Summer of Love (5 page)

    
Back in his room while he got dressed, the events of last night suddenly
hit him. How stupid had he been! Dougal MacGregor would cause a riot if
they touched his daughter. Maybe the MacGregors mightn’t come to the fair.
But ever since he had known about it, he had been looking forward to seeing
Helen again, and now everything seemed to be marred. And then came the
realization of what he had actually agreed to. Ravish Helen! He had debased
himself. Disgust and shame tightened his throat, amplifying the pain in his
head. He slumped heavily down on his bed. Maybe he should just stay away
from the fair. Claim that Dougan Graham needed him…
But I want to see
Helen,
cried his heart. In fact, he had hoped to dance with her.
How could
you let yourself be dragged into this, you idiot?
He closed his eyes and her
image rose in his mind as she stood outside her cottage and their eyes met for
just a precious instant. So proud! All at once so much more desirable!

 * * *

Shortly before nine o’clock, Andrew set up the factor’s booth at a highly conspicuous spot on the market square opposite the new church. The painful
iron bands around his head had dulled, but the shame and anxiety was still
eating into his self-esteem. He had to make certain his three drinking
companions wouldn’t discover the object of his fancy.

    
Dougan Graham joined him as the first tenants arrived in town. The young
man’s attention was quickly absorbed by looking up the rents owed,
recording the sums collected, and making out the necessary receipts. It
pushed his concern about Helen into the background. Occasionally, small
disputes arose, one or the other tenant contesting the amount owed, hoping
to take advantage of Andrew’s inexperience. But he had a good mind for
figures and knew the contents of the accounts book in detail. When the
arguments got heated, some began to abuse him in Gaelic and were rather
stunned when he swore back in kind in their own native tongue. Nobody got
the better of him. It was also obvious that Dougan Graham fully trusted his
charge to do the right thing, and restricted his own job to counting the coins
and stashing them away in his burgeoning purse.

    
As at other times, Andrew felt that it was a rather ironic twist of fate that
his fluency in Gaelic, picked up from the servants that had mothered him and
which his English tutor had tried so hard to beat out of him as a boy, now
became a great asset in dealing with the earl’s tenants. Although the lowland-born Dougan Graham understood some Gaelic, he did not speak it in spite
of more than twenty years in the service of the Earl of Breadalbane.

    
Around midday, Andrew saw Dougal MacGregor march into the square,
accompanied by his wife, two youths that already had many of the broad, tall
features of their father, Helen, and several other couples of his clan.
Andrew’s heartbeat took a leap.

    
Dougal came straight to the booth. "Aye, a good morning, Mr. Graham,
I see you have young master Andrew with you. Good day, lad, how have you
been all this summer?"

    
Andrew hardly heard him. His attention was only for Helen. Over a
single, cream petticoat she wore a short, collarless, russet jacket, its
embroidery in front accentuating her shapely figure. Her full, copper-red
curls fell profusely over a narrow embroidered band, tied around her head in
a vain attempt to confine them. A scarlet plaid was loosely draped over her
shoulders to shield her against the chill of the October air, its narrow blue
stripes enhancing the color of her eyes. She wore new heelless boots.
Suddenly, she raised her gaze, and their eyes locked on to each other for a
moment before she lowered hers again.

    
It was Dougan Graham who answered for Andrew: "Good to see you, Mr.
Campbell. Andrew here has been very busy, getting to know all our
tacksmen and tenants. Did he not come and visit you too? Early in the
summer?"

    
"Yes, he did. One of the best discussions I’ve had for a long time," replied
Dougal, smiling benevolently at Andrew.

    
"Yes, he is a fine, intelligent lad and takes much of the burden off my old
shoulders."

    
"Aye, you are still in your prime yourself, Mr. Graham. All you need is the
right woman to make you dance again," said Dougal with a hearty laugh.

    
"You have hit the nail on the head, Mr. Campbell, you sure have. There
is still a bit of a lady’s man left in me." Dougan Graham patted his pot belly
with a pleased chuckle, and then his face resumed an official mien. "You
have come to transact some business, Mr. Campbell?"

    
"Indeed, I have, indeed. I have come to settle my account and put things
in order, as they should be."

    
"Andrew, tell me the standing of Mr. Campbell’s account?"

    
There was no need to ask. Andrew had the book already open on the
MacGregor page and answered immediately: "Eight pounds nine shillings,
sir."

    
"I won’t dispute that." Dougal MacGregor began counting out the coins.

    
Andrew made the entry in the book and wrote out a receipt. Dougal
MacGregor studied it carefully. "Master Andrew, you write in a very fine
hand, a very fine hand, indeed. You sure do. But now, I must not tarry any
longer and keep my young people away from the fair, or I will never hear the
end of it."

    
He raised his hand to take leave and joined his group. As they walked
away, he turned and shouted: "Master Andrew, I hope you will come and
visit us again one of these days, and bring another of your excellent bottles
of claret along. My own are not half as good. Hear me?"

    
Andrew nodded and, noticing Dougan Graham’s astonished gaze,
blushed.

    
"So you brought him a bottle of claret… What a shrewd move, my lad,
very shrewd, I must say. It pays to be on good terms with those Campbells."

    
Andrew smiled, a bit embarrassed, and then his eyes were irresistibly
drawn back to Helen. His pulse quickened when he saw her look back briefly
before the crowds milling around the stalls of the fair swallowed her up.

    
"Here comes your company, lad."

    
Dougan Graham nudged him. Andrew turned, not at all eager to see his
drinking companions ride into the square already.

    
"Good day, Mr. Graham," James called out, "we’ve come to take Andrew
away from you so that he can show us the lass he has fancied secretly all last
summer. Say, Andrew, have you spotted her already from this unique
vantage point?"

    
"Good day to you too, master James," chuckled Dougan, "you seem to be
in a jolly mood. Go, take him away. I’ll manage alone. I think you may be in
luck, the lass—"

    
Andrew went hot and cold and interrupted him, almost shouting: "You
fellows just go ahead. I’ll join you after helping Mr. Graham to close up."

    
The latter seemed startled by Andrew’s rude interruption, so atypical of
his usually polite manners. Then he seemed to notice the young man’s
pleading gaze and the quick, almost imperceptible shaking of his head, and
he finished his sentence with: "—must surely be at the fair by now."

    
"You know who it is, Mr. Graham," questioned Francis eagerly.

    
"No, I don’t, but I seem to remember that master Andrew mentioned a
lass a few months ago."

    
"Just go. I’ll join you shortly," urged Andrew again, suppressing a sigh of
relief.

    
"Don’t let us wait too long … Good day, Mr. Graham," exclaimed James,
and the other two nodded as they turned their horses toward the inn.

    
When they were out of hearing, Andrew murmured: "Thank you, Mr.
Graham, for not giving me away. They’re just intent on mischief, and we
don’t want any trouble with the Campbells. Please, forgive me for interrupting you so rudely."

    
Dougan Graham looked at him for a while, pensive, before saying: "You
really fancy that lass, don’t you? … But I am glad you stopped me in time,
lad."

    
Andrew blushed. He did not answer, breathing deeply to still his pounding
heart.

 * * *

As Helen walked away from the factor’s booth, she felt the young man’s
eyes burning on her back. She couldn’t help but quickly turn and take
another look. Yes, his gaze hadn’t moved from her.

    
If she had given him any thought last summer, it was mainly out of
curiosity of having seen the illegitimate son of a duke that her own mother
had known and possibly fancied as a lass her own age. His warm smile
though had stayed with her. But he was a Campbell of Argyle and a bastard
to boot, to be despised or at least dismissed. So, meeting the searching
intensity in his eyes felt almost like an assault. It still sat in her stomach.
They had held each other’s gaze for just a short moment, but it seemed like
an eternity. She had wanted to look away, but couldn’t. It was as if he were
willing her to lock eyes with him, and she felt powerless to resist. What did
he want of her? A bastard—how did he even dare to look her in the eye? And
why did she care? She was confused, a state of mind she wasn’t used to, a
state of mind she didn’t like. Her mother’s questioning look told her that it
showed. She made an effort to admire the silver brooches displayed at the
nearest stall.

    
Some time later, sitting at the edge of the green and watching various
clans display their dancing skills, she caught herself several times searching
the crowd for his face. Each time, she chided herself for it. She finally
spotted him walking along the green in the company of three young men, all
in gentlemen’s clothing. He too seemed to scan the people searchingly. The
four young men stuck around a while, only a few feet from her table. He
continued searching the crowd with an almost exaggerated eagerness, but
never looked directly at her. Then she heard him say in English: "I can’t see
her. She isn’t here… Let’s go to the Bear."

    
"Yes, I need a brandy too. My throat is parched dry," replied one of them,
and they ambled over to the inn.

    
He was looking for another girl.
She became aware of a vague feeling of
disappointment which quickly turned into annoyance. Why should she care?
She willed her attention to a group of McNabbs performing a Highland fling.
But in the back of her mind, that vague feeling of disappointment lingered.
Only when the crowd cheered as the pipers and fiddlers got ready for the
dance, and her limbs began to twitch imperceptibly in anticipation, was it
ousted from her mind.

    
When the call came, Helen was the first to enter the green with a cousin.
She expected him to be her initial partner for the Highland reel, and then
stood suddenly face to face with Andrew. For a short moment she was
disconcerted. He bowed to her and smiled, and before she knew it, she
smiled back. The musicians struck up the tune. Nimbly they stepped around
each other in figure eights and then moved on to their next partners.
Somehow, he managed to get back to her repeatedly out of turn. Each time
he briefly locked eyes with her, and she didn’t resist him. No word passed
between them. When she returned to her table, her eyes were sparkling.

    
"Was that the factor’s apprentice who partnered you several times out of
turn?" her mother whispered.

    
"Yes. I don’t know how he did it. It was fun."

    
"He shouldn’t do that. It upsets the others."

    
Helen shrugged. What could she do about it? If other men got annoyed,
they’d tell him.

    
They met again over the next few dances. She found herself looking
forward to being his partner. He danced well. His movements were light and
flowing, perfectly timed and in harmony with hers. She didn’t have to make
an effort to remain in step with him. They just were. The touch of his hand
felt soft and smooth. Whenever they came face to face, he greeted her with
a contagious smile, and she responded. At one point he sang her name, and
she laughed.

    
All of a sudden, his smile fled. Following his gaze, she saw the three
young men from the castle approach the green, and when she turned back to
him, he had switched to another partner.
Why?
she wondered. Did the others
find his lass? No, she would be dancing here. Helen could not imagine any
girl willingly stay away from the dance. And then things suddenly fell into
place. He didn’t want his friends to know about her.