergus’s life. But Fergus had never before gone to war or returned badly wounded. Nor had she ever seen him so dejected, so much so that she couldn’t bear it. Something had been bothering him since he returned from India. Something that now had a name and a face.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said to Elizabeth.

  She headed for the Winter Parlor where her mother used to sit and sew. This room, also, had not been cleaned or readied for visitors, but at the moment, it simply didn’t matter. She glanced back once to see if Elizabeth was following. She was, but with a look on her face that indicated that the other woman didn’t anticipate a conversation between the two of them.

  She waited for Elizabeth to join her, then shut the door firmly behind the nurse.

  “I need to know why my brother is so miserable when you’re around,” she said.

  Elizabeth folded her arms on top of her pristine blue apron and simply stared at Shona as if she were one of the ghosts of Gairloch.

  She exhaled a breath impatiently, walked to the settee by the window, and sat in a gesture that was less ladylike than impatient.

  “Between you and Fergus, I’ve never seen such examples of obstinacy.”

  “What does Fergus say?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Nothing,” Shona said. “Because I haven’t asked him.”

  “But you feel compelled to ask me?”

  She motioned to the end of the settee, but Elizabeth remained standing.

  “Ever since Fergus returned from India, he’s been a different man. I thought, at first, it was his injury that caused him to be so moody. But it wasn’t until we came to Gairloch that I realized it could be something else. You.”

  Elizabeth walked to the window, staring out at the view. “I don’t know how to address a countess,” she said softly.

  “You call her Shona.”

  Elizabeth glanced over at her. “Mr. Loftus would not approve.”

  Shona made a face. “How you can abide the man, I haven’t the slightest idea.” But she came back to the point. “What is it between you two?” she asked, wondering if Elizabeth would confide in her.

  Would she have spoken to anyone about Gordon? No, she wouldn’t.


  She stood, walking to the other side of the room. At the last moment, before she opened the door to leave, she turned back to face Elizabeth.

  “Fergus is the only family I have left,” Shona said. “I would do anything to spare him pain.”

  Elizabeth turned to face her. “He’s walking quite well with his cane.”

  Shona folded her arms. “Not physical pain, Elizabeth, but that of the heart.”

  “Can you spare another person pain of the heart?”

  The other woman’s smile was barely an expression at all, but it held such sadness that she almost felt sorry for Elizabeth.

  “I suppose you can’t,” she admitted.

  “I don’t wish to cause your brother any type of pain at all.”

  Shona returned to the settee and sat. “How did you meet him?”

  Finally, Elizabeth said, “He came to visit his men. Every day, if he could. I warned him that it wasn’t safe. We were losing men from diseases more than their wounds. But he still came. Only later did I begin to suspect that it wasn’t just for his men.”

  She remained silent, letting Elizabeth speak.

  “When I could, I met him in the garden.” Elizabeth’s smile was more genuine now. “Not really a garden, just a strip of grass with a few hearty flowers someone had coaxed to grow and a bench. Still, it was better than being in the hospital. For a little while, you had a feeling of hope, that death didn’t win everywhere.”

  Shona sat up straighter, folding her hands in her lap. “How did you bear it?” she asked.

  Elizabeth glanced at her.

  “I wanted to do something to help.”

  Shona nodded. “When I cared for my husband in the last two years of his life, I felt the same. Yet some days were horrid.”

  “Most of my days in Sebastopol were like that,” Elizabeth said. “We lost so many men that a day didn’t go by without wagons carrying coffins up Cars Hill. But then, there were other times when a man we didn’t think would live through the night rallied at dawn.”

  Elizabeth faced the window again. “You learn to take the smallest things and treasure them for the joys they are, and try to ignore the most awful things.”

  Shona nodded, feeling a curious connection to the other woman.

  “I think one of the things that made it more difficult with my husband,” she said, “was the fact that I knew there was no other result. It was a long, slow descent into death. All I could do was make the journey easier for him.” She looked at Elizabeth, wondering if she should add that it was the first time she’d talked of Bruce’s illness to anyone, even Helen. “I admire what you did.”

  Elizabeth only smiled, still staring out the window. “I felt good nursing. I felt clean.”

  Something about her demeanor kept Shona silent.

  “Fergus is the Laird of Gairloch.” Elizabeth stretched out her hands as if to encompass the entire castle. “And he’s won the Victoria Cross.”

  Before Shona could speak, she added, “Did you know they decided to award the Victoria Cross to only one officer? Even though six officers had been selected to receive it, they all voted to give it to the one man who most epitomized gallantry and bravery. Fergus. A unanimous vote, I understand.”

  “How did you know that?” Shona asked, surprised.

  Elizabeth shrugged, an embarrassed little smile curving her lips. “I made it a point to discover what I could after the Ninety-third left the Crimea. I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

  “At the moment, he’s miserable.”

  Elizabeth didn’t respond to that comment.

  “I think my brother feels something deeply for you, Elizabeth. Even I can see that. Why else would he walk out of a room when you enter or refuse to look at you? And why do you ignore him so completely?”

  She didn’t know the way to convince Elizabeth, but she suspected it wasn’t going to happen because of this conversation.

  “Is it his leg? Is it because he was wounded?”

  To her credit, Elizabeth looked shocked. “Of course not.”

  “Then, if you can’t feel anything for Fergus, at least don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

  “Then you’ll not interfere.” Elizabeth’s gaze was steady.

  She only nodded, leaving the room and Elizabeth, wishing she’d never said anything, and feeling uncomfortably that she might have done more harm than good.

  Chapter 19

  Magnus Imrie gave Brian MacDermond the land on which he built his house, as well as extending the hospitality of Gairloch for him and his clan—small though it was—until his house was finished. The land he wanted to buy, but Magnus wouldn’t have it, saying it was his way of paying Brian back for saving his life in battle.

  Brian saw her the second hour he was at Gairloch. He remembered the time well, marked it in his mind to remember. His own wife was standing next to him when Anne Imrie entered the Clan Hall. She stopped, blinked at him as if struck by the same overwhelming sense of knowing him, and then walked forward, a warm and welcoming smile gracing her lovely face.

  He’d married Fenella when he was but a boy, but they’d worked well together. He had a fondness for her that was deeper than friendship, since she’d labored to bring their son into the world and supported Brian whatever his decisions.

  At that moment, however, he knew that what he felt for his wife would never be enough for him. Not when the pain of loss struck him dumb even then.

  As Elizabeth sat at the breakfast table the day after her talk with the countess—Shona—she wanted to counsel her patient that he wasn’t eating according to his doctor’s orders. But Mr. Loftus was annoyed, enough that she stored away her lecture for later.

  Fergus wasn’t at the table, displeasing Mr. Loftus, who wanted to ask him about the secret passages. When he grumbled about Fergus’s absence, Miriam offered to go in search of him. The girl needed a chaperone. Or a governess. She didn’t need to be alone with a handsome man in this cavernous castle. Mr. Loftus didn’t look any more pleased than she felt when Miriam left the room.

  Elizabeth almost wanted to warn Fergus that he was about to be assaulted by Miriam’s charm. The girl had little decorum when it came to flirting. Miriam would flirt with a coachman if it occurred to her or would gain her something in the end.

  Her mother would have called the girl a right little strumpet. But, then, her mother would have probably said the same about her, tending men’s wounds and needs and not being married to any of them.

  The work at Scutari and in the Crimea was a world away from this magnificent castle in the Highlands. Even working for Mr. Loftus was a pleasure compared to those days of laundry and scrubbing floors, long before they were allowed to even treat the wounded.

  When Fergus had arrived at the Barracks Hospital, the very air felt different. He would stop and speak to each of his men, but his eyes would seek her out. He’d smile, just that, and her heart would flutter.

  She pushed away thoughts about Fergus Imrie, wishing she’d known they were coming to his home before they’d arrived. Mr. Loftus, however, was very close-mouthed about his affairs. Or perhaps he simply didn’t think it important to share details with her, since she was only his nurse.

  A position that had seemed heaven-sent when she’d applied for it in London. Her experience in the Crimea had seemed to impress the American and his bodyguard as well.

  In truth, Helmut was more than a bodyguard. He cared for Mr. Loftus, pushing his wheelchair up steep inclines and carrying the man where his chair could not be accommodated. Why Mr. Loftus had not unpacked his enormous wheeled chair from the rear of the carriage was another question she was not to ask. Along with how long, exactly, they were to remain at Gairloch.

  She wondered, sometimes, why Mr. Loftus had bothered to hire a nurse when Helmut performed most of the duties. And why bother to pay her, when he didn’t listen to her cautions about his diet or the amount of spirits he consumed?

  Without his chair, movement was difficult f
or him. Walking was a slow progress from room to room, and more than once, she’d been worried about him making it up and down the steep curved steps. Did Helmut carry him down the back stairs? That seemed almost too personal a question to ask.

  “Tell me about your relationship with the laird,” he said, startling her.

  Two people in two days were suddenly very interested in her affairs. She could understand the countess’s—Shona’s—concern—but why was Mr. Loftus asking?

  She laid her fork down on the edge of the plate. Cook had served her a fried egg, rashers, black pudding, and a potato scone this morning, as if she needed fattening. Her childhood, however, had taught her never to turn down a meal because the next one might be a long time coming.

  “I’ve already spoken of it,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t press the matter.

  “Is he a cad?”

  She felt a surge of anger on Fergus’s behalf. “Of course he isn’t.”

  Mr. Loftus nodded. “I’ll not have my Miriam associate with a cad.”

  “I was under the impression that Miriam was to be married,” she said carefully.

  He nodded again. “Until the day, there’s always a better offer. A deal’s not done until it’s done.”

  Surprised, she stared at him. Was he thinking of pairing his daughter with Fergus?

  Now, she really did want to warn him.

  “We’ll go to the Clan Hall,” he said, pushing himself out of the chair.

  Helmut nodded to her, his eyes dark and cold. The man disturbed her, but she couldn’t say exactly why. Perhaps it was because he rarely spoke of his own volition. He didn’t seem to have an opinion on anything. Whatever Mr. Loftus wanted, he did silently and with complete obedience.

  Could a man’s will be purchased along with his labor?

  Why was she here? Hadn’t she done the very same thing? But she’d been desperate for employment, and the American’s salary was too good to turn down.

  They left the dining room for the Clan Hall, Elizabeth silent behind the two men. She didn’t ask why he was set for the larger room when he’d made himself at home in the library. Ever since he’d employed her in London, she’d discovered it was better not to ask Mr. Loftus any questions at all.