Cross the Ocean (32 page)
“I’m your laird’s son by marriage,” William said clearly. “I want to know this minute where my mother has gone. Speak, woman.”
Blake stepped back and watched William take over. Blake straightened his shoulders and glared in superiority over his son’s shoulder.
“You the fool lad went off to America?” the big man beside Blake asked.
William nodded.
“Let them by, Ernestine,” the man said. “I’m the McDonald’s cousin. Fitzroy McDonald. I’m in charge here while he’s gone.”
Blake and William stepped into the foyer of the castle, shaking water from their hair and coats. The walls were covered with massive tapestries and swords and shields. Woolen plaids adorned every chair and cushion.
“Then pray tell me,” Blake said, tired and exasperated, “where is my daughter Melinda and her mother?”
Fitzroy McDonald slapped Blake on the back and guided him to a room filled with the soft glow of a fire. “Sit down, Sanders. You’ll need a nip of something to hear this.”
It took all of Fitzroy McDonald’s arguments and William’s pleas for a night in a bed to convince Blake to rest their horses and themselves.
“Those clothes you are wearing are soaked through and your mounts near exhaustion. Won’t do your Melinda any good for you to break your neck on the trip. What about that outfit of yours? Is this what they wear in America?” Fitzroy said and leaned forward to study Blake’s Levi’s and camel jacket. And the gun belt tied down around his thigh.
“You’re wearing a skirt. No need to question my attire,” Blake said and leaned back in his chair.
Fitzroy blustered and William spoke. “This is typical American garb. Works quite nicely when breaking broncos.”
Three other men slipped into the room to stand behind Fitzroy. “Tell us your tales of America.”
William’s face lit up and he proceeded to entertain the Scotsmen. Blake stared glumly at the fire as the words William spoke conjured up Gertrude’s face. Her sunsets. Her horses. Her round stomach. Luke Matson. And now his sweet, innocent Melinda was sullied by a brawny man such as these men listening to William with rapt attention. He was too late. Fitzroy had told them Melinda did not say she was expecting but that every look that passed between the two indicated they had been intimate. He had been away chasing unattainable dreams while Melinda was seduced under her mother’s nose. Blake was broken. The woman he loved loved another and the daughter he loved slept with a Scotsman. He missed Gertrude. Blake stared into the fire, hearing the hum of William’s stories and fell asleep.
* * * *
“We could have left earlier, William,” Blake said as they trotted away from McDonald’s home. “You should have woken me.”
William shrugged. “You’re tired, Father. You need your rest.” He turned and stared at Blake. “You called out for Miss Finch while you slept.”
Here was another mystery of life unfolding and Blake would’ve preferred to not see. His son was caring for him. Blake sighed. Soon his children would be spooning gruel into his toothless mouth.
“No doubt I was cursing the day I met the woman,” Blake said.
“Uncle Fred said she loved you and she admitted it,” William said.
“What are you talking about William?” Blake said as he kneed his horse to a faster pace.
“The day Miss Finch said she was to marry Luke Matson. I left the kitchen and saw you.” William turned a frightened face his father’s way. “I could have sworn you were crying, so I leaned back near the window. That’s when I heard Miss Finch and Mr. Hastings talking.”
Blake blew a breath. “I was blubbering like Donald when Mrs. Wickham smacks his bottom. She said she loved me?”
“No, sir. Not in those words but Mr. Hastings said she did and she agreed.”
If what William heard were true, maybe there was hope for he and Gertrude. Ah, no use wishing for what wouldn’t be. She is married to Luke Matson by now. He would be the one to talk to her and hold Gertrude’s child. The anger bubbling in Blake’s soul made his mouth twitch. The thought of another man holding and kissing her, teaching his son to ride in not so many years was more than he could take. Blake found himself furious. He was angry and jealous and could not shake it. He should have stayed and fought for what was his. Gertrude was his, just as surely as the babe she carried was his son or daughter.
And he had let her go. Everything in his life had come easily until Gertrude. And the one thing that required effort, forced his thoughts to admit emotions, required humility and strength and blared his weaknesses was the one thing he should have fought for with his dying breath. He had allowed his love for Gertrude to be defeated.
* * * *
Elizabeth and Ann exchanged glances and told Gert her time was coming and soon.
Melinda Sanders and Connor McDougal stared into each other’s eyes with rarely a thought or a glance at anyone else. The young Scotsman bowed low over Gert’s hand.
“‘Tis my pleasure, Miss Finch, to make your acquaintance,” Conner said. His large arm wound itself about Melinda’s waist.
Melinda hugged Gert and a serene smile lit her face. “I’m to be married tomorrow, Miss Finch. It seems so long ago we all rode to London for my come-out.”
Gert couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I still think you’re a bit young to know your mind, Melinda. But he’s handsome enough, that’s for sure.”
Melinda tilted her eyes up at Connor. “The handsomest man in the world.”
Connor tilted the girl’s chin. “And the prettiest lass.”
Melinda’s eyes rolled dreamily. She spoke to Gert without turning her face from her beloved. “Age doesn’t matter so much, Miss Finch. I know in my heart Connor is the man for me, now and forever.”
It was all Gert could do to not cry. The young couple before her reminded Gert of a fairy princess and her prince. Their love reminded her of Blake.
“Your father is worried sick over you,” Gert said.
Melinda’s gaze dropped. “I’ll admit I’ll be glad if we’re married before Father gets here. I couldn’t take hearing him shout about Connor’s family and my title and duty.”
Gert tilted her head. “You may be surprised, Melinda. Your father is a different man than the one that left not so long ago.”
“I wish I could believe that,” the girl said softly. Echoing Gert’s own fears with her words.
* * * *
The ballroom was decorated. Melinda’s dress was nipped and tucked while Gert played with Elizabeth’s daughter Sarah. Gert was having trouble even getting her breath her stomach was so large. She waddled and fought Ann and Elizabeth over an outfit.
“Pregnant woman do not attend balls and such here in London. I’ll stay in my room and entertain Sarah,” Gert pleaded.
They ignored her and the seamstress added a bolt of material, Gert figured, to a ready-made gown to cover her burgeoning stomach. The fabric was a fine gold color and made her hair look darker. Gert pinched her cheeks and noticed her eyes did indeed look greener against the hue of the fabric. She may as well look nice, she conceded. If she didn’t have her baby in the middle of dinner she could at least watch the dancers and tap her foot to the music. Ann had a full orchestra contracted for the reception to be accompanied by bagpipes from Connor’s clan. The wedding should prove to be the grandest thing Gert had ever attended. Uncle Fred, Anthony and even Angus McDonald fussed over her, always asking if she needed anything. Even as she stared at the door of Blake’s home one of them would pat her arm, help her to her feet and tell her Blake wasn’t here yet.
* * * *
The wedding breakfast revealed a full complement of titled English peerage and Scottish royalty. A rich contingent of plaids adorned lord’s waists and draped their wives shoulders. Powdered wigs and bright waistcoats denoted some of England’s finest families. Gertrude watched the goings on with interest. She was certain only Ann McDonald’s charm as a hostess and her mother, Lady Katherine’s glare, kept swords from being drawn. Each group made subtle comments about the other’s strange dress or traditions. But Melinda’s mother flitted from group to group allaying tempers, smoothing ruffles until she had, to Gert’s amazement, convinced each and every person, they were the most important guest at the wedding.
Donald Sanders and the Scottish guests his age with Mrs. Wickham’s grandson, Malcolm, were busy climbing trees and sailing boats. Gert watched out a long window and thought back to the first time Blake had kissed her while the boys climbed that ladder. Even now, the memory sent a shiver down her spine.
Uncle Fred wandered around the mansion picking up priceless works of art and shaking his head. But she knew he was having a grand time. He and Angus McDonald had been holed up with Blake’s grooms and trainers all day. He begrudgingly admitted Sanders knew horseflesh. Quite a concession from her uncle.
The guests had been led to Blake’s grand ballroom and Gert watched from a chair near the door to the servant’s entrance as Melinda and Connor danced for the first time as man and wife. Melinda had been handed through divine interference or fate or love from the arms of her father to the arms of the man she would spend her life with.
To everyone’s surprise, Melinda had announced she had no intention of living in England. Her husband’s land was in Scotland and she was eager to take her place as mistress of his home. Ann had tried to convince Melinda to live in one of the many homes belonging to the Wexford family, that certainly her father would present them one as a wedding gift. Servants were established, routine in order and would ease Melinda’s change in role from daughter to wife. The girl would have none of it. Melinda assured her mother she would do fine with a small staff and would oversee household duties herself. Melinda admitted she had much to learn about Connor’s family and history and if she was to be the wife he deserved she had best learn it from the McDougal clan. Her husband said she was stubborn and a perfect wife for him. He would do whatever she wished, but couldn’t be happier Melinda wanted to live at his home.
This was indeed the fairy tale ending, complete with grand knights and ladies. Connor and Melinda would disagree, Gert was sure, but the two of them at their young age already knew the value of compromise. Had Gert herself been less hard headed, she may have been a wife at this very moment.
Gert studied her hands and glanced up as Angus McDonald and Ann, Elizabeth and Tony and Connor’s parents joined the couple on the dance floor. The orchestra played a waltz while bagpipes accompanied and Gert was surprised how the two musics blended. Much as Connor and Melinda’s lives would, Gert thought. Uncle Fred stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.
The closer Blake rode to his home the more gripping his want was. He hadn’t realized he could miss it.
All these years he’d been accustomed to the rich tradition and beauty of his home. It had taken a lengthy absence to make him long for familiar faces. His children, his servants, his favorite chair in the library by the fire. There was something soothing and comforting about coming home and Blake imagined it did not matter whether that home was a hovel or a castle or ranch house south of Chicago. It was where history and family surrounded a person and assured them whatever had happened could be righted. Whatever calamity or tragedy befell them, solace was found there. And Blake badly needed what those walls, fires and faces could give him.
As William and Blake neared the edge of the Wexford land they cast a glance to one another and smiled. They were home. Both leaned close to their weary mounts to gather speed. Blake could see the massive roof come into view from the top of a rise and he swallowed a lump in his throat. A few more minutes at best. But as they rode up the tree lined drive William and Blake reined in hard and stared.
Carriages, horses and milling servants were everywhere. Even on the front lawn.
“What could possibly be going on that the grooms would need to leave carriages in the front drive?”
William asked.
Blake crossed his hands over the horn of the saddle. “Only one thing I can think of.” William looked at his father. “A wedding.”
William looked down at himself and then at his father. “Look at us, Father. Levi’s and boots and holsters. Stetsons and trail dust. It looks as though every title in London is here from the seals on barouches.”
“Probably some Scottish lords as well,” Blake remarked. “Well, I could care less what I look like. My daughter, I assume, is getting married and I want to meet this husband of hers and dance at the fete.” He pulled his mount’s head to the house. “Are you coming?”
William nodded quickly and followed his father down the drive, dismounted and both strode to the door.
Briggs opened the door, looked them up and down from over his nose and told them where the servants’
entrance was located.
“Good God, man,” Blake said. “You don’t recognize me?”
