Land of Heart's Desire (12 page)

“Is she a good artist?” he asked.

“I think she could be. I know it’s very close to her heart.”

“And she’d jettison Croma for it if it wasn’t for the old lady?”

“No!” Jane protested. “I didn’t mean to imply that. Please don’t think that Christine is weak.”

He smiled at that.

“I’m quite convinced on that point,” he said. “ ‘Stubborn’ was the word I had in mind.”

Jane looked up at him, not knowing what to think, and from the far end of the room, where she was leading off the dancing with Iain Kennedy, one of her grandmother’s oldest tenants, Christine saw that look and wondered what could be keeping Jane and her prospective employer standing there in such earnest conversation.

A Highland ball, such as Dame Sarah had planned, left very little time for conflicting thoughts, however. The day, which had held its own excitement, gave way to an evening of pure magic, for the great house seemed enchanted, with its draped tartans and the rows of coloured lights festooned among the dark trees of the moorland garden. The effort had been entirely Rory’s, and he was more than proud of the result, although he had spent a sleepless night wondering if the electricity plant would stand up to the added load.

The candles in the ancient sconces along the walls had been the answer to that and they lent their own soft, deep glow to the proceedings, touching the faces of the young dancers with an added beauty and laying kindly fingers on the features of the old.

There was never a moment for resting. Dance followed dance with an urgency which seemed to suggest that the revelry might never cease, and Christine barely sat down for a minute at a time. A spontaneous gaiety bubbled up within her as she whirled around the polished floor, shining in her eyes for all to see. She danced the reels with all the vigour of youthful abandonment and went through Petronella with an air. It was only when Finlay Sutherland had partnered her in the Dashing White Sergeant and twice in the Gay Gordons that she began to realize how well and easily he was fitting in.

“How do you know our dances?” she asked him as they swung round to the music of the pipes. “I should have thought that they would have all been strange to you.”

“I took the trouble to learn,” he told her. “We dance some of them in parts of Canada, too. People took their pleasures as well as their sorrows with them when they left Scotland for the other side of the Atlantic, you know.”

“When did your people emigrate?” she asked more generously.

“Thirty years ago.”

“Not very long,” she said.

“No—not in actual time. In achievement, though, it can cover a great deal. Thirty years ago Canada was a brave land of promise, the hope held out to people who saw nothing but hardship for them here.”

“And yet you have come back,” she reminded him as the music ceased.

He looked down at her amid the general applause.

“ ‘But still the thoughts are true, the heart is Highland’,” he quoted.

“ ‘And we in dreams behold the Hebrides!’ ”

She had almost whispered the final words of the revealing couplet, and sudden tears stung at the back of her eyes, of which she was youthfully ashamed. That could not be why he had come to Croma, she thought, trying to harden her heart to this man who had come to buy Erradale and possess the whole of Croma for some whim of his own—the love of possession, no doubt, because he had left Scotland in infancy with nothing.

Yet he had not appeared to be ashamed of his family’s humble beginnings, and that was in his favour. He had come of sturdy Highland stock, and that was enough for him. What his father had done had been accomplished by the twin attributes of perseverance and dogged determination to succeed, allied to a strong constitution and the will to work twenty-four hours a day, if need be.

They had been fighters, and something told Christine, as she walked back across the candle-lit room with her hand lightly on the sleeve of his green velvet jacket, that Finlay Sutherland had not laid down his sword.

Well, if he wanted all Croma, they would see! Her grandmother, too, was a fighter!

The strange thing was, though, that Dame Sarah seemed to favour him.

“Come and sit beside me, Mr. Sutherland, and get your breath back,” she invited as they reached her chair. “That wildly enthusiastic granddaughter of mine is dancing mad. She never rests!”

“She’s certainly full of energy,” Finlay Sutherland agreed. “I haven’t seen her miss a reel yet.”

Christine flushed because he had noticed that much about her when she didn’t think he had noticed her at all. Almost immediately, however, Hamish was at her side, claiming her for the next dance.

Dame Sarah’s astute old eyes followed their progress down the long room before she spoke again.

“I’m sorry you came on a wild goose chase when you first came to Erradale, Mr. Sutherland,” she said briefly. “I had intended to sell the estate if Christine did not show any interest in the place,, but now things are different. If she will stay here—marry and settle down, I suppose I mean—Erradale may well weather the financial storm. One grows tired of constant striving, perhaps, if there is no reasonably sure end in view,” she added more slowly. “It is a weakness of which I am now greatly ashamed,” she confessed.

“But a very human reaction, all the same,” he allowed. “Miss MacNeill will make all the difference to life on Croma.” He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed a little as he followed the dancing couples at the far end of the room. “She is, I understand, your sole heir?”

“Yes,” Dame Sarah said, her blue eyes following his. “It’s a vulnerable position, I fear.”

He smiled, although the look in his eyes did not change. “She’ll cope with it, I guess,” was all he said.

Christine did not see him again until their meal was served. He had danced with Jane mostly and with the people to whom Jane introduced him, and always when Christine looked in his direction he seemed to be the centre of an admiring group. Of course, to the girls from the mainland and Edinburgh he would appear as the romantic figure of the new laird of Ardtornish and a wealthy bachelor into the bargain. Even Jane, she noticed, laughed a Jot at what he had to say, and Alison Hope-Drummond positively hung on every word!

“Our new laird is making himself extremely pleasant to the ladies,” Hamish observed dryly as he brought her a glass of champagne. “He is quite possibly looking for a wife, although I believe there was someone in Canada who disappointed him.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Christine answered quickly. “He’ll certainly need someone to help him to run Ardtornish.”

“Who better than Jane?” he suggested.

“No one.” Her heart fluttered like an imprisoned bird. “But she would have to be in love with him first.”

He laughed, putting his hand under her elbow to lead her towards the table.

“Jane might fill the bill in that direction,, also,” he suggested. “She would be most eagerly accepted, and so would our friend Finlay, if she could return to Ardtornish as Mrs. Sutherland!”

“I—don’t think he would marry Jane—just to be accepted on the island,” she objected uncertainly.

“Wouldn’t he?” Hamish smiled lazily. “If you ask me, he’s exactly the type who would pursue an end with the utmost ruthlessness. What he wants he’ll go for in a big way, and no holds barred! I’ve just heard, by the way, that he’s bought the shearings for the whole island at a fantastic price because he didn’t, want the wool sold on the mainland. I’ve no idea how he means to use it, but he’ll have some scheme up his sleeve—one to double his profit, I’ve no doubt. He has used the Erradale wool as a lever, I understand, to buy in the glens on this side of the ford.”

Christine turned to stare at him.

“You mean that my grandmother sold him our shearings—our entire output?” she asked.

Hamish nodded.

“So it is said. He talked Rory into it, I suppose, and Rory would influence the old lady.”

“I don’t think so!” Christine’s lips were firmly set, and in that moment she looked more like Dame Sarah than ever before. “Nobody could talk my grandmother into anything she didn’t want to do. Finlay Sutherland must have had some good reason for wanting our wool.”

“Or your grandmother an equally good reason for wanting the extra money!”

“Money wouldn’t come into it!” Her eyes flashed angrily, so that he was quick to see the need for apology.

“Let’s forget about it,” he said. “It’s hardly a suitable subject for a twenty-first birthday party, and the others’ are waiting to offer you the appropriate toast for the future!”

Christine allowed him to lead her to the head of the table, where her grandmother was waiting, and she was acutely aware of him standing behind her chair during the happy formality of wishing her well.

She was not nearly so nervous now as she had been during her presentation to the tenants in the afternoon, because that had seemed to involve so much more than just being “of age”. Down there on the school playing field, she had committed herself to Croma, accepting her future responsibility for these people. It was something big and—and emotional, she thought, looking about her at the sea of happy faces which thronged the festive board, something Dame Sarah had accepted, in her turn, all those years ago.

“To Christine!” her friends cried as they raised their glasses above their heads, but “To Croma” she said in her own heart.

As if he had heard that small, intimate avowal, she found herself looking into Finlay Sutherland’s green eyes across the table. He did not appear to be smiling quite so lightheartedly as the others, although he had lifted his glass as high. “To Croma,” he seemed to repeat in dry acknowledgment of her unspoken toast.

“Come along!” Hamish urged when she had put down her glass. “We’ve something else to show you.”

He led the way towards the door, her guests following in a noisy stream. Excitement and curiosity ran high, for some surprise element was waiting out there in the silent night for their further enjoyment. Yet in some strange way Christine was conscious of her own withdrawal. It was something in which her grandmother could not take part because she was forced to remain behind in her chair; it was something, perhaps, which dame Sarah knew nothing about.

“Hamish,” she said, “what is it?”

“Wait and see!” He took her hand, drawing her along. “I don’t mind telling you that it was my idea and practically all my own work!”

It was then that she saw it, and the sight made her stop dead in her tracks, her heart hammering madly against her ribs as she waited for the others to come up.

Far on the slopes of Askaval a flicker of light had broken, crouched back and then flared triumphantly against the dark backcloth of grey rock.

“It’s a bonfire!” someone cried. “A birthday beacon!”

Christine felt as if a hand had tightened suddenly over her heart.

“It’s unlucky,” she whispered. “It was never meant to be lit—except for a male heir. The people will see it and be afraid.”

“Nonsense!” Hamish brushed her superstitious qualms aside as the rest of the house party clustered behind them. “It’s the most suitable conclusion to a wonderful day!”

Dame Sarah’s guests from the mainland were all in favour of such a conclusion. The villagers had set off their fireworks along the quay, and the bonfire seemed their own special effort on Christine’s behalf, but suddenly the sound of laughter that had drifted up to them from the direction of the Port was hushed and Christine could imagine the faces of the village people turned in consternation towards Askaval.

The bonfire flared and belched its defiance, searching the darkness with bright yellow tongues of flame until hill and crag and sparse, hunch-backed trees were silhouetted starkly against it and the stars seemed to pale in comparison. Christine felt the silence about her like a living thing, intangible but dangerous, and then she saw Rory coming across the garden towards her.

His face was completely distorted with rage and his strong hands shook as he clenched and unclenched them. He was staring at his brother, and Hamish stepped back involuntarily, as if he had expected Rory to strike him.

“You did this!” Rory accused. “You did it after I had advised you against it! You know what these village people are—how they cling on to their old superstitions and beliefs. They’re prejudiced enough, some of them, without you having to add to it like this. We don’t need to make them
expect
disaster.”

His voice seemed to vibrate against the silence and it was perhaps a full second before Hamish could bring himself to laugh the warning aside. In that taut silence Christine had looked up and across the circle of her grandmother’s guests to where Finlay Sutherland stood beside Jane.

He was looking towards Askaval, to the bright orange glow above it which the bonfire had made in the sky, and the strange, flaring light seemed suddenly reflected in his eyes. They glittered for a moment as he watched, and then he looked straight across the circle at her, smiling at her obvious concern.

Because he didn’t believe in superstitions, or because, her personal misfortunes could so easily be his own ultimate gain?

She turned away. Why did she think these things? It was a wretched thing to do, but Hamish had hinted only a moment ago that the new laird of Ardtornish had very few scruples, and Finlay had said himself that he generally went after a thing until he got it!