Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (19 page)

“You could always come to visit me at Dunston while David is
away,” she said, “and save yourself the trip back home.”

“Thank you for the offer, but my aunt is getting anxious for
my return. There are things I need to attend to at Caithness.”

She picked up the whip. “All right,” she said with a forlorn
sigh and a sideways glance in his direction. “I’ll concede defeat this time. I
know when I’m bested.”

He laughed. “Never defeated, just postponed.”

“I do like the sound of that,” she said. “Say you will pay
me a visit when you return,” she said.

“I will.”

She smiled. “Now, why don’t I believe that?” she asked. Then
with a flick of her wrist she brought the whip down gently on the chestnut’s
back and the carriage rolled on down the street.

He stood there in the street, watching her drive off,
thinking that Annora Fraser was quite adept at gleaning information. He shook
his head.

She was one inquisitive woman.

He crossed the street, then paused, remembering something
his mother always said when chiding her children about being overly curious:
“Remember what happened to Lot’s wife.”

Fletcher had been back at Caithness for two weeks when he
got word that David MacDonald was dead. As soon as the messenger departed,
Fletcher broke the news to Aunt Doroty.

Gripping the arms of her chair, she listened to the grim
words. A moment later, Doroty came to stand before him, her hands coming out to
cup his face as she looked him in the eye. “I know you will be wanting to go
back and I canna prevent that. The good Lord knows that purr child will need
some comforting. David was all the family she had in the world. But still, you
are my family, Fletcher, and the only relative I have living in Scotland. I
have grown verra fond of you, lad. It pains me overmuch to think what could
happen if you go back to Glengarry.”

“I will be careful, Aunt.”

She gripped his cheeks, giving them a squeeze to emphasize
her words. “Go with God, Fletcher Ramsay. If anything should happen to you, I
don’t know how I could break the news to your mama.” Fletcher left for
Glengarry immediately.

The rain slowed his pace, for the roads were so deep in mud
that even the horse had difficulty. After a while Fletcher left the main road
and rode over high corries, before coming down again, past a stand of pines,
and into an open glen where an old stone bridge spanned a narrow beck. The rain
gave way to mist now, and by the time he reached Glengarry the mist was gone
and the sun was shining.

Because of the slow traveling, he arrived at the village too
late to go to Cathleen’s, for there was scarcely enough time to make it to St.
Andrew’s Church to attend David’s funeral.

Once he arrived, he dismounted in the churchyard and tied
his horse. His gut was twisted in a dozen knots both from guilt and
anticipation.

What would be Cathleen’s reaction when she saw him?

Would she despise him and blame him—as he blamed himself—for
David’s death? Or would she be the loving, forgiving Cathleen he knew her to
be?

The small church was filled with people when he entered. He
stood at the back, his hat in his hands, as he listened to Robert speak words
of comfort, his rich baritone giving David MacDonald the thanks and the praise
he had never received in life.

Fletcher stared at the simple pine coffin, unable to see
David from this distance and not really wanting to. He preferred to remember
David the way he was when he saw him last. As he listened to Robert’s words,
Fletcher gazed around the church, searching for Cathleen, for a glimpse of her
vivid wine-dark hair. Unable to spot her, his frustration and fear mounted,
until he realized that the woman in the black veil sitting in the front pew
would be Cathleen.

How small she looked. How broken. Without seeing her face,
he knew her skin would be white, her beautiful violet eyes dull and filled with
pain. He had never wished more than at that moment that it had been his body the
Lowlanders had found lying on the rocks with a broken neck. How could he tell
her how he grieved, how his heart felt as if it had been ripped out, knowing
that he had caused her such pain?
Cathleen…Cathleen…forgive me…love me…
his
mind cried out, his chest constricted and aching, his heart heavy with grief.

He prayed for David’s forgiveness then, promising to take
care of Cathleen for the rest of his days. David, he thought, who had offered
so much comfort in life. David, whose going left so much grief behind. David,
whose death had been no accident.

They said it was an accident, of course, that something must
have frightened David’s horse along the wild coastline pounded by the sea where
the highest cliffs on the east side of Scotland rise up more than three hundred
feet. According to the young man sent by Robert Cameron to give Fletcher the
news at Caithness, the reason why the carriage went over the side and crashed
to the rocks below was unknown.

The only thing the man had said was, “His body was found lying
peacefully in a bed of sea campion and rose root with the neck broken—a great
and tragic accident.”

A tragic accident…

Fletcher almost snorted at that, for there were too many
similarities between David’s death and that of his father for it ever to be
considered accidental. Like David, Bruce had plunged to his death, only Bruce
Ramsay’s broken body was not found lying peacefully in a bed of sea campion and
rose root.

After the service, as the mourners began to leave the church
to make their way to the cemetery for burial, Fletcher stood to one side,
trying to catch Cathleen’s attention, hoping for a few moments with her. He
watched her accept the condolences of those around her, opening her arms to
many who expressed their grief.

Unable to stay away from her any longer, he started to make
his way toward her, but she was taken out a side door before he could get to
her. Running as if the devil himself were after him, he tore back down the
aisle to the front door, dodging people and leaping over hedges to get her
before she was gone.

“Cathleen!” he shouted, catching sight of her standing
beneath the bare branches of a tree that made her look even more desolate, the
black of her mourning dress stark against the gray bark of the tree and the
ghostly paleness of her face. She looked up, and even through the black veil he
could see the ravages of grief upon her face. How pale she was, how lovely in
her sorrow. How very, very beautiful she was in the elegance of woe.

He knew the moment she spotted him. His heart stilled in his
chest. What if she turned away from him? His heart in his hands, he watched as
she seemed to freeze, unable to say anything for a moment. She turned away and
said something to a woman next to her. Then she turned around and hurried
toward him. His heart pounded with relief.

“Oh, Fletcher!” she cried, as she came to him. She lifted
her veil, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears away. His heart twisted.

Come to me, Cathleen, bonny Cathleen with the broken
heart and sad, sad face. Come to me and let me take your grief. Lay your sweet
head on my shoulder. Let me give you my strength. Let me hold you until the
pain goes away. Give me this, for I need to hold you. I need to know that you
understand the pain that I feel. Give me this so I know you don’t blame me.
Don’t shut me out. I love you. Dear God, don’t let it be too late.

“I’m so glad you are here,” she said, looking up at him, and
he saw the path of her recent tears.

He could not speak, for all the words he wanted to say
seemed to get tangled up with the pain he felt, knotting together to form a
huge lump in his throat. Without a word, he opened his arms and she stepped
into them. It was only when he closed his arms around her and heard her cry
softly that he was able to say, “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”

“Oh, Fletcher, I was afraid you were not coming.”

He looked down at her lovely violet eyes, which now were
shadowed with grief. “Don’t you know that I would ride through hell itself just
to get to you? Surely you knew I wouldn’t stay away,” he said, aching to kiss
her. “Not from you. Never from you.”

“In my heart I knew, but still I was afraid. Oh, Fletcher, I
miss him so much. How will I ever get on without him?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Robert came up at that
moment and, after shaking Fletcher’s hand, told Cathleen that it was time to go
to the cemetery. She gave him one longing look, then turned toward Robert, who
took her arm. They started off, walking slowly toward the black carriage that
would take her with her grandfather on his final journey.

A moment later, Cathleen paused and turned back to look at
Fletcher. “You will be there at the cemetery, won’t you?”

“I will always be there, Cathleen,” he said softly.

After she had gone, he stood in the churchyard, watching the
procession wind its way down the narrow, rutted road to the cemetery, then he
headed toward his horse, to take his place among the mourners.

“Fletcher! Fletcher Ramsay!”

At the sound of the female voice, he turned to see Annora
Fraser hurriedly making her way toward him in a rustle of black silk. His heart
was heavy with the burden of David’s death. The woman he loved needed him. He
did not want to make small talk with Annora.

As she drew closer, he saw that her black dress was piped in
green, and her black hat with its iridescent green feathers curving around her
face was of the latest fashion. But she would never stop his heart as Cathleen
had done in her simple muslin gown and straw bonnet with frayed satin ribbons.

“Faith! Am I glad to see you.”

He sighed.
I don’t want to be with you, I need Cathleen…
“Hello, Annora.” His voice was flat and held no emotion.

She was a bit breathless from hurrying to catch up to him.
“I had hoped I would see you here. It’s terrible about David.”

“Yes, it is. I didn’t know you knew him well.”

She smiled, slipping her arm through his. “
Everyone
in the Highlands knew David well. He was that kind of person. But let’s talk
about something more pleasant. I’m so very glad to see you. I’ve missed you.”

He pulled his arm away from her, but she seemed not to
notice. “I saw you a couple of weeks ago.”

She smiled, keeping in step beside him. “To me, that is a
long time, especially when I was expecting you to come to Dunston. Fie on you
for not coming to see me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Not at Caithness,” she said. “I paid a call on your
aunt…hoping to see you, of course. She told me you would be gone for an
extended period of time, but she would not tell me why or where you had gone.”

He could not help smiling faintly at that, amused that Aunt
Doroty had sent Annora packing and had not told him of her visit. It would take
more than the likes of Annora Fraser to breach that stern and staunch Scots
fortress he had come to know and love as Aunt Doroty.

“My aunt doesn’t believe in discussing her personal life or
her business,” he said. “She is a very private person.”

“A bulldog would be a more apt description of her, but I
dinna want to discuss your guard dog old aunt. Tell me, what brings you back to
Glengarry?”

“David’s funeral.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “I know, but I thought you had
come back to stay.”

Fletcher stopped walking and turned to look at her. “Why
would you think that?”

For the briefest split of a second, Annora looked uncertain,
then she smiled and said, “I-I talked to Robert before the funeral. He said you
had been renting the crofter’s hut from David—something you neglected to tell
me that day I saw you in town, I might add. So naturally I thought you had
finished your business at Caithness and were returning to your cozy little crofter’s
hut.”

“I came back for the funeral,” he said. “I have not decided
how long I’ll stay.”

“It must have been something terribly important to bring you
away from a lovely place like Caithness Castle to live in a crofter’s hut in
the first place.”

“I told you why I came that day I saw you in town,
remember?”

She smiled and drew a finger down the side of his cheek,
then brought it to rest on his lips. “So secretive. You know that only serves
to make a woman more curious.”

“Does it?” he asked, looking toward his horse.

“Yes, and being both curious and shameless, I am not above
asking what could possibly interest you in a dull little village like
Glengarry?”

Fletcher had no intention of telling Annora anything.
Fortunately, at that moment they reached the spot where he had tied his horse,
and as he prepared to mount he said, “I would offer you a ride, but as you can
see, I’m on horseback.”

“I have my carriage,” she said, “but I must tell you that if
this were anything but a funeral, I would hitch up my skirts and ride behind
you.”

Fletcher mounted his horse, saying nothing, but he had an
inkling that Annora would have done exactly what she said. A moment later, he
tipped his hat, said, “Goodbye,” and turned his horse up the road. His thoughts
were of Cathleen and what he would say to her when they were alone.

Cathleen rode next to Robert Cameron, her mind on her grief.
Oh, Grandpa, why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me? What
shall I do now? Where shall I go? What will become of your beloved Psalms? I
dinna want you to be dead…

But he was dead, and no amount of grieving or denial would
change that. Her sorrow welled up inside of her to the point of overpowering
her. How does one go on? she wondered. Where do you find the strength to get up
each morning and face the day?

“Are you all right, lass?” Robert asked, placing his hand
over hers and giving it a squeeze.

“Aye,” she said softly, “I ken I am as right as one can be
with their heart ripped out.”

Robert nodded. “Nothing will ease the pain,” he said,
“nothing but time. Grief, in a way, is its own medicine.”

“My heart is dead.”

“It is only numb. It beats still. God would not have you
suffer overlong.”

“I canna believe that right now.”

“You will, in time.”

“Aye, when sugar turns to salt.”

“God grant you peace,” he said, but Cathleen was not
listening. Her mind was on her grief.

At the cemetery, Fletcher stood at the back of the crowd as
he had done at the church service, preferring to keep his distance. It was not
that he did not want to be with Cathleen, but that he wanted to keep an eye on
Adair. He did not want Adair to see him with Cathleen any more than was
necessary. And of course, there was Cathleen. She was always a consideration,
for he was afraid that if she saw him right now she might lose her composure.
From a distance he watched her, seeing even through her black veil the lost
look, the abject grief that gripped her lovely features.