The House of the Laird (12 page)

It was the sudden recollection of Fiona which caused Karen to draw herself a mi
t
e away from the man she loved with every beat of her heart, and to look at him with a struggling doubt in her eyes—a
doubt which had to be dissipated before she could begin to be sure of anything at all.

“But are you really sure?” she asked, the doubt making her eyes look dark and uncertain, while he gazed at her with a glimmering of amazement. “I mean”—it was so difficult to find words to voice her uncertainty, but somehow or other it had to be voiced—
“
I’m so different—so very different from Mrs. Barrington, and you were in love with her once
—”

“My darling child,” Iain replied, very gently, “that was two years ago.”

“Yes, but—you were in love with her, and I
am
different! I’ve nothing of her about me—no glamor, or—or anything like that! I’m terribly ordinary compared with her, and if I’d once loved a person as beautiful-as Fiona Barrington I’m quite sure I could never love anyone else.”

He smiled a little crookedly
.

“Perhaps I wasn’t as deeply
i
n love with her as you seem to imagine.”

“But you meant to marry her!”

“Yes; I meant to marry her.”

Her eyes searched his face wistfully
—
large, shadow-haunted blue eyes that caused him to put out impatient hands and seek to draw her back into his arms. But she held him from her with determination, although the pressure of his lean fingers on her slender wrists was a little painful.

“Perhaps I’
m
silly, but—to me marriage is the sort of thing one considers only once in one’s lifetime! And although I know it wasn’t your fault that those early plans of yours came to nothing, two years is not such a very long while ago, and—and you could be making a mistake. It could be pity that you feel for me, couldn’t it?”

“If it is, it’s sufficiently strong to make me desperately anxious to have you for my wife!” with a hint of undisguised passion tautening the corners of his lips.

She drew a long, shuddering breath, and resisted the impulse to bury her face against him .and cling to him with all her strength.

“But pity can be very strong sometimes. And I’ve more or less forced you into this position, you know.
You feel that I’
m
helpless, that I want looking after, and I’d much rather
—much rather
!—have you recognize here and now that, as a result of all my dependence on you, what you actually feel for me is a kind of fondnes
s—
that I’ve aroused all your protective instincts—than that you should find it out later on, and realize that someone like Mrs. Barrington
—”

He gripped her by the shoulders, and she thought for a moment that he was going to shake her.

“Have you noticed any overwhelming symptoms
o
f my admiration for Mrs. Barrington?” he demanded, with a harshness that frightened her a little.

“No—no
—”
She shook her head.

“Or, if it comes to that, has it struck you that Mrs. Barrington has been affected by a return of her once-declared passion for me? A passion which evaporated very quickly when she met someone else who was capable of arousing rather more in her!” in a cold, dry voice.

“No—no—”
Karen repeated; but inwardly she could not be so sure of this. The emotions of someone like Fiona Barrington were by no means all on the surface—not even partly on the surface!—and to the younger girl it was impossible to imagine any woman coming in contact with someone like Iain Mackenzie and not feeling certain that the world would be well lost for even a portion of his interest.

“Then stop talking such a lot of utter rubbish!”

He stood up, and with his hands still retaining possession of her wrists he jerked her up almost violently into his arms, holding her so helplessly
c
rushed against him that their two bodies seemed to become dissolved into one another, and the hea
v
y
laboring of his heart beneath her cheek was more reassuring than any words he could have uttered. She sighed ecstatically this time, and when once again he forced her face up and lowered his mouth hungrily down upon her own she yielded it with an eagerness there was no disguising.

He kissed her hair and her eyes, her soft throat and her cheek, and then once again her lips, and he whispered:

“I love you! There’s no pity ab
o
ut it! I love you!
...”

And then when he lifted his head he noticed for the first time that the rain had ceased, and the sun was shining. Karen, bemused by her own happiness, noticed these things also, but it was Iain who became instantly practical and recollected that they had a considerable walk before they could reach Auchenwiel, and if they were to do so before another spring storm burst upon them it would be as well if they refrained from lingering in the dark little cottage.

“I want to get you home without your being soaked,” he said, taking Karen’s arm and leading her to the door. But as she looked back at the small, bare room, with the embers of their fire still glowing in the grate, and the wooden bench still drawn up before the fireplace, she thought with a rush of half wistful regret that it was a pity to have to leave it. Ugly though it was, devoid of all comfort, it was the place where she had been happier for a short while than she had ever been in her life before.

One day, she thought, they must come back to it.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

That night, at A
uchenwiel, both Aunt Horatia and Fiona sensed that there was something different about the attitude towards one another of Iain and
the girl he had announced he
was
going to marry.
It was not so noticeably different that anyone could have commented on it, but it
was
different. Karen had some strange, luminous quality of happiness about her,
and Iain’s eyes rested on her very often.
Not only did she turn pink under his look, but it was noticeable that she no longer avoided the direct gaze of his eyes as she had up till today. Indeed, once or twice Aunt Horry caught the two of them looking at one another so hard, and in so revealing a manner, that she said to herself: “Oh, ho! So things are not quite the same between them as they were! Something has happened!”

Fiona Barrington, in a cloudy black dress that seemed to clothe her white body in a shadow rather than conceal it with material, lay back languidly in a corner of a deep couch and watched them discreetly but often over the book she was reading. She
,
too, was aware that something had happened—probably out there on the moor that afternoon, she thought—and instead of appearing golden her eyes grew dark like cairngorms, and her silken eyelashes hid them broodingly.

No one played bridge on Sunday night, because Aunt Horry was a little fixed
i
n her ideas about the appropriate manner of keeping Sunday, and they all retired to bed at a reasonably early hour. Karen, who received an extra affectionate kiss from Aunt Horry when she said goodnight, had already slipped into bed, and was sitting hugging her knees and staring with that same bemused look of happiness on her face into the shadows of the softly-lighted room, when the knock came
o
n her door, and thinking.it was either her hostess or Mrs. Barrington she called “Come in.”

But it was Iain who entered. He was wearing his kilt, and the velvet doublet and lace jabot which Karen was certain became him more than they could possibly become any man who did not possess his sleek, well-held head and broad shoulders, his
grey
eyes with the thick bl
a
ck eyelashes fringing them, and beautifully shaped mouth and square jaw, to say nothing of his lean, graceful figure and slightly arrogant stride.

H
e noiselessly crossed the space between the closed door and the bed, and Karen instinctively pulled the bedclothes up about her slim shoulders th
a
t were only otherwise covered by a flimsy pink nightdress. But he smiled at her much as he might have smiled at her before that afternoon had provided each of them with some quite imperishable memories, and sat down on the side of the bed, reached for her lacy pink bedjacket and handed it to her.

“
I
know this is a little irregular,
”
he said, his smile becoming faintly amused as he noted how swiftly she draped the bedjacket about her shoulders and huddled herself into it, “but there were things we should have discussed this afternoon which we did not discuss, and we had no opportunity to do so
this evening. So as I was quite sure you wouldn’t yet be asleep I decided to come along here now and talk them over with you. If my aunt saw me on my way she’s not the type to think unpleasant things, and I
t
ook care that no one else should see me.”

He reached out and lightly touched her hand as it clutched the edge of the sheet
.

“How small you look in that big bed,” he said gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes.
”
Very small, and very
—”
Whatever it
was he was going to say he changed his mind about doing so, but his eyes said all sorts of unspoken, thin
g
s to her, and she felt the color rising
in
a hot, revealing tide to her cheeks. He told her abruptly, “I’ve got to leave for London tomorrow.”

“Oh, no!” Karen exclaimed, and so far forgot the unusualness of the situation as to reach out and grasp at his hand also.

“I’m afraid I must.” He looked down at the small
fingers entwining themselves almost convulsively about his, and then he carried them up to his lips and kissed them lingeringly. “That was one thing I meant to tell you this afternoon, only somehow—somehow we didn’t seem to find much time for the discussion of ordinary prosaic things, did we?” smiling at her
.

“No.” But her eyes had clouded so much that there seemed no longer to be any light in them. “Oh,
Iain—
must
you?” London seemed so far away—almost at the other end of the world—and she couldn’t bear the thought of having to do without him now that at
last they knew that they meant so much to one another. They had been together
for
so many weeks—even at Craigie House
h
e was only a few miles away. But London! London, where they had first met. Where she had first seen him unloading his suitcases from the taxi...

“
I’m afraid I haven’t any choice in the matter, darling,” he informed her regretfully. “It’s a business matter which
must be
attended to, but I’m hoping I won’t be away for longer than a few days—a week at the outside. And when I come back we’re going to be married without
any delay
whatsoever, and I’ve
already told Aunt Horry all about it downstairs just now in the library. She’s quite delighted to know that
I seriously intend to present you to her as a niece
and she’s promised to look after you while I’m away, and to begin making preparations for what she calls a ‘suitable wedding.’
I told her that we’re not concerned with ‘suitable weddings’—I’ll marry you in the village church, and half the people of Cra
i
gie
can come an
d
see us get married if they like, but I don’t want anything in the nature of fuss or circumstance. Do you agree with me, sweetheart?”

The light had returned to Karen’s eyes, and she found herself clinging tightly to his fingers.

“Of course,” she answered huskily. “I
think
I’d agreed with you over anything.”

He smiled at her more quizzically.

“Even if I suggested carrying you away with m
e
tomorrow morning and marrying you without any ceremony whatsoever?—probably in a register office? Just as soon as we could get hold of
a
licence?”

Her heart gave a tremendous bound inside her, and she gazed at him as if she never could take her eyes from his face.

“That,” she told him, with a break in her voice, “would be wonderful!”

“But, nevertheless, not really practical!” He patted both her hands lightly and placed them within the protection of the bedclothes. “No, my darling, that wouldn’t do at all, because Aunt Horatia would object
strongly for one thing, and for another it wouldn’t be fair to you.” His eyes met hers gravely, and his voice was immensely serious as he continued: “I’ve made up my mind that the best thing to do with you as soon as you belong to me is to take you away from this climate for a bit—to somewhere where the sun shines more often, and where you can grow tanned and completely strong again. You’re not yet a hundred per cent fit, you know, and I want to take the utmost care of you. Would you like to go abroad with me?”

“Oh, no,” she surprised him by answering quickly, and contradicting a statement she had only just made. “Oh, no,
please.
Not yet, anyway. I’d much rather go back to Craigie.”

“You would?” He looked surprised.

“Yes.” A flush of earnestness overspread her face, and her blue eyes appealed to him. “I love Craigie, and I was so happy there with you, and I want to go back to it, and to know that I belong there, and that I don’t have to leave it again—ever—unless I want to, or you want me to do so!” Her hand emerged and plucked at his sleeve timorously. “Oh, can’t you understand? It was such a haven such a perfect haven—and I felt so absolutely safe. I
’
ve never felt safe like that before in my life, and I so longed to see the garden when the spring was really here, and the summer
... A
nd I thought that Id got to go away—perhaps never see it again.
”

Her lips were quivering a little. A wonderful softness overspread his face, and he murmured gently:

“Of course I understand. I understand perfectly.
”

“And you won’t mind if we don’t go away at once? Although it’s wonderful of you to want to take me!” looking at him through the merest suspicion of a mist. “And really I don’t mind where we are if you want to—if you really want to
—
?
”

She was so afraid that he might misunderstand her yearning for Craigie House—which was nothing to her yearning to be with him for ever and always!...

“My little sweet,” he told her, even more gently, while he sat looking at her in such a way that, although he did not touch her, she had the feeling that he had reached out and taken her closely and protectingly into his arms, and that his handsome mouth had actually pressed kisses on her face that was so anxious to receive them, “I want nothing that won’t make you completely happy, and if you’ve fallen as much in love with Craigie as all that, then we’ll certainly go there for a while at least. But we’ll discuss all this when I come back, and in the meantime I mustn’t keep you awake any longer.”

And although her heart lurched unhappily when she saw him, rise, and she knew that he had got to leave her, he
stood up abruptly. His tall figure in the Mackenzie tartan and the velvet doublet and the flowing jabot seemed to tower for a moment beside the bed, then he be
n
t swiftly and brushed the top of her shining head with his lips.

“Good night, my dear one—and
au
revoir
for a few days! The time won’t pass nearly so slowly if you remember that in a very short time now I won
’
t be leaving you behind any more. And remember also that I love you—” He bent again, and she felt another feather’s touch, on the top of her head—
“
I love you!”

And although she put out a hand to stay him he turned away swiftly, and she heard the door close softly behind him, and knew that she was once more alone in the softly lighted room.

For a few moments after he had gone she wondered whether she was more unhappy because he had left her, or happy because he was coming back to her, and when he came back to her again they
w
ould not, as he had said, have to part any more! It was such a wonderful, incredible thought that it well-nigh took her breath away as she sat there in her luxurious bed, with her arms wrapped about her drawn-up knees, a bemused expression in her eyes.

She repeated to herself the words with which he had left her, and she wondered again whether she was awake or dreaming:

“I love you—I love you!..
.
”