Chapter 18

18

The inn had emptied out after the mad rush of the market day, but Maura had asked if she could stay for an extra few days in exchange for doing some work in the tavern. The owner jumped at the chance to employ her, since he was short-handed and she had experience. She had been quite worried about her uncle’s reaction to her being gone for so long, but her need to be close to Gavin and make sure he’s safe overrode all others.

“Ye are doin’ me a service in fact, hen,” he said, laughing. “It’s no’ very often I get such a bonny lass as yoursel’ workin’ for me!”

Maura had made no comment on his remark, not wishing to attract any unwanted attention.

Now she went back into the kitchen of the tavern and began to do her duties of washing plates and cups almost without thinking; her hands moved on their own because her mind was elsewhere.

The shock of seeing Gavin had almost made her scream out loud, and it had taken all her self-restraint not to do so. She had desperately wanted to stay and talk to him, but seeing him again had brought back the old pain and the futility of loving him. The sight of him had filled her with joy, but she had to quash her feelings because she was impotent.

Loving him was hopeless; he was betrothed to another. Yet no matter how many times Maura told herself that Gavin was out of reach, a glimmer of something like hope always reared its head.

She wondered if Gavin had managed to win the support of Laird Jamieson. That would, she hoped, help him take back his home if he kept his end of the bargain and married Elspeth. The thought of that sent a sharp stab of pain through her heart, but she reminded herself that he was not married yet.

That was a small consolation because until he was, she could spend as much time with him as he could spare. It might only be a few moments, but the memory of it would last a lifetime. Perhaps they could even make love again. Then she sighed. No, that was too much to hope for.

Maura had gone over the memory of their one encounter over and over again, and each time she swore it would be the last because it hurt too much. Yet, it was no good, since she dreamed of his muscular man’s body moving against hers and driving her to ecstasy almost every night.

A sense of happy anticipation filled her as she reminded herself that she was meeting him the next day; no matter what he told her, no matter how bad the news might be, she would see his dear face again. Perhaps it would be for the last time, but she was ready for that—she hoped.

Gavin spent an uneventful evening with Elspeth, since the Laird was busy with his steward going over some estate business. To his surprise, she suggested a game of chess. She was a reasonably good player, he knew, and they were quite evenly matched, but tonight he was too distracted to play well, and she beat him easily in the first match.

“You can do better than that,” she scolded him as she picked up a bottle of wine to pour him a second glass.

However, Gavin put his hand over the top of the glass, laughing. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” he demanded. “I am still recovering from the last time.”

Elspeth giggled. “Am I so obvious?” she asked.

They played another game, and this time Gavin won, then it became a real contest of wills. At the end of five games, Elspeth had won three and Gavin two.

“I admit defeat,” he said, sighing. “And I am far too tired to carry on. My eyes want to close.”

Elspeth busied herself putting away the chess pieces and the board, then said, “I hope we’ll have many evenings like this, at least before our children are born.”

“I hope so.” He tried and failed to inject some enthusiasm into his voice, so he stood up, yawned and stretched, then smiled and said, “All that fresh air took it out of me today. I’m exhausted.”

Elspeth stood up and hugged him, then kissed his cheek softly. “Goodnight, my darling,” she said lovingly.

Gavin looked down into her deep brown eyes and wished for the hundredth time that he could love Elspeth as she deserved to be loved, but he knew now that he never could. His heart belonged to Maura, and always would.

After another restless night, Gavin rose from bed, bathed, and readied himself for the day. He knew that Elspeth would be going to visit friends that day, so he planned to spend the morning with the guardsmen practising his swordsmanship, which had suffered through lack of use.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and thought, without vanity, that he was a well-made man. He had always hated his red hair, which he had inherited from his father, but otherwise he was passably good to look at—at least the ladies thought so.

The notion took him back to his days at the Goose and Gander, and the many happy days he had spent there. What he would give to turn back time and work for Maura again!

He finished dressing, remembering that he would see her that evening, providing he could think up a suitable excuse to get away from the castle.

As soon as he went down into the courtyard, he was confronted by Ken MacIlroy who had bested him in the wrestling match. Gavin was unaccustomed to looking another man straight in the eye, since so few were as tall as he was, but he did so now as he said grimly, “I believe we have a score to settle, MacIlroy.”

“If ye like, M’Laird,” the other man said casually. “If ye have recovered fae the bruises I gave ye last time.”

“This time I’ll give you some of my own,” Gavin promised. “Forget I am a laird. This is just a contest between two men.”

A ring of interested spectators had gathered around them by this time, and as the bout began they divided themselves into two groups; those supporting Gavin and those cheering for MacIlroy. After a tense, close contest, Gavin prevailed, causing Ken to demand a rematch.

“Of course,” Gavin said graciously.

He lost the next bout, which meant another one, and another, and before he knew it, it was late afternoon. He ate alone, for which he was deeply grateful, since he did not wish to have a conversation with Elspeth about his plans for the evening. He had decided to plead tiredness and a headache and tell her he was having an early night, then go to meet Maura. It was the kind of excuse that wilting young ladies made, but he could not think of anything better.

Gavin was going back to his chamber when he was accosted by a chambermaid, who curtsied and said, “The Laird wants tae see ye, M’Laird. He says it is very important an’ ye must come right away.”

He cursed inwardly, since he had been looking forward to a good long soak in the bath before he left, but he thanked the maid then made his way to the Laird’s office. It was only as he set off that he realised what his request could mean. Were plans afoot to liberate his home at last? The thought made him quicken his pace, and he did not stop to knock on the door, but barged in, startling Laird Jamieson as he stood by the window.

“You sent for me,” Gavin said breathlessly.

“I did,” the Laird confirmed, frowning. “Sit down, please. I have worked out a plan with my Captain of the Guard and a few other trusted souls, so listen carefully and do not interrupt me until I finish.”

Gavin nodded. Every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation as he bent forward in his chair and leaned his elbows on the desk, looking Laird Jamieson in the eye as he outlined his plans.

Once he had finalised everything, Gavin asked a few more questions to clarify some points, then he sat back and sighed deeply. He had never been in battle, and although he was well-trained with many weapons, he had never thought he would need to use them.

“I will be ready as soon as you give me the word,” he told Laird Jamieson. “Thank you for giving me this chance to take back my home, my Laird. I am deeply in your debt. I only hope I do not disgrace myself.”

“Are you afraid?” the Laird asked, gazing at Gavin keenly.

Gavin looked away, avoiding the Laird’s eyes. “I’m ashamed to say I am,” he confessed.

“I am glad to hear it,” the Laird said.

Gavin looked up at him, astonished. “But I’m a coward!” he protested.

The Laird shook his head. “No, Gavin. A coward is a man who slinks away and hides to avoid facing danger. A brave man is afraid, but faces up to his fear and goes on to fight anyway. You are most definitely not a coward. In fact, I am frightened, too. It’s natural and normal, so be at ease—there is nothing wrong with you.”

Gavin smiled widely. “Thank you, my Laird,” he said as they shook hands.

He strode out of the room and looked at the clock, then realised that he had been in the Laird’s study for two whole hours. He was late for his meeting with Maura. He looked down at himself; he was covered in grime and stank of stale sweat, but he had no time to change.

Less than two minutes later, he was riding Rusty as fast as he dared in the half-dark towards Ardneuk, hoping that Maura had not abandoned all hope of seeing him.

Maura sat looking at the glass of ale in front of her, racking her brains to think of a reason why Gavin was taking so long.

She was just about to give up hope when a young woman sat down in front of her. “Good evening,” she said in a polite, cultured voice, and smiled at Maura.

She was extremely pretty, with wide, deep brown eyes and glossy dark hair which was piled artfully on top of her head in an elaborate bun. Her clothes were expensive, Maura noticed; she was wearing a thick fur cloak over a dark blue woollen dress that was beautifully tailored, and her hands were tucked into a fur muff. She looked cosy, even on this freezing night, whereas Maura, in much thinner clothing, was beginning to feel the need to sit closer to the fire.

She stared at the woman, who seemed familiar; Maura had the feeling she had seen her somewhere before.

“I see you are wondering who I am,” the young woman said, still smiling. “My name is Elspeth Jamieson.”

As she heard the name, Maura started violently, and felt as if a stone had dropped into her stomach. This was who she had glimpsed sitting with Gavin as she dashed outside the night before.

“Ah, I see you recognise my name,” Elspeth said, with a touch of smugness. “What is yours?”

“Maura Hislop,” Maura answered, summoning up a smile.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Elspeth asked as a waitress approached them.

“No, nothing, thank ye,” Maura replied. She was as tense as a bowstring, waiting for Elspeth to speak, and she had the impression that she was being played with.

The wine arrived a moment later, and Elspeth took a sip before addressing Maura again. “You know that I am Gavin Forsyth’s betrothed?” she asked.

“No, I didnae,” Maura answered with a pinned-on smile. “Congratulations, Mistress Jamieson. Gavin is a good friend o’ mine, an’ I wish ye both every happiness.”

Elspeth frowned. “Good friend, you say? Is that why I saw you standing outside yesterday, making plans to meet here tonight?”

For a moment, Maura could think of nothing to say; she looked down at her hands to avoid Elspeth’s stare for a moment, and when she raised her eyes, the other woman was glaring at her with open hostility.

“You know that if you pursue a relationship with Gavin you will destroy his chances of being a Laird? After all, you are only a working-class woman, and that will make our sort of people despise you.

If you love him, and I think you do, you will do what is best for him and let him marry a woman of his own class. Anyway, if my father finds out about your affair he will not help Gavin, and he will never get his estate back.”

Maura was furious, but she said nothing, and tried to keep her face expressionless. The upper classes had always talked down to working people as though they were pets or slaves, and she had had enough of it. “He will make a fine Laird,” she remarked.

“I will make sure of it,” Elspeth assured her.

“Can I just wait here an’ say goodbye tae him?” Maura asked. “After that, ye will never see me again, I promise.”

Elspeth shook her head and took another sip of her wine. “He is not coming, Maura,” she replied. “He and my father have been spending time making plans for dealing with his rebel clansmen. He has been with my father all afternoon, and they will likely not be finished for hours. Forget him—it is not your destiny to be with him. He is mine.”

Maura felt sick with sadness. The thought of never seeing Gavin again was devastating, yet she had known all along that it was inevitable. She looked up at Elspeth again, and swallowed her tears. She would leave with her dignity intact, and not let the other woman see that her heart was irretrievably shattered.

Elspeth smiled, triumphant. “Thank you, Maura,” she said, then she downed the last of her wine as she watched her rival leave. She had won.

Gavin was breathless by the time he reached the inn, and he almost fell through the door. He stood for a moment, recovering his breath and looking around for Maura, but as soon as his gaze fell on Elspeth, he knew that all was lost. He moved over to sit across from her, keeping the table between them, and for a moment, they stared at each other before Elspeth spoke.

“She is gone, Gavin.” Her voice was firm and certain, and her expression was triumphant. “I saw you both last night as you talked outside, and I could see by her face that she truly loves you. But I told her what would happen if she tried to have a relationship with you, or marry you, and she realised that it was impossible. You are promised to me, and without me, my father has no reason to help you.”

“I know,” he replied. “I just wanted to explain all that to Maura.”

“Please don’t worry—I explained it myself. She has left the village and I doubt you will ever see her again.” She paused, then asked: “Gavin, am I so repulsive? Is the prospect of being my husband so repellant to you that you have to reject me for another woman?”

Gavin stood looking at her, unable to explain that his heart only had space for Maura. So he just looked at Elspeth with steely resolve in his eyes. He had to think of his people.

“I will be the best wife for you,” she replied, “but do not think I will forgive you a second time, Gavin.”