Call of Glengarron (12 page)

My instinct was to spend every precious minute with Jamie. But that was just what I must not do. No sad farewells.

As far as possible I would spend the day alone, giving myself up to the strange wild beauty of this highland country. Maybe its magic would do something to heal the slashing wound in my heart.

Ahead of me there was nothing but the rising ground, thickly coated with pines. But I had only to swing around for the most superb and ever-spreading view. Glengarron Castle down there at the head of the blue-green loch grew smaller each time I turned. Loch Ghorm itself, seen end-on from this angle, stretched away like a pointing finger until it was lost in a delicate lilac veil.

How I wished I could draw such a veil across my searing thoughts.

Since my talk with Craig, I had been made to face a new and ugly picture of Margo. All these years I had kept my cousin firmly in place on a pedestal. Now, all at once, my idol had come tumbling down, shattering into a thousand brittle fragments. Could the pieces ever be put together again? Had Margo really been just a beautiful shell, empty of warmth and understanding and tenderness?

Sadly, I acknowledged that the Margo of my dreams had gone forever—and I felt sorry for myself. Now I was being denied even my memories.

I would be alone in the world. Apart from Jamie, my only relative was Margo’s father, my Uncle Arthur. And his main objective had always been to isolate himself from family contacts and obligations.

There were my friends, of course. And Mike Randall. Mike was a dear—but he wasn’t family. He couldn’t give me the roots I needed.

The sun came up higher.  It was really quite hot for April. The damp earth steamed gently, so that I was walking into a lazily drifting white haze.

Faintly at first, growing louder as I drew nearer, I could hear a man’s voice, singing. It was a fine clear baritone. I recognized the song –“
My love is like a red, red rose....”

I reached a point where the forest track crossed another. The ground was churned into sticky mud where tractors had swung around, and I had to pick my way carefully to avoid getting a shoeful. I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice the singer approaching me until he spoke.

“Good day to you, Miss Calvert.” It was the foreman forester.

I smiled at him, standing balanced on a dryish patch.

“Hello, Mr. MacRae.”

“You are out on your own, miss, are you then?”

“Yes, I thought I’d enjoy a walk. It’s so lovely today.”

“Aye—a grand morning.”

In his rubber boots he plunged through the slush indifferently, and held out his hand to me.

“Allow me to assist you. There, just step this way, and you will be clear of the mud.”

I put my foot where he said, gave a little hop, and I was on dry ground again.

“Thank you.”

He saw my glance down at the hatchet he was carrying. “For marking the trees,” he explained. “For thinning, you understand.”

His voice was incredibly gentle for so big a man—the soft lilting voice of a born and bred Highlander.

“And how is the laddie?” he inquired. “Little Jamie?”

“Oh, he’s fine.”

“How fortunate he is to be having you to care for him, losing his poor mother as he did.”

“Well,” I began carefully, “I think I have been able to help him get settled in at the castle. But I’m returning to London tomorrow.”

He raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “You are going away so soon?”

“I have to get back to my job.”

“Mr. Craig will not be pleased about that.” Angus MacRae shook his head with slow deliberation. “No, he will not be pleased.”

I said stonily, “I imagine he’ll be glad to have his son to himself.”

“That is not the impression I have been receiving from Mr. Craig.”

The suggestion behind his words was unmistakable. Seeing my astonishment, MacRae added with a smile: “Since he was just a wee laddie himself, I have known Mr. Craig.”

I flushed and tried to hide my confusion with a swift change of subject. “I expect you are pleased to see Mr. McKinross back home.”

MacRae nodded. “Indeed I am, miss. All the workers at Glengarron are glad to see him back. The pity is that he will not be staying here.”

“Not be staying? Has he definitely decided to go away, then?”

The reply was emphatic. “Mr. Craig wouldna settle at Glengarron, miss—not while Mr. Lennox is here.”

“Oh yes, of course....” Craig had explained to me how he felt about that, but I’d rather expected things to be different now.

MacRae went on in his softly musical voice: “The young master has a deep sense of obligation to Mr. Lennox, you understand.”

“I know. He told me how splendidly his aunt and uncle stepped in when his father died.”

“Aye.” The intelligent gray eyes were solemn now, remembering. “And he’ll never be forgetting the way Mr. Lennox kept on searching when everybody else was ready to give up.”

“Searching?”

“Aye. Searching for the master—Mr. Craig’s father, that is. It certainly wasna the fault of Mr. Lennox that they found him too late.”

“I see. I didn’t know about that. As a matter of fact I didn’t know any of the details—only that Mr. McKinross’s father was dead.”

“It was a great tragedy, miss. He had some sort of fall on the lower slopes of Ben Liath ....” He made a sweeping gesture to where the mountains lay. “A fine man for the forestry, he was. Always making the rounds. It was the blizzard that caused his death, you see. The poor master lay there unconscious in the snow. There was no serious injury. He died as a result of the exposure.”

“How horrible.”

“Young Master Craig was just twelve years of age at that time. Old enough to understand, you see, but without the strength of a man. It was Mr. Lennox who led the searchers. ‘I’ll not give up until my brother-in-law is found,’ he said. For three days and nights he didn’t spare himself. In all that time he scarcely slept an hour.” MacRae shook his head sadly. “We have never had a snowfall like it, before or since. It was the worst in my whole experience.”

Now I could understand why Craig had been so vehement about not taking the estate from his uncle’s control. Craig owed Mr. Lennox too much.

Surely Margo could have seen the justice of that, too?

But whatever Craig’s feelings about his uncle in the past, the circumstances were different now that Margo was dead. Craig had to consider what was best for Jamie. Wouldn’t he want his son to grow up here at Glengarron with the security of the family home as some compensation for the loss of his mother?

And if my guess was right, Fiona meant to marry Craig, despite him being her first cousin. It looked as if they might all Iive as one big happy family after all.

There must have been a trace of bitterness in my voice as I said, “Maybe you’ll find that, in spite of everything, Mr. McKinross will decide to settle here with his son.”

“I wish I could believe that, miss,” said MacRae, pursing his lips doubtfully. “Fine I should like it. He takes after his father, does young Mr. Craig. Glengarron would indeed prosper under his direction.”

I sensed his immediate withdrawal. Obviously he regretted the criticism of Alistair Lennox implicit in his words.

I eased his embarrassment by pretending not to notice, saying lightly, “I think I envy your outdoor life.”

He grinned in grateful relief. “Yes, miss, I expect you do—on a grand day like this.”

“I take your point,” I said, returning his grin. “Well, I suppose I’d better be getting along.”

“The track is fairly dry underfoot from here on,” he said. “I hope you find enjoyment in your walking.”

Before I’d gone fifty yards, I heard the thud of his hatchet as he marked a tree. His voice was raised in song again—a sad little ballad about a lovesick maiden.

Suddenly there was a lump in my throat. Was it the poignant melody, so sweetly sung, that made me want to cry? Was it the thought of leaving this lovely countryside?

Whatever the reason, it was getting harder and harder to convince myself that I would be glad to leave Glengarron Castle.

* * * *

Only Jamie seemed unaware of the strained atmosphere at the luncheon table. I had little appetite for the over-elaborate dishes, and made my escape as soon as I decently could. I had decided I would while away the afternoon reading in the sanctuary of my bedroom.

As I started up the stairs I heard Craig’s voice calling: “Lucy—just a moment.”

Now what, I thought bitterly. Had they wangled a seat on today’s plane, after all? Why wouldn’t they leave me in peace? It
was
only for another twenty-four hours. I’d be gone tomorrow, and they could all forget I’d ever existed.

I stopped where I was, with a hand on the bannister rail. I didn’t turn around.

“Yes? What is it?”

He ran up the three or four stairs and gripped me by the arm. He looked anxiously into my face.

“You seem to be upset, Lucy. What’s the matter?”

So now he wanted to gloat over my misery. It wasn’t enough for him that I was going away. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing how miserable it made me. The man was a sadist. Was this how he had treated Margo?

I returned his gaze coldly. “Don’t be silly. Why should I be upset? I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t have gone so far this morning.”

“Really?” I gave a small, improbable laugh. “Do I have to ask your permission before I go for a walk? Anyway, you won’t have to put up with me for much longer.”

Craig looked uncomfortable. “Well, let’s not talk about that—not yet.” He looked down at his hands, studying his fingernails. “I ... I was wondering if you’d care to come out with me for the day, tomorrow? Nowhere special—just driving around the district. The weather was so wretched when we arrived, you couldn’t have got a very good impression.”

I certainly wasn’t getting a particularly good impression of Craig just now. I stared at him.

“Are you trying to make a monkey out of me? You know perfectly well that I’m going back to London tomorrow afternoon.”

Now it was Craig who did the staring. His hand was still on my arm, and he gripped tight, hurting me. “For God’s sake—what are you talking about, Lucy?”

Angrily, I dragged my arm away from him. “Can’t you just let me go, without all this ... this tormenting?”

I regretted my uncontrolled outburst immediately. I’d given the man the triumph he so obviously wanted. Now he knew just how much my banishment from Glengarron had hurt me.

But there was no self-satisfaction in his face. He looked astonished, completely taken aback.

“Why this sudden change of plan?” he demanded. “What have I done ... ?”

“I’d have been gone already if you hadn’t asked me to stay on for a bit. I just don’t understand....”

“Neither do I,” he said. His eyes were heavy with reproach. “You agree to stay on here, and now you suddenly announce that you’re leaving, after all. Why, Lucy? Why?”

I stormed at him. “Because I’ve been pretty well ordered out of the place, that’s why. I’d have been pushed on today’s plane if there’d been a vacant seat—don’t think I haven’t realized that.”

“This is absolutely crazy. Are you suggesting you’ve been
told
to go?”

“You know perfectly well I have.”

Craig was gaping at me, incredulous. I began to wonder if after all there hadn’t been some idiotic misunderstanding. It really did look as if he were genuinely in the dark about what had occurred.

He came to suddenly. “Who dared to tell you to leave Glengarron?”

“Your aunt,” I stammered. “She spoke to me this morning.”

Never had I seen a man as angry as Craig was at that moment. His face flushed deep red, his smoky eyes igniting. For several seconds he stood quite still beside me on the stairs. Then without another word he charged down to the hall and disappeared into the small sitting room, slamming the door behind him. But even through the thick oak panels I could hear his voice raised in a storm of anger.

I didn’t wait. I turned and ran upstairs, hurrying to the sanctuary of my room where I flopped onto my bed. It was some little while before I recognized my new mood. In the last few minutes with Craig I’d been through a whole range of emotions. I still felt in a turmoil, yet in an odd way, deep down, there was a kind of beautiful tranquility.

It was happiness.

Craig wanted me to stay, and that made me happy. Craig hadn’t known I’d been asked to leave. He’d been furious when he found out.

I stretched out on the bed, wondering. I was no longer angry, no longer shaking with fury. I lay there calmly, waiting for the next thing to happen. Events were taking place beyond my control. I had no hand in them. My role at the moment was wholly passive.

Clouds had blown up outside. A sudden squall spattered heavy raindrops through the open window and I got up slowly to close it. I stood there, looking out across Loch Ghorm. The distant hills had vanished in cloud, and a curtain of rain hid the far shore. I could see only the choppy gray surface of the water, and a small stretch of bank where fir trees came down to the very edge of the loch.

The Scottish Highlands. How softly beautiful they were.

At first the tap on the door slotted into my consciousness like an extraneous noise fits into a dream. My mind made room without recognizing what it was.

The tap came again, louder. “Lucy, are you there?”

Craig. His voice was gentle, filled with concern, all the fury spent.

I scarcely stopped by the dressing table to flick a comb through my hair and smooth my skirt. I almost ran across the room to open the door.

He was waiting with his hands hanging limp at his sides. “Lucy, I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry....”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer.

“You will stay, won’t you?” he whispered. “Please say you’ll stay.”

I still couldn’t speak because now I was almost crying. I didn’t know why. I was only conscious of trying to keep tears from escaping and running down my cheeks.

Craig threw the door wide open, coming into the room. He put his hands on my shoulders—strong, tender hands.