Wolf, Joan (2 page)

She looked from her husband's face to her daughter's. It was because she was English, Frances though! and had known another sort of life besides the Highlands, that she wanted more for Van.

Alasdair himself was not untraveled or uneducated He could speak Gaelic and English and French. He knew Greek and Latin. He, like Niall, had studied at the University of Paris. He drank French claret and wore French lace at his throat and could dance as well as any English courtier. But his life was his land and his clan, and he ruled over both with as much authority as did any king.

It was a life he loved, and Niall loved it as well. But it was a relentlessly masculine world and Frances could see no place in it for her daughter.

Yet how to approach Alasdair on this matter? How to suggest to him that life in the Highlands was inadequate for Van without also suggesting that it was inadequate for her as well?

For it was not. She missed many things, true, but she had always had him. A great love, the kind they had, made up for so much. If Van should find that kind of love, Frances would not be so concerned for her. But there was no one in their circle that Frances could see who was likely to awaken that kind of feeling in her daughter.

Alasdair said something and Niall laughed. Van's face was serious, intent on what her father was saying. They ail three appeared perfectly oblivious of Frances.

The thought that Van should go on a visit to her cousin Katherine in England had come to Frances several months ago. She had pondered it silently for weeks and had finally written to Katherine. Katherine's answer had come that morning. Her cousin would be delighted to have Van come for a visit in the spring.

The problem now, Frances thought, as she sat at her tea table that cold January night, the problem now was to convince Alasdair that Van should go.

Frances was the first one to retire for the night. She left Alasdair and Niall playing a game of chess and Van reading a book by the drawing-room fire and, putting her lined velvet cloak over her shoulders, began the journey to her bedroom.

The name of the castle in which the MacIans lived was Creag an Fhithich, in English, Raven's Rock. It was very old and so full of turrets and lofty buildings, spires, and towers that it was more like a small city than a single building. The original keep had been built in 1220 by Alexander II to protect the coast against attacks by Norse and Danish raiders, and shortly thereafter it had passed into the hands of the MacIan family, where it had remained until the present day. Successive generations of MacIans had added a variety of wings to the central tower and they radiated outward like the arms of an octopus, all of different styles, all built on different levels.

Rooms led off other rooms, passages twisted, stairs spiraled dizzily. And all the passages and unused rooms were bitterly, frigidly cold, so that Frances' cloak was a necessity and not a decoration.

Her own room, when finally she reached it, was lit by a blazing fire and Frances was able to put aside her cloak and comfortably let her maid undress her and brush her yard-long brown hair. As yet she had found only a stray gray hair in the shining mass, an encouraging sign, she thought. Alasdair had been far more gray at forty-four. Now, at age fifty, he was as much gray as black. But gray hair didn't age a man the way it did a woman, Frances thought. No one in his right mind would ever think of Alasdair as old.

Frances got into the big bed, warmed for her by brass warming pans, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She stared absently at the fire as the maid put away her things. The girl did not put out water for, once the fire died down, the temperature in the room would freeze a jug of water solid by morning. Margaret would be back before Frances arose to relight the fire and to pour hot water into the washbasin.

"Good night, my lady," the girl murmured.

"Good night, Margaret," Frances replied kindly, and watched as the girl left the room. Once she was alone, however, Frances did not settle herself to sleep. She lay propped against her pillows, gazing into the fire and thinking.

An hour later she was still in the same position when there came a draft of cold air from the door and she turned to see her husband enter the room.

"Awake still, m'eudail?" he asked in surprise. "You went to bed an hour ago."

"I know. I've been dreaming a little, I think." She smiled at him and he came across the room to look down into her face.

"Were you now?" His voice was soft and the hand that reached out to touch the shining top of her hair was gentle. He was a hard man in many ways, authoritarian, inflexible, demanding; but with her he was always so gentle. He went over to the window and opened it. No matter how frigid the night, Alasdair always slept with an open window.

"Are you worrying yourself about that woman of Niall's in Paris?" he asked. He took off his coat and began to unbutton his shirt.

"No." She took a slow breath. "It's not Niall who worries me."

His hands stopped and he looked up. "Oh? Who is worrying you, then, mo cridhe?"

"Van."

"Van?" His black brows rose in surprise. "What has Van done?"

"It's not what she has done, Alasdair, it's what she hasn't done that worries me. Do you realize that apart from a few trips to Edinburgh over the years, she has never left the Highlands?"

He was frowning now. "Why should she leave the Highlands? She loves it here. You know that."

"Yes, I know that." She leaned a little toward him in her earnestness. "Van's heart is as strongly rooted here as your own. But that doesn't mean she shouldn't be exposed to other places, other cultural influences. She should see something of the world, darling, just for her own education. After all, we sent Niall to Paris for that reason."

"Niall is a boy. It's right that he know something of the world."

"Van should have her opportunity too," Frances insisted. "When I was a girl I was taken to concerts, the theater, the opera, and I led a very sheltered life. Van has had none of those experiences, and she would love them, Alasdair."

He had finished unbuttoning his shirt but he made no move to take it off. "Do you want to send her to Edinburgh?" he asked.

"No." She spoke with calm determination. "I want her to go on a visit to my cousin Katherine in England."

His face closed. "England," he said. "I do not want Van to go to England."

Well, she had known how it would be. Still, she must make him see this her way. "England is not the inferno, Alasdair," she said, "and my cousin is not the devil.
I
am English, if you remember. You didn't mind that when you married me."

"You are different," he replied simply. "And Van will marry Alan MacDonald."

Frances sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh? When was this arranged?"

"It has not been arranged," he replied patiently, "but surely it is obvious. Ever since he returned from Paris Alan has doted on Van."

"If Van wishes to marry Alan, fine," Frances returned, her voice sharp. "He is an extremely nice boy. But she must have her chance in England first."

Alasdair walked to the foot of the bed and stood staring at his wife out of suddenly hard gray eyes. "Are you thinking of marrying my daughter off to a Sassenach?" he asked.

And there it was, Scot against English, all the ancient hatred fierce and alive in his heart. Frances stared back, refusing to be intimidated. "No, I am not. I simply want her to have a chance to encounter wider cultural opportunities than she has here at home. Good God, Alasdair, she spends her days here galloping her horse along the beach and roaming through the mountains like some wild creature!"

"Make her help you around the castle," he said.

"Yes," she returned ironically. "It is so easy to get Van to do what she doesn't want to do."

There was a long pause. Then he leaned his hands against the footboard of the bed. "This is not the time to be sending Van out of the country, Frances." His voice was sober. "There is great talk of a French expedition."

"There is always talk of a French expedition, Alasdair. If we wait until there is no talk, Van will be as gray as you are."

Another long pause. "Is your cousin a Jacobite?"

"Her father was," Frances returned with perfect truth. She did not mention the fact that Katherine's husband, the Earl of Linton, had been a staunch supporter of the Hanoverian succession. After all, the earl was dead now. "I certainly do not wish Van to be presented at court," she assured him. "She will not have to curtsy to the elector or anything of that nature, Alasdair. I simply want her to meet a wider variety of people than she has had a chance to here at home, and I want her to have a chance to hear some music!"

"For how long would she stay?"

Her heart leapt in her breast. He was thinking of it! "Through the summer, I thought. She can leave for England in March, when the weather breaks a little."

He straightened up, stretching the muscles in his back. "This is important to you, isn't it?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, Alasdair," she replied. "Yes, it is."

He nodded and began to take off his shirt. "All right," he said, "she can go. But only until the end of the summer.'"

She smiled at him, a warmly beautiful smile. "Thank you, darling."

"And when she comes home," he continued imperturbably, "I expect that she will marry Alan MacDonald."

CHAPTER 2

Van was up by six-thirty the following morning, her usual hour. In summer the sun was bright at six-thirty but in January she rose by the light of the stars. Winter or summer made no difference to Alasdair, however. Everyone in the castle, with the exception of his wife, rose very early.

After a breakfast of tea and bread and butter, Van went into the drawing room to the harpsichord. She lit a few candles, as it was still dark, and then sat down at the instrument.

It was one of the favorite moments of Van's day, the moment her fingers hovered over the keys, delaying for a moment to touch them, the way a lover might delay touching his mistress's skin, just to prolong his pleasurable anticipation. Van had been playing the harpsichord since she was four years old. She had never had any teacher other than her mother, but Frances was a very skilled musician.

It was because of Frances that the harpsichord stood here in the drawing room of Creag an Fhithich. Alasdair had brought it from Paris for his wife two years after they were married, when he had realized how much she missed her music. He had sold an Italian Renaissance painting in order to pay for it, and Frances, who knew how he hated to part with any part of his heritage, had been touched and grateful.

It stood now near one of the five large windows, as much a part of the drawing room as the glass-fronted cabinets, the Oriental rugs, and the Louis XIV chairs. Van took a deep, long breath, placed her hands on the keys, and began to play.

Two hours later, as she finished a piece by Bach on which she had been working for weeks, she became aware that her mother was in the room. Van swung around on her stool.

"When did you creep in, Mother? I didn't hear you."

"The house could burn down around you while you were playing, Van, and you wouldn't notice," Frances returned humorously. "That last piece is sounding very polished."

Van did not look satisfied. "It isn't quite right. Perhaps you could help me with it, Mother."

Frances smoothed the skirt of her blue morning gown. "You see, darling," she said gently, "you've gone beyond me. You are at the point where you need a professional teacher."

Van's light eyes, gray-green as Loch Morar in summer, widened. Imperceptibly her whole body tensed. "Would that be possible?" she asked. "Would Father get a teacher for me?"

"I'm sure your father would if he could, darling," Frances returned calmly. "But a musician of the excellence that you require is not going to come to Morar. Professionals of that caliber are only to be found in places like Paris, Rome, Naples, London."

'"Oh," said Van quietly.

"Which is why," Frances continued briskly, "I have arranged for you to visit London for some months."

Van stared at her mother as if she had taken leave of her senses. "Visit London?" she echoed. "Whatever are you talking about, Mother?"

"I have arranged for you to visit my cousin Katherine, Lady Linton. You've heard me mention Katherine, Van." Van nodded numbly. "She is a widow with only one son and no daughters. She is delighted at the thought of having you. And she has promised to engage a music teacher."

A look came over Van's slender face that gave her an unmistakable resemblance to her father. Her back was ramrod straight. "I do not want to go among the Sassenach," she said.

"
I
am a Sassenach," Frances returned. Her voice was perfectly pleasant. "I do not think I am so very terrible."

Van stood up. "Of course you're not terrible, Mother." She herself sounded impatient. She began to pace the room.

Frances watched her in silence for a few moments. Then she said very seriously, "Listen to me, Van. There is more to the world than the glens and hills of Morar. There is another kind of life beyond the clan. In London you will mix with people of culture, people with a wide range of interests. There will be concerts and theater. There will be the opera. There is a whole world out there, my darling, of which you know nothing."

Van had stopped pacing and now she stared at her mother in astonishment. "Don't you
like
it here in Morar, Mother?"

"Of course I like it here. This is where your father is. But do I miss the company of intellectual people, people to whom books and ideas seriously matter? Yes, I do. Do I miss music? Yes, I do."

Van was looking appalled. "I had no idea you felt this way, Mother. Why haven't
you
ever gone on a visit to England, then?"

Frances looked amused. "Because, once I was in England, I would miss your father even more."

Van smiled uncertainly in response. Then, "But
I
am perfectly happy here," she said.

"'I know you are. And you have had the advantage of growing up in what is perhaps the most beautiful place in the world. But you are eighteen, Van, not a child any longer. We sent Niall to Paris so he could see something of the world. I would send you to France as well, but I have so few connections there now. It will be best if you go to England."