The Beautiful Stranger (46 page)

You willna lose me, Arthur, she said, her voice quivering with emotion. I will go where you go, I doona care where it is, but you willna lose me again.

Then come home with me now, he said, and helped her down from the dais.

The summer sun broke the morning mist that drifted over the tops of barley stalks standing as high as a mans head. On the hill behind the white house, four Black-faced sheep huddled together and eyed one of ten new lambs that had been birthed that spring. The white house had a new roof, new shutters, and a team of men who worked diligently to add a new wing that some said would be bigger than even Moncrieffe House.

The cottages scattered across the glen were newly thatched; lazy curls of smoke drifted up to the morning sky from three of them, signaling the day had begun for the families who had found their way back from the coastal plains, most of them arriving on the Richey brothers flatboat.

Willie Keith made his way through the barley field, marching along nicely in his new leather boots, his new leather satchel slung over his shoulder, both gifts from Lord Christian that he was especially proud of. As he neared the white house, he paused to look at Lady Christianthat was Mrs. McKinnons name now, had been since she promised herself to Lord Christian under the old oak on the southern edge of Loch Eigg. She was squatting down, playing with the pups that had been birthed by Mr. Gilgarrys sheep dog a few weeks past.

A sigh full of longing escaped Willie; he supposed that he would always love her.

He reached into his bag and took out the packet of letters that had come. There were several for Lord Christianone from an earl and one even from a duke, for he had seen the sealshe and Mary Shane liked to look at the seals and guess where they had come from before Willie made the long trek to Glenbaden every week.

There was one addressed to Lady Christian from Mr. Regis, Esquire, now of Pitlochry. Willie knew all about Mr. Regis. Hed done such fine work that Justice Longcrier had made him his special advocate for Perthshire. His was a thriving business, for there was not a want of disputes in Perthshire, especially now that every one was making claims against Baron Moncrieffe.

There was a special letter, too, and Willie smiled. Every week, she asked if he had word from Thomas McKinnon or Big Angus Grant. He hated to tell her no. Well, today he carried a letter thick as his arm, all the way from America. From Thomas McKinnon.

As Willie cleared the barley field, he saw Lord Christian come around the corner of the house and grab Lady Christian by the waist, twirl her around, and kiss her deep, just like Willie dreamed of doing.

As he walked into the yard, startling them, she blushed prettily, smoothed her hair at the temple. Willie Keith! Is it time for the post already, then?

Aye, he said simply, and unable to bite back his smile, handed her the bundle. She glanced through them, her gaze settling on the one from Thomas McKinnon. It took a moment to sink in, but with a shriek of joy, she thrust the others at her husband and hurried to the oak below the white house to read it. Two pups waddled after her.

Clutching the letters, Lord Christian looked quizzically at him.

Thomas McKinnon, it is.

A smile broke his face. Aha. So the old dog has finally written home, has he? Probably rich as Croesus by now. He patted Willie on the shoulder, smiling. Theres a biscuit or two for you, lad, in the kitchen.

With that, he turned and walked toward the oak where Lady Christian had sunk to her knees. Willie watched as Lord Christian went down on his haunches beside her, put his arm around her shoulder and his head next to hers to read the letter with her.

It gave him a warm feeling to watch the two of them like that, and as he made his way into the kitchen for his biscuits, he wondered if Mary Shane would ever let him follow her home like Mrs. McKinnon had let the Sassenach do.

The three graying men walked through the field of yellow grass that was now thigh high, slightly apart from one another, each lost in his own thoughts. One of them paused near a small stand of trees, peering into them as he rubbed his neck. Here, he called to the other two. This is it. His two companions turned and looked to where he pointed.

Aye, that would be it then, said Arthur, his voice betraying the years spent in Scotland.

Are you certain? I thought it was farther down.

Arthur turned and looked at Adrian. I am certain, he said solemnly, and walked toward Julian, who was

already moving toward the stand of trees. Adrian followed, a bit more slowly than the other two, his knee giving him a bit of grief on this cool fall day.

When they reached him, Julian adjusted his spectacles and pointed to a tree stump. Do you recall? You were here, Adrian, when Arthur called out to you.

I recall very clearly, Adrian said, and as if hearing the gunshot fired at his back, he pivoted sharply on his heel and looked behind him. It still seems a dream.

Ive never understood it, Julian said. I suppose I shall go to my grave wondering why he did it. They stood in silence a moment, looking about them, each reliving that dreadful morning almost fifteen years past.

Do you recall the words of the vicar the morning of his funeral? Julian asked.

Know ye in his death the quality of mercy, Adrian readily offered. Yes, I recall. I have thought of it quite often, for it is exactly that I found in his death. Had it not been for Phillip, I should never have married Lilliana. The woman has taught me the true meaning of mercy.

Julian chuckled. Youve gotten a bit daft in your old age, Albright. The vicar said, Know ye in his death the quality of love? I recall because at the time I thought it such an absurd thing to say. But strangely, in a roundabout way, I might never have known the true quality of love had I not married Claudia. And we all know I would not have married Claudia had it not been for Phillips death.

Och, you are both mistaken, Arthur said with a dismissive flick of his hand. The vicar said quite precisely, Know ye in his death the quality of life. Believe me now, for I have heard it in my head over and over again through the years, just as he said it, and it was exactly that which sent me to Scotland and Kerry. I would never have done so if Phillip hadnt so badly mangled his investments. That little journey showed me a quality of life I had not known existed. I would not have Kerry had Phillip not pointed me to her.

Julian and Adrian looked at him strangely; Arthur rolled his eyes. I meant through my dreams. I dreamed of him so often, too often, until I finally made the decision to leave England behind and follow Kerry home.

Still suffering from an overabundance of sentiment, are you? Julian asked on a laugh.

Arthur cuffed him on the shoulder.

Ouch! Must you hit so hard!

Look there, the two of you, Adrian said, pointing. The three men turned, looked toward the stream that babbled behind Dunwoody. There, on its grassy banks, strolled three womenone blonde, one auburn, and one dark-haired. They walked easily together; talking and laughing like young girls, pausing to admire a troop of butterflies. Nearby were their childrenAdrians daughter and two sons, Julians four young girls, and Arthurs two boys, playing on the banks of the stream, the older ones screeching with delight at some tale Adrians son was embellishing, the younger ones squatting in a circle, their heads bent together as they studied something in the grass.

Adrian smiled, looked around at the yellow field where Phillip had met his death. We will never know why, will we? So many unanswered questions. But we can be certain of this: had it not been for that

bitterly cold morning in this very field, we would never have known or seen such beauty as is before us now. My friends, in his death, Phillip gave us our lives.

No one spoke for a long moment. Adrian at last turned and looked at Julian and Arthur; they were standing like two old Rogues, Julians arm propped on Arthurs shoulder; Arthurs arms folded across his chest, a quiet smile on his face.

Arthur chuckled, shook his head.

What, more gushing sentiment? Julian quipped, nudging him playfully as he stepped away.

Actually, I was just wondering

Yes? Adrian prompted.

What in heavens name is Julian trying to do to us? Four girls? Honestly, Kettering, did you not learn lifes little lesson the first time around? Could you not have spaced them a bit apart, perhaps? At least Adrian had the decency to keep his children home until they were old enough to call. Last month, when you sent those four to Glenbaden, I was quite convinced you had done it just to torture me Me? What of you? Julian cried indignantly as he turned and strolled farther afield. Those little demons you call sons are enough to make a man want to flee for the Continent. What, are you beginning your own little Scots army, then? For Gods sake man, the war is over Adrian laughed, and smiling, glanced once more at their beautiful, perfect families before turning and following his old friendsstill arguing, naturallydeeper into the field, to the spot where Julian was convinced Adrian had once left a perfectly good walking stick so that he might fill both hands with a young tavern wench.

Julia London was raised on a ranch in West Texas, where she spent her formative years in the middle of vast wheat fields driving a tractor at the reckless speed of 5 mph. Scared to death she might actually have to plow for more than one summer, she studied hard and eventually got herself a real job. She now daydreams in Austin, Texas, where she lives with two enormous Labrador retrievers. You can write to

Julia at P.O. Box 49315, Austin, Texas 78765, or visit her website at
http://www.julialondon.com.