Wolf, Joan (42 page)

CHAPTER 34

Frances stood at the tall narrow window of the house the MacIans were leasing in Rouen, her grandson in her arms. Between the rooftops she could just see the glint of the river Seine, down which
L'Heureux
had sailed, bringing back to his family her son Niall.

In her arms the baby stirred and Frances looked down with melting tenderness into the dark little MacIan face. How Alasdair would have loved to have seen this child.

With the thought came the pain, the long, cramping pain that was Alasdair's endless absence. She breathed deeply and floated with it, and the baby opened his dark gray eyes and looked at her.

What a godsend this child had been to her, Frances thought. First there had been Jean, fearful and in the last stages of pregnancy, to be seen to. And then the baby himself, Alasdair's grandchild. Without him it would have been unbearable.

Little Alasdair began to squirm and she lifted him up until his soft, fuzzy, baby head was under her lips. She closed her eyes. Oh, the healing power of a baby.

She turned to take him to his nurse to be fed and so did not see the distant sails of the
Sea Queen-come
gracefully floating up the river.

Van had never felt so physically wretched in all her life. The nausea brought on by pregnancy had only been compounded by the rough September seas of the Channel, and by the time the
Sea Queen
came to anchor she did not know if she had the energy to walk down the ramp and onto dry land.

She managed it, however, her head high under the gaze of Edward's crew. The captain, an elderly man who had been in service with Edward's father as well, insisted on escorting the hired carriage that took her the few blocks from the quay to the house where her family was lodged.

It was a house that belonged to one of the Rouen merchants who were making a fortune manufacturing the new cloth known as Rounnerie. The merchant had met Lochiel's brother Fassefern in Paris and, upon learning of Jean and Frances, had offered them the use of his old house. He was in the process of building himself one far more magnificent on the outskirts of the city and had been flattered to rent his old one to two countesses. Frances had been delighted at the opportunity to get Jean away from Paris, and so they had come to Rouen.

Having relinquished her grandson to the care of his wet nurse, Frances proceeded to the small salon and picked up her sewing. She was making an exquisitely stitched gown for the baby and she seated herself in the light from the window to work on it. The house was very quiet. Niall and Jean had gone out together to do some shopping.

She heard the front knocker sound and her head came up with curiosity. They kept very much to themselves, the MacIans, and did not see many people in the town. There was the murmur of voices and then steps came down the hall. The salon door opened and Van was there.

"Hello, Mother," she said. And fainted on the merchant's best carpet.

The day after Van left for France, a messenger arrived at Creag an Fhithich with a letter from the Earl of Linton to his wife. The news it contained was brief and to the point. Edward had ridden to Fort Augustus to report that he had heard rumors of the prince's escape. The officer whose tent he had shared at the fort had come down with smallpox and Edward was going to wait a few weeks before he returned home to make certain he was not carrying the germ himself.

When Morag learned from the messenger that the earl would be returning in a few weeks, she decided to wait for him rather than send the
Sea Queen
on another errand to France to deliver his letter.

Van awoke with lead in her limbs, wondering how she would meet another day. The morning nausea was subsiding and she found herself rather missing it. At least her physical misery had given her something else to think about.

She felt as if she were living in limbo, a gray, dreary, cheerless limbo. Three weeks had passed and still she had heard nothing from Edward. In her heart, she had thought he would follow her. She had believed that what was between them was too strong to be lost in this quarrel. It seemed, however, that she was wrong. He was not going to forgive her after all.

He did not know about the baby. Would he take her back if he knew? she wondered. The temptation to write to him was tremendous, but she resisted it. She had told him she would abide by his decision, and she must keep to her word.

The maid came into the room with a can of water and Van faced the necessity of getting out of bed and meeting the day.

"I'm worried about Van," Niall said to his mother that evening after his sister had gone early up to bed. "She is so quiet and listless. And too thin. I was looking at her wrists at dinner." He frowned. "There has been no word at all from Linton?"

Frances shook her head. "None."

Niall's frown deepened. "Dhé!" he said. "Linton knew when he married her what her loyalties were. How can he be so surprised?"

Frances sighed. "I don't know, darling. One never does know what is going on inside another person's marriage. All I do know is that they quarreled and Van left. And I know that she loves him and that is why she is so miserable."

There was a long pause. Frances and Jean continued to sew and Niall frowned into the fire. Then he said gruffly, "I have been thinking I ought to write a letter to Linton myself."

Frances and Jean both stopped stitching and stared at him.

"It is because of me that all of this has come about," Niall continued. "I am thinking perhaps I should write to try to explain."

This was a great concession on Niall's part, as both his wife and his mother knew. "I think that would be a good idea, darling," Frances said. "If you are... conciliating."

Niall looked up from under his brows, a somber and ironic look. "Yes, Mother," he said. "I know."

He was as good as his word, and the following morning sat down at the merchant's old secretary and wrote a letter to his brother-in-law. He was dreading having to write it, but in the end it proved much easier than he had anticipated:

My dear Linton,

I am writing to you because I am concerned about my sister's health. She does not know about this letter, and would be angry if she did know, but I feel it is necessary.

She is missing you badly. She is ill from missing you. I understand your anger over her part in the prince's escape, but I ask you to put it away from you and come to her now.

I do not know if she has told you this, but her one concern all through the entire affair was to protect you from suspicion of complicity. "Edward does not deserve to end up in the Tower, not after all he had done for us." That is what she said to us all that afternoon in the cave when we learned the ship was to call in Loch Morar. It was Van who insisted that the ship be redirected to Loch nan Uamh, and so it was—at some risk both to herself and to the rest of us. But her only thought, as I said before, was to protect you.

As to her helping us at all—she had no choice in the matter, Linton. She is a MacIan, a Highlander, and her father's daughter. She is not one to hide behind the shield of womanhood, my sister. She will act according to her conscience, always. If you wanted a soft and docile wife, you should not have chosen Van.

As for me, I must thank you for your great generosity toward my land and my people. When my father first told me of Van's wish to marry you, I could not understand it. Van and a Sassenach! I could not understand it at all. Now I do.

You are still a Whig and a Sassenach and I a Jacobite and a Celt, but I thank you, Edward Romney.

Come to Van.

Yours most sincerely,

Niall MacIan

Earl of Morar

The letter reached Creag an Fhithich three hours before Edward finally returned home. The one smallpox case had turned into a small epidemic and Edward had feared to leave Fort Augustus until he was certain there was no chance he was incubating the disease.

He was given Van's letter first, then Niall's.

He sailed for France on the evening tide.

It was a breezy, chilly autumn day, but the sun in the small walled garden behind the house was warm. Van was sitting on a bench, ostensibly reading a book, when the door from the house opened and someone else came out into the garden. She heard a step crunch on the graveled walk and looked up.

The sun was in her eyes and the first thing she saw was the halo of his hair. Her heart began to pound so fiercely she thought she might suffocate. She squinted her eyes, trying to see his face. She stood up.

"Edward." Her lips moved, but only a whisper of sound came out. He seemed like a great golden god as he came toward her across the garden. As he reached her the sun went behind a cloud and she was able to see his face. All the air was suddenly squeezed from her lungs. He said her name, and something else she did not hear, and then she was in his arms.

He did not kiss her, just held her against him, and her own arms went about his waist and clung tightly. Her cheek was crushed against his shoulder. She shut her eyes tightly and concentrated solely on the feel of him against her. It was a few moments before she even realized he was speaking.

"I am so sorry, sweetheart," he was saying. "So sorry. I was so stupid. So criminally stupid."

"No." Her head moved slightly in a negative shake. "No, you had a right to be angry, Edward. I understood that."

"Let me look at you." His voice was distinctly unsteady and she moved away from him reluctantly as he put his hands on her shoulders. He frowned and said, "You look ill. Are you all right, sweetheart?"

"Yes." She reached up to touch his face, running her fingers across the planes of his cheekbones, the line of his mouth. "I am perfectly all right," she said. "Now."

"I was caught in Fort Augustus by a smallpox epidemic," he explained. "I did not even know you had gone until yesterday. I returned to Morar to find your letter. And Niall's."

Van's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Smallpox," she said. "Are you all right, Edward?"

"Yes, but I could not leave until I was certain I was not infected. I did not want to bring it to Morar. I wrote to tell you, but you had gone. Morag did not want to take the responsibility of sending the
Sea Queen
to France with my letter and decided to wait for me to return home."

"Oh, Edward." Van's voice quivered. "And all this time I thought..." She broke off and nestled once more into his arms. "You said you didn't want to see me," she said into his shoulder. "You looked at me as if you hated me."

"I lost my temper." He put his cheek against her hair and held her closer still. "I rarely do." He laughed a little shakenly. "I'm afraid of myself when that happens. That's why I went away. I wanted to calm down. I knew I was in no fit state to think clearly. I was in no fit state to see anyone. And by the time I had regained some perspective, I was stuck in Fort Augustus."

"I should have stayed in Morar," Van murmured. "I suppose I was not thinking clearly myself. I thought if I left', it would give you grounds to divorce me."

"Divorce you!" Rough hands on her shoulders forced her to look up at him. "Did you really think I would divorce you?"

"Well," she replied, sustaining that blazing look, "I thought the only honorable thing to do was to offer you the opportunity."

After a minute a slow, reluctant smile spread across his face. "Niall said that you would always act according to your conscience."

"Did you say that Niall had written to you?" Van asked wonderingly.

"Yes. He wrote me a very courageous letter. It made me understand how much you must love him, because it was quite clear how much he loves you." He gave her a half-comical, half-shamefaced look. "I was jealous of Niall, do you know that?"

Van's eyes were clear and beautiful. "You have no cause to be jealous of anyone," she said. "It is you that I love."

He cupped her face between his hands and bent his head until his mouth was touching hers.

There was no passion in their kiss, only the deep, healing power of love. There would be time enough for passion later, they both knew. For now they wanted something else. They sat down together on the bench, held hands, and looked into each other's eyes and laughed. It was then that Van told him about the baby.

At first he was full of guilt for having left her. Then he was concerned for her health. Finally, when he had been reassured on both those counts, he was absolutely delighted.

"I must write to Mama," he said. "She will be so pleased." He grinned down at her, looking for a moment no older than a schoolboy. Van felt her heart would burst with the love that swelled up in it.

"I will give you a dozen children," she said.

He laughed. "Don't make rash promises, sweetheart. We'll take them one at a time, I think."

The sun was turning his hair into gold and making a brilliant dance in the blue of his eyes. There was laughter still in the corners of his mouth. Van was suddenly dizzy with love and when he kissed her again the wild blood began to race through her veins. They saw no one as they went into the house, dark after the brilliance of the sunshine, and they proceeded without interruption up the stairs and into the privacy of Van's room.

"Was there anyone in the house when you came?" Van asked him, quite some time later. "Your mother. She directed me to the garden. Then, with her usual exquisite tact, she disappeared." He was lying back against the pillows, his arms clasped behind his head. His eyes laughed at her. "She must have cleared out the entire house."

Van remembered Frances sending Niall and Jean upstairs in Glasgow to "spend some time alone." She smiled back at him a little sadly. "Mother understands."

He spoke softly. "She is still missing your father?"

Van's answer was simple. "She will always miss my father." She looked at her husband, at the wide, muscled shoulders, the strong column of neck, the thick fair hair lying touseled on the pillow, and for a moment she understood completely her mother's grief. Should she ever lose Edward...

"Van," he was saying, "I want to go home to Staplehurst. Will you come with me?"