Chapter 8

8

L ewis made himself scarce for the next few days. He came down to eat breakfast earlier than everyone else so that he was gone and his place at the table had been cleared before anyone else arrived.

Edina noticed that neither Laird nor Lady Findlay remarked on his absence, and she presumed that once more he needed time and space for himself so that he could miss his brother in peace. Having seen him weeping in the twilight on the battlements, Edina presumed that he was doing the same thing again. Now that she knew a little more about him. However, she was not as alarmed as she might have been before.

The fact that he had been so openly showing his feelings meant that he was not one of those people who thought men should have no emotions at all. He had a unique way of dealing with his, that was all, and Edina respected that. He was one of the few men she knew who did not feel it necessary to put a stoic face on all the time. He did not exactly advertise his feelings, but neither did he feel the need to stuff them all inside himself to such an extent that they exploded under the pressure one day.

He was a complicated man, but gradually she was beginning to put together the pieces of the puzzle that was the Findlay heir.

Now, it was time to go into the village to open the school for the day. Edina was immensely satisfied and pleased with the project. The children had all begun to read and count well, and she had hired two of the daughters of the local ministers to tutor them.

They were both in their early twenties and had a well-rounded private education, which they were eager to pass onto the village children. As well as that, Edina had provided all the pupils with a daily meal, and fitted them with new clothes which had been made by some of the wives of men in Achnabreck.

Her latest project, of which she was very proud, was the cottage industry she had started which involved the sewing of servants' and other kinds of uniforms for the castles and estates around Achnabreck. There was a great demand for this kind of clothing, and the nearest place it could be sourced was a town ten miles outside Dundee. This made it inconvenient and expensive to transport, but Edina had bought a shipment of cotton and linen, then sourced wool from all the local farmers so that everyone benefitted from the new business.

Lady Findlay and Edina's mother had been astonished at what she had achieved. Granted, she had received help from her father and the Laird, who had lent her the coin to start the business, but the drive and determination was all her own.

"I think you must have inherited your business acumen from your father," Bettina remarked. "I am so proud of you, my dear." Her eyes were shining.

"As am I," Roy McCarthy agreed, smiling as he reached across the dinner table to pat his daughter's hand.

"I could not have done it without you, M'Laird." Edina smiled at the Laird fondly.

Lard Findlay laughed. "Ah, but remember this is a business venture," he reminded her, raising one eyebrow slyly. "I expect to be repaid."

This was true, but it was a very loose arrangement, and they all knew that if the enterprise failed, Edina would never be hurled into debtors' prison. However, so far, all was going well, and Laird Findlay could only see it going from strength to strength. This surprised him, but it did not change his thoughts about her prospects with Lewis. She was not the woman for his son.

Lewis had made no secret of the fact that he was avoiding his family. He spent much of his time with the guards, and the rest in his chamber. Edina could not rid herself of the notion that he was hiding something again.

A few days after the council meeting, a hunting party returned in the early evening with the body of a large stag. The Laird's policy was that only old or sickly animals were to be taken, and this was a venerable animal who had obviously seen many winters.

One of his antlers had cracked and broken off, no doubt in a fight with a younger, fitter stag. He had been dispatched with a single arrow to the heart, and his death would have been instant, Edina was glad to see. She hated the sight and smell of dead animals, but she was intensely curious about something. She went up to one of the men who were now milling around drinking ale before they took the carcass away for hanging, trying to avert her eyes from the stag.

"Who shot this animal?" she asked him.

Looking surprised, the hunter bowed. "Master Lewis, Mistress," he answered. "He is the best shot out o' all of us."

"I see," Edina mused, then she thanked the man and was about to walk away when something else occurred to her.

"Does Lewis have a favourite horse?"

"He rides three or four different ones," the man replied. "But his hunter is the big black one called Duffy. He is the fastest an' strongest o' a' the horses here."

"Thank you," Edina said, and walked away.

She smiled as she remembered the little Lewis, who had just grown out of ponies and had graduated to a medium-sized horse. He had been heartbroken at the time because he was utterly devoted to his little mare, Rosie, a strawberry roan Shetland pony. It had taken months for him to get used to the new grey stallion, Gilly, and he had never loved him to the same extent that he loved Rosie.

Of course, much had changed in the time she had been away, and Lewis had grown into a man since then, but she still remembered the strength of the loyalty he had shown to his pet dogs and other pets. He had no pet animals now.

She was also astonished that he had shot a deer. In his earlier letters to her, Lewis had always bemoaned the fact that Aidan, who, of course, had the biggest stallion in the entire stables, was only interested in bringing down stags. His brother loved the excitement of the chase, while he himself preferred to hunt rabbits, pheasants, and grouse. Now Lewis had shot a big stag, and that seemed completely out of character.

Edina was lost in thought, and failed to notice that Lewis was crossing her path until she bumped into him. He, in turn, had been looking at a sheet of paper with a list of names on it, so neither of them was looking at where they were going.

Edina let out a little squeal and her eyes widened in fright. She stumbled backwards, but Lewis's hands came out to grasp her upper arms tightly before she fell over.

"I am sorry," she said awkwardly.

She tried to move away from him, but he held on, and as she met his eyes, she saw the same expression as the one he had worn just before their kiss there.

Lewis's gaze strayed inexorably to Edina's lips, and he felt his body stiffening as he too remembered their encounter. Edina was not the only one who had gone over the experience again and again, and he wondered if had they been in a different, less public place, they would have repeated the experience even more passionately.

I could drown in those eyes, he thought, and almost did not realise that he was standing motionless in the middle of the courtyard where anyone could see him staring at Edina like a lovestruck youth. When he snapped back to reality a few moments later, he saw that Edina was smiling at him mischievously.

"Forgive me," he said, shaking his head. "I was not looking where I was going."

"I forgive you," Edina replied, laughing softly. "I see you have been out hunting."

"Yes." Lewis frowned. "I was just about to go and bathe before my father ambushed me and gave me some work to do."

"Ambushed you?" This time, Edina giggled in amusement. "You make him sound like a criminal!"

Lewis shrugged and gave her a half-smile. "Sometimes it feels like it," he said ruefully.

He seemed to be in a better mood today, Edina thought, before she turned around to watch the hunters wheeling away the cart that contained the stag's carcass.

"Your men tell me you shot that stag."

He nodded. "Yes, I did," he replied. "It was not difficult; he was very old and couldn't run fast enough to escape."

"I thought it was only Aidan who liked hunting big game," Edina said, puzzled. "You preferred small game like rabbits and birds."

For a moment, Edina thought she saw something like panic flickering in his brown eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"I changed my mind after he left," he replied. "I still hunt small game, and I still catch fish, but as an heir, I should try the bigger animals, too. My people think it is more manly."

Once more, Edina laughed. "Really? Manly? I have heard that before, but I really do not see the connection between manliness and hunting. I may try it myself one day."

"No!" Lewis snapped. "It is a rough and dangerous pastime, Edina. Stay away from it. Now, I must get back to work. Excuse me."

He gave her a short, formal bow and walked away, leaving Edina to stare after him. The more she spoke to him, the more of a mystery he became, but it made her even more determined to find his secret.

She was feeling rather peckish by this time, and it was still several hours until dinner, so Edina decided to commit a tremendous breach of etiquette and go to the kitchen for a bite to eat.

The cook and kitchen maids were startled to see her, and each one curtsied, but Edina smiled and put them at ease.

"I am not a princess," she said pleasantly, smiling at them. "But I am hungry. Can you tell me what delicious morsels you have for me to eat? And your name?"

She smiled, then took in a deep breath of the delicious aroma of roasting meat, baking bread, spices, and other equally delectable scents, and her mouth began to water profusely.

The cook gave her a beaming smile. For someone in such a relatively senior position, she was quite a young woman, perhaps in her thirties, Edina thought. She had the fiery red hair typical of many Highlanders, and soft grey-green eyes. Edina thought that if she put on a ball gown, she could woo many a young Laird's son, but she did not voice the thought. The Laird would likely have an apoplectic fit!

"I am Annie, Mistress," she replied. "We have just made a batch o' cheese scones, some pork sausages, some black puddin', an' if ye can wait a bit there is bread comin' out o' the oven in a wee while. An' the buttery has just sent us some fresh cheese. We have apples, blackberries an' tons o' nuts, too!"

"Of course, it is harvest time," Edina realised. "Are there hazelnuts?"

"Aye, an' chestnuts," Annie replied, smiling. "I have just roasted some."

Edina walked around the kitchen, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the luscious smells, until she came to the tray of black pudding, a dish which made her stomach turn.

"This is quite safe from me," she told Annie as she wrinkled her nose.

Annie laughed. "Funny how different people are, Mistress," she said, "Master Lewis loves the stuff. Cannae get enough o' it."

But he hates it! Edina thought, amazed. The young Lewis had always practically been sick at the thought of eating black pudding.

She hid her astonishment, however, and asked, "What else does he hate eating?"

"He doesnae like sweet things," Annie replied, "although he likes fruit; apples, strawberries, pears an' suchlike. He cannae stand honey, but."

Edina remembered the episode with the schoolchildren and the scones. She had honestly thought then that Lewis might vomit, and yet when they were younger, he would devour as many sweetmeats as he could get his teeth into.

Edina couldn't conceal her puzzlement, so the cook asked, "Are ye all right, Mistress?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking about when we were children," she admitted. "He used to love sweet things then."

"Aye, well, people change," Annie said, smiling.

In the end, Edina chose to eat some roasted chestnuts and cheese, which were delivered to a small, cosy parlour not far from her bedchamber. She contemplated a glass of wine, but decided against it, since it was as yet too early in the day.

She was beginning to see a kind of pattern. Many of the things that Lewis now hated were things he had loved as a child. Of course, as she was constantly reminding herself, he was a man now, and not a boy, and he had likely changed in many ways. Of course, he had. She had done so herself.

Until she was twelve years old, she had hated cats, thinking them to be sly, aloof creatures; then she was given a kitten that had been rescued from starvation when his mother died. He was a small bundle of ginger fur, and she had called him Ruadh, which meant "redhead" in Gaelic.

She had absolutely fallen in love with the little animal, who seemed to feel the same way about her. He was a house cat, so he followed her everywhere and even slept in her bed at night, and they were absolutely devoted to each other. When he died of a fever when he was eight years old, Edina had been absolutely devastated, and had vowed never to have another pet of any kind.

She smiled as she thought of her little friend, and felt a sudden surge of longing. Perhaps she would adopt another cat. She was sure that Ruadh would not mind if he was looking down on her from cat heaven. People often said that animals had no souls, but she did not believe that; if there was a heaven for people, then their pets were there too.

Now, however, it was time for Edina to bathe and dress for dinner. Bathing was a pleasure, but dressing for dinner was a nightmare, and she typically wished she could wear breeches or a kilt like a man. At last, she sighed and rose to her feet, knowing that it would take her at least an hour to prepare.

The days were becoming colder, the nights shorter, and Edina shivered as she entered her bedroom, despite the roaring fire that was burning in the grate. Yet again, something was bothering her, nagging at the back of her mind, and it would not go away.

She bathed quickly and said little to Mairi, with whom she usually exchanged the latest gossip, but afterwards she put off donning her corset and petticoats, instead choosing a loose dressing gown.

"Where are ye goin', Mistress?" she asked, watching, mystified, as her mistress crossed her bedchamber to the door.

"I will be back soon, Mairi," Edina told her. "There is something important I have to attend to."

Edina started walking in utter silence, making sure no one was watching. When she reached her destination, she hesitated outside Aidan's room, trying to will herself to go inside. It was already dark and as she turned the handle and opened the door, the light from her candle sprinkled eerie, dappled patterns of light and shade over the walls. She shivered in trepidation, but stepped further into the room and advanced towards what she had come to see. There was a portrait of Aidan and Lewis on the wall above the fireplace, which she had noticed on her last visit to the chamber, but she had been unable to view it properly because of Lewis's presence.

Now she held up her candle and gazed at the two young men. They had obviously been around fourteen or fifteen at the time, and both their faces had begun to lose the roundness of childhood and assume the chiselled planes of adulthood. They were so similar that if the viewer had not been acquainted with them, they might have been mistaken for fraternal twins, at least at first glance.

However, the artist had been extremely skilful, and every brushstroke revealed the most subtle of differences in the images, and after a few moments it was clear who was who. As well as that, she thought, there were other ways of telling the difference between people apart from looks. The brothers' mannerisms and voices were completely different, but of course, that could not be discerned from looking at the portrait.

Suddenly, she jumped as she heard the sound of the door opening.