Thirty

M ared found their only producing bull tied to a tree on Din Footh.

Seething, she stood there, debating whether or not to walk on to the Douglas's house and surprise him with a fist to the nose or to untie the poor thing (actually, he didn't seem to be in too dire of straits, since he was munching quite contentedly on a patch of clover), walk home, and write another scathing letter to the Traitor to all Highlanders, Payton Douglas.

While she much preferred the former, she chose the latter, since the last time he had pulled such a prank she had gone to his door, only to find him entertaining Miss Hermione Lewis, who had just returned from Edinburgh and obviously thought herself rather grand. It had irritated Mared so very much that she had gone off in a wee bit of a pique and, in doing so, had stomped right into a rabbit hole and twisted her ankle. Letter writing seemed to be safer, really, and she could put an awful lot on paper that she couldn't seem to remember when she was glaring at those gray eyes of his, and all in all, she'd just as soon not know who the Douglas was entertaining.

So there she was, in the old great hall, starting on her fourth attempt:

To the Odiously Objectionable, Highly Offensible,

Overbearingly Arrogant Laird Dougla s

amid the clutter of the first three attempts, when Dudley walked in and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Dudley?" she asked, sighing testily, upset that she still could not seem to find the right words to convey her feelings.

"A strange thing, miss, and as the laird is nowhere to be found, nor her ladyship…a woman and wee lass at the door, desiring to speak with Captain Lockhart."

Mared looked up from her letter. "To whom?"

"The captain, miss."

Payton, that bloody scoundrel! He was up to something, she was certain of it, and was instantly on her feet. Ah, but wait …Payton knew full well that Liam was in England, as he was forever asking after him. Not Payton, then. Mared sat again. "What woman would come for Liam?" she thought aloud.

"Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but she's… Sassenach."

Mared gasped.

Dudley nodded feverishly; his nose wrinkled with his distaste, and whispered, "English! And high born, by the sound of it."

"Dear God!" Mared exclaimed. This could not be good—Liam's letters home had been…well, in a word, odd. They all suspected something was dreadfully amiss—a spot of trouble for Liam (such as he had written in the last letter they received) usually meant a matter rather stupendous in consequence for mere mortals. No, this was not good, not good at all, and Mared stood again and marched for the door.

"I'll see to it," she said with great authority, and sailed down the long, narrow corridor to the front door, which was, in actuality, an old fortress entrance, which meant that it was extremely narrow, so no more than one attacker could enter at a time. Highlanders were really so very clever.

She opened the thick wood-planked door, stepped through the narrow entrance, and caught a breath in her throat. It was a woman all right, a bonny one. Tall and willowy, blond (she was missing a bonnet, actually), and fair complexioned (which made Mared instantly aware of how starkly different she was, with her own thick black hair and rather pink complexion, what with all the walking around Loch Chon). Even more startling was that the woman looked very refined, as if she'd never seen a day of the bloody sun. Which would not have surprised her, as she was English, and Mared had the distinct impression that English ladies sat about all day fanning themselves.

But this one surprised her because, first, she was calling on Liam, not Griffin, and second, her hair and clothing were in disarray. She looked, quite literally, as if she had been dragged to Loch Chon. Even more astounding, there were two of them, for standing beside her was a smaller version of the woman, just as mussed.

"Ah…how do you do? Might I introduce myself?" the woman asked in clipped, proper English.

"Aye," Mared said, peering cautiously at her. She had lovely blue eyes, didn't she? Not the green moldy color that she and her brothers were cursed with.

"Ahem." The woman smiled, nervously tried to smooth her horribly ratted hair. "I'm afraid I look a dreadful fright. I had no idea how… arduous it would be to come here."

And why wouldn't she know that? Mared instantly wondered.

"Um…I am Miss Ellen Farnsworth. And this is my daughter, Natalie." She paused and looked at the girl, who was staring at Mared as if she were seeing a ghost. "Say ‘Good day,' Natalie."

"Good day."

Mared nodded at her and was a little unnerved by the way the girl stared at her, as if she were in some kind of shock.

"You…you must be Mared—er, Miss Lockhart—"

Mared jerked her gaze back to the woman so quickly that it startled her. But not nearly as much as she startled Mared. How could she possibly know who she was?

"I…well, I know you have no idea who I am, and why should you?" She nervously cleared her throat again. "But, you see, it happens that I am acquainted with Captain Lockhart, and he described you perfectly. And it happens that I…I have something I should like to give him." She paused, shook her head as she thought about what she'd said. "I don't mean I have a gift, but rather something that belongs to him."

Instantly, Mared suspected a trick. She could hardly be the younger sister of Liam Lockhart without learning a thing or two about intrigue and sneaking about and all that. And Liam's letters had been very enigmatic. What could a woman like this possibly have of Liam's? Reinforcements, that's what Liam would say. If one is on sinking ground, one should seek reinforcements.

Mared instantly stepped back into the narrow door passage. "Beg yer pardon, Miss Farnsworth, but I…" But she what —needed to get reinforcements? "Ah…a moment, please," she said, and hastily shut the door in front of her, even debated locking it, lest this Farnsworth lady thought to come in.

"'Tis odd, eh?" Dudley whispered.

At the very least! Mared whirled about, grabbed Dudley by the sleeve, and raced for the study where she knew Griffin to be, going over the estate accounts. Not bothering to knock, she burst through the door, startling him.

"Mary Queen of Scots, Mared, can ye at least attempt to enter a room like a lady, then?" he said irritably.

"There's an Englishwoman at the door who has come for Liam. She claims to have something belonging to him, she does."

"What?" Griffin said, looking equally alarmed, and coming to his feet.

"A bonny Englishwoman!" Mared added excitedly. "With a lass!"

Griffin did not need to hear more. He strode past Mared and Dudley, down the narrow corridor. When he swung the front door open, with Mared practically glued to his back, the woman was still standing there, but the girl had seated herself on the stone steps, and quickly clambered to her feet.

"Oh!" Miss Farnsworth said brightly when she saw Griffin. "My, you look something alike, don't you? There's a resemblance, certainly."

Mared and Griffin exchanged a wary look.

"Oh, no, I see what you think of that. I didn't mean the two of you, although there is certainly a resemblance there, too. I meant that you, sir, look a bit like Captain Lockhart."

The girl nodded in agreement, then resumed her ogling of Mared.

"Then…then ye've seen our brother, eh?" Griffin asked carefully.

Miss Farnsworth broke into a wreath of smiles. "Many times! We were, ah…acquainted in London. I am Miss Ellen Farnsworth, and this is my daughter, Natalie."

The girl dipped into an instant curtsy and bounced back up again, her eyes still on Mared.

Again Mared and Griffin exchanged a look, and Mared could see her brother was wondering (just as she was) what in God's name Liam had gotten himself into this time.

"Might I at least speak with him? I've something that belongs to him," Miss Farnsworth added .

"He's no' here presently," Griffin said.

"Not here?" she asked, her eyes widening with surprise.

"Aye. He's away just now."

"Away?" she said, her voice going higher. "As in away for the day? Or could you possibly mean…could you possibly mean that he hasn't yet returned?"

"Maybe he's still in King's Lynn," the girl calmly suggested, still looking at Mared.

What was King's Lynn? Mared wondered, frowning at the girl. There was something very wrong about this, and Griffin obviously agreed, for he said, "Perhaps ye could leave yer card then, Miss Farnsworth. But he's no' here and he's no' expected for some time yet. We'll pass it along to him, we will."

"But… but …" Her voice trailed off, and honestly, she looked to be in a bit of shock for a moment before looking down and covering her eyes with one hand.

Griffin turned, looked at Mared over his shoulder, and made a bobbing motion with his head toward the woman in a silent question as to what she was doing.

Mared shrugged, just as confused.

But then she made a sound, and startled, Mared and Griffin jerked their gaze to her again. The woman was crying.

"I beg your pardon," she said, sniffing, and swiping at the tears with her dirty gloves. "I'm appalled that I should present myself on your doorstep in such horrible attire and…and weep. But it's just that…that we've come so far, and we've no place to go, and we just wanted to give it back—"

"Give what back?" Griffin asked.

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid I can't tell you!" she sobbed.

"It's all right, Mother," the lass said, and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist and began to cry, too.

There were four of them, standing at one end of the impossibly long dining table, underneath an elaborate and obviously old coat of arms of some sort, flanked by swords and sabers of varying design. All of them were silent for the most part, staring curiously at Ellen and Natalie, who were seated at the opposite end of the table, and whispering in Liam's language to one another from time to time. At least, Ellen thought, wryly, she didn't have to worry about Natalie, for she seemed right at home. She was sitting in a huge oak chair, looking around the room with great interest, her feet swinging beneath the table.

Finally, the elder Lockhart cleared his voice, looked at his wife (this Ellen knew because they had at last introduced themselves to her after a long and whispered consultation). "Ah…Miss Farnsworth, is it?"

She nodded.

"Aye. Well, then. We find ourselves in a wee spot of…of…"

"It's rather unusual," Lady Lockhart interjected helpfully.

"Aye," the old man agreed. "Ah…ye see, Miss Farnsworth, our son, he went to London on…on, er…"

"A family matter," Mared offered.

"Aye. That," the old man agreed again. "And…he did no' mention in his letters that we were to expect a caller—"

"Oh, no, of course not, my lord, for he didn't know I would be calling, you see," Ellen tried. But her several attempts at explanation—without just admitting, out and out, that she had stolen the blasted beastie—seemed almost ludicrous. To suggest that she knew their son well enough to travel all the way to Scotland to call on him was absurd, particularly when he had never mentioned her. Particularly when she could not admit why she had come, other than to say she had something that belonged to their son. If the shoe were on the other foot, it would seem to her to be rather ominous, too. Rather brilliant plan, Ellen. Not quite the conniver you determined yourself to be, are you?

"Aye, aye," the man said carefully. "But ye see, can ye now, what a perplexing situation we find ourselves in?"

"Yes, but I—"

"If ye might just tell us what it is ye have for him, so that we might clear it all up," Griffin kindly suggested.

Beside her, Natalie sneezed.

"Bless ye," they all murmured in unison.

Ellen absently patted Natalie's hand. "I beg you to trust me, sir. I know you've no reason to do so, and this is all quite unusual, but I assure you, your son is on his way home, and what I have of his I could not possibly trust with another person. It's something I must give him personally, and—"

Natalie sneezed again; Ellen stopped her plea and looked down at her daughter. Natalie smiled up at her mother with bright eyes, and Ellen instantly put her hand on Natalie's forehead, felt the warmth of fever there. "Dear God," she said, and looked at the four Lockharts. "I shan't ask any longer, I shall beg and plead for you to see your way to giving us shelter, if just for the night. I thought Captain Lockhart was here, for at least that is what he said, and as it happens, I have not a farthing to my name, and unfortunately, I fear my daughter is ill."

The four of them exchanged suspicious looks with one another.

That was it, then.

Too weary to beg, it seemed as if her extraordinary journey had finally caught up to her, and Ellen felt all the will bleed right out of her. She hardly cared what they did to her any longer; she just wanted it all to end. She just wanted a bed for herself and Natalie, just the chance to sleep, and suddenly, without thought or care, she folded her arms on the table, put her forehead on them, and began to sob like a newborn baby, unable to stop.

And it was in that haze of frightful, gut-wrenching sobs that she felt the hand on her forehead and heard the kind Lady Lockhart say, "Carson, she's burning with fever."

"What a sweet lass ye are," Ellen heard through the haze of sleep. "But I'm no' a princess. Would that I were, for I'd make some changes around here, I would, beginning with the immediate removal of a certain Douglas from the—Oh, look now, she's awake!"

Ellen blinked at the sight of Mared, seated at the end of a massive four-poster bed with Natalie, who was wearing a clean and pressed frock. How had that happened? She didn't remember much of anything after Lady Lockhart had made her sit up and wiped her tears with the hem of her shawl, and had only a vague recollection of being forced upstairs, Grif (they called him) on one side, Lady Lockhart on the other, insisting that she lie down for a time. She came up on her elbows and felt a dizziness in her head. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Mo creach! Ye sleep like the dead, ye do. All through the night and here it is, twelve o'clock," Mared said, coming to her feet. She walked to the side of the bed and casually peered down at Ellen, her arms folded across her middle. "Still a wee peaked, I'd wager. What do ye make of it, Nattie?"

Nattie. That's what Liam had called her.

"Aye, she looks rather pale, doesn't she?" Natalie answered .

"I thought so from the start," Mared said, nodding. A long tail of braided black hair fell over her shoulder. "How are ye feeling, then, Miss Farnsworth?"

"Exhausted," Ellen answered truthfully, and looked at Natalie. "But what of you Natalie? Do you still have a fever?"

Natalie shook her head. "Mared gave me some tea this morning and said I was quite all right."

"Miss Lockhart, darling," Ellen muttered weakly.

Mared laughed. "We donna stand on much ceremony here, Miss Farnsworth. Ye might as well call me by me Christian name, for it looks as if ye'll stay a while yet."

"It does?" she asked, lifting a hand to her forehead.

"Aye. The post came early this morning, and there was a letter from Liam. I wasna privy to what it said, exactly, but Mother said that ye'd stay until he came home, for she thought he wanted it back, whatever it is ye have."

"Ooh," Ellen said, wincing a little.

That caused Mared to laugh—she smiled broadly, her smile as warm and inviting as Liam's. "And she said ye're to stay abed until ye're better. In the meantime, if ye donna mind it, I'll take Nattie for a tour of a real castle."

Ellen smiled at Natalie, but her daughter hardly noticed, for she was looking up at Mared with great awe. "That would be lovely, Mared. You've no idea how lovely. And please, call me Ellie."

"The lass will be quite all right while ye rest, Ellie," she said, and held out her hand for Natalie. Ellen sank back against the goose-down pillows, glad for once someone had ordered her to bed. "Thank you," she murmured, and as her eyelids were sliding shut, she saw Mared and Natalie walk away, hand in hand, and she thought how lovely it was in Laria.

Liam left for Edinburgh with his pockets near to empty and his heart overwhelmingly heavy, detouring from his course only once, to speak with the Peasedowns.

No, they had not heard from Ellie. But a letter had arrived from her father, telling her to come home at once or risk complete estrangement. Lady Peasedown was distraught, sobbing quite vociferously, now blaming herself for Ellie's running away. There was nothing Liam could say to appease her, so he promised, should he cross Miss Farnsworth's path again, that he himself would write and let them know of her welfare. Lady Peasedown promised to do the same, and very carefully took down the direction of Talla Dileas.

Liam never expected to hear from the Peasedowns again, actually. He never expected to see Ellie again, a notion that left him feeling empty and old. Fate was cruel, he thought, to give a man like him a taste of a woman like that and then take her away. He had all but forgotten what she had done, and thought he'd trade a thousand beasties just to look at her lovely face one more time.

But he would not, and there was not a happier man in all of England when, in Kingston-upon-Hull, Liam talked his way onto a packet ship bound for Edinburgh. Fortunately, the week it took to reach Edinburgh went by quickly, in spite of the one incident with a sailor who attempted to take the dirty, crumpled kerchief that had belonged to Ellie. It was the only thing that Liam had to keep close to his heart, and the attempted theft proved to be all he could endure for one long journey to England. It was as if all his frustrations (and Diah, there were a frightening lot of frustrations of late) came bubbling up all at once.

The poor, unsuspecting shipmate never knew what hit him. Liam sent him flying across the deck, and before anyone could react to what he'd done, he chased after the man, took the kerchief from his grimy hand, and managed to slide it into his pocket before the sailor's chums fell on him. Liam emerged from the brawl with a sizable black eye, a broken finger, and what felt like a broken knee. But he had the kerchief.

When they at last docked in Edinburgh, Liam was the first off the ship, and immediately set out for Loch Chon, where he expected nothing when he arrived but to hear his father's roar over his bungling of the beastie. He just hoped he hadn't missed the deployment of his new regiment, for the farther away from this mess he could take himself, the better he'd be.

Ellen improved rapidly, thanks foremost to a concoction of medicinal herbs Lady Lockhart gave her twice daily. In a few days, she was walking the grounds of Talla Dileas with Mared, awed by the wild beauty of it, even beneath a light dusting of snow.

Mared was quite colorful, she thought, seemingly without inhibition and free to do as she pleased. Ellen admired Mared for it. The only thing that seemed to annoy Mared was their neighbor, "the Douglas," as she called him, and she spoke frequently of how vexing the man was. He sounded like a dreadful ogre, really. But beyond that, Mared was enormously entertaining and seemed happy for the company. How wonderful, Ellen thought, that women enjoyed such social freedom here. How stifled she had felt in London. And the more she was in and around Talla Dileas, the more she could see why Liam was so attached to it. This was Laria.

Certainly she had never seen Natalie happier. The girl's fever had come and gone quickly, and she blossomed in a few short days, always laughing, always eager to help one of the Lockharts. Mared took quite a liking to her, and so did Griffin, although Ellen sensed his patience for young children was more closely aligned with Liam's. The Laird and Lady Lockhart were very kind, but were quite curious about what had gone on in England. Lady Lockhart in particular asked several times if she had met the English Lockharts, or if Liam had mentioned them. Each time the subject came up, Ellen was as vague as she could be, but felt herself color with shame all the same, feeling more and more horridly guilty for what she'd done, particularly seeing with her own eyes what the beastie might have done for them.

Life was idyllic, but she couldn't help noticing the signs of deterioration. Even in the spacious, ornate room they had put her in, where the furnishings were of the finest quality, she noticed cracks in the walls and shutters that weren't properly mended. A brazier was used in that room as opposed to the fireplace, because, the laird explained, they hadn't had the chimney properly cleaned in some time.

The food was rather nondescript, and she noticed that potatoes were often the focal point of the evening meal. More than once, Ellen thought to give them the five hundred pounds and confess what she had done. But inevitably, she would wonder how she and Natalie would fare when they tossed her out on her ear for it. It was best to wait for Liam, she convinced herself. At least if he were to toss her out, he'd think twice before doing so to Natalie.

And as to that, where was Liam? Ellen often lay in bed at night wondering if he was still looking for her or had decided to go on to his regiment. The Lockharts openly looked for a letter from him every day, and Mared often walked across the hills to the neighboring estate to see if the post had come. If he didn't come soon, she'd have to think of something, for she couldn't impose on the Lockharts more than she already had. And in fact, she thought Griffin was beginning to wonder if she was telling them the truth—she even heard him say to his father one day that they really had no proof that she'd ever met Liam.

Which was why, then, that Ellen began to sing for her supper, so to speak, by regaling them with tales of Liam in London each night at supper. Of Liam in Hyde Park. Liam dancing. Of how he and Natalie met (Natalie helping with that one). Liam and the mouse, Liam and the partridges. Liam's unusual method of laundering his clothes (Griffin seemed particularly perturbed by that story). The tales of Liam were all true, and they made the Lockharts laugh. Above all else, those tales allowed Ellen and Natalie to remain in good graces at Talla Dileas.

She just hoped that she would not use them all up before he returned.

Where was he?

He was, as it happened, in Aberfoyle.

He'd had a bit of luck in getting from Edinburgh to Stirling, but from there he had walked, camping for a few hours when he thought he couldn't take another step, living off berries (far too many for good digestion), a fish or a grouse here and there, and at long last, he had reached Aberfoyle. That was quite a milestone, he thought, having been quite dejected by the latest turn of events. In reaching Aberfoyle he determined that he might still make a decent soldier. With considerable remediation, of course.

It was late; most of the shopkeepers had closed their doors, but he saw, much to his great relief, Payton Douglas's wagon just outside the confectioner's. When Payton emerged, Liam was so glad to see him that he almost kissed the man.

Payton reared back as Liam threw his arms around his shoulders, laughing hysterically. He put out his hand, both to protect himself from Liam's strange elation and to welcome him home. "Lockhart! And I thought ye'd no' come back, I did," he said grinning. "Did they kick ye out of England, then? What happened to ye, lad?" Payton asked, wrinkling his nose at the foul odor as he looked at the yellow and green skin around Liam's eye, the scratches on his hands and face, and the buckskins that could, were he to remove them, stand alone.

Liam laughed. "Ach , the English! Barmy, the lot of them! I'll be happy to tell ye all over a pint one day, but at the moment I'm rather anxious to be home, I am, if ye'd do me that favor."

"Aye, certainly," Payton said, clapping him on the back. "At the very least, yer mother would want to see that ugly face, I'd wager. Climb on, then."

They shared a sweetmeat, which, for some strange reason, reminded Payton to complain mightily of Mared. "She's no' right, that one," he said, munching the last confection. "A more willful or stubborn lass ye'll never know, I'd swear by it. She penned me sheep!" he complained loudly, then frowned at Liam's burst of laughter. While he might have undergone an enormous change while he was gone, it was comforting to know that at least in Scotland, some things remained the same. He was, he realized, rather relieved to know it.

"And Grif? He's no' run off to Edinburra to seek his fortune, has he, then?"

Payton shrugged as he drew the team to a halt in front of the long path up to the Lockhart estate. "In truth, I've no' seen yer family for more than a week now." He grinned sheepishly. "I had a wee encounter with one of yer bulls, and yer sister, well…she's bloody angry just now, so I thought it best to stay away for a time. "

Liam grinned, grabbed his knapsack, and leapt to the ground. "Ye might as well admit it, Douglas. Ye love her, ye do," he said, and laughed at Payton's animated claims to the contrary. They parted with a wave and a promise to have that ale soon; Payton drove on and Liam turned, looked up the winding path, and drew a long breath.

He couldn't avoid it any longer. He just prayed, when he told them how he'd lost the damn beastie, that they'd show him a wee bit of mercy, for he was so grateful to be at home at last.

As he walked up the steep, curving path, the sun sank behind Din Footh, and the air grew still. It smelled of pine, fresh and clean, not full of soot and animals like London had smelled. It brought a lump to Liam's throat, for he couldn't imagine home being anywhere but here, and he realized they'd have to fight to keep it. When he turned the bend and saw the house, both repugnant and stately all at once, he wondered what would become of the Lockharts without Talla Dileas as the foundation beneath them, without centuries from which to build their lives.

He paused and looked at the structure he called home. It was dark on one side—to save costs, he gathered—but there was light in the dining room. They'd be gathering just about now, he thought, and walked on, through the huge stone gates. But instead of going inside, he walked around the edge of the lawn until he reached the dining room, and stood back, looking up so he might see them all.

Ah, there they were, coming in now. Mother and Father—he was glad to see them looking well. Grif, who'd kill him for what he'd done to his clothing. Mared, sweet Mared, and—

Liam's heart stopped; for a moment he thought he was seeing a ghost. How could Nattie be there? Nattie! No, no, it was impossible. His fatigue—he closed his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again, but there she was, a little blond head following Mared. How? How could—

Diah! There she was—the single, burning ache in his heart, that vision that kept him awake at night and dogged his every waking step. The heavy knapsack slid from his shoulder and fell to the ground beside him. Unable to comprehend, to believe, he stood gaping, pounding his thigh with his fist to make certain he wasn't dreaming, that he hadn't at last lost his mind. But it was her, his angel, the one woman he had ever, would ever love, and Liam, in a spasm of relief or hope or fear, fell to his knees and looked heavenward. After all he'd been through, all he'd learned, after the two accursed tears he had shed one night aboard ship, he was to be given this dream?

"Thank ye," he whispered hoarsely. "Thank ye. I'll no' let ye down." And he thought, looking up at the half-moon over Talla Dileas, that he'd cherish this moment and this woman forever, that God had given him this second chance at love, something he had never realized how deeply he needed…until the flash of a fallen star streaked the sky, startling him, jolting him back to the reality of an angel flying low.