The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (11 page)

‘I will dance with every man who signs my card,’ I vow.

All a lady has is her reputation, and mine must be so questionable by now if even my dearest friend almost believed me capable of violence. I should try harder, as Father wishes. I should do my duty and put on my false cheerful face. No disappearing after a dance. I should go to the ball and behave like the lady I’m expected to be.

Unless, of course, a faery shows up and I have to save yet another elderly gentleman from its clutches.

Catherine beams. ‘Now. I believe I was promised shortbread.’

‘The primary reason you’re here, I suspect.’ I glance out of the window. ‘Shortbread and lunch, then a jaunt to the park. We might not see the sun again until spring, after all.’

After luncheon, Catherine, Dona and I leave the house and set out towards the centre of Charlotte Square, where my ornithopter is parked. Mine is the only one still there, so the other families must have taken out their own flying machines to avoid the traffic.

I glide my fingers along the structure. When I built it, I made sure the metal boning was light and sturdy enough to flap exactly like bat wings. Spanning more than thirty feet when extended, the wings are positioned with interworking steel gears that revolve and twist to keep the machine in flight.

The steel and wooden-planked interior took the longest time to build. The small cabin has a retractable rain visor for inclement weather, though I prefer to fly with the top down. Two people can sit comfortably inside on the moulded leather seats, but Catherine insisted on bringing Dona along as our chaperone so we will be a bit crowded today.

‘We mustn’t call too much attention to ourselves or word will get back to Mother,’ Catherine says as she tosses in her reticule. ‘I’ll be in enough trouble already with her as it is for not taking my maid with me. I just know she’s going to lecture me on etiquette again.’

‘No need to explain,’ I say. ‘Father already lectured me on that very subject.’

Catherine pauses. ‘So, he’s returned then?’ She says it lightly, but with a hint of disapproval.

‘Aye. Just before you arrived.’

‘Oh dear. What did he say?’

What you want isn’t important.

‘Nothing of consequence.’ I nod to Dona. ‘Don’t you think people will notice that Dona is a wee bit young for a proper chaperone?’

Catherine assesses my maid with careful scrutiny. Dona gulps and clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Catherine sighs. ‘May I?’ She plucks the shawl off Dona’s shoulders. ‘You know, this would be much easier if one of us had invited a female relative for the season.’

I lean against the ornithopter and close my eyes. By no means is it warm, but the sun feels so lovely on my skin. ‘She would have to be one of yours, then. My family has generations of single children, and my grandparents are dead.’

‘I have a distant aunt,’ Catherine says. ‘She claims the pigeons on her property wait to watch her undress.’

‘Oh? Well, that’s not surprising. Pigeons are quite dastardly creatures.’

Catherine plops the shawl on Dona’s head and wraps it around so the lass’s features are mostly obscured. ‘There. That might be enough to fool people from a distance.’

‘Let us hope we are not approached, then,’ I say.

‘I can’t see, miss,’ Dona mutters.

‘All the better. You only need to be able to see your feet, so you don’t trip over anything,’ Catherine replies and pats Dona’s shoulder reassuringly.

‘Perfect.’ I open the ornithopter door. ‘We’ve rendered Dona mostly blind and partially disguised her as an old woman for the sake of a bloody walk in a public park.’

Catherine nods, not at all fazed by my horrid use of the English language. ‘The things we do for sunshine.’

I step back to let Catherine and Dona inside, then stroll around to the driver’s side and hoist myself in. Our skirts take up most of the free space in the cabin. Dona is squeezed in the middle, her tiny frame huddled even smaller.

‘There now,’ I say. ‘Is everyone ready?’

Dona gulps. ‘Lady Aileana, are you certain this is safe? I’ve heard stories—’

‘Safe as houses,’ I interrupt cheerfully. ‘I built it myself, remember?’

Dona sinks back with a weak, ‘Aye, my lady.’

I smile and flip the switches to turn the machine on. Steam rises from the front vent and Dona jumps. I bite back a laugh and settle into my seat. At least she isn’t aware that she’s sitting on the hidden weapon cache.

I rest my hands on the helm, salvaged from a schooner ship just like the one in my bedroom. The wings extend outward from their resting position to their full length, flapping in loud, smooth
whooshes
. We begin to hover just above the ground as the wings beat faster and faster. Then I shift the gear lever next to me and push my foot down on a second pedal. The machine rises smoothly and flies over the houses in Charlotte Square.

‘Would either of you like some tea?’ I ask. Both ladies shake their heads. I turn the ornithopter in the direction of the castle. ‘Well, I would. Could you get me a teacup from the compartment beside you, Catherine?’

Catherine opens a wooden panel and removes a porcelain teacup. She passes it to me and I place it under the steel spout in front of Dona. I press another button and warm, already steeped tea pours into the cup. The scent of heather fills the cabin.

I pick up the cup and sip. Perfect.

‘Oh my,’ Catherine breathes. ‘Look there.’

She points just over my shoulder. I turn and gasp softly. From the skies, we can see every bit of the destruction of North Bridge. Half of it has fallen into the valley below, with a broken portion still left hanging.

A large throng has gathered, lining the streets to view the bridge. Steam-powered carriages crowd the road, hardly any room between them. On the Old Town end, just beyond the bridge, traffic is being redirected to New Town via Lothian Road – no small detour, that. The whole city is a mess of traffic and pedestrians. All because of me.

‘What do you think could have caused that?’ Catherine asks.

We pass an automatic flying machine with a banner advertisement waving behind it. I focus on the words, to concentrate on something other than my destruction.
Bass’s East-India Pale Ale . . . This season’s ale is in excellent condition, both in bottle and cask
. . .

‘I have no idea.’ I hope they don’t notice how my voice shakes, how intently I’m staring at the sign rather than at the sight below.

‘Do you think it could happen again?’ Catherine asks.

I return my attention to Catherine. ‘Of course not.’ I sound false, the way Kiaran does when he pretends to be concerned. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with a malfunctioning carriage. Combustion is a tricky thing.’ I smile at her. ‘Fear not. We won’t be blown to bits.’

Catherine and Dona appear satisfied with that. I steer us past Castle Rock. Even in sunlight the castle is dark and imposing, a startling contrast to the greenery below. The park is mostly empty, a surprise on such a lovely day. I’m stricken by the realisation that everyone must be gathered on Princes Street to gawk at the disaster.

I find a clear patch of grass towards the east end of the Nor’ Loch, just below the cliff. The wings give a single, quick flap as the ornithopter lands.

‘Thank heavens,’ Dona mutters.

After a last sip of tea, I grab my parasol and open the door. The three of us stroll from the ornithopter, through thick trees that surround the base of Castle Rock. Damp grass squishes with each step we take.

The breeze here is brisk, but not terribly cold. This is one of the few winter days we will have when it’s bearable enough to take an afternoon walk. The sun sets too early at this time of year for many outdoor activities. Already it’s dipped below the treeline. Shadows behind the trees are growing longer and noticeably colder than the bright patches between them. The park is quiet, not even birds or other animals about. The three of us are completely alone.

‘I wanted to speak with you about something,’ Catherine says suddenly.

I open my parasol and rest the pole lightly against my shoulder. Distant rain clouds have begun to blow our way. We don’t have much daylight left. ‘Hmm?’

Catherine hesitates and glances at Dona. Dona lowers her head and immediately slows her pace to give us more privacy.

‘If Dona hears anything,’ I say to Catherine, ‘she will be perfectly discreet.’

Catherine blushes but nods. ‘I know you don’t like to discuss it, but have you at least thought about marriage?’

What you want isn’t important.

I look down at my feet. The tops of my slippers are stained with mud. ‘Aye,’ I say. I smile ruefully. ‘I’ve concluded it isn’t for me.’

Dona gasps from behind us. At my surprised look, she drops her head. ‘Quite sorry, my lady.’

‘That’s all right,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, my father feels differently. He says I am to be engaged before the end of the season. When I brought up potential difficulties, he claimed I was being dramatic.’

‘Well,’ Catherine says drily, ‘he has all the sensitivity of a tea table, doesn’t he?’

‘Duty first, remember?’ Father’s oft-stated precept.

Catherine lets out a breath of disgust. ‘So he’s decided to be interested in your life now? And to think, it only took him a year to acknowledge you.’

I dislike her mother, she dislikes my father. Unlike my own, Catherine’s father loved her – and he showed more affection towards me than I’ve ever received from mine. He died four years ago, when I was fourteen and Catherine was thirteen.

‘My darling friend, your sarcasm is beginning to show.’

She smiles grimly. ‘He deserves it.’

‘No arguments from me.’

We continue walking, passing the ivy-covered ruins just below Castle Rock. The cliff face blazes orange from the setting sun peeking through the trees. The clouds are surging ever closer. As I breathe in, I smell the first hint of damp air that indicates it’s going to rain soon. So much for our pleasant, sunny walk.

‘I must know,’ Catherine asks. ‘Would you think less of me if I said I
wanted
to marry?’

‘Not at all,’ I say softly. ‘I wanted it, too, before—’
Before I became what I am
. ‘Do you have a particular gentleman in mind?’

Catherine flushes. ‘Well, Lord Gordon and I have danced a few times, and he recently visited for fourhours.’ She sighs. ‘I find him most agreeable.’

If I were still the girl I used to be, this would have been my life. Courtships, deciding my best match, wondering about when I’d marry.

For a small, petty moment, I envy Catherine. She can share her life wholly with someone, completely fulfilled. She won’t need to lie to her husband, or slip out of the house at night to quiet a need for violence. Unlike me, she can love someone without pretence.

I try to sound more cheerful than I feel. ‘That’s wonderful. And your mother?’

‘Mother considers him unsuitable.’

I snort. ‘That’s preposterous. He is an earl, after all.’

‘It’s not his title. It’s because he’s . . .’

‘He’s what?’

She looks around, as if to be certain there is no one but my maid in the vicinity to hear us. ‘He’s English.’

I feign shock. ‘My God! Someone call the magistrate immediately. An Englishman in Scotland, you say?’

Catherine laughs. ‘I’m well aware how ridiculous it is, but my mother is adamant that I marry a Scot. She believes the English are heartless and deranged.’

With a snicker, I hop over another patch of mud and nearly slip when I land. Blast. Grass is quite treacherous in winter. After regaining my footing, I ask, ‘Did she mention where she might have garnered this bit of intelligence?’

‘I wish I could tell you. She called Lord Gordon a Sassenach. Can you believe that? It’s the first time I have ever heard her say such a vile word.’

A breeze picks up. The leafless trees shake and the branches groan. A frigid draught knifes right through my thick cloak. I shiver and pull it tighter around my shoulders until the mink-lined collar is snug beneath my chin. My cheeks are already burning from the cold.

‘At least Lord Gordon only needs Gavin’s approval. His return home is more than convenient.’

Catherine brightens. ‘Then Mother can finally focus on finding him a match, instead of expending all of her efforts on me.’

I bite back a laugh, imagining how her brother would respond to that. My goodness, he’d be horrified. ‘Poor Gavin. The dear fellow has no idea what’s in store for him when he arrives.’

She regards me briefly. ‘I remember a time when
you
intended to marry him.’

I make a choking sound at the back of my throat. ‘Really, Catherine. You’re misremembering.’

‘What nonsense! You used to write in your invention sketchbook:
Lady Aileana Stewart, Viscountess of Cassilis
.’ She smiles slyly. ‘I suppose you’ll have to change that to reflect his new title now, won’t you –
Countess of Galloway
?’

‘Oh, do be quiet. That was a lapse in judgement,’ I say, waving a hand dismissively. ‘I was young and foolish.’

‘You did it for four years.’

I glare at her. ‘It was a very
long
lapse in judgement.’

‘He’s . . . well . . . some women say he’s charming. And he’s rather handsome, I suppose.’ She turns innocent eyes on me. ‘Is there someone else you consider more suitable?’

For no reason I can fathom, I think of Kiaran first. He’s not remotely suitable, and I’m certain he’s never to be trusted. But he is the only man who has ever seen the rage inside me, who accepts and encourages it. I can never forget the overwhelming taste of his power, so wild and strong. If I picture him clearly enough, I can still taste it at the back of my throat, as if he’s actually here.

As if he
is
here.

My head snaps up and I almost gasp in alarm. There’s Kiaran MacKay, sauntering through the trees towards us, garbed in the fine clothes of a wealthy gentleman. The rough raploch he usually wears has been replaced with finely tailored trousers, a black waistcoat and a frock coat that billows behind him. His dark hair catches the fading sunlight, the sunset glow a blazing halo around him. He looks as tempting as the very devil, and damn him for it.