Autumn in Scotland Read online

Charlotte’s stomach lurched with every turn of the wheel. If it hadn’t been for Maisie, she might have knocked on the roof and had the coachman slow even further, giving her time to compose herself. But the closer they came to Inverness, the more impatient Maisie appeared.

  Inverness was crowded, the city noisier than she remembered. When the carriage finally halted in front of a red-brick inn, Maisie exited first, Charlotte following at a more sedate pace. The inn looked to be a charming place, a prosperous establishment. Maisie lost no time in admiration, but strode past her and entered the taproom, asking to speak to the owner. When had she become so demanding? Had love changed her? Or was it simply that she felt no fear?

  They received directions, and this time Charlotte led the way up the stairs. The door was opened at her knock not by Matthew, but by Dixon himself.

  “Please, your lordship,” Maisie said, stepping in front of Charlotte, “I’d like to talk to Matthew.”

  He nodded, and pointed to the room across the hall. Only then did he look back at Charlotte.

  Good Lord, he was handsome. She wanted to ask about his shoulder, but his expression halted her solicitousness. He was unsmiling, looking more stern and severe than she’d ever seen him.

  He didn’t look as if he was happy to see her at all. Instead, he turned and walked across the room, halting beside the window, leaving her to follow or to remain where she was.

  Slowly, she entered the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  She clutched her gloves in her hands and wished she’d put her bonnet on instead of leaving it on the seat inside the carriage. It would have acted as a barrier, a helmet.

  More because of a wish to do something than to appear proper, she began to pull on her gloves, jerking them at the wrist. Her hands were damp, and the gloves weren’t cooperating, and the task did nothing to ease the passing of the silent minutes.

  He still didn’t speak. What had she expected, for him to act overjoyed at her appearance? Yes. She had imagined that he would enfold her in an embrace, and then kiss her, and together they would plan their future.

  This tall, handsome man with the watchful eyes was not what she’d expected.

  She forced her shoulders back, and her head erect, facing him.

  “I will not be deserted by another MacKinnon,” she said, her voice carrying over the distance between them. It was not what she’d planned to say, but she didn’t excuse away the words. Instead, she calmly folded her gloved hands around her reticule and regarded him the way she would a rebellious sixteen-year-old.

  Dixon, however, was not looking the least bit cowed. Instead, he regarded her coolly and steadily.

  “I was the one who asked you to leave. Make sure you remember that when you go back to Penang. You haven’t left me. I want that understood.”

  Oh dear. Why had she said that?

  “Is that really why you came, Charlotte?”

  At this moment, it was difficult to remember exactly why she’d come to Inverness. To see him one last time? To marvel at how handsome he was? To see the light surrounding him like a nimbus, to recall how tall he was, how broad his shoulders?

  To force him to admit that he’d been a cad? To make him explain, in minute detail, why he’d done what he had? Or why he thought he could escape any ramifications for his actions?

  One of the tenets she taught her students was that there were consequences to behavior. Wisdom brought reward; impulsiveness often resulted in ruin.

  A foolish woman was the most pitiable creature of them all.

  Perhaps it was understandable that initially she might have confused the two men. She’d only been married a week to George, and he’d been missing for five years. Yet honesty now compelled her to admit that seeing Dixon, she could no more compare him to George than she could liken a lion to a chicken.

  She looked down at her reticule, and then slowly turned, waiting, waiting. For what? For him to say something to keep her there? What could he possibly say?

  A host of remarks, all of which she’d accept. Instead, silence stretched between them, broken by another pronouncement, one she heard herself say with something like horror. “I don’t want you in my life, Dixon MacKinnon. I don’t want you in Scotland.”

  “Indeed?”

  “When you go back to that paradise of yours, please remember that I was the one who sent you away. You didn’t leave me.”

  At least she’d refused to be abandoned again.

  She opened the door, walked out into the hall, and closed the door behind her so hard that she was certain the sound could be heard down in the taproom. The noise, however, was not sufficient to separate her maid from Matthew. The two of them stood in the doorway of the opposite room, engaging in a form of welcome that could only be called enthusiastic.

  Charlotte cleared her throat, and Maisie finally looked in her direction, but she didn’t remove her arms from around Matthew’s neck.

  At least someone had a bit of happiness.

  “You’ll be staying, then?” she asked Maisie.

  The girl only nodded, joy adding beauty to her face.

  Charlotte took a sum of money from her reticule and pressed it into Maisie’s hand.

  “You’ll marry her, Matthew?” Charlotte asked, looking at him.

  “If she’ll have me, your ladyship.”

  Maisie’s expression was answer enough.

  What was pride, when happiness was at stake?

  She should knock on Dixon’s door and say what she’d really come to say: I’ll cling to you like a burr, a barnacle, a thistle. I’ll badger you with my presence until you accede to my every wish. I’ll tempt you or torture you. However I do it, I’ll not let you leave me.

  She turned, intent on doing just that. Her knock, however, wasn’t answered. She knocked once more, but he didn’t open the door. Evidently, Dixon had had enough of conversation. Or of her.

  “Your ladyship,” Matthew began, but she waved her hand at him, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to speak without crying. She’d lost her pride after all, it seemed.

  She made it down the stairs and out to her carriage, desperate to leave Inverness. She straightened her shoulders and before the footman could assist her, opened the carriage door. One foot was on the step when she glanced inside.

  Dixon sat against the cushions, occupying the whole corner of the interior.

  He smiled at her, a bright, disarming expression that rooted her to the spot.

  “Are you coming inside, Charlotte?”

  As if to remind her that she’d been brokenhearted a moment earlier, one tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. She angrily brushed it away.

  How odd that she’d lost the ability to speak.

  “If you delay any further,” he said, “it’ll be dark by the time we arrive at Balfurin.”

  A thousand comments came to mind, but the only one that left her lips was silly and unimportant. “How did you get here?”

  He pointed upward. She glanced back at the steeply canted roof of the inn.

  “You climbed up on the roof? With your shoulder?”

  “Actually,” he said, “I climbed down the roof. Did I ever tell you how we cleared some of the tropical forests in Penang?”

  She shook her head.

  “A story for another time. Suffice it to say I’m very good at climbing trees. And roofs, shoulder or no.”

  “Why?” Another silly question, but she was trying to understand. The streets were congested, the pedestrians passing them looked alternately curious or annoyed that she blocked their way with the open door. All she could think of was that he looked too handsome, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms.

  His smile faded a little, and he leaned forward, extending a hand to her. She put her hand in his, entered the vehicle, and sat opposite him.

  “I had to stop you,” he said. “A grand gesture, if you will. Something to get your attention. Regrettably, I don’t have Matthew’s talent in magic.”

 
At her silence, his face changed, his half smile fading. “I don’t believe what you said, you know.”

  He didn’t give her time to respond, which was just as well. She was feeling very bemused at the moment.

  “I had no intention of leaving for Penang, Charlotte.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I was observing the requisite mourning period. Or attempting to do so.”

  She’d had five years to mourn George, but it sounded wrong to say such a thing aloud, so she remained silent.

  He’d never released her hand, and now he bent his head to study it.

  “How long were you going to stay away?” she finally asked.

  “Another week. More than that would have been too long, I think. Too unbearable.”

  He looked up. “At the end of the week I was going to make camp around Balfurin. I was fully prepared to engage in a siege.”

  “Another grand gesture?” she asked.

  “Something to convince you of my feelings.”

  She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. Could her heart swell to encompass the whole of her body?

  “Consider yourself kidnapped, if you will.” He gently released her hand and leaned back against the cushions. “I’ve given Franklin orders to return to Balfurin, and I’ve no intention of releasing you until you agree.”

  “To what?”

  “To marrying me, of course. I love you. Will you marry me, Charlotte? I warn you, I intend to be a very demanding husband. Not an absent one at all, I’m afraid. I’m remaining in Scotland, right beside you. There are several additional conditions to this union, so weigh your answer carefully.”

  “What conditions?” she asked, wishing that the dress she wore had pockets. She would thrust her hands into them and clench her fists so he wouldn’t know how terrifying it was to ask that question.

  “I demand that you love me,” he said, “that is not negotiable. It would be nice if you could forgive what happened in the past. But we can work on that. However, I want your laughter, and your intellect. I want your opinions, and your energy. I want your knowledge, your hope, your optimism, and your strength. And I want your loyalty, as you have never given it to anyone or anything before. I want you to believe in me the way you believe in yourself. I want you to recall every conversation we’ve ever had the way you do a page in a book.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek, tracing a line to her chin with his forefinger. “And I want you to come to my bed with joy and eagerness. Do you agree?”

  Before she could speak, before she could say anything in defense or protection of herself and her sudden vulnerabilities, before she could agree with the utmost enthusiasm, he leaned over and scooped her up, depositing her on his lap. Then he kissed her, softly, sweetly, tenderly.

  “What do I have that’s yours?” she asked a moment later when the kiss was done and she was feeling more than slightly dazed.

  At his quizzical look, she reminded him. “Before you left for London, you said that you’d come back because I had something of yours.”

  “You’ve had my heart from the very first. I love you, Charlotte MacKinnon. A pity that I’m not a better man. God knows you deserve one, but you’ll have to settle for me.”

  “I will?” She smoothed her fingers over his face, allowing her thumbs to rest just below his lips. How utterly handsome he was, and he was hers.

  He nodded. “With all my flaws and faults. I’m sorry for those, but I’ll work on them with your help.”

  She sighed, wishing she didn’t feel so close to tears. “Saints are overrated, Dixon. I’m as far from angelic as I can be.”

  He reached out and touched her face, gently pushing back a tendril of hair from her forehead. “What would those flaws be? I’ve seen none, Charlotte.”

  “I’m guilty of pride, more than my share, especially since you think me so perfect. I’m stubborn and opinionated, fiercely loyal and dogmatic at times. I’m determined, but I think that is an asset rather than a flaw, don’t you?”

  He put two fingers against her lips. “Do not read me a litany, Charlotte. Allow me to discover all these failings myself.”

  She took a deep breath, only now realizing that she’d been barely breathing for the last few minutes.

  His face seemed to loosen, his expression not quite so severe. There was a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth. “Shall I engage in a siege, or will you allow me into Balfurin?”

  Her heart was beating so fast that she felt light-headed. “Balfurin is yours, Dixon.”

  “And you? Are you mine?”

  She tried to smile but gave up the effort. “From the very first,” she said, using his words.

  “You agree to my conditions?” he asked, brushing his lips against hers in the lightest of kisses.

  “I do,” she said. “I’ll share everything I know or think or remember, and I’ll give you my loyalty, my laughter, and my forgiveness. But most of all, I’ll give you my love.” She sighed and stretched her arms around his neck, feeling strangely like weeping, not in sadness this time, but in joy, pure joy.

  Epilogue

  C harlotte Haversham MacKinnon turned at the sound of footsteps.

  Dixon’s head emerged from the opening, just before he pulled himself up to the floor of the tower roof. His grin was infectious, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. How odd that she’d seen him only an hour ago and missed him already.

  She strode forward and extended a hand to him. When he took it, she bent forward, kissed his knuckles, and then executed a flawless curtsey.

  “My lord,” she said, dipping her head.

  “My lady,” he said, and drew something from behind his back.

  She opened the velvet box while glancing at him from time to time. “You needn’t give me presents every day, Dixon,” she said.

  “I don’t,” he said. “Only when I see something that reminds me of you.”

  “Everything seems to remind you of me,” she teased.

  “Can I help it if you’re my world?”

  The box forgotten, she kissed him softly.

  “Open it,” he said.

  She did so, finding a length of gold rings ending in a set of keys that looked to be gold. She blinked back tears. Once, she’d told him of her first thoughts upon seeing Balfurin, and he’d evidently not forgotten.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, her smile a little watery as she looked up at him.

  He helped her fasten it around her waist and then stepped back.

  She didn’t have a chance to kiss him again. Matthew’s shout could be heard from the base of the tower.

  “MacKinnon!”

  Matthew had taken to calling Dixon by his surname, as if he were a proper Scot and Dixon his laird. She, herself, was still referred to more formally, despite her request to the contrary. She’d begun to accept that Matthew would always be a little reserved with her.

  He emerged from the stairwell, but despite his exertion, his face was deathly white, his eyes huge in his face. He looked rather like an owl that had its nest in the tallest tree in the adjoining forest.

  “MacKinnon?”

  “Is there a problem, Matthew?” she asked. “We don’t have guests, surely?”

  She looked in the direction of the road to Inverness. Dear heavens, was The Edification Society here again? Last month she’d received a letter from Lady Eleanor asking her if a year of marriage had proven to be instructive. She’d only written back that, unfortunately, she was too busy to entertain the group. There were some things meant to be kept private, and her life with Dixon headed the list.

  As Maisie had once said, love was the best teacher of all.

  “Have any of the students been left behind?” They were at the end of another term, another autumn, for which she was grateful. Two hundred fifty lovesick girls were too much to endure, especially since they were all sighing and threatening to swoon over her husband.

  “No guests and no students, your ladyship. I have ne
ws.” He glanced at Dixon and then at Charlotte. “I am a father, MacKinnon, your ladyship. My Maisie has given birth,” he said, looking alternately terrified and proud about the news.

  Maisie had begun her labor this morning, but Charlotte hadn’t expected the baby to be born so soon.

  “Why didn’t you say so, Matthew?” Charlotte said. Picking up her skirts with one hand and holding Dixon’s hand with the other, she headed toward the tower steps. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “A girl, your ladyship, and we would like to name her Charlotte in honor of you.”

  Charlotte stopped and turned, facing Matthew. She’d come to understand the man in the year of her marriage. Her respect for him had grown as well as her affection. “That is the most wonderful gift you could give me, Matthew.”

  “Then you do not mind, your ladyship?”

  “Charlotte,” she corrected. “If Dixon can be the MacKinnon, I can be Charlotte.”

  She smiled at her husband, and then reached up to kiss Matthew on the cheek. At his look of surprise she only smiled.

  This autumn day in Scotland was perfect; the past months had been joyous ones. The years stretched out in front of her like a banquet to sample and savor. She smiled at Dixon again, and he responded by pulling her into his embrace and kissing her.

  A moment later they separated, and she glanced at Matthew descending the staircase. He was impatient to join his wife and his new daughter.

  “Let’s go see Maisie, shall we?” she asked Dixon, and together they left the tower roof.

  Author’s Note

  T he poem quoted in this book by Queen Elizabeth I (1533–1603) is entitled “On Monsieur’s Departure.”

  Captain Francis Light, known as the founder of Penang, landed in Penang in 1786, renaming it Prince of Wales Island. Light had convinced the Sultan of Kedah to cede Pulau Pinang (island of the betel nut) to the British in exchange for military protection. In order to get his sepoy forces to clear the site, Light is supposed to have loaded gold coins into his cannons and fired them into the jungle. Light’s attempts to introduce agriculture to the island were largely unsuccessful, but Penang soon became a major trading port for tea, spices, china, and cloth. The city of Penang is today a blend of Eastern and Western cultures and a bustling metropolitan city.