Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (7 page)

David cleared his throat. “You must be careful who you say
things like that to around here,” he said. “There are those who would not
understand as I do. If you speak of it, it must be with caution, Fletcher. That
is something your father should have done.”

“I won’t make the mistake of underestimating Adair, as my
father did.”

David nodded. “Bruce had a very clean heart and that made
him a trusting man. You know, it has always interested me just how it was that
Adair managed to take the title.” He looked at Fletcher. “I ken you have been
given all the information by your mother.”

“Aye, I have been given a detailed account—but not by my
mother.”

David’s brows went up in question.

“My mother always lived with the fear that I would come back
to claim my title one day, and for that reason she was hesitant to speak of
it.”

“I can understand that. Maggie was upset with your coming
back because she feared for your life. That is normal.”

“Yes,” Fletcher said, thinking about her. “I suppose that’s
because she is a woman.”

“It is because she is a mother,” David said. “But at least
you were able to find someone to give you the details.”

“It was my aunt, Doroty, who filled in the blank spaces I
had about everything. She left no stone unturned.”

“Neither did Adair, if I remember right.”

“True. My aunt said he did quite a bit of work before he
went to my father that first time.”

“What exactly was his claim?”

“It seems that there is proof that the eighth Duke of
Glengarry married a woman named Maude and that they had four children, one of
whom was a son, Douglas, who was my great-great-great-grandfather—and the ninth
Duke of Glengarry. Douglas supposedly had a wife named Bride, but, as Adair was
able to prove in court, there is no record of this marriage of Douglas and
Bride, nor is there a record of the birth of their son Ian, who was the tenth
duke and my great-great-grandfather. Unfortunately, Adair had ancestors with
the same names.”

David leaned forward, and his voice reflected his interest
“And because there was no proof of your line and there was proof of his, they
gave the title to Adair?”

“Yes because he had proof and my mother had none.”

“I never really understood just how it happened, but even
knowing now, it doesn’t make sense.”

“That is what I said the first time I heard it, but my aunt
disagreed. After she explained, I understood. The courts had no choice.
Although everyone was loyal to the memory of my father, they had to go with the
proof. Adair, it seems, had undeniable proof of his ancestors. My father did
not.”

“But your father and his father before him were the dukes.
So how did Adair’s ancestor end up with the title?”

“It was Adair’s contention that my ancestor Douglas took the
title of Duke of Glengarry when it rightfully belonged to his ancestor
Douglas.”

“But how?”

Fletcher reached into his pocket and withdrew an oiled
pouch. Opening it, he took out the family tree his aunt had designed for him.
He handed it to David and watched his face as he studied it.

When David finished reading the diagram, Fletcher said,
“Now, as you can see, there was only one Alasdair Ramsay, the eighth Duke of
Glengarry, but there were two Douglas Ramsays, and both of them had fathers
named Alasdair and mothers named Maude, and both of these Douglas Ramsays had
sons named Ian.”

David looked at the paper again. “This is very coincidental,
and that alone will make your search difficult.”

“Difficult, but not impossible,” Fletcher said. “I know what
it is I need to search for, and I will find it.”

“You say that with much conviction. However, I must remind
you that your father searched the whole of Scotland, Fletcher. There are no
records.”

“There must be. If my ancestor was an impostor, they would
never have allowed him to take the title.”

“How did Adair explain that away?” asked David.

“It was Adair’s contention that because this had all taken
place during the time of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and that since his ancestor
Douglas was killed in the battle of Culloden Moor, it would have been easy for
my ancestor Douglas to lay claim to the title. He even went so far as to
suggest that my Douglas had fought on the side of the English and that the
title was awarded him because of this service.”

David nodded. “Aye, those were times of great sadness and
turmoil. Anything could have happened.” He looked back at the paper in his
hands. “So the key to all of this lies in your proving that your
great-great-great-grandfather, Douglas Ramsay, married a woman named Bride, and
proving too that they had a son Ian.”

“Yes.”

David folded the paper and handed it back to Fletcher.
“Well, I am pleased to know how it all happened. I had often wondered, of
course, but never wanted to trouble Maggie for the details.”

“It is a sensitive subject with her even now.”

“Well, I find myself terribly interested in this. I would
like to help you in any way I can.” Fletcher started to speak just as Cathleen
walked into the room.

Taking her chair, Cathleen could not help noticing the way
her grandfather and Fletcher grew suddenly quiet. She felt something akin to
fear grip her heart. Something about this did not feel right. She looked from
Fletcher to David. “What has all of this got to do with you, Grandpa?”

David gave her a reassuring smile. “Nothing, my dear.
Fletcher was just asking about some of the old church records—those pertaining
to his ancestors and such.”

“You mean his ancestors lived here? In Glengarry?”

“Aye,” David said, looking like he was trying to keep
something from her, which made her even more inquisitive.

Looking at Fletcher, Cathleen said, “And your mother and
father—they lived here as well?”

“Yes.”

“And your father’s title and estates? They were here?”

Fletcher nodded.

Cathleen was about to ask more, when her grandfather sighed
and said, “I might as well tell you, for you will ferret it out anyway.
Fletcher’s father was the Duke of Glengarry.”

“Oh my,” Cathleen said, sitting back on the bench, feeling
she needed the support to keep from falling off. Again she looked from her grandfather
to Fletcher. A vision of Adair Ramsay’s face rose up before her and she
shuddered. She did not like the present Duke of Glengarry. His cruelty to the
poor was well known. “And you want my grandfather to risk his life helping you
take your title back?”

Fletcher came to his feet.

She could see that he was a bit put off by her comment.
Well,
let him be,
she thought.
He has no right to involve my grandfather.

“I have not asked for help,” Fletcher said. “I simply want
some questions answered, nothing more.”

Cathleen released a breath of relief. Her grandfather was
old, and he was all she had.

“My granddaughter can be a bit overprotective at times,”
David said.

“And my grandfather has a tendency to be overindulgent,” she
said, wounded.

“Cathleen thinks I sometimes get carried away with tending
my flock.”

“You are retired, Grandpa, and your flock now belongs to
Robert.”

Fletcher laughed. “It’s hard to teach an old horse how to
pull a new plow.”

There was no humor in Cathleen’s voice. “That is not it at
all. My grandfather involves himself in things he would do better to stay out
of,” she said with iron-hard determination. “He is no as young as he once was
and sometimes he needs to be reminded of that.”

Fletcher smiled, as if finding her mother-hen tendency
amusing.

“Stop giving away all my shortcomings, Cathleen,” David
said. Then he turned to Fletcher and winked. “I will be happy to help in any
way I can.”

“I dare not ask,” Fletcher said, “for fear of stirring up
your granddaughter’s wrath.”

David laughed. “She has a loud bark, but rarely bites.”

Seeing the determination in her grandfather’s eyes, Cathleen
sighed.

“The rain has let up. I’d best be going,” Fletcher said at
last, as if he could both sense the tension in the room and read her thoughts.

Whatever the reason, she was glad to see him on his way.
Nothing had gone right since he had arrived. Never had her emotions been in
such a jumble.

With a lively gait David walked Fletcher to the door,
talking in that hospitable manner he had with all of God’s creatures.

Silently, Cathleen followed.

“I would be happy to meet you at the church tomorrow, to
show you the old records,” David was saying. “Where are you staying?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I thought I would locate an inn. One
nearby.”

“Och, laddie, there is no inn here in Glengarry. The nearest
one is more than ten miles away, but not to worry. We have a small crofter’s
hut here on our farm. Humble though it is, you are most welcome to it.”

Cathleen cringed. The milk of human kindness went only so
far.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Fletcher said, glancing at
Cathleen.

Ignoring him, Cathleen gave her grandfather “the look”—the
one that was supposed to silence him.

The one that he ignored.

“Nonsense,” David said. “It would be no imposition. It has
been vacant since the Clearances emptied the Highlands of crofters. We would
welcome the company, wouldn’t we, Cathleen?”

“Oh, aye,” she said with little enthusiasm, trying not to
appear horribly rude. Mildly rude was all right, but horribly rude would bring
a chastening word from her grandfather, and more than likely a scripture or
two, something about helping those in need, or entertaining angels unawares.

She narrowed her eyes and gave Fletcher a speculative look.
If there was anything this man did not look like, it was an angel.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Fletcher said. “I will
make a few inquiries in town.”

“I have heard the Widow Davidson has a room to let,”
Cathleen said quickly.

“I won’t hear of your staying anywhere else,” David
insisted, ignoring her. “Why, just the other day I was discussing with Cathleen
the possibility of renting the crofter’s hut.”

Cathleen wanted to gag her grandfather. He was involving
himself in a matter that was none of his business, and she felt helpless to
prevent it. Call it her woman’s sensibility or simply an inclination, but this
man was up to something dangerous, something her grandfather had no business
involving himself in. She could not help being worried any more than she could
help being so stubborn in her opposition. She just could not give in to this.
She did not know why.

“Well,” Fletcher said, unable to say more, for at that
moment Cathleen interrupted.

“The hut is overly small and quite humble. I am certain you
are accustomed to more,” she said, hoping he wasn’t as thick-witted as he
appeared.

Fletcher gave her a pensive look, one that sent a shiver
over her.

“You might be surprised,” he replied. Then, looking at
David, he went on, “I would be delighted to take your offer of the crofter’s
hut, but only if you would let me rent it from you.”

David laughed. “Weel now, I wouldna be a true Scot if I
didna like the clink of money, would I? Parsons were ever a poor lot.”

She saw the look of understanding that passed between them.
“Then I will stay there tonight,” Fletcher said. He turned to Cathleen. “If
that is all right with you.”

She glanced at her grandfather, who gave her a perfectly
innocent look. “Whatever my grandfather wishes,” she said, thinking that she
sounded a bit melodramatic.

A quick glance at Fletcher said he was thinking the same
thing, for a wide grin stretched across his face.

“How long will you be staying?” David asked.

“I don’t know. I feel certain the answer lies here in
Glengarry, so I will stay as long as it takes, rather than go back and forth.”

David agreed. “Aye, it is too long a ride from Caithness to
make every day.”

“Of course you will be going back…
frequently
, I would
imagine,” Cathleen said.

His eyes lit up with amusement. “Oh, I don’t know how
frequently
,
but I do plan to return there from time to time, to see how things are going.
But Caithness is in very capable hands.”

David laughed. “Aye, if your aunt, Doroty, is still tending
things.”

“She is,” Fletcher said, “and she has taught me much.”

“You have her blessing, then, to spend time here, looking
for proof?”

“She said she would have done the same thing if she were in
my place…only sooner.”

David laughed and shook his head, a look of fond
recollection upon his face. “I have a feeling she would have, too.”

“I
know
she would have,” Fletcher said. “She likes to
complain that she is too old, that she is creaking with age, but she is too
much like my mother to forsake something she believes in.”

David’s look turned serious. “What if you don’t find what
you seek?”

“I will look someplace else, and I will keep on looking
until I find it. The proof is out there somewhere. I know it is.”

“Aye, I ken it is as well,” David said, “and I want to help
you find it.”

No! Not you, Grandpa. You canna involve yourself in this!
At her grandfather’s words, Cathleen’s heart seemed to swell painfully. How
well she remembered the time a young man named Ian Scott had involved himself
in the Duke of Glengarry’s affairs. Ian had a friend, Andrew Stewart. Andrew
had a lovely sister, Fiona, who gave birth out of wedlock. Fiona would not
divulge the name of her child’s father, but it was rumored to be the Duke of
Glengarry. Another rumor had it that the child had been fathered by the devil
himself—not that there was much difference in the two, thought Cathleen.

No one was ever certain why Fiona did it, but when her baby
was two weeks old, she jumped off a bridge and drowned herself, with her baby
in her arms. Perhaps it was out of shame, because of the insatiable curiosity
of the villagers and their constant speculations as to who the baby’s father
was. After his sister’s death, Andrew vowed to find out who had fathered
Fiona’s child. Because of his friendship, Ian involved himself in Andrew’s
search. Two days later, Ian and Andrew were found with their throats cut, lying
in the road from Glengarry Castle to the village. The day after his death,
Ian’s mother came to see David MacDonald, telling him that her son had told her
the night before he died that he and Andrew had found proof that the Duke of
Glengarry was the father of Fiona’s child. Because she was afraid of what might
happen to her, Ian’s mother had never told anyone else what she knew.