Wolf, Joan (20 page)

Niall could be such a pighead. "Well," she said acidly, "Father did."

There was silence. Niall had never been able to win an argument with her. He tried another tack. "What about Alan, whom you have been caring for so tenderly?"

She answered steadily. "I care for Alan in the same way you do—as a dear friend."

"You will break his heart."

"I don't think so."

"Yes," he said fiercely. "You will."

"There would be little chance of that if you had had the decency to tell him about Edward!" Van returned hotly. "But you never said a word, did you? If he gets hurt, it will be just as much your fault as it is mine, Niall MacIan."

They stared at each other in mutual anger. Then Niall pushed his bonnet back on his head. His temper was always like the summer lightning—bright and furious and quickly over. "I don't want to quarrel with you, Van," he said in a milder voice.

She raised an elegant black eyebrow. "You have a strange way of showing it." But her voice was now softer as well. They began to move their horses forward once again. They rode in silence for several minutes before Van brought up the subject she had really wanted to discuss with him. "I'm glad you're moving home," she said soberly. "I think it will help Mother."

He looked startled. "Help Mother? What do you mean, Van?"

"Mother is in trouble," she said. "Haven't you noticed how thin she has become?"

He had been too full of his own concerns to pay much attention to his mother. He felt guilty and asked gruffly, "What is the matter with her?"

Van was staring between her horse's ears, a frown on her face. "I think there is something wrong between her and Father. In fact, I
know
there is something wrong. Father is angry with her."

"Father? Angry with
Mother?"
He was dumbfounded.

"Yes. I don't know why, but I can tell by the tone of his voice. You know how it used to change when he talked to Mother?" He nodded. "Well, it doesn't anymore."

Niall thought. "She did not want him to raise the clan."

Van sighed. "Whatever it is, she is making herself ill over it. And it isn't good for her to be confined to that house all day, either."

"I'll get her out, Van," Niall said repentantly. "You should have told me sooner. I'll get hold of a carriage and take her driving."

"You haven't been around much to discuss anything with," Van said dryly.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I will rectify the matter immediately. You may expect me and my baggage tomorrow morning."

Van smiled at him. Having Niall around would be good for her, too. "Race you to the edge of the park," she said.

"Done!"

And, with a drumming of hooves, they both were off.

The following day Niall escorted his mother and his sister to church. Since he had not been inside the Episcopalian church on the High Street since he was eighteen years old, his arrival caused something of a stir among the faithful who knew him. His face was grave and composed as he took his seat on the aisle beside Van. He did not betray by the flicker of an eyelash that he knew Jean Cameron was seated right across the aisle from him.

Jean was painfully conscious of his much-too-handsome person in such close proximity to her. She murmured responses automatically, her mind not on the service at all. Then, when Lady Lochiel stopped to speak to Lady Morar after church, Niall came up to her with his sister on his arm.

Jean looked shyly up into Vanessa's beautiful, fearless face and answered her questions in a low, sweet voice.

"Look, Van," Niall said suddenly. "It's Master Armstrong."

John Armstrong was a finicky, precise man of about thirty-five whom Frances had employed some ten years previously to try to teach her children. They had not taken to each other and after a month in Morar, Master Armstrong had returned to Edinburgh. Van looked now at the man's profile and said something under her breath to Niall. They both laughed.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Cameron," Van said contritely. Then, giving her brother a sideways glance, she added, "Perhaps Lady Lochiel would allow you to join us for dinner this afternoon?"

As Jean blushed a little and said she would certainly ask, Niall gave Van a grateful look.

Jean came to dinner and when they returned to the parlor afterward, Alan came downstairs to join the company. Alasdair was not here; he was dining with the prince.

Van and Frances and Alan watched Niall being charming to their shyly lovely guest. Jean's pale brown hair was unpowdered, and she was quietly dressed in a slate-blue frock. The only jewelry she wore was a small gold locket on a chain about her throat. Her large brown eyes regarded Niall with unabashed adoration.

How could he resist her? Van thought with a trace of amusement. She looked at him as if he were God.

After Niall had left to escort Jean home, the three people remaining in the room looked at each other in amazement. "I do believe he is really serious," said Van.

"Aye." Alan shook his head. "She's a pretty thing," he offered. "Reminds me of a little woodland deer."

Van leaned back in her chair. "But whoever would have pictured Niall with a little woodland deer?"

Frances was more perceptive. "Perhaps she is what he needs. His voice is more gentle when he speaks to her. Kinder." It was a note Frances herself recognized very well. Tears stung behind her eyes and she stared at the teapot. Stop it, she told herself firmly. You are worse than a baby.

"Your hour of freedom is over, Alan MacDonald," she heard Van saying. She spoke to Alan exactly as if he had been Niall. "Upstairs with you now. After a rest you can come down again."

"I'm fine," Alan protested. "Do not banish me so soon, Van. I'm that sick of my bedroom."

"Well..." Van turned to Frances. "What do you think, Mother?"

"I see no reason why Alan can't remain down here for a while longer," Frances said composedly.

Alan grinned. "There you are, Van. Now, what about a game of chess?"

"Oh, all right. You stay right there and I'll get the board."

Frances watched Alan's eyes as they followed Van out of the room. She sighed. How much simpler life would be, she thought, if only Van loved Alan instead of the Earl of Linton.

Niall looked at the brown head that just topped his shoulder and smiled a little. A cold wind was blowing up the street and Jean seemed to shiver. "Come," he said, "let us get out of the wind for a minute," and he pulled her into the doorway of a shop. Edinburgh on a Sunday afternoon was quiet as a churchyard. There was no one on the street but the two of them. Niall turned so his back was toward the street and looked down into her upturned face.

"Jeannie," he said. "I have been trying for so long to get you to myself."

Her big brown eyes widened in surprise. Her lips parted. "You have?"

"I have." His voice was deeper than usual. He cupped her face in his hands and held it. "Kiss me, Jeannie," he murmured, and bent his handsome head.

Her mouth was soft as a petal under his. She smelled like flowers. He raised his head and looked down into her wondering eyes and knew that he could never hurt this girl, never do anything that would dishonor her. He picked up her hand and held it to his mouth.

"Such a cold little hand, m'eudail," he said. "Will you give it to me?"

"Oh, Niall." It was the first time she had used his given name and he thought it had never sounded sweeter.

"My little love." Her hand was tight within his own warm grasp. "Will you, Jeannie? Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said on a trembling note, and he kissed her again.

The betrothal of Niall MacIan and Jean Cameron was accorded almost universal approval by all interested family and friends. Alasdair, in particular, was pleased. Jean was by no means a great match for the future Earl of Morar, but she was acceptable and she was at hand. Alasdair wanted the wedding to take place immediately.

When his father told him this, Niall was more than willing. "I don't know if the women will agree, though," he said ruefully. "I never knew such a fuss could be made about so simple a thing as two people being married."

"The women will agree," Alasdair said. He looked at his son. "I think we will be marching for England, Niall, and I want you wedded and bedded before we leave."

Niall's face blazed. "Has the decision finally been made then, Father?"

"Not finally, no. But the prince, as you know, desires it and now Lord George Murray has been brought to agree."

"We have delayed too long as it is," Niall said.

"I agree that we must make a decision. I think we will be marching in a week."

"Dhé! Can I be married in so short a time?"

"You can and you will," said Alasdair grimly. "I will speak to the prince about standing up for you.
That
will get the women moving."

Niall grinned. "It will that." He looked at his father curiously. "I know why I am anxious, Father, but why are you?"

Alasdair gazed back at his son for a moment in silence. Unbearable even to contemplate this splendid young manhood going down to the grave. His voice when finally he spoke was harsh. "We are at war, my son. It will be well to make sure Morar has an heir."

Niall's gray-green eyes never wavered. "Ah," he said on a long note of revelation. "So that is it." He grinned like a schoolboy. "Well, Father, I promise to do my best!"

Alasdair gripped his son's arm. "I'm sure you will, my son. I'm sure you will."

CHAPTER 16

Van was going over her wardrode with Frances, trying to pick out a dress to wear to Niall's wedding, when the message came. At first she was puzzled, wondering who could be writing to her, but when she opened the note and read it, all the color drained from her face.

"What is it, Van?" Frances asked in quick concern. "Sit down, darling. You have gone quite pale."

Van did not reply but read the note through again. Her head felt curiously light. Edward. Here in Edinburgh. And he wanted to see her. Dhé! She could not quite take it in.

"Van!" Dimly, through the sudden pounding of her heart, she heard her mother's voice. She looked up into Frances' worried blue eyes.

Thank God she was with the one person she could tell. "It's from Edward, Mother," she said. "He's here in Edinburgh and he wants to see me."

Frances' eyes enlarged noticeably. "Edward?" she said faintly. "Edward Romney?"

"Yes."

"Dear heavens."

"Yes," Van said again. She made an attempt to calm her breathing. "He wants me to reply by the same messenger. I am to name the place." She stared at Frances. "Dhé, Mother, where am I to meet him? Not here, with Father and Niall in and out all the time and Alan in the parlor for most of the day."

"Do you want to see him, darling?" Frances asked.

Did she want to see him? There was no point in it, really. No point in going over past arguments, in stirring up the pain once more. No point at all. "Yes," she said. "I want to see him."

Frances nodded and looked out the window. "He's in the castle, I take it."

"Yes. He arrived yesterday."

"It really isn't safe for him to come into the city." But Frances spoke absently, as if her mind were not on her words.

"No one knows him, Mother," Van said. "And he isn't a soldier. He's not in uniform or anything."

"Lady Balwhinnie's," said Frances.

"Yes," Van returned thoughtfully. "But do you think she will agree?"

"I'll invite her here for dinner and cards. You can wait in her house while she is gone. She needn't know why."

Lady Balwhinnie was an elderly Lowland widow whom Frances had known for years. "I'll think of some excuse for leaving you there," Frances continued. "Her house is rather near the Netherbow Port, but it can't be helped. I really cannot think of any other location, darling."

"Lady Balwhinnie's will be fine," Van replied a little breathlessly, and went to write a reply for the messenger.

It was early evening when Van sat in the small back parlor of Lady Balwhinnie's house and waited for Edward to arrive. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and her mind was filled with conflicting thoughts. It was foolish of her to have agreed to see him, she knew. What had been between them before was over now. It had been over the moment Charles Edward Stuart landed in Scotland. Surely he understood that. Surely he was not hoping that she had changed her mind.... There was a soft knock at the front door and Van raced into the hall. She opened the door quickly and almost pulled him inside the house.

"You can get that hunted look off your face, Van," he said with slow amusement. "No one is following me."

She had not been prepared for what the sight of him, what the sound of his voice, would do to her. He towered over her in the hallway; she had forgotten just how big he was. "Come into the parlor," she said abruptly, and led the way into the small back room. As she went to close the door behind him, he took off his hat and tossed it onto a chair. The sight of that bright head, suddenly revealed, hit her like a blow in the stomach. She could feel herself beginning to shake. She forced her voice to calmness and asked, "What are you doing in Edinburgh, Edward?"

He looked at her. How could she have forgotten how blue his eyes were? "Officially," he answered, "I brought messages to General Guest at the castle. Unofficially"—his eyes held hers captive—"I came to see you."

She held her own eyes steady. "If you came to take me back with you, then you have made a trip for nothing."

"I did not come to take you back." He sounded impatient, even annoyed. "I came to assure myself that you were all right."

Van frowned in bewilderment and then realized what it was he meant. Color flushed into her cheeks. "I am all right," she said. "You told me to get word to you if I were not." She was not quite meeting his eyes. "I understood you."

"You may have understood me," he said grimly, "but I was not so certain you would heed me."

Van looked at the ground. "The occasion did not arise."

"I am relieved to hear it." He watched her downcast face. "I did it to hold you, you know, but not in that way. Conceited of me, wasn't it, to think you'd stay just because I took you to bed?"