Amanda Scott (31 page)

“You cannot mean marriage by declaration,” Diana said. “I know about that. Both parties have to agree before witnesses that they are married. MacDrumin never asked me if I had agreed.”

“The law actually says that if one party makes a declaration before one or more witnesses that the other party does not disclaim, the marriage is valid.”

“But you did not make such a declaration! Your simply telling him you are willing to
promise
to marry me—and you know he asked only because he found us in what some people might consider to be a compromising posture—”

“Most would deem it compromising,” he interjected mildly.

She made an impatient gesture. “But you and I know that …” The memory of the feelings he had stirred in her, and her response to them stilled the words in her throat. She swallowed, adding brusquely, “At all events, you made no declaration, so there is no reason to think you must marry me.”

He did not speak at once. Then, slowly, he said, “MacDrumin was not thinking of marriage by declaration, lass. There is a second form, called
promise subsequente copula
—”

“How do you know such things? What does that mean?”

“Essentially, it’s one form of marriage by consummation,” he said. “In this case, a promise to marry followed by …”

“By a coupling, obviously,” she said impatiently. “I know what consummation is, for goodness’ sake.”

“Very well, then. If both the promise and the coupling take place in Scotland, canon law recognizes the couple as lawfully married. The Scottish kirk prefers that a proper ceremony follow eventually, but no ceremony is required for the marriage to be acknowledged as lawful both by the church and by British civil law. You’d acquire all the rights and privileges due to my wife by virtue of the coupling.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Faith, sir, do you mean he expects us to jump into your bed now that he has gone away?”

When Rory nodded, she felt a sudden bubble of laughter in her throat. Though she had certainly wanted to stir his desire for her, she had meant only to divert him from his intent to arrest MacDrumin. It had not occurred to her that she might manipulate him into marriage. As to the bedding, her body’s response to the mere thought amazed her. Every nerve tingled, and waves of desire surged through her. When he reached for her hand, she let him draw her to her feet.

Quietly, he said, “I believe he thinks we have devised a plan to get round the objections of our families. It would not be so odd for him to believe that, you know, for he is one who constantly seeks to circumvent authority. Moreover, I’ll wager he can see that we are attracted to each other.”

“Are we?” She looked down, oddly unsure of herself.

“You know we are.” He drew her closer.

“’Tis but simple lust, sir, and well do you know it,” she said bluntly, but she did not try to draw away, adding with a sigh, “I cannot marry a Campbell. For one thing, it would kill my mother. She loathes Argyll, you know. She has threatened to snatch him bald-headed the moment an opportunity presents itself.”

“Fortunately then for his grace, he already is bald-headed. He shaves his pate so his wigs will sit straight. In any event, I think your mother is far too strong-minded to be undone by any marriage of your making, sweetheart.”

“Aye, well, even if I were willing to marry you, which I’m not, I would never do so in such a conniving way. Furthermore, you don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you. I just came in here—” She broke off, unwilling to tell him she had hoped to distract him to protect MacDrumin.

It occurred to her that perhaps that reason no longer existed. Frowning thoughtfully, she said, “If the laird thinks you have trifled with me, he could make trouble for you in certain quarters, could he not, even with Argyll?”

Frowning, he said, “Particularly with Argyll. What’s more, I’d not put it past the old rascal to do such a thing, just to make mischief.”

She shrugged, hoping the gesture looked casual, and said in an offhand way, “I daresay that if you don’t make trouble for him, he won’t make any for you. You have eaten his bread, after all, and he believes in Highland hospitality.”

“He will be expecting an announcement from us, however. When none is forthcoming, what do you suppose he will do?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Nor do I. Look here, lass, let’s be plain. I know you are thinking that I should keep silent about his whisky, but—”

“After his kindness to Mam, betraying him to the authorities would be a dreadfully backhanded turn, sir.”

“She is not my mother.”

“No, but she is mine.” She touched his chest, looking up into his eyes. “It would be a horrid thing to do. Please don’t. I’ll see that he says nothing to Argyll.”

Looking into her eyes, he grasped her chin, holding it firmly, the way he had done at Castle Stalker, and his tone was nearly as stern as it had been that night. “I have a conscience, sweetheart, and a duty. He is breaking the law.”

“Please, Rory.” Her fingers tightened on his waistcoat.

He sighed. “The most I can promise is that I won’t act until I have spoken to Rothwell. This is his land, after all. He has a right to know what goes on here, and to understand what I am obliged to do.”

“Good. Perhaps he can put a stop to it. Then you need tell no one else.”

“MacDrumin has broken the law,” he said steadily. “From what he and the bailie said, he has broken it many times before. And he must be using his land to produce his illicit whisky, lassie. I cannot overlook that.”

“Yes, you can.” She felt her temper stir, and firmly suppressed it.

“You must understand my position, Diana.”

“I understand that you have broken bread with him and drunk his whisky.” Anger crept into her voice. “What manner of man are you that you could so abuse a gentleman’s hospitality?”

“There is more to it than that. Perhaps I should explain just what my duty—”

“There is nothing to explain. You said you were willing to marry me,” she added, speaking hastily so she would not think about what she was going to say. “You even sounded like you
want
to marry me. Is that so?”

“I could scarcely be such a rogue as to deny it now,” he said.

“Tell me this, then. If I agree to go through with what MacDrumin suggested, would you agree to forget about his whisky?”

“No.”

“Then good night, sir,” she snapped, turning on her heel. At the door, she paused, looked back, and said, “I shall leave you to make any explanation that proves necessary tomorrow. I daresay you will enjoy that.”

He made no effort to stop her, and she did not know if she was glad or sorry, but it was a long time after she climbed into her bed before she slept.

On Sunday morning, the household attended service at the nearby kirk, and that afternoon, Diana watched as Rory and the laird made what seemed to her to be a grand production of examining the latter’s golf clubs. There clearly were plenty from which to choose.

It rained Monday, forcing the men to put off their golf game, and that evening, the laird’s daughter Maggie and her husband, Edward, fourth Earl of Rothwell, arrived in the glen with their extensive entourage.

Maggie was buoyant and cheerful, glad to be home and happy in her new pregnancy. Diana took to her as quickly as she had taken to Kate, and to her relief, Rothwell seemed to take their presence in his house in stride.

Meanwhile, the youngest member of their party allowed his grandfather to cradle him in his arms and talk nonsense to him. Staring up at MacDrumin with big blue eyes, gurgling and blowing bubbles at him, he remained content there until his nurse bore him off to his crib. No one mentioned such uncomfortable subjects as oaths of allegiance or whisky smuggling, and Diana went to bed thinking that perhaps Rory no longer intended to speak to Rothwell, after all.

Events Tuesday morning reinforced that hope. When she descended to the hall to break her fast, the first voice she heard was Rory’s, saying to MacDrumin, “No one ever meant for a woman to swear that oath, sir. That’s the problem.”

“’Tis a barbarous thing for anyone to swear, I’d say. But to ask a woman to say such things goes right against a man’s grain. Don’t you agree with me, Ned?”

“I do,” Rothwell said, smiling lazily from his place at the long table, near the huge fireplace. He was a large, dark-haired man of powerful physique and chiseled, prominent features. Vitality fairly crackled in the air around him, and Diana thought him distinguished looking, although not nearly as handsome as Rory.

The two men seemed to get along well, but if they had held any private conversation, there was nothing in either demeanor to indicate that they had discussed the laird. Both rose to their feet when she approached, as did MacDrumin.

“Good morning,” she said. “I heard you talking about the oath. Has Mam agreed to swear it today?”

MacDrumin said, “Aye, but I’ve just been saying that they ought not to make her say such things. Ought not make anyone say them, come to that.”

“What must I say, Andrew?” Lady Maclean asked, coming down the stairway, her wide skirt sweeping the steps. “I never thought to ask, and I don’t believe I’ve ever read the oath.”

Rothwell and Rory exchanged looks before Rory said, “First you must swear allegiance to the British Crown, ma’am. Then you must swear that you do not possess any gun, sword, pistol, or arm whatsoever and never use any tartan, plaid, or any part of the Highland garb. That’s all.”

“All!” MacDrumin was indignant. “What about the bit where she prays that if she breaks her oath she will never again see her children or relations, or will be killed in battle as a coward and lie without Christian burial in a strange land, far from the graves of her forefathers and kindred. What of—”

“Hush, Andrew,” Lady Maclean said, touching his arm. “It is quite dreadful, I agree, but now that I’ve decided I must do it if we are to keep our home, I just want it over and done.” She turned to Rory. “May we get on with it at once, sir?”

“If you like,” Rory said, “and if Rothwell will agree to bear witness.”

“Certainly, I will,” Rothwell said.

“Here’s a Bible,” MacDrumin said reluctantly, producing a battered copy from a carved and polished box on a nearby shelf.

Taking it carefully, Rory held it before Lady Maclean.

Without ado, she placed her right hand on it and looked expectantly at him.

“Please repeat after me, ma’am,” he said, “I, Anne Stewart Maclean, do offer fealty to the British Crown …”

“I, Anne Stewart Maclean …”

Diana closed her eyes, trying to shut out the words. The oath signified not loyalty but the betrayal of a cause held dear all her life. The Macleans had fought against yielding for nearly a century. Now it seemed as if taking the oath hurt her more than it did her mother. Anne Stewart Maclean had always been strong, nearly as strong as her rebel husband, steadfastly refusing to desert the Stewart kings for the upstart Hanoverians. To hear her speak the words made Diana’s stomach turn. That she was repeating them to one so closely connected to those who had brought this day to pass ought to have made it ten times worse. Diana wished she could hate him, but she could not. Her body had defied her, and now so did her mind.

“… and I do swear that, as I shall have to answer to God at the great day of judgment, I have not nor shall have in my possession, any gun, sword, pistol, or arm whatsoever; and never use any tartan, plaid, or any part of the Highland garb. If I do so, may I be cursed in my undertakings, family, and property …”

“Oh, Mam, don’t,” Diana cried. “I cannot bear it.”

Lady Maclean reached out to take her hand. “They are only words, my love, and I have learned much during my time here in Glen Drumin. To cling to lost causes is never wise. The common people suffer most, you see, and we can do naught for them if Colin throws us out. Duty is seldom pleasant, Diana, but we must do ours. What else must I pledge, my lords?”

Rothwell said, “I am quite willing to bear witness to your having sworn the full oath, my lady. The last phrases clearly were intended only for men to speak.”

“I, too, have heard enough,” Rory said.

“That’s settled then,” MacDrumin said cheerfully. Shouting for whisky, he added, “When we’ve drunk a toast, I say we shall play bit of golf. Ho there, lad,” he called to Neil, who was descending the stairs, “will ye play with us?”

“I’ve never played golf,” Neil said. “There was no one to teach me.”

“Then you must come along with us.”

“May I come, too,” Diana asked, “or is golf a game only men can play?”

“Don’t let my Maggie hear you say that,” Rothwell said, smiling at her.

“Your Maggie’s already heard,” that lady declared from the stair landing, adding as she descended the last flight, “I’ll have you know, you lot, that Mary Queen of Scots played golf. So let me hear none of your nonsense about the frailty of women, if you please.”

“Will you play then?” Diana asked her. Though she knew that Maggie was with child again, there was little sign of it in her slender figure.

Maggie laughed. “I’ll walk about with you, for I want some exercise, but Ned will worry about me enough without my actually playing today.”

“Perhaps another morning you can play,” Rothwell said. “Our guests are not leaving at once, I hope. We have scarcely begun to know them.”

Diana looked hesitantly at Lady Maclean. “We must get back soon, Mam. Term Day is but eleven days away.”

“Aye, but there is naught we can do to stop its coming, Diana, and now that I’ve taken the oath …”

“Red Colin does not know that,” Diana pointed out.

“He will know soon enough. We can linger a few days more, and still take two days for the journey. We shall have to borrow at least one horse, too, since the one I rode here belongs to Andrew.”

“You’ll take a horse and welcome,” MacDrumin said. “You can take Dugald, as well, and he will bring it back again. Now that’s settled, so drink up, lads. We have a game to play.”

Rory watched as MacDrumin placed his featherie—a small cowhide bag stuffed tight with feathers—on the mound that formed his starting tee. The laird stood over it, judging his distance with shrewd, narrowed eyes and holding his club as if it were part of him. Clearly, he played the game often, but the course he had laid out was like no links Rory had ever seen. There were far too many trees and bushes, for one thing.