Rumors Among the Heather Read online

  “None other than the prince’s very own friend, Balmile himself. He said to give it to you personally because you know me,” Potter answered.

  They sat in silence while Matthew pondered what the letter meant. The time for decision making could not be put off any longer.

  Potter cleared his throat. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll be going, but I’ll be making another trip to France in two months’ time. He said to bring your answer then. I can’t wait around much longer. I’m due back in Wintersea.”

  “Go. I’ll meet you sixty days from today in the Wash. I will let you know my answer then. I must first see how the wind blows at home.” Matthew led Potter to the back door and watched him ride away. A few moments later, he left in a different direction. Matthew rented a horse from the nearest livery and caught up with Ribble outside London around three in the morning on Post Road at their agreed-upon rendezvous.

  “How did you find the inn?”

  As you said. Two dragoons were waiting outside the back door and one in front of your room. I climbed a trellis to the next floor and worked my way down to your balcony. With a wee bit o’ luck, I made off with our gear. The dragoons were none the wiser,” Ribble said proudly.

  “Well done, most satisfactory,” Matthew said as he looked over his shoulder.

  Ribble seldom smiled, and Matthew was glad to see his pleased expression. Ribble had served the MacDonalds from childhood. When he grew into long pants, he had accepted the charge of Matthew and had continued to serve him faithfully ever since.

  They did not rest, changing their horses four times before they were across the border into Scotland.

  * * *

  Juliana Hastings, a passenger on the mail coach bound for Scotland, looked out into the blackness of the night and watched two riders as they passed the conveyance. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but she willed them away. She vowed she would not cry or feel dispirited. She did not have time for such sensibilities. Her future rested in her hands and Juliana did not intend to waver. Her course was plotted. She swore she would not look back. She wondered if she would get used to this new life. Was this all that lay in store for her?

  As the only daughter of Garrett and Minerva Hastings, both deceased, Juliana wondered for the hundredth time if she could be making a mistake by traveling to a place where she had no friends. Her cousin, Hannah St. Clair, did not want her to go to Scotland. Juliana knew Hannah felt she should stay with her. In this small way, she could repay the kindness Juliana’s parents had shown her. But Julie knew the plight of a poor relation, and she did not relish being under someone’s roof without any say in her future.

  She had to find employment, and the last advertisement she’d answered wrote back to her. There were twenty-two other positions she’d applied to that had not bothered to write to her at all. The mail coach continued to lumber roughly along the rutted roads toward Scotland and her fate.

  Their coach stopped for two hours at the infamous town of Gretna Green. All passengers stepped down and went into the Sixpence Inn for a late supper before starting out again. Julie sat by herself at a small table. She was nervous about traveling unaccompanied. Never before had she traveled so far by herself.

  At last the call came to reboard the mail coach. She stood up too quickly and dropped her reticule. She stooped down to pick it up and was jostled by a fellow passenger—also in a hurry. Another gentleman who had stopped at the Sixpence walked over and helped her up while the man who’d knocked her down hurried on his way.

  “Are you all right? Permit me to help you,” he said, stooping to pick up her reticule and its contents.

  “Thank you.” Juliana stood up and brushed the dust of the floor off her clothes.

  “Here, I think everything is accounted for,” he said with a smile.

  Turning, she looked into a pair of fine blue eyes gazing at her with undisguised appreciation through a quizzing glass. She gave him a level stare, causing the gentleman to drop his glass.

  “Thank you again, but I must go,” Juliana said frostily and hurried out to the coach.

  * * *

  Matthew could not help watching the young woman with the copper hair board the coach. At first he’d thought her to be plain, but he could see that the black dress and severe style of hair were calculated to make her look that way.

  To his surprise, instead of blushing and looking away when he quizzed her with his glass, she’d met his gaze head on, and looked disgruntled. Most of the women he knew would be pleased when he took notice of them. It was of no consequence, since it did not seem likely they would meet again, and yet he could not help wishing they would.

  He and Ribble had stopped only long enough to change horses yet again, and to dine. Matthew had secured a private dining room for them, and now they sat down to a pint of ale and a pork pie.

  “Ribble, the winds are blowing from France. Do you not hear the clash of swords and smell the blood and the gunpowder even now?”

  “Aye, the rumor among the heather is right, then. What will ye do with the bairn? Ye’ll have to distance yourself from him. Ye cannae afford to lose the land eleven generations of MacDonalds have held steadfast.”

  “Aye, my friend, I owe that much to my brother. I’ll do what I can for Michael’s child. Although I wonder would he have done the same for me.” Matthew could not forget the rift his brother had caused. He continued to clean up after Michael’s debacles.

  A half hour later, they once again traveled the road to Gairloch. From there, they would journey to his ancestral home at Lark Mead. Matthew hoped it would be good to be home again. He had not been home for more than a day or two these last seven years. He hoped if he stayed longer this time, he could settle in his mind which road his life must take and how to dispense with his responsibilities to Michael’s son.

  Each time he received a letter from the housekeeper, he opened it with dread. She wrote without fail every time Ian sent another governess packing. If he could find a decent governess for the boy, then perhaps he could concentrate on more pressing problems. The idea of an English governess galled him, but he was desperate and willing to take anyone he could trust to look after the boy. The English woman had been the only one to answer his advertisement.

  He wondered what the governess would look like. She would probably be some middle-aged woman with graying hair and a stern personality. Ian needed a no-nonsense kind of person. Maybe a surrogate mother for the boy; he had no idea. Goodness knew he needed somebody or something.

  Ian had shut down after his parents were killed in a boating accident. He spent all of his time in his room and refused to leave. Matthew was at a loss how to deal with him. The stubbornness of the child and old memories drove Matthew away each time he came back to the island.

  Matthew and Ribble continued their ride to Lark Mead. They were in Scotland now, and they could take their time getting home.

  * * *

  Darkness had fallen and most of the passengers were peacefully sleeping, or more accurately snoring away the miles. Julie wondered how anyone could rest with the coach rocking and swaying. She settled back to try and slumber herself as the conveyance lumbered on through the night.

  Sometime later, Mrs. Parsons, a fellow passenger, stirred beside her. “Are we near Gairloch yet, miss?”

  Julie shook her head to rid it of melancholy thoughts and said, “The driver says we should be coming into Gairloch by noon tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like going by mail coach, but it’s the fastest way to travel even if it is the roughest.” Mrs. Parsons sat up and stretched before looking around at Julie. “Are you stopping in Gairloch also, Miss Hastings?”

  “Yes. I am taking up the position of governess at the home of Baron Bonnleigh. Do you know the family?”

  “Aye, that I do. Forgive me if I seem forward, but you are surely too young to hold the position of governess, not to mention traveling by yourself.”

  “I had no choice. I had to find
employment, and I could not find anyone going this way. So far, I have not had any problems. Just a rude person back at the Sixpence, but it amounted to nothing. It’s a wild country. I have heard the people here don’t like the English.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. There’s bound to be a few, but most are like meself. I like everyone until I have a reason not to. Don’t you worry,” she said with a smile.

  “Of course, you’re right. I can’t let my courage desert me now. I’ll be under Lord Bonnleigh’s protection. He’s a MacDonald, I believe. I should be safe,” Julie said, more to assure herself than Mrs. Parsons.

  “For sure, my dear, you’ll be safe here. ’Tis a small town. Your family must have been upset at losing you,” Mrs. Parsons commented.

  “When my father died, I had to seek employment quickly. I could have gone to my cousin Hannah in Bath. She wrote and asked me to come, but I did not like the idea of living off someone else’s charity, no matter how well meant. I only have the one cousin, and she married recently. This was something I had to do. I couldn’t take the chance of waiting and losing the only position offered to me.”

  Julie found herself talking to Mrs. Parsons as if she were an old friend. She did not normally confide her problems to a stranger, but there was just something about the motherly figure that was comforting.

  Mrs. Parsons gave her a reassuring pat and said, “Everything will work out. You’ll see!”

  When Julie looked again, Mrs. Parsons had drifted back off to sleep. With each bump, she leaned a little more sideways until her head rested on Julie’s shoulder. Nothing changed much in the next sixteen hours. Her fellow passengers woke up long enough to complain about their ride or take refreshments at each stop. Mrs. Parson woke up, yawned, apologized, and went back to sleep. Julie stared out the window, and the mail coach rattled on its journey.

  Her backside ached relentlessly from being beaten against the unpadded seat of the coach. She felt she would have to be dead for three days to feel better. At last they arrived in Gairloch. Julie stepped down from the coach and into the yard of the Pig and Whistle. Raucous laughter reached her ears when a door opened, and a couple of local fellows staggered into the sunlight.

  The small tavern boasted only a few rooms available to the hardy traveler. The tavern keeper leaned against the doorframe watching the post deposit its mail and passengers. He wore a greasy apron tucked into his buckskins, and his cap tipped rakishly across his low forehead. The coachman deposited Julie’s luggage in the dirt in front of the tavern. She looked around for some sign of her new employer. The tavern keeper spat into the dusty earth before strolling over to where she stood. His breath reeked of onions, and his body odor left no doubt in her mind that he feared water. Julie took a step backward, and he a step forward.

  She took out a perfumed handkerchief and put it to her nose. “I am meeting Lord Bonnleigh’s coach here. Could you direct me to it, or to his estate?”

  “Hoots toots, ye can see he’s not here. Ye’ll have to wait til the morrow. The mail coach was late, and there’s a storm a-comin’.”

  “What has that to do with anything? Could you not send someone to tell him I’m here? I’m sure he would reward you.”

  “Nae, are ye deef? I told ye there’s a storm comin’ up.”

  “I have two good ears, thank you. What has a storm to do with anything?” Julie asked through clenched teeth.

  “Do ye not ken? He lives on yon island,” he said and pointed toward the ocean.

  Julie looked out to sea with growing dread. The mist partially obscured a mass of land in the distance. Lightning danced on the horizon and lit up the island’s outline. Slowly, his words began to sink in as huge drops of rain began falling.

  Julie bent to pick up her trunk. Failing to do so, she tried dragging it to the porch in front of the tavern. The tavern keeper stood by, watching her, but did not offer to help. Again, she pulled at her trunk with all her strength, but she did not gain much ground.

  Ready to give up and close to tears, Julie heard Mrs. Parsons ask, “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “I’m trying to get to Lord Bonnleigh’s estate. Since the coach was late, his man must have been here earlier and left. I’m not sure what to do next. The tavern keeper tells me he lives on an island somewhere out there,” Julie pointed out to sea. “And I can’t get my trunk out of the rain.”

  Mrs. Parson turned on the innkeeper. “For shame for not helping this young lady.” She motioned to a man standing at her side, who reached down and moved the trunk onto the porch. “As to Baron Bonnleigh, he does live on yon island. There’ll be no one over until the storm subsides. In the meantime, you must come with me. You cannae stay here. There is an inn in the village. It was left over from the time when this was a popular destination. The name is the Charleston Inn. It would be an honor for my son Robbie here to help you with your luggage and show you to the inn. It is not far from here.”

  With umbrella raised, Julie hesitated to follow someone she did not know in a strange town, but she did not appear to have a choice. She could not stay at the Pig and Whistle. She put her trust in the kindness of this stranger. “Thank you, it is I who am honored, Mrs. Parsons,” Julie said. “I’ll leave a message at the tavern so Lord Bonnleigh’s man can find me.” She walked back to the innkeeper. “When Lord Bonnleigh’s man comes for me, would you be so kind as to tell him I have gone to the Charleston Inn?”

  “A bloody Englisher, ain’t yer?” he said, looking at Julie with scorn.

  “Yes, I am, and proud of it,” she shot back. She held her head a little higher and stared back at him.

  The little Scotsman’s weathered face broke into a grin. “Go along, lass. I’ll tell him. Won’t be anyone over from yon island till the storm breaks and the seas are calm again.”

  Julie smiled back at him and waved good-bye. She turned and hurried to catch up with Mrs. Parsons and Robbie. Robbie transferred the heavy trunk to his shoulder, and they finished the walk to the inn in good time. The establishment perched solidly on a cliff overlooking the estuary. Made of stone and heavy timbers, nothing short of a tidal wave could have budged it from its perch.

  Mrs. Parsons opened the door and motioned for Julie to go in. “Welcome to Gairloch and to my wee inn,” Mrs. Parsons said, smiling at her little joke. “Robbie, bless my soul, don’t stand there grinning. Ye put that heavy trunk down and come inside to tea,” she said with a laugh. “Come along, young lady.”

  Julie followed her into the sitting room. “Mrs. Parsons, you’re so kind to rescue me from the Pig and Whistle. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not brought me here.”

  “Don’t ye worry, lassie, I’ll be glad to put ye up. I dinnae get verra many guests anymore. It gets lonesome with just meself and Robbie. Ye must make yourself at home. I’ll get the tea.”

  Julie sat down in the cozy room with a glowing peat fire. Although well into summer, the highland climate could be pleasantly warm during the day, but at night or before a storm, the temperature began chilling the landscape. The fire made her feel welcome.

  The whole front of the sitting room was enclosed in glass. Safe and warm inside, its occupants could look out on the growing storm. Spectacular displays of lightning ripped through the sky, and horrendous claps of thunder rumbled above the inn. Julie loved a good lightning and thunder storm. And this storm did not disappoint—although it eased up just before sunset. The dark, ragged clouds parted long enough to shoot the last rays of the sun through the sitting room windows.

  The pleasant atmosphere lulled Julie into a sense of well-being until Mrs. Parsons came into the room. “Miss Hastings, I have your room ready. Follow me.”

  The chamber was very pleasant and clean and looked out onto the sea. She thought she would fall asleep immediately, but instead spent a restless night tumbling in and out of slumber only to awaken at first light. She missed Wintersea and her friends there. Thinking about home also brought back the memory of her dreams of a much different life, a
nd her doomed engagement to Geoffrey Hamilton. She tried to put those thoughts behind her, but sometimes they came back without warning. Wearily, she rose from her bed and performed her morning toilet, trying hard to shake the past from her mind.

  She came down the back stairs to find Mrs. Parsons humming to herself while she prepared breakfast. “Good morning, Mrs. Parsons. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Go ahead, child, but if you’re wondering about the weather, I’m afraid we are in for another spell of rain.”

  “Thank you. The weather is worrying me, among other things.”

  “I understand completely, but ye’ve naught to worry about. I’ll be glad to keep you until someone comes over from yon island,” Mrs. Parsons said.

  “What about the MacDonalds who live on the island? Please, Mrs. Parsons, do you know anything about them?”

  “Why, that Lord Bonnleigh ye be going to work for, o’ course I know him. I would advise ye to turn around and go back where you came from if ye were my daughter,” Mrs. Parsons said and turned back to her work.

  “Why? What could be so terrible? The MacDonalds are an old family.”

  “Lassie, I dinnae ken from experience, mind ye, but I heard the rumors among the heather. Oh, he’s proper enough when he comes to Lark Mead, which ain’t often. However, the stories that come to my ears about his goings-on when he’s with that fast set in London and them other foreign parts, well, it’s sufficient to make me blush, and I was married for nigh on twenty years.

  “All I can say is I’d think twice before I went under his roof. Where there’s smoke, sinfulness is at hand, I always say. If you’re set to go, then I cannae stop ye, but I’d be careful and watch my step, lassie.” Mrs. Parsons finished by pursing her lips and shaking her finger at Julie.

  “Thank you, but I’ve come this far. I have to accept this position or face starvation,” Julie said with bravado, but secretly she felt a growing dread of having hitched her wagon to a falling star.