A Promise of Love Page 25

  Fires still burned brightly along the track to the village, a ceremony, Judith was told, that dated back to Viking times.

  "Our land used to stretch as far as you could see," Alisdair said, extending one hand as if to encompass the horizon itself. "Now, it ends at the other side of the promontory and at the far end of the fishing village."

  She didn’t ask who owned it now. Either the English, or absentee landlords who cared as little for the land as the people who subsisted on it.

  Alisdair turned, extending one arm around her, pulling her into the warmth of his embrace, cradling her against his chest. It was less a sign of passion, than it was a need for comfort.

  "She loved you, you know," he said in a low voice. “Else she would never have told you about the treasure.”

  “You knew?” She looked up at him.

  “I am laird, Judith, it is my business to know. I had not realized, however, how much had been moved from the secret place.” The night had been filled with stealthy activity, he was certain of it, as Malcolm and his ill assorted band of would-be patriots gathered up their cache of hidden weapons, placing them in Granmere’s coffin. It was a strange request his grandmother had made of Judith, yet she’d accomplished it, a feat which did not surprise Alisdair at all.

  Sophie was buried amidst the cairn stones which marked the graves of Alisdair's ancestors, in the spot set aside for her beside her beloved Gerald. Half a score of men helped Alisdair carry the coffin bearing Sophie's fragile remains. If the wooden casket weighed more than it should, or if each man labored under the effort, none spoke of it.

  There was no minister present, no one to say the words appropriate for such a ceremony. As they shoveled the earth over the Sophie Agincourt MacLeod,, Alisdair pronounced the benediction."She was loved," he said simply, his voice deep and resonant, his eyes hooded against sudden emotion.

  Judith thought it was an epitaph Granmere would have wanted.

  Alisdair clasped his arms tight around her, almost painfully so. He would do his duty after the burial. He disliked it, yet, he could do nothing less. Granmere had demanded it of him without a word spoken.

  CHAPTER 32

  Judith entered the lord's room with no premonitions.

  Meggie had passed Alisdair's message to her. Discounting the strangeness of it, she had mounted the stairs, grateful for the respite. Tynan was overflowing with people. Instead of leaving after the funeral supper, the women had stayed to clean while the men continued to drink brandy toasts to Sophie's memory, to the calling of the clans, to the honor of the MacLeods, to the past, the present, and the uncertain future.

  The walls had rung with cheers, even though there was an occasional

  surreptitious wiping of an eye, or a smile that momentarily lost its gaiety and slipped into bittersweet memories.

  Life goes on.

  If there was one thing that Scotland had taught her, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Husbands perished, lovers disappeared, children grew ill and died but life, itself, never relinquished its cycle. It continued and would always continue, as the sea itself would never cease its relentless pounding upon the cliff rocks, and its ageless tides would never suspend their rolling gait to the shore.

  Alisdair had slipped from the great hall sometime earlier during a raucous, and dangerous, toast to the Bonnie Prince. He stood at the window, his back to her. How tired he looked, she thought, as she noticed his slumped shoulders.

  Although he heard her entrance into the laird's room, he did not turn. He had been given a respite from this chore by the ceremony of the wake and funeral. Yet, such rituals had merely delayed his duty, not prevented it.

  It had occurred to him, in the hours following Sophie's death, that his grandmother had been right. Judith had never been given a choice. She had been married twice because of the whims of her father, found herself banished to Scotland for the same reason. Nor, had their marriage been a voluntary union. If she stayed at Tynan, it would be because she wished it, not because circumstance, the English or Squire Cuthbertson decreed it so.

  It was only fair to give her that choice, now.

  But what if she chose to leave?

  "Alisdair?" she said quizzically, when he did not speak, remaining motionless by the window. She went to him, then and placed her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek against his back, feeling the solid warmth of him. She sighed, closed her eyes and wondered if she would forever be able to summon him to her mind by the scent of newly washed linen.

  Alisdair moved from her embrace, stepping closer to the windows. She only stared at him, confused. When he did still did not turn, she began to realize that something was terribly wrong.

  "What is it, Alisdair?"

  "Granmere is dead, Judith," he said without inflection. "That leaves only one witness to our declaration." Still, he did not face her, which was better, perhaps, then seeing his expression. She did not want to see the counterpart to this cool voice in the amber gleam of his eyes.

  "What are you saying?"

  He turned then, just when she wished he wouldn’t.

  She stared at him without speaking as he went to the armoire and retrieved Sophie’s jeweled box. He sprung the secret drawer and removed both the small pouch of jewelry and the wedding ring.

  She had neither moved, nor spoken since his words. She was too pale, her eyes wide and dark.

  "It was not your wish to find yourself here, or married to a Scot," he said, not meeting those eyes. They betrayed too much confusion, too much emotion. It was not his choice which mattered right now, but hers.

  “But I would have you make the decision now as to which future shall be yours." He spread open the bag, and dumped the contents into her reluctant hand.

  Judith stared down at the sparkling gems on her palm. Small diamonds winked alongside green emerald chips and perfectly formed rubies as bright as droplets of her blood. She blinked several times, but did not speak.

  "If you choose to leave, the sale of these will bring you more than enough to keep you for several years. Perhaps you might purchase a shop, or emigrate.”

  Time was suspended, strangely slow. A movement of a hand took achingly long seconds to accomplish. A breath was weeks long. She licked her lips, felt their arid surface too hot and sensitive. All time and sensation was out of place, skewed. "What about the English Colonel? Will he think my defection as innocent?" Even her words seemed from far away, the effort of speaking them almost beyond her.

  Alisdair’s smile was small, infinitely sad, she thought. "I'm sure the good Colonel will understand your desire to visit your family. He needn't know the visit is permanent."

  "And if I do not wish to leave?"

  "Then," he said, careful not to alter her decision by his own emotions or desires, "if you do not, we will contrive a marriage between us."

  She stepped back when he would have placed something in her other hand. She clasped the stones with a hand that did not heed their sharp edges, craving the pain of it, because it proved she was still breathing, that this was not a dream, that this was real.

  His black hair fell down upon his brow again, the chiseled chin was now lowered as he stared at her hand. He would not meet her eyes, but she could see the sweeping length of his lashes, the noble, etched line of jaw.

  Alisdair reached out, forced open her other hand and gently placed Granmere’s gold ring on Judith’s palm. He closed her fist around it tenderly, turning away before she could read the expression in his eyes.

  "Take your time, Judith," he said, his tone, despite his intent, betraying his inner emotions. "Decide well. If you choose me, you choose Tynan, an uncertain future, a land of harsh beauty but infinite promise. If you choose freedom, you choose comfort, your own country and a future of your own making."

  He did not wish her gone. The joy she felt was instantaneous and rapturous, as nerve biting as a shard of ice, as spirit plummeting as the truth. She could not escape it, after all. He wanted her here. She could not
stay.

  "You told me once that no one was free." Why did her voice sound so odd?

  "You would be less so, I'm afraid. You would be the laird's wife, a Scot instead of an Englishwoman waylaid because of a few ill chosen words."

  "And how would you have me choose?" The words were important, the sentiment behind them doubly so. She did not tell him it would be all she had of him, words to last a lifetime.

  "With your heart," he said softly, to cover the sudden rasp in his throat. "You once said ‘I wonder how many women would trade their husbands for their freedom and being taken care of for the ability to care for themselves.’ I give you that freedom, Judith. You must choose if you wish it."

  She stared at him, unable to speak.

  Judith looked down at the wedding ring she held in her hand. Choices. He offered her a choice. A lonely future, or being his wife. On the surface of it, it seemed no choice at all. Unless, of course, she gently pushed back one layer of self-knowledge, a thin veneer of composure, and peered into the person beneath.

  Alisdair offered her his home, his life, and although he did not make the gesture, it was as if he opened his arms and stretched out his hands, palms flat and open, easily granting her his kingdom and his future.

  Such generosity deserved a reward, did it not? And what recompense had she given him? She had opened the door and invited the Devil in for tea. She had summoned Bennett Henderson to Tynan by her very presence.

  One word would keep her here, but that same word would seal Alisdair's fate. She was under no illusions as to Bennett's nature. He thrived on misery, flourished on despair. He would not rest until he had destroyed anyone or anything which represented happiness or peace to her. And this time, he had English law on his side. A man who would terrorize those weaker and less apt to strike back would not hesitate to twist and mold the law to suit his own purposes.

  Bennett would not hesitate to avenge his brother.

  Dear God, do not let this be happening. How many times had she prayed that? How many times had she made bargains with God if only He would let the hell she was experiencing be a product of an overactive imagination, too many half-penny novels, too many comfits. But it had happened and wishing it away would never make it disappear. The memories could not be burned from her mind. Her own actions could never be disavowed.

  What would Alisdair say? He had embraced and protected her, had defended her against his clan and the English, cherished her enough to offer a choice - what would he do if he knew what she truly was?

  He had brought such hope into her life. He had made her feel clean and whole once more, when once she had despaired of ever feeling whole and clean again.

  Judith had not thought it possible for a man to be gentle, and yet, Alisdair had shown his tenderness in a hundred ways. She had not thought it possible for a man to be selfless, to think of others before he thought of himself, but Alisdair worked without complaint so that others could carve a future in this ruggedly beautiful land. She had not believed that a man could be intelligent and yet not boast of his wits; handsome and not preen. Most of all, she had not realized that a man could possess a sense of family as strong and as abiding as the tides that rolled in each day.

  She had realized many weeks ago that he was a special man, someone to cherish and value.

  Judith didn't want to be noble or gracious or self-sacrificing; she only wanted Alisdair. Right at this moment, she wanted to smooth back his hair, or touch his shoulders, or be surrounded by his muscular arms and pretend that he had not offered her this onerous choice. Because, after all, there was only one thing she could do.

  The burden of being self-sacrificing was doubly hard now. To leave after she had learned what love truly meant was almost too much to ask of her. Or, was it the very meaning of love, itself? To turn her back on Alisdair after she'd sampled life on his terms was asking her to walk into hell naked.

  Unconditional love. Love that sacrificed, that gave with no expectation of receiving. The kind of love Sophie had given her. If she truly loved Alisdair, she would bring him peace and joy and simple pleasures, not mark his life with danger, uncertainty, threat.

  But how did she say goodbye to him? How did she part her heart from her chest? How did she walk away from the only happiness she'd ever known?

  In the end, it was a simple decision. She loved him more than she loved herself and that is why she did what she did. Her steps were almost soundless as she approached him. Pulling his hand to her, she pressed his fist against her chest and forced it open as he had done with hers. She looked deep into his eyes and then smiled, a tremulous smile so filled with love that he closed his own eyes for a moment.

  "I love you, Alisdair. I will always love you," she said tenderly, gently, lovingly, and then dropped Granmere's ring onto his palm.

  She stumbled from the room, tears blocking her passage. She stopped outside the door, and leaned weakly against the wall, incapable of descending the sloping stairs.

  She did not hear the sound from the laird's room, the muffled noise of a clenched fist striking the stone walls of Tynan.

  CHAPTER 33

  Judith left Tynan as pale and wan as she had looked on her arrival; only this time, she left accompanied only by Malcolm, not following a great herd of sheep.

  Malcolm disliked his errand and the fact that both the MacLeod and Judith had insisted upon it this night, as if another few hours at Tynan was a horror neither could bear.

  If not for the fact they possessed only two scrawny, tired horses, Malcolm did not doubt the MacLeod would have sent the whole clan to escort his wife to Inverness. As it was, only he was charged with that duty, in the dark of night with the English patrols still abroad. Still, it had not seemed a wise thing to argue with the lad, recalling how the MacLeod's face was set and expressionless. It wasn't all for grief of Sophie, Malcolm was thinking.

  She was too quiet, he thought, glancing over at Judith. Her self control, once laudable, now masked too many secrets. This, he remembered only too well.

  No, there was more to this story than either of them was telling.

  Judith rode beside Malcolm, her mind numb, her vision turned inward, oblivious to her surroundings. Once, the idea of being independent, self-reliant would have been heady; this occasion joyful, not steeped in pain. Now, however, freedom stretched out before her like a long and winding road down which she would travel alone.

  She would be free, but at what cost? And what had she given up to attain it?

  In this stark and harsh land of savage beauty, she’d known unquestioning joy. Its people had gifted her with memories to last a lifetime. Sophie had given her affection and love from the first moment she held out her hand. She’d kept her grip unfailingly tight and reassuring until the moment of her death. From Meggie, who seemed to embody the spirit of Scotland - strong, resilient, accepting what life gave her, never fighting it, but overcoming just the same - Judith had been granted an earthy wisdom.And from Alisdair, she'd learned acceptance, courage, hope.

  Too much to give up, too much to lose. She did not think she could survive this.

  Not even having nobility as a cloak to draw around her added to Judith’s misery. She did not feel innocent enough to be noble, nor clean enough. Yet, somewhere, beneath the pain of this, it was enough to know she had made the right choice. The only choice. The knowledge did not make the journey easier, nor make her wish each clopping step Molly took to end it, to speed her swaybacked mount back to Tynan, rush up the steps and beg for Alisdair's forgiveness.

  Yet, she could not change the past. And it was the past which held danger for the future. She was no enchanted princess, no faierie queen, despite the sorcery of the past few months. A spell had been cast upon her, had it not, then just as quickly taken away.

  Her blue eyes would now be only blue, not the color of midnight, as Alisdair had once whispered to her. They would no longer have the power to sparkle, or to rage, or to open wide with wonder. Her hair would revert to simple br
own, devoid of the gold and red highlights he said he loved so much. Her legs would only be legs and not marble columns he had once claimed, laughing and nibbling at her knees. She raised her hands and looked at them objectively, seeing not aristocratic looking fingers, as he had said, but only chapped and red hands. She remembered the actions of these hands, as she cupped them close to her face, breathing deeply, as if she could still smell the scent of him on her palms. Judith opened them wide, remembering how they had traced a path on his back, how they had gently cradled his manhood, how they had smoothed down his black hair, or playfully tweaked his nose. She remembered holding his hand, as they had laughed like children, running through the woods bordering Tynan. From this moment on, they would only be hands.

  And life would only be existence, as it had been before.

  Hours passed, their mounts were kept to the center of the road, the clopping cadence of the horses’ hooves became both a lulling sound and a signal of safety. Darkness added danger even to a road well traveled.

  Malcolm's self-deprecatory curse was enough to tell Judith that something was wrong. She glanced to her right and that's when she saw them, their blood red uniforms turned black by the faint moonlight. She and Malcolm had both been so singularly involved in their own thoughts that neither had noticed the patrol until it was almost on top of them.

  Bennett’s smirk was glowingly evident even in the darkness, as was the dull gleam of the saber extracted from its sheath with a hiss of metal against metal. Five mounted men followed him, each of their faces bearing the same feral, expectant look. Their hunting party had found prey. Judith wondered if they were the same men who had raped Meggie, or did Bennett change companions as easily as he did coats? Were there that many amoral English soldiers billeted in Scotland?

  The dread she’d lived with for years, which had been noticeably absent in Alisdair's care, was summoned from some dark part of her mind. It rose, like bile, to lodge in her throat as Bennett cantered forward, easily halting her sway backed mare. Molly seemed to sag in relief at his gesture.