Chapter 16

16

The next morning, Gavin woke up with a splitting headache. He had overindulged in the extremely fine wine Elspeth had shared with him the previous evening, and was now paying the price.

He ordered a bath and a cup of willow bark tea for his headache, and as he lay back in the soothing warmth of the water, he thought of Maura and the night they had shared together. It had been beyond blissful; it had surpassed any other experience he had ever undergone. He remembered her face as she reached her climax, as well as a look of complete rapture, there was disbelief, as if she could never have imagined a sensation so thrilling.

He closed his eyes and sighed; there was only one thing he regretted—that he had not taken time to look at her properly so that her image would be burned into his mind. That way he could take her out and look at her any time he wanted to.

He recalled how her pliant skin had felt against him, and her soft moans and sighs as he drove her to fulfilment; her cry of rapture as she came, or the pleasurable pain as she dug her fingernails into the flesh of his arms at that special moment.

He hoped he would be able to resist the urge to think of Maura when he was lying in bed with Elspeth because his biggest fear was his wife finding out that he was in love with another woman. Whatever happened, he could not endanger his marriage—his life depended on it.

When Gavin rose from his bath and dressed, he summoned his manservant to bring him a razor. The man looked at him strangely. “I can shave ye if ye wish, M’Laird,” he offered.

Gavin was astonished that he had forgotten the fact that Lairds and other men of high birth never shaved their own faces. He had been shaving himself for months now—even sharpening his own razor. He pulled himself together and smiled at the young man, who was only a little older than he was.

“Thank you,” he replied.

His headache was beginning to abate, the sun was making an appearance in a clear blue sky, and suddenly, he felt better than he had at any time since he had left Maura. Things were going to be fine, he told himself. All he had to do was forge ahead with his plans and put her out of his mind, but that was easier said than done.

He submitted to the ministrations of his valet, and after he had shaved and was reasonably clean and tidy, Gavin pondered on what to do for the rest of the day. There was a thin blanket of snow on the ground, but the sky was absolutely cloudless, which was almost unheard of for a winter day in Scotland. Usually, he would have taken advantage of this and gone out for a long ride to savour the sunshine, but now he was in too much danger.

He did not feel able to spend another whole day with Elspeth, so he decided to seek out the company of the guardsmen to see if he could get to know them a little more. Hopefully, it would help him understand them better and win their allegiance. He had never tried to do this with the guards at Duncairn, although their relationship had been cordial enough. He had always thought of them as being beneath him, and it was only now that he had lived amongst ordinary people that he realised how valuable they were, and how much they contributed to his privileged life.

He had just started to make his way downstairs when he was met by one of the maidservants, who curtsied to him and informed him that the Laird wanted to see him. Gavin’s heart gave a leap of hope; could Laird Jamieson be about to give him the answer he wanted?

He thanked the young woman and smiled at her, pleased by her delighted response as she beamed back at him. He went away feeling satisfied; this was the kind of man he would be from now on, treating others the way he would want to be treated himself.

Gavin made his way down to the Laird’s study and stood outside for a moment to collect his thoughts, then he knocked and was summoned inside. As soon as he saw Laird Jamieson’s face, he knew there was bad news coming. He sat down and braced himself for the coming storm.

However, just then, there was a very hard rap on the door. When the Laird answered, a tall, burly manservant entered. “M’Laird, I have two o’ your tenants here who need tae see ye. They are havin’ a dispute about the borders o’ their lands.”

The Laird looked as though he were about to bang his head on his desk. “Let me guess,” he growled. “Armstrong and MacLean?”

“Aye, M’Laird,” the man answered. “But this time it seems things are gettin’ worse.” He stood aside, and a guard pushed two dirty and dishevelled men into the room so hard that both of them stumbled and almost fell down.

Gavin watched and listened carefully to see how Jamieson handled what seemed to be a recurring problem. He stood up and glowered at them, and Gavin was surprised that the first word that came out of the Laird’s mouth was an obscenity, before he thumped his fist so hard on his desk that it made the wine carafe standing on it rattle.

“I told you two last time that I have had enough of you, and still, you are back to bother me again,” he roared. “I have a good mind to throw you both in the dungeons for a week. I had my carpenters put up a fence on the disputed border to keep you two apart.

Do not tell me that the cows have knocked it down, or it has suddenly been eaten by woodworm or a witch cast a spell on it in the middle of the night and made it disappear!”

The two farmers started to speak at once, then the unintelligible noise became even louder because they were trying to be heard above each other. There was much pointing and gesticulating, but just as it looked as though a fist fight was about to break out, Gavin intervened. He stepped in between the two men and wrenched them apart.

“Now,” he growled. “Tell the Laird your latest problem one at a time. I have a dagger in my pocket. If either of you even tries to cause trouble, they will be the first to feel the sharp end of it.”

The men nodded frantically, and Gavin stood back a little. The story of the dagger had been a complete fiction; he had been unarmed since he came to Ardneuk. However, his stature and strength had been enough to make the farmers believe him.

“What is your problem?” The men obeyed.

“When I came down this mornin’ the fence was a’ splintered, M’Laird,” Armstrong answered. “An’ he”—he flung out his arm and pointed at MacLean—“he was standin’ beside it wi’ a hammer in his hand!”

“I was goin’ tae fix it, ya eejit!” MacLean replied furiously.

“Because ye broke it, right?” Armstrong asked fiercely.

Gavin raised a hand and patted the pocket with the imaginary dagger in it.

“Now, I have heard about you two from Laird Jamieson, and you are two of the biggest troublemakers on his estate, and he has been trying to solve your problem for a while now. I respect your laird for being a very wise man, and he has come up with an answer to your problem.” He looked across at Laird Jamieson and said, “May I tell them, my Laird?”

“I think you should,” Jamieson answered through gritted teeth, with wide eyes at Gavin’s ease in lying. “I might clobber them.” Even though it was still quite early in the morning, he poured himself a glass of wine and swallowed it in one gulp.

“My name is Laird Gavin Forsyth, and I am a good friend of Laird Jamieson,” Gavin began. “He has had a good idea that will solve all of your problems in the future so that this problem will not arise again. There will be a monthly meeting so that anybody with a grievance can come and tell him, and you can discuss it. That will save you having to come to see him every day. Your problem with the fence was likely caused by the storm we had a couple of days ago. A lot of trees fell down and damaged buildings and fences. Go and fix your fence—together. You have made him angry enough already.”

The two farmers looked at Gavin, then at Laird Jamieson. They smiled. “Thank ye, M’Laird,” they said in unison, then Armstrong said, “We will dae as ye say, Laird Jamieson, an’ we will be at the meetin’.”

“Laird Forsyth will be supervising the first meeting,” Jamieson said. “Last Friday morning of the month. And after the winter is over, we will replace the fence with a stone wall.”

The men thanked them both again, then turned and left.

Gavin sat down again and waited to be reprimanded for speaking out of turn, but Laird Jamieson had no such intention.

“That was very well handled, Gavin,” he said, with a rare smile. “I thought I was going to have to give them the same old lecture about fighting with each other. Maybe having to repair the fence together will help them to cooperate with each other, and your idea about a monthly meeting was excellent.” He reached out to shake Gavin’s hand, and the two men smiled at each other.

Gavin felt enormously relieved that he had acted as a real laird should; perhaps he was not as hopeless as he thought. Moreover, Laird Jamieson had seen him doing so. Things were going much better than he had expected them to, and if Alan Jamieson wanted him to be involved with the tenant meeting, then it seemed that he had been accepted—he hoped.

“You know,” Jamieson said thoughtfully, “the way you handled those men—firmly but fairly—reminded me of the way your father treated people. You may not know this, Gavin, but we were very good friends. We saw each other quite a lot for business reasons, and we got on very well. He was good with the common people, and they respected him. So did I.”

“What about the cholera outbreak?” Gavin asked. “He didn’t seem to care then.”

“That is not true,” the Laird said firmly. “He could do nothing for those who were already ill, but he showed the villagers how to clean their water, and he had wells dug upstream, which do not connect with the water in the loch, and that is where the Duncairn villagers get their water now.”

“But he locked up all the healers,” Gavin protested. “It took me a long time to forgive him for that.”

Laird Jamieson shook his head. “He kept them inside for two days to boil a lot of water, then organised that to be delivered to those who could be saved. When a person gets enough clean water, they can recover, but he was not sure if the disease was infectious, so he kept you and your mother inside for your own safety. Your father did everything he could, Gavin. He was a good man.”

Gavin felt wretched. “He would never talk to me about it,” he said sadly. “I thought he felt guilty about shutting the healers away. So many people died.”

“He felt guilty because he could not do enough,” Laird Jamieson replied. “And that is probably why he wasn’t willing to talk about it, but he tried his best.”

Gavin was intensely relieved, but he felt guilty because he had thought so badly of his father. “I am so glad to hear that,” he said, smiling. Then he became brisk. “Do you mind if I go and meet some of your guardsmen after breakfast?” he asked. “It occurred to me that I should spend more time amongst ordinary people and learn their ways. As I told you, I am ashamed to say that I have been very neglectful of my tenants. I have never bothered to get to know them or the men who might save my life one day.”

The Laird nodded. “Good thinking,” he agreed.

He stood up, and the two men walked to the biggest courtyard, where various martial skills were being practised. An archer was shooting arrows into a target, while two men were duelling with swords. A fierce wrestling match was going on between two big, burly, sweaty men, cheered on by a crowd of their fellows.

Gavin was delighted. He felt as though he had arrived in a different world, one that was full of intense masculine energy, and suddenly, he realised how much he had missed it. There was much pleasure to be had in the company of a beautiful woman, of course, but sometimes a man needed to be amongst others of his own kind.

Laird Jamieson introduced Gavin to the Captain of the Guard, a short but muscular man who eyed him up and down critically. Gavin had a feeling of foreboding. This man would not be easily impressed!

“Laird Forsyth,” he said, “please meet Malcolm MacKintosh, our Captain of the Guard. He has been with me for many years, and I would trust him with my life.”

“Thank ye, M’Laird,” MacKintosh said, smiling widely at his master. “Laird Forsyth, it is good tae meet ye. I have heard a lot about ye.”

“And you, MacKintosh,” Gavin replied. “You have a formidable garrison here.”

“Indeed I dae,” the captain agreed. “I have heard rumours that ye can handle yourself well in a fight. Care for a contest?” He indicated the wrestlers.

“Yes,” Gavin agreed eagerly; this was one of the things he was best at, and he was determined to prove it in front of all these tough men. He had been practising wrestling with his friends since he was a boy, and had been obliged to use his skill against some customers at the Goose and Gander on occasion.

When Gavin stripped off his tunic, MacKintosh’s eyes widened, and he pointed to a young man who was almost the same size as Gavin. “MacIlroy!” he shouted. “Get over here an’ get busy!”

The bout commenced, and it soon became clear that the two opponents were equally matched, but after what seemed like a lifetime, MacIlroy pinned Gavin to the ground and growled, “Submit!”

Gavin held up his hands in submission and sat up. “I submit. Well done!” he said. “A good fight—but I will beat you next time.”

“Is that a challenge, M’Laird?” MacIlroy asked, with a mischievous smile.

“Indeed it is.” Gavin got to his feet and grinned. “I cannot let you beat me and get away with it.”

He reached out his hand to clasp his opponent’s then dressed again. He spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with and getting to know the guardsmen, and enjoyed their humour and down-to-earth attitude.

He decided to go back to his chamber when the shift changed, then he had a long lunch with Elspeth, during which she told him all about her friends, her horses, her cats and the latest gossip. He listened politely, then made his escape by pretending to need an afternoon nap.

“What have you been doing to tire yourself out so much?” she asked, frowning.

“Wrestling with one of the guards,” he answered.

Elspeth gasped. “Why did you not tell me? I would have loved to come and watch.”

Gavin laughed. “There was too much swearing for a tender young lady’s ears.”

Elspeth gave him a playful slap, then he made his escape.

Gavin met Laird Jamieson again a few hours later; he had surprised himself by actually having a nap, and after a wash and brush-up, he was making his way to the dining room.

“Time for dinner,” Laird Jamieson said, patting him on the shoulder. “I must warn you, though, that Elspeth has had a new dress made to impress you today, so you must praise it even if you think it is hideous!”

Gavin laughed and began to think that Laird Jamieson was not such a bad sort after all. In some ways, they thought alike, and they both had Elspeth’s welfare at heart. That was if they married, of course; he had been tempted to ask the Laird if he had made a final decision about that because the uncertainty was almost unbearable. However, he had not found the right moment, and decided to wait until it came along. Elspeth seemed to have made up her mind, however.

Again his thoughts turned to Maura. Her parents must have loved each other very much if her father had died of a broken heart. Perhaps he and Elspeth could grow to love each other like that—was it possible? If he had to part with the love of his life, then at least he could settle for second best and make the most of his relationship with Elspeth.

Elspeth’s lilac coloured satin and lace dress looked like a decorated cake with layers of frosted icing on it, but Gavin managed to somehow pin a smile on his face and compliment her on it anyway.

She gave him a delighted smile. “There are goodness knows how many yards of lace on it.” Then she clapped her hands. “Is it not your birthday, soon, Gavin?”

“How clever of you to remember,” Gavin replied, smiling.

He was genuinely pleased because his birthday was so near Christmas and New year that many people forgot it. He had never wanted presents, only good wishes, but most of his friends and acquaintances were too wrapped up in their own celebrations, for which he could not blame them. He had pushed away his three closest male friends and doubted if he would ever see them again; likely they thought he was dead anyway, so it was good that Elspeth had brought up the subject.

“We should have a ceilidh for you,” she suggested. “Just a few trusted friends.”

“Thank you, Elspeth, but no,” Gavin spoke without even thinking twice. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. “Most people will still be celebrating Christmas and will not want to travel in this weather, but thank you for thinking of me. You are very sweet.” He picked up her hand and kissed it, causing her to give him a coy smile.

Gavin glanced at the Laird, who gave him a nod and a small smile.

When they finished the meal, Elspeth began to yawn. “Oh, dear, I am so tired,” she said. “I didn’t sleep too well last night. Will you escort me to my room, Gavin?”

Gavin pulled Elspeth’s chair out for her, and she smiled, then kissed her father. Gavin glanced at him and received an approving look in return. Things were going well.

When they arrived at Elspeth’s door, Gavin kissed her hand.

“Goodnight, Gavin,” she said fondly. “Sleep well.”