Far Horizons (20 page)

Harriet stared at Andrew in disbelief. “Are you defending him?”

“No, of course not. I’m only trying to show you there is more than one side to it.”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.” Harriet jerked her hand which had been laying limply, forgotten, from his. “So, let me see if I understand you correctly, sir,” she continued, her voice laced with angry sarcasm. “If I marry you, you’ll save my family from penury. And if I don’t, then we all might as well starve!”

Andrew’s face darkened with anger, and Harriet realised she’d never truly seen his temper. He was usually so genial and easygoing, yet for a moment she saw a glimpse of the hardness underneath, and knew he was more like his uncle than either one of them had realised. “If you’re accusing me of blackmail,” Andrew said in a low voice, “then I think that is despicable. I’ve told you I love you. Anything I do for you or Achlic is because of my love, not for personal gain.”

Harriet flushed and bit her lip. Still, she could not bring herself to apologise. “How can you expect me to think any differently? It’s your family that has tricked mine... I don’t want any more trickery!”

“Neither do I,” Andrew said coolly. “I only want you to marry me if you want to, Harriet. If you have feelings for me. I don’t expect you to love me, not yet, but if you felt you could one day...” He shrugged, and picked up the reins once more. “That would be something worth waiting for.”

“You know I’m betrothed to Allan,” Harriet said in a low voice. She was shocked to realise she’d not thought of Allan once since Andrew’s proposal... a realisation which shamed her.

“As I understood it, he asked you to wait, not to marry him.”

“I promised.”

Andrew looked as if he were about to say something, but then shrugged and looked away instead. “Whatever is between you and Allan MacDougall is your own concern, Harriet. You must decide for yourself. But remember he is far away, and building his own life there, away from you. Tell me, has he written you?”

For a moment Harriet wanted to slap him. She hated Andrew for knowing that Allan hadn’t written her save the one letter Riddell had taken. She hated him for voicing her innermost doubts and fears. “That, Mr. Reid,” she said in a voice needled with ice, “is not your concern.”

“What concerns you concerns me.”

“Only because you make it so!”

Andrew glanced at her, and for a moment Harriet saw tenderness and even love in his eyes before his expression cleared and became unreadable. “You might at least think about it,” he said. “While there’s time.”

How much time, Harriet wondered bleakly. According to the contract, they had to vacate Achlic Farm within the month. And then...? They could find lodgings in Tobermory, humble and temporary, or she could become Andrew Reid’s bride. It felt like blackmail, but in honesty Harriet knew that was no fault of Andrew’s. He didn’t control his uncle’s despicable actions, and the brief glimpse of love shining in his eyes had shaken her. Perhaps Andrew’s offer was one she couldn’t refuse.

Captain Henry Moore breathed in deeply, savouring the scent of salt on the wind, as well the familiar earthy tang of land. Not his home, as Massachusetts would always be that, but something now infinitely more dear. Scotland, the land of his ancestors, and also of Margaret MacDougall.

Would she be glad to see him?It was a thought which had occupied Henry’s mind for most of the spring and summer. When he’d left at the end of last winter, they hadn’t known each other well enough for him to extract promises he’d no right to expect Margaret to keep. Yet the thought of her snapping black eyes, her sense of humour and her passion for learning had sustained him through many a tempestuous sea journey.

He’d asked her to wait for him before he left, but the request and answering agreement had been nebulous, hardly the stuff a romance--a lifetime commitment--was built on.

He wondered if there would be any letters waiting for him with his aunt. He hoped Margaret had written him. He’d written her several letters, and had posted them from his travels over the summer. He’d taken great delight in describing the sights and sounds of the many places he’d been, knowing she would enjoy the descriptions. Even the most trivial anecdote became inspiration for his missives, a way to share his life with her, and bind them together.

There was no way of knowing whether they’d reached her by now or not, until he saw her and asked her himself.

Now he was back in Tobermory, for three days only, before he began another voyage to the Americas. He wouldn’t be back in Scotland for a year, as he’d a lucrative offer to ship freight in the Caribbean during the winter.

He was hoping fervently to see Margaret during his leave. But what would his reception be? Henry cherished hopes of love, commitment, even marriage. Would Margaret be willing to wait a year, based on their slender acquaintance? Did he dare ask her while on such a short leave?

He chuckled softly to himself, as lovesick as a schoolboy, yet still as determined as ever to woo and win his bride. Margaret would be his, no matter how long either one of them had to wait.

Henry went to his aunt’s house as soon as
The Allegiance
was in port. Unfortunately, the news was disappointing.

Helena was in Edinburgh visiting relatives, but her housekeeper told him the news.

“There haven’t been any letters, sir, that I ken of.”

Henry knew Helena would have made sure he received any noteworthy news. Forcing a smile, he thanked the woman and turned towards the public house.

With his legs stretched towards the fire and a mug of ale in his hand, a large wedge of cottage pie before him, he considered what to do next. Dare he be so bold to pay a call on Margaret at this Achlic Farm? He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing or hearing from her at all, yet he wondered if she would welcome a visit. Why had she not written? aret... if she wanted to see him. Why hadn’t she written?

“Excuse me, sir.” A young boy, tall and awkward looking, stood at the corner of his table.

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Are you the captain of
The Allegiance
?”

“I am.”

“Have you space for a ship’s boy?” the boy asked. “I can do almost anything I put my mind to, and I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Is that so?” Henry looked the boy over. He had a shock of red hair and freckles, and although his clothes were worn they were of good quality. He looked to be from a good home, although he must’ve been living rough the last few days. “Why don’t you sit down and share my pie, and we’ll discuss it.”

The boy needed no second invitation. Henry called for another pie and ale. “How old are you, then?”

“Seventeen.”

Not likely, Henry thought wryly. More like fourteen, fifteen perhaps, certainly not more. “Seventeen’s a bit old for a ship’s boy,” he informed his companion mildly. “I’d be looking for a midshipman then, and I’m afraid you don’t have the experience.”

The boy’s face fell, and Henry had to keep himself from smiling at the transparency of his feelings. The serving maid came with the food, and Henry watched as the boy fell onto it, mumbling his thanks between mouthfuls.

“It looks as if you’ve not had a good meal in a time,” Henry remarked. “Tell me the truth, boy, how old are you now?”

Shamefaced, swallowing a large mouthful of pie, the boy mumbled, “Fifteen last winter.”

“I thought so.” Henry leaned back in his chair. “Life on a ship is hard work, you know. Ship boys get biscuit and salt beef twice a day, and you share a hammock with another boy. You’d be up at dawn, working till night, and even then you’d have to take your turn at the watch.”

“Aren’t you a merchant ship?” the boy asked uneasily.

“Yes, but I abide by the rules of the Navy. Helps to have order on a ship, and that’s a fact. Besides, there’s always the danger of pirates. The Atlantic isn’t an easy ocean to cross, even with the Wars over.”

“Really?” The boy looked decidedly uncomfortable now, and Henry wondered why he wanted to board a ship. Most ship’s boys were orphans, or working class children with few prospects on land. The gruelling labour, tough conditions and small pay were hardly incentives for a boy from this background.

He had to be a runaway. What had he done, Henry wondered, to want to flee so far and so fast? Was there a family frantic for him?

“I’m not afraid, sir,” he said now, lifting his chin. “I’d be an asset to you, I swear it.”

“An asset, hmm?” Educated, as well. “What of your parents?”

“Dead.” The boy’s face closed, his lips pressed tightly together.

“There must be someone looking out for you, wondering where you are.”

A shadow of vulnerability passed over the boy’s face, making him look like a child. Then his expression hardened, and Henry saw the man he might become. “No,” he said. “Not anymore.”

Henry leaned back in his chair, considering. Fifteen was certainly old enough for a boy to carve his own destiny. “Six shillings a month, to start.”

There was no mistake the disappointment that clouded the boy’s eyes but he nodded in determination. “Fair enough.”

“I run a tight ship,” Henry warned. “Any disobedience or laziness, and I’ll have you off at the next port, no matter where you are.” If he was trying to scare the boy, Henry knew he was succeeding, but it had yet to deflect him.

“All right. Yes, sir.”

Why was he going to take this scrap on? Henry shook his head in bemusement. He didn’t need another ship’s boy, and if the boy’s family were looking for him...

Something about the boy’s desperation spoke to him. He recognised someone with nowhere to turn... someone willing to fight.

“Report back to
The Allegiance
in two days’ time,” he said. “We sail for Massachusetts on the evening tide. What’s your name, boy?”

“Ian, sir. Ian... Douglas.”

The next day Henry rode towards Craignuire. He enjoyed the sun on his face, the rock-strewn fields and purple-tipped mountains of his ancestral land, even if he was used to the open spaces and raw newness of America. There was something ancient and even wise about this land, he mused, even if progress was coming to the Highlands as well.

Work had recently started on a canal between Fort William and Inverness, which would speed travel for both passenger and commercial goods. One day, perhaps, there would be cities here, cities like Boston, New York, or Glasgow. Right now, however, Henry enjoyed the peaceful solitude of the countryside.

He rode to the inn at Craignuire, and then asked directions to Achlic Farm.

“She won’t be there much longer,” the innkeeper said with a shake of his head, his face red and shining. “Achlic Farm’s been sold, you know, to Riddell, and a fair bit of trickery it was.”

Henry glanced sharply at the man. “What of the MacDougalls? Will they be cast out?”

The innkeeper shrugged. “Who knows where the wind blows? Their father should be sending for them soon as it is. They’ll be in Canada next winter, or close enough.”

“Perhaps,” Henry acknowledged, and resolved all the more to speak frankly with Margaret when he found her.

Achlic Farm was a pleasant dwelling, mellow in the afternoon sun, a few chickens scratching in the yard. An older woman with small eyes and a suspicious look answered his knock on the door.

“Miss MacDougall? She’s out at the moment, but what would you be wanting with her?” Her look was so grim and forbidding that Henry would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel crushed by more disappointment.

“We have an acquaintance,” he said, “and I am only in the region for a short while. Will she be back soon?”

“Gone all the day to Fort William, hasn’t she,” the woman replied. “They’d business there. I suppose you know what’s happening to the farm?”

“I’ve heard.”

“No business of yours,” the woman snapped, “or mine neither, come to that. No business at all.”

Henry murmured something placatory. “May I leave a note for her, Mistress...?”

“MacCready. All right, then. I suppose I could give it to her.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, and when he’d been given ink and paper, began to write. He only hoped Margaret received his letter in time.

With a sigh he headed back to Tobermory, feeling as far from Margaret as he’d been while halfway across the world.

CHAPTER TEN

“Doesn’t he look smart?”

Allan listened to the admiring whisper of one of the town girls and wondered at the crowd which had gathered for Archie’s send off. In his new, red wool tunic, white breeches and polished boots, he did indeed look smart. Ready, Allan thought dourly, to face his future. To
make
his future.

Archie had finally received his orders from the Army. Today he was to report to the barracks in Charlottetown, and from there he would receive further orders off island.

The whole family had come to accompany him, and a small crowd had gathered to watch the soldiers parade into the garrison.

Allan had not been to Charlottetown in many months, and now he looked around in curiosity. Although the town had been officially founded over fifty years ago, there was a spirit of youth and energy to it.

The grand plans had been laid at the start, with Thomas Wright, a surveyor, allotting nearly three hundred building lots, as well as a central square and four large green squares. Yet most of that was still dreams, and the houses were mere wooden structures, some looking as if they wouldn’t stand the winter.

Still, there was plenty of building go on. The Round Market House was being built for trade, and Allan had heard of plans for a grand governor’s mansion. The first island school was meant to start in Charlottetown this autumn. Charlottetown, he thought, had dreams... just like he did.

“Well, then.” Sandy looked at his younger son, his chest swelling with obvious pride. “I know you’ll do well for yourself, Archie, and well for the family. We’re pleased you’ve come this far.”

Archie shook his father’s hand and kissed his mother’s cheek. “There’s talk of our regiment marching to Three Rivers in a fortnight. I should have leave in April, though, and I’ll come back then, if the ice is broken up.”