Grace in Thine Eyes (25 page)

Even more enthusiastic applause greeted the final note of the hornpipe. He could only guess what tune might come next. Too soon for a lament. An air, perhaps? Or might she recall his earlier suggestion of a certain reel …

She looked directly at him when she launched into “The Fairy
Dance,” starting at a tempo that would leave her breathless by the last measure. Was that a challenge he saw in her blue eyes?
Watch me, sir
.

Nae, he would do more than that. The busy melody, with its continuous string of eighth notes, called for a steady bass line beneath it. Somerled reached for the violoncello at his side and maneuvered it in place before she reached the fourth measure. He’d tuned the instrument when he first arrived; now he would put it through its paces. Davina did not blink an eye or miss a note, plying her bow with even more fervor as he provided the distinct rhythm a reel demanded.

The crowd stared at them in amazement, yet Somerled was vexed. He’d not said a word about his musical abilities. Could the lass not at least
pretend
to be shocked? But he soon overlooked her impudence for the sheer delight of accompanying her. Each time they repeated a bar, she added more embellishments until the rose-scented air of the music room was filled with grace notes.

Tradition required they slow the tempo at the end, then strike four accented chords at precisely the same instant—forte. Even rehearsed, such things were not easily managed. Somerled watched her closely, prepared to follow her lead.

One. Two. Three. And four.

Perfect
.

His Grace was applauding before Davina lowered her bow. “Well done, miss. Well done!”

Somerled rested the violoncello against his knee, hardly noticing if they were clapping for him, so taken was he by his “Speechless Lassie.” What a fool he’d been to make so careless a jest. Davina had forgiven him, it seemed, for which he was elated. He could think of no better way to spend his last days on Arran than sporting with a willing gentlewoman.

Davina already had her fiddle back in position, a faraway look in her eyes. She’d not so much as glanced at him. Did she mean for him to accompany her, or should he put his instrument aside? The evening was hers in every sense; he would wait to see if she made her desires known.

When she drew her bow across the strings, he realized she had something gentler in mind. The room fell silent. No idle words were
whispered; no spoons rattled in china saucers; no throats were cleared. She had saturated the air with notes; now she was spinning a thread of music so singular, so finely wound, they’d soon find themselves wrapped in it, unable to breathe.

Familiar as the tune was, Somerled almost did not recognize “Niel Gow’s Lament,” for she’d made the plaintive melody her own. The expressiveness of her phrasing—slower here, a bit more movement there—was masterful. As if she were the grief-stricken composer himself, mourning the loss of his second wife.

Davina would not grieve alone. Without making a sound, Somerled positioned his instrument firmly between his legs, horsehair bow poised. When she reached the refrain, he would be waiting for her.

Thirty-Five

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face.
G
EORGE
G
ORDON
, L
ORD
B
YRON

E
yes closed, Davina let the music take her where it would. As often as she’d played Gow’s lament, each time the sorrowful beauty of the piece washed over her anew. Yet in the midst of the elegy she sensed a note of hope, and so she played toward that end, wanting to leave her audience not tearful but joyful.

When Davina began the refrain, slightly increasing the tempo, the low, warm notes of the violoncello rose to greet her once more.
Somerled
. Why had he not mentioned his musical abilities at dinner? She sensed him fitting his notes between hers, like fingers sliding inside a silk glove. When she altered the tempo, so did he; when she paused, his instrument fell silent.

Not only was Somerled an exceptional talent, he was also unselfish, anticipating what she might need, yet never providing more than she wanted. How did he know? Did he hear in the music what she heard? When they played in perfect harmony through a tender passage, did his heart soar too?

Davina slowly opened her eyes and found her answer. Somerled’s golden head was bowed over his instrument, his expression intent, as if he were listening, waiting for her, as lost in the music as she was. They played on, their gazes never quite meeting, speaking only in notes rather than in words.
Follow me here. Aye, just that. Longer still. Now ’tis right
.

At the duke’s bidding, more tunes followed until the hall clock chimed eleven, and the duo closed with a lilting Gaelic air, “Mary, Young and Fair.” As Davina had hoped, the Highlander knew the tune well, infusing every measure with heartfelt expression. Their last note,
played in unison, hung in the air for a breathless moment before a final ovation overpowered it.

Davina and Somerled bowed as one. She still could not bring herself to look at him, nor did he turn toward her, as if some spell might be broken, some invisible thread torn.

The audience urged them to play another, but Captain Fullarton stood and held up his hands in protest. “The hour is late, and our performers have given their all. Young ladies, you will find your fathers in the hall, prepared to escort you home.”

Davina placed her fiddle and bow on the pianoforte with care, her hands trembling as she watched Somerled return his borrowed instrument. No one had ever listened to her more carefully nor spoken to her more deeply. She, in turn, had withheld nothing. How did one proceed from here? For there was no hope of going back, of pretending she was unchanged.

Davina remained by the pianoforte, one hand resting on it for support, as the audience collected their shawls and wraps, offering words of praise in passing, which she acknowledged as best she could. Somerled, standing an arm’s length from her, murmured his thanks as well, while Captain Fullarton bade his guests good night.

Between duties, their host confessed, “I was not apprised of your talents, Mr. MacDonald. Do forgive me for not introducing you properly at the start.”

“Ah, but you introduced me to Miss McKie,” Somerled reminded him, not quite looking her in the eye. “For that, I will ever be in your debt, sir.”

“ ’Tis hard to believe you’ve not performed with this lady before.” The captain smiled at them both. “I do hope this will not be the last evening you spend together.”

“That is my hope as well,” Somerled murmured before their host was called away. The music room was emptying quickly as horses were brought round for the duke and his party. “Some of the younger men have left for Brodick castle on foot,” Somerled commented offhandedly, glancing toward the door. “Less than half an hour’s walk.” He stepped aside to make room for an exiting couple, then moved closer to her.

Lifting her face toward his, Davina hoped he might look at her at last. Might speak to her with words the same way he spoke to her with music.

Somerled gazed down at her. “After such an evening, Miss McKie, I find it difficult to bid you farewell.”

And I, the same
. She was certain he saw the truth in her eyes. When he touched the small of her back with his ungloved hand, she felt unsteady on her feet.

He started to say something, then caught sight of the duke preparing to leave. “Pardon me, but I must speak with His Grace on a matter of some urgency. I shall not be long.” Somerled adopted a stern expression, so exaggerated as to be comical. “In the meantime, see that you do not leave this house, Miss McKie, or I shall be forced to hunt for you.”

They both smiled; he loathed hunting even more than fishing.

After offering her a courtly bow, Somerled strode toward the door, the tails of his dark blue coat flapping.

“Cousin Davina?”

Still a bit dazed, she turned to find the Stewarts standing not far behind her.

“You were wonderful!” Cate breathed, and Abbie echoed the same, her eyes bright.

Oddly, Elspeth said nothing, though her features were drawn. Had she not enjoyed the evening? Perhaps the rich food did not suit her.

Reverend Stewart was more forthright. “Cousin, you know how very proud we are of your musical talents. But tonight I fear your playing was rather … unrestrained.” A ruddy tint crawled up the minister’s neck as he hastened to add, “The blame rests entirely on Mr. MacDonald, of course, and his wanton manner of accompaniment.”

Wanton?
Now it was Davina’s turn to blush. Had they played so passionately as that?

“Please.” Elspeth nervously plucked at the reverend’s sleeve as her gaze darted about. “Do not embarrass our cousin on so special an occasion. Perhaps you might address this matter at home.”

“Aye, and so I shall.” He straightened his hat as if prepared to leave at once. “I assured Jamie McKie I would protect his daughter. I’ll not have some
slaoightear
—”

“Reverend!” she said in dismay, then bowed her head. “Kindly arrange for our ponies and carts.”

Davina had never seen the couple so upset. Was her music the only reason? She did not recognize the Gaelic word her cousin had spoken.

Cate watched her father make his way to the front door as she fidgeted with her shawl. “I’m sorry, Davina. Father seldom gets this agitated. Truly, you played beautifully.”

What of Somerled?
Davina waited, but his name was not mentioned.

“Oh, Miss McKie,
there
you are!” Elizabeth Fullarton sailed toward them, skirts in hand. “I was afraid you’d already slipped out the door.” She smiled at the Stewarts, and a few pleasantries were exchanged before Mrs. Fullarton took Davina’s hands in hers. “His Grace has requested that you remain here in Glen Cloy for a fortnight while his guests are in residence at the castle. He very much wants to hear your music each evening after dinner.”

Davina felt her hands grow cool in the woman’s clasp. Mrs. Fullarton delivered the news with obvious delight, anticipating a favorable response. And Davina was honored. But …

“ ’Tis a great privilege, as you know. In the days of Duchess Anne, her husband kept a permanent piper at Brodick castle. Now you shall be the duke’s summer fiddler.” Her hostess laughed a little. “Of course, the décor at Brodick is less … ah, refined. But you needn’t appear there until just before dinner. The rest of the time you’ll be our guest here at Kilmichael.” She turned to Mrs. Stewart, as if she’d only now remembered her. “Assuming that arrangement suits your family.”

Elspeth tried to smile. “I shall … speak with the reverend.”

Davina knew the Stewarts would have little say in the matter. As sole patron of Kilbride parish, the Duke of Hamilton appointed its minister; Reverend Stewart would be hard pressed to oppose the man who ensured his salary. If His Grace wanted a fiddler to entertain his visitors, a fiddler he would have.

Mrs. Fullarton arched her brow with an aristocratic air. “Surely your husband would agree ’tis imprudent for a young lady to travel the coast road five miles each afternoon and again late at night, even with an escort.”

“Aye, well …” Elspeth eyed the door. “I suppose he might agree with that.”

“All is settled then.” Mrs. Fullarton squeezed Davina’s hands. “What a pleasure it will be to have your company. No need to send for your dresses from the manse. I have several summer gowns we can easily hem to fit you.”

Davina nodded, wanting to appear grateful; the woman’s offer was more than generous. But could she truly be comfortable in an unfamiliar house, spending her days with people she did not know?

Her hostess leaned forward and said in a softer voice, “I think you’ll find the ground-floor guest room to your liking. It faces the garden and is quite my favorite bedchamber in the house. When you’re ready, one of the maidservants will escort you there and serve as your chaperon whenever required. You have only to ask.” She released Davina at last, glancing toward the hall. “Do forgive me, but I must speak with my housekeeper. After a large dinner party there is much to be done. And undone.” She smiled, stepping back. “Our home is yours, Miss McKie.”

The instant Elizabeth Fullarton was gone, Davina’s cousins gathered round her.

“Does this arrangement suit
you
?” Elspeth asked, her blue eyes filled with concern. “I hate to think of leaving you with strangers.”

“Mother, these are the Fullartons.” Cate aimed a pointed gaze at their surroundings. “They’re the only landed gentry on Arran and far from strangers. Davina will be well cared for here.” Cate gave her jacket sleeve a playful tug. “In truth, I am jealous. What a fine visit you’ll have, Cousin!”

“The manse won’t be the same without you,” Abbie said, pouting. “Promise us you’ll be all right? And you won’t forget us?”

Touched by her youthful concern, Davina held up her hand.
I promise, dear girl
.

Reverend Stewart appeared at the music room door, a look of resignation on his face. “I’ve just spoken with the duke.” Though the family had the room to themselves now, the minister kept his voice low. “His Grace has informed me of his plans. Tell me, Davina. Are you willing to do his bidding?”

She saw the conflict in his eyes. Wanting to take her home. Needing her to stay. If she refused, the Fullartons might take offense and the duke even more so, making things difficult for the reverend. Could she not do this for him?

Aye
. She nodded firmly so the Stewarts would not leave with any misgivings.
I am willing
.

Reverend Stewart clasped her hand. “We shall see you at kirk on the Sabbath. ’Til then, you may depend upon our prayers.”

So I shall, Cousin
.

Thirty-Six

Hope! thou nurse of young desire.
I
SAAC
B
ICKERSTAFF