Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (8 page)

And now her grandfather was involving himself in something
that was sure to set the teeth of the Duke of Glengarry on edge.

Why couldn’t he be content to finish out his years working
on the Psalms? Why was he so insistent on involving himself in this? She could
not understand it. She glared at Fletcher as if she knew the devil himself had
sent him here to be purposefully disruptive.

Fletcher’s words were for her grandfather, but his gaze was
fastened upon Cathleen. “Thank you,” he said, “but I wouldn’t feel right
involving you.”

“Laddie, I involved myself in this years ago, before your
father was killed. I will not forget the day your mother left Glengarry Castle.
I swore then that if I could ever do anything to help, I would gladly do it.
Perhaps this is my chance.”

“You were a much younger man then, Grandpa,” Cathleen said,
curling her arm possessively through his.

“Aye,” David said, “I was a young minister and there wasn’t
much excitement in my life. Now I am an old man and there still isn’t.”

“‘Blessed are the meek’,
” Cathleen said. “John.”

David laughed. “Aye, but I ken I would welcome the feel of a
bit of excitement before I go to meet my Maker.”

Cathleen could not believe her grandfather was speaking like
this. “But what about the Psalms…our translations?”

David put his arm around her. “I willna forget the Psalms,
my bonny Cathleen, but the days are long and the nights too, and I ken I have
time enough for both. Now, if you will be a good lass and show our guest the
way to the crofter’s hut, I will finish the translations we started on this
morning. Good day to you, Fletcher Ramsay. Come early for a bit o’ porridge and
a scone or two, and then I will go to St. Andrew’s Church with you.”

“Aye,” Cathleen said, surrendering at last. “I will go as
well.” She caught Fletcher’s curious stare. She was determined to not let her
grandfather out of her sight.

Fletcher waited for Cathleen to gather a few things, then he
followed her down the path from the cottage to the crofter’s hut. He made a few
attempts at conversation, but all fell as flat as his mother’s pancakes. “You
don’t like me, do you?”

“I dinna know you, so how could I dislike you?” she replied,
marching ahead of him.

He caught up to her. “Are you always this put out with
strangers, then?”

She stopped in the middle of the path, the basket on her arm
swinging to and fro. “No.”

“Then why me? Is it because I took your kerchief?”

“No, it isn’t that. I have quite forgotten about that
tattered kerchief. My grandfather is
old
.”

He grinned. “You aren’t blaming me for that, are you?”

“No,” she said, with no humor.

“I haven’t come to do him harm.”

“Not intentionally, perhaps.” She started walking again.

“‘
Out of thine own mouth I will judge thee
’,” she
said. “Luke.”

They reached the hut, and she opened the door, taking the
lamp she carried and placing it on the table.

He followed her inside and gave the place a quick look
around.

There wasn’t much to it, just two rooms. The main room,
which served as kitchen and parlor, was the larger of the two. The smaller was
for sleeping and contained a small bed, a few hooks on the wall for clothes,
and a chair and table by the bed.

While he looked at the bedroom, he heard her call out to
him, “There is peat stacked outside by the door, if you wish a fire. I’ll
straighten up in here before I put the linens on your bed.”

He went outside and carried in a load of peat. Not
accustomed to peat fires, it took him a while to get it started, but he did
manage to get a small blaze going. Then he looked around the room for signs of
what she had done. He smiled. On the kitchen table she had placed a yellow
cloth and a butter crock full of flowers. A loaf of bread and a cup, spoon, and
bowl sat next to the flowers. Near the fireplace was a chair and an ottoman,
and beside those a small table with a lamp, which she had lit.

He walked to the bedroom door and saw that she had spread
another embroidered cloth on the table beside the bed, where a small lamp
glowed. Beside it lay a Bible. He could not help smiling at that. Was it a
hint, then? No doubt she had the appropriate verses underlined. She was an odd
little creature, as strange as she was lovely.

His gaze moved to her as she leaned across the bed,
smoothing the sheets in place. Once again he was mesmerized by her hands. She
had a quiet, efficient way of working. She also had a way of slapping things
around when she was angry. He watched her shake the coverlet harder than was necessary.
When she punched the pillow, he wondered if she was thinking of him.

She had a tiny waist. He had better think of something else,
he thought; then he remembered the flowers. He was touched by the fact that
despite her obvious displeasure regarding his stay, she had taken the time to
put flowers on the table.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

She jumped, whirling so fast that she thumped against the
table. The lamp teetered, and Fletcher made a dash for it, catching it just
before it fell off the table. When he had steadied it, he looked up and saw her
standing quite close, trapped, so to speak, between him, the wall, and the bed.
He could see that this position made her mighty uncomfortable.

“Let me by,” she said.

Finding that he liked her where she was, he said, “Why?”

“Because, if you don’t, your other leg may be hurting.”

He gave her an odd look. “But my leg isn’t hurting.”

She hauled off and kicked it. Hard. “It is now.” She
scampered around him.

He caught her by the wrist, turning her around to face him.
Her body against his was warm and soft in all the right places. He might have
taken advantage of that, but she was trembling, and her eyes were dark with
fear. He wondered if she thought he was going to toss her onto the bed and have
a go at her, and then he wondered why she would think that. “I’m not trying to
frighten you.”

“Then let me go.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I haven’t time. My grandfather is waiting for his dinner.”

He released her. She snatched up a stack of linens from the
chair and held them in front of her, as a physical reminder of the barrier
between them.

“You’re angry,” he said. “Why? Is it because of my staying
here?”

She hugged the linens to her breast. “Aye,” she said softly.
“I know my grandfather. If you stay here, he’ll want to be involved.”

“And you are taking that out on me?”

“I heard the warning in his voice when you spoke of your
father being the Duke of Glengarry. I have heard stories about the present
duke. Whatever you do is your own affair, but my grandfather has no business in
this. It could be dangerous. I don’t want him hurt.”

“Neither do I, but I would say that the decision to help me
search the records is his, wouldn’t you?”

She gave him her back and began shoving and punching the
linens into the basket. “I did not expect you to understand.”

“Perhaps if you explained, I might.”

She slammed the basket down on the bed and whirled around.
“I’ve already explained. He is old. He has done his job—he’s given his life to
the church—and he’s earned the right to spend his remaining years working on
his book.”

“What book?”

She sighed. “
The Metrical Version of the Psalms.
”

“Which is?”

She did not bother to hide her exasperation as she answered,
“It is my grandfather’s lifelong memories of German, French, and English
versions of the Psalms that were set to music. The words to many of them have
never been written down. I play them on the piano and sing the words, and my
grandfather writes them down, translating the French and German into English.”

“I see. Would it help, then, if I told you that I did not
visit here to come between you and your grandfather, or to slow down his work?”

“It is not your intentions but the result that counts.”

“David has offered to show me the church record I seek. I
will then work alone. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Perhaps not, but I have a feeling you will come between us,
nevertheless. Nothing is the same since you arrived.”

He wondered what she meant by that, but he did not question
her. “I assure you, that is not my intention.”

“Then why did you come?”

“We went over all that before.”

“I ken you said you wanted to regain your title, but I dinna
ken why. You have a title now, and while an earl might not be as high on the
peerage charts as a duke, it is a powerful and respected title, and more than
enough to keep you busy. I have seen Caithness Castle, and in every sense it
rivals Glengarry.”

“I agree, but there is one thing you’ve overlooked.”

“And what is that?

“Caithness has always belonged to the Sinclairs and
Glengarry to the Ramsays. I am a Ramsay.”

“You are
half
Ramsay. Your mother was a Sinclair.”

“My name is Ramsay, my father was the duke, and his father
before him. The Glengarry title is rightfully mine. Perhaps the problem is that
you can’t understand what it’s like to grow up with part of your life missing.”

“Oh, aye, I canna understand that, since you lost only a
title and your father, while I lost both father and mother and my future as
well.”

He saw the way her expression froze when she uttered those
last four words. He regretted his harshness with her. “What future are you
talking about?” he asked softly.

Her face paled. “Nothing,” she said, looking like she had
said far too much already. “It isna important.”

“And if I said it was important to me?”

Some of the fight seemed to go out of her. “I am sorry for
my behavior. It isna like me to be so hard and uncompromising. I ken I am a bit
too protective of my grandfather, like an old broody hen. It isna you and it
isna me, or even my grandfather. It is the circumstances. I know the way Adair Ramsay’s
mind works. I have seen the results of his contempt in the village. If what you
say is true, he willna take this lying down. A war between the two of you is
understandable, but sometimes it is the innocent ones who pay the highest
price. I don’t want my grandfather hurt. He is all I have.”

“You are right to feel that way, Cathleen. As I said before,
I don’t want him hurt either. I only want him to answer a few questions and to
show me the church records. Nothing more. I promise.” He held up his hand.

Again she ignored his attempt at levity, and Fletcher
wondered if these Scots were always so dour.

“You dinna ken my grandfather,” she said. “When he adopts a
cause, there is no stopping him.”

Fletcher smiled, wanting above all things to put her fears
to rest. She seemed very small and very fragile to him, and that part of him
that he called protectiveness was stirred. “Then I will see to it that my cause
does not become his.”

“That is the problem,” she said softly. “I fear it already
has.”

He found himself lost in the depths of her violet eyes, not
really listening to what she was saying. He wondered if she knew just how
damnably close he was to dragging her into his arms and kissing her until she
responded to him with something besides anger. He also wondered if she was as
uncomfortable around other men as she was with him. Had she been jilted? Was
there something painful in her past, something cruel or lewd a man had done to
her? Or had she simply devoted so much of her life to her grandfather that no man
had ever had the chance to get close to her?

He did not know the answer, but he vowed that before he left
here, he would find out.

Early the next morning, they were at St. Andrew’s Church, a
place Fletcher found as old and drafty as a spinster’s nightie.

Cathleen sat between him and her grandfather at the table as
they looked diligently through a large, leather-bound volume of records for the
parish. In it were recorded generations of the Ramsay family births, marriages,
deaths, and baptisms, including those of Fletcher’s parents, grandparents, and
great-grandparents.

Fletcher scanned the pages with a keen and critical eye, but
to no avail. When it came to his great-great-grandparents, Ian Ramsay and his
wife, Moina, there was only the record of the marriage, the births and baptisms
of their children, and their deaths.

There was no record of Ian’s birth, nor was there any
mention that he was the son of Douglas Ramsay and his wife, Bride, just as
there was no record of the marriage of Bride and Douglas.

Fletcher could not hide his disappointment.

“I fear that proof is critical to your claim,” David said,
putting his hand on Fletcher’s shoulder.

Fletcher’s tone held a mixture of disappointment and
frustration as he replied, “Without it, I have no claim. The proof should be
here!” He slammed his fist down angrily upon the registry.

“But it isn’t. You can’t make proof where none exists, and
you shouldn’t take your disappointment out on a book,” Cathleen said, moving
the dusty volume out of Fletcher’s reach. “Perhaps you should look elsewhere.”

“The proof has to be in Glengarry somewhere,” he said. “It’s
the logical place. This is where the Ramsays have lived for centuries.” He
turned to David. “Is there any way a marriage or birth could have been overlooked
and not recorded?”

David shook his head. “If it took place here and was
performed by a man of the cloth, then it would be here. And don’t be forgetting
this is the Duke of Glengarry we’re talking about. A marriage or birth in his
family would have been of the utmost importance.”

“I just don’t understand how this could have happened. Why
isn’t it here when it should be?” Fletcher reached for the book and pulled it
toward him, ignoring Cathleen’s scowl. He flipped through a few pages. “It
doesn’t look like there are any pages missing.”

“No,” David said, “these pages are all intact, but there are
pages missing in some of the minutes from the church meetings during the times
in question. I’ve often wondered if they might have contained some reference to
your Douglas and Bride or to the fact that Ian was their son.”

“We’ll never know,” Fletcher said, frowning, puzzled by the
lack of information on his ancestors. “If I am to have any hope of regaining my
title, I need strong, legitimate documentation. The courts in Edinburgh will
require hard proof that Douglas and Bride were legally married and that Ian was
their legitimate issue.”

David nodded in agreement. “Aye, they will need that. It was
the same after your father died. Without that proof, Maggie had no case.”

“Then how did Adair prove they weren’t married?” Cathleen
asked, sounding excited and quite interested despite her determination to stay
out of it.

Fletcher gave her a surprised but agreeable look. She was
such a small thing to command so much of his speculation, but she did. He had
to admit that she baffled him. One minute she was tremendously fierce,
protecting her grandfather like she was born to the task; the next she was
joining in the search, as eager as a youth with his bow bent.

“Adair didn’t prove they weren’t married,” he answered. “He
didn’t have to. His contention was that
his
ancestor Ian Ramsay, who
married a woman named Isobel, was the Ian who should have inherited, and who
was, according to him, the only rightful heir to the dukedom.”

“He had proof of that?” she asked.

“He had proof that his Ian was the son of a Douglas Ramsay
who had a wife named Jean, and that this Douglas Ramsay was the son of Alasdair
Ramsay and his wife, Maude.”

“I thought your ancestors were Alasdair and Maude Ramsay,”
she said.

“They were. According to my mother, my father believed there
must have been two men named Douglas Ramsay who lived about the same time—one a
Highlander and one a Lowlander, and both of them had a father named Alisdair.”

Cathleen put her hand to her head. “Hout! This is getting
too complicated. Two Douglas Ramsays? How will you be able to tell them apart?”

“There is only one way. By their wives. My ancestor was
married to Bride, while Adair’s was married to Jean.”

“And your ancestor—the one married to Bride—is the one who
was the Duke of Glengarry?”

“Yes,” Fletcher said, “he was the eighth duke.”

She shook her head. “This will be very difficult to prove,
if for no other reason than that it is very complicated.”

Fletcher agreed. “Things are further tangled by the fact
that each of these men named Douglas had a son named Ian…”

“Two Douglases and two Ians,” Cathleen said. “No wonder this
is so confusing. And the only way you can tell them apart is by the names of
the women they married.” She paused. “But that still doesn’t prove Adair’s
claim.”

“True. Unfortunately, it does not prove mine, either. The
courts ruled that since Adair had valid proof of all his marriages and births,
his must be the true line.”

“But how did your father become Duke of Glengarry if he was
an impostor?” Cathleen asked.

“No one will ever know the answer to that, I fear. The
barrister I hired to look over the hearing records said that all of this mix-up
occurred about the time of Culloden. Adair supposedly had proof that his
ancestor Douglas was killed at Culloden. He had some documents proving that
there was another Douglas Ramsay living then, a man who was sympathetic to the
Hanoverian cause against the Jacobites. It was Adair’s contention that this
Douglas Ramsay—who befriended the Duke of Cumberland—was my Douglas Ramsay, who
married Bride. He further contended that out of gratitude, Cumberland gave the
title Duke of Glengarry to my ancestor upon learning that Adair’s ancestor
Douglas Ramsay was dead. Since Adair had proof of all his births and marriages
and my father did not, the courts were persuaded.”

“And by that time your father was dead, you were just a boy
of eight, and your mother feared for your safety, so she did nothing to
challenge Adair’s claim,” Cathleen concluded.

“Aye, Maggie was afraid…so afraid that she married by proxy
a man she had never met and sailed halfway around the world to start a new
life, in order to protect her family,” David added. “She was a very brave and
courageous woman.”

“She still is,” Fletcher said. “I know that I was the reason
my mother turned her back on everything she held dear. She was afraid for my
safety, for she knew that as long as Adair Ramsay was alive, I was a threat to
him. She was a young woman, only twenty-eight, when she left her father,
sister, and brothers to go to America. She’s never seen any of them again.”

“But it worked out well and she is happy in America,” David
reminded him.

The gloomy expression on Fletcher’s face was instantly
replaced with one of fond recollection. “Very happy. She and Adrian love each
other very much and they are perfectly matched.” He smiled. “Although it did
take Adrian a while to realize that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Cathleen.

Fletcher chuckled, looking down at her small, expectant
face. “Well, it seems Adrian’s brother, Ross, who happens to be the Duke of
Dunford, was the one who did all the matchmaking, but he forgot to tell his
brother one important fact about my mother.”

Cathleen leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin
resting in her hands, and Fletcher wanted to laugh at the sight. Last night she
had been worried about her grandfather’s involvement, yet now she seemed more
intrigued with his family’s history than David was.

“Well, tell us,” Cathleen said, her impatience obvious in
her voice. “What did his brother not mention?”

“That my mother was a widow with three children.”

Cathleen sat up straight, her hands falling away. “You mean
her husband thought he was marrying—”

“A woman who had never been married,” Fletcher finished.

David raised his brows. “I never heard this story before.”

“Small wonder,” Fletcher replied, laughing. “It almost
caused the end of their short marriage. Adrian had been
very
adamant
about the kind of woman he wanted, and his requirements did not include a widow
or children.”

“Poor man. I can well imagine his shock when your mother
arrived with three children in tow,” Cathleen said.

Again Fletcher laughed. “Well, that isn’t exactly the way it
was.”

“No, that is right,” David said, looking at Cathleen. “I
remember now. Maggie left her children behind. They sailed with their nanny
some three or four months later.”

“And her husband never knew about the children until the
three of you showed up?” she asked.

“That was the way of it.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t send
all
of you back,” she
said.

“He wanted to, but my youngest sister, Ainsley, was deathly
ill. By the time she was well, she had Adrian wrapped around her little
finger.”

Fletcher looked at Cathleen then and saw the strangest
expression upon her features, one he could only describe as bittersweet
understanding. “Aye,” she said, “sometimes a child can soften the hardest heart
and bring a barren life to full bloom.”

“As you did mine,” David said, putting his hand over hers
and giving it a squeeze.

Cathleen scoffed. “You didn’t have a hard heart, Grandpa.
Just a broken one.”

“Aye, and you mended it.”

Cathleen smiled at her grandfather, then looked at Fletcher.
“Beg your pardon,” she said. “We seem to have gotten you a bit off your
course.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Cathleen said. “Your mother has solved her problem.
What I want to know is, how are we going to solve yours?”

Fletcher glanced at David, who also seemed surprised at the
seriousness with which Cathleen now regarded Fletcher’s task.

Tapping her finger against her cheek, Cathleen said, “So,
until we find proof that your Ian was the son of Douglas and Bride, and proof
that Douglas and Bride were married, you have little hope of regaining your
title.”

“What is this
we
?” Fletcher asked. “The burden of
proof lies with me, not you.”

Cathleen glanced down and began fidgeting with her hands in
her lap. Her cheeks were flushed. “I meant you, of course,” she said softly.

“I thought that’s what you meant,” Fletcher said.

“Weel, now what?” David asked.

“I keep looking. There must be other records of my family
around here somewhere, records of land transactions, deeds, and such. I’d like
to check a few graveyards for clues…perhaps even families that intermarried
with mine, just to see if any of them might have some record in an old family
Bible, or a strongbox full of documents no one has looked through.”

“Old documents? I hadna thought of that. There are plenty of
those stored in the church attic,” David said.

“What kind of documents?” asked Fletcher.

“Just a jumble of things. Some are illegible, some damaged,
and some are there for no apparent reason. It would take quite a bit of time to
go through them all. You would have to work slowly, for due to their age, the
paper crumbles easily. A magnifying glass would have to be used on many of
them.”

“I’ve got the time,” Fletcher said. “Would we have to go
through the trunks in the attic, or would I be able to move them to another
location?”

David thought about that for a moment. “Ordinarily, I’d say
they would have to remain here, but if I were to explain to Robert that they
would be coming to my house, and that I would be solely responsible for their
safe return, then I think something might be arranged.”

Fletcher frowned, remembering his words to Cathleen the
night before about not intending to involve her grandfather. “I wouldn’t want
to impose. Perhaps it would be best if I worked on them at the crofter’s hut.”

“Nonsense. There isna room for the trunks, let alone enough
space to spread the documents about. We’ll bring them to my house. Cathleen
will make room for them, won’t you, lassie?”

Fletcher looked at her.

She compressed her mouth and said nothing.

Finally, Fletcher asked, “Would you mind having the trunks
and documents scattered about your house?”

Cathleen did not answer Fletcher, but spoke to her grandfather.
“Grandpa, what about the Psalms?”

David gave her an affectionate pat on the hand. “We’ve time
and space for both, I ken.”