Beloved Lies, Book 2 Page 3

  “The cad took his leave years ago. The one forever waiting on my mother,” Robin said, “is my stepfather. He is a good man, although a bit of a mush in my mother’s hands. Still, he is outrageously wealthy and has always been good to me. He claims he shall miss me terribly after I marry, but I must wonder. If that were true, why does he give me such a generous dowry?”

  Abigail grinned. “Does he know what your mother is up to though?”

  “If he does not, then he has been comatose these last hours. She has spoken of nothing else since she saw Blair on deck.”

  It was easy for Blair to see that Abigail liked Robin right off and she was relieved. Claymore was probably still upset, though just now he was hiding behind his menu.

  “Shall we not order?” Claymore asked. “I am so hungry nearly everything looks appealing. I cannot decide between the sirloin steak bordelaise, roast chicken with a watercress salad, or poached halibut. Yet, the...” When he realized someone was standing beside him, Claymore slowly lowered his menu.

  The young man could not have been more than fifteen. “Pardon me, I...”

  Claymore set his menu down, stood up and in the loudest voice he could muster, he asked, “Young man, is the ship on fire?”

  Horrified, the young man glanced at all the eyes watching him. “No Sir.”

  “Are we about to sink?” Claymore demanded.

  “No Sir, I was just...”

  Claymore narrowed his eyes. “Then you are not pardoned. Be gone with you, and do not come back!”

  The terrified young man, half bowed, backed up two steps, and then rushed out of the room. Claymore brushed off his hands and then returned to his seat. “That should do it.” He leaned a little closer to Robin. “I see no reason to make it easy for them, do you?”

  “I think you quite marvelous,” Robin said. “Now, they shall have to find ways to get you to introduce them, and in the meantime, I am hopeful Lucy can learn just how wealthy they truly are.”

  “Lucy?” Abigail asked.

  “The chambermaid,” Blair explained.

  “There are three of you in this conspiracy?” Claymore asked.

  “Five, if you and Mrs. Whitfield care to join us,” said Blair. She smiled when Abigail was quick to nod.

  Claymore was not so hasty, but in the end he too agreed. “For my part,” he said, “I could ask about them at poker, if my wife does not object.”

  Abigail slowly turned to stare at her husband. “And what am I to do? Read a book?”

  “My dear, is there a book in the world you have not yet read?”

  Robin was a bit alarmed at their banter until she saw Blair smiling and decided they were not truly at war. “Mrs. Whitfield, do you not play cards? My mother loves playing Gin Rummy and...”

  Abigail was about to say what she thought of Robin’s mother, but changed her mind when she saw the worried look on Blair’s face. “Is she any good at it?”

  “Very good, I am afraid,” Robin answered. “She prefers to play in the lounge while Mr. Forrestal plays poker.”

  Abigail gave it another moment’s thought. “Perhaps I could consider her a challenge, but I must say, I found her a bit...presumptuous in the beginning.”

  “Truly,” said Robin, “she is not nearly as uppity as you suppose. She’ll not admit it, mind you, but her upbringing does not boast of being among London’s upper-class. She was just fortunate enough to marry the cad. The husband she has now was the cad’s friend.” Robin caught her breath. “Oh dear, I do hope you shall not repeat what I just said, Mrs. Whitfield.”

  “You have my word,” said Abigail. When Claymore lowered his menu to suspiciously look at his wife, she ignored him.

  “Shall I ask Mother to invite you?” Robin asked Abigail.

  “My love,” said Claymore, “before you consent, may I remind you not to say a word about that unfortunate encounter with Blair’s mother? You promised.”

  “I remember,” Abigail huffed. “Yet, we’ve nearly a week of travel on this ship and I must have some entertainment. Indeed, Miss Robinson, ask her to invite me.”

  “Good, that is settled,” said Claymore.

  Blair tried to hide her smile when Claymore winked at her. Both of them knew it would be a while before Abigail realized she had just given her husband permission to play poker. Both of them immensely enjoyed waiting to see exactly how long it would take.

  WHILE CLAYMORE QUIETLY gave their steak and chicken dinner order to David, Abigail said, “Robin, tell me about this coming out business. Have you been to one?”

  “Good heavens no, one must have a summons from the Lord Chamberlin, you see.” She sharply caught her breath and looked at Blair. “Surely you have...”

  “Aye, Lady Bayington has seen to all the arrangements,” Blair reassured her. She finally dared to glance at some of the other passengers and was greatly relieved that no one was still making a spectacle on her behalf in front of Robin. Hopefully, that would be the end of it.

  Robin was amazed. “Lady Bayington? Lady Laura Bayington?”

  “Aye,” Blair answered. “Do you know her?”

  “I have seen her but once, but I do so admire her. Mother says she is the perfect example of how a proper lady should be.”

  “Only once?” a suspicious Abigail asked. “Your mother implied that she and Laura were close friends.”

  “Perhaps they are, but I have only seen Lady Bayington once that I recall.” Robin paused to take a sip of water. “You were asking about being presented. Well, it is held while Parliament is out of session so they may abide in the festivities as much as they wish without having to work the next day.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Claymore muttered. He nodded when David came back and offered to fill their glasses with white wine.

  “When are you to be presented to the king,” Abigail wanted to know.

  “The third day of May, according to my summons,” Robin answered. “First we curtsy, then we are introduced to the king, and then we must back away.”

  “Back away?” Blair asked. “I had not heard that.”

  Robin rolled her eyes. “No one turns their back on a king, you understand, and particularly not our king.”

  “I need more practice than I thought,” Blair moaned.

  The dining salon had finally settled down to the usual roar of conversation. Blair might have thought herself forgotten, but it was apparent to Claymore the other guests were still discussing Alexandra Sinclair’s daughter. Annoyed, he took every opportunity of glaring back at them. When David brought their dinner and nearly spilled Claymore’s plate looking at Blair, Claymore was about to lose the small measure of patience he still had left. Even so, he kept himself calm enough to say what he had to say with only a disapproving expression.

  “Are only young ladies presented?” Abigail asked Robin.

  “Not at all. A duke or a lord can present his wife, no matter her age.”

  “Must we truly wear white?” Blair asked. “‘Tis not my best color.”

  “If we do not stand out in the crowd, how are the eligible bachelors to know which are married and which are not?”

  “I see,” Abigail muttered.

  Robin suddenly remembered something, “Oh, and you must wear pearls when you are presented. Everyone does. You are to carry the train of your dress over your arm until after you are presented and then you may let it down.”

  “Why must she carry it?” Abigail asked.

  “So the king will not trip over it,” Claymore supposed. “We cannot have a king flat on his face, now can we?”

  Blair and Abigail giggled, but Robin did not. “I confess I am not looking forward to being presented.”

  “Nor would I be,” Abigail said. “It is far too grand for my taste.”

  Blair found Abigail’s words a little alarming. “But you will attend the first ball, at least?”

  “Did I not already promise,” Abigail asked.

  “Of course you did,” said a relieved Blair. She then
turned to Robin. “Why do you not wish to be presented?”

  Robin leaned to the left a little so David could set her plate down. “Mother says I must, if I am to marry well and have the Certificate of Presentation,” Robin said “but everyone shall be looking at me and I do so dread it.” Her eyes abruptly lit up. “Suppose we talk Lady Bayington and mother into having our coming out party together?”

  “Splendid idea,” Blair answered.

  Robin picked at her dinner, took a bite, and then suddenly looked pained. “Oh dear, I do hope the invitations to my party have not already gone out. I tell you, you’ve no idea the number of invitations and requests for invitations that must be muddled through. Simply deciding which to attend sent my mother off to bed with a raging headache. There are invitations to the theater, art shows, carriage rides, operas, military band exhibitions, gardens, horse races, not to mention all the balls. For each we must be exceedingly well dressed, meaning expensively dressed, so we may attract a duke or even a prince.”

  Blair giggled. “I would not know what to do with a prince.”

  “Fear not, it is doubtful one would marry an American. Thankfully, the season only lasts three months and then everyone who is anyone leaves London.”

  After David was finished serving their meals, he stood near the table and continued to watch Blair, which made Claymore slowly turn to look up. “Have you no other guests?” David caught his breath and again scurried away. “It appears I am in need of a whip,” Claymore whispered to his wife.

  “Whatever for?” Abigail asked. She finally picked up her fork and began to eat.

  “To fight off Blair’s suitors,” Claymore answered.

  Abigail glanced around, saw no apparent suitors, and returned to the conversation with Robin. “Where does everyone go?”

  “They scatter like ducks on a pond,” Robin answered. “Come to think of it, the ducks scatter too. It is the beginning of shooting season and everyone goes north.”

  “To Scotland?” Blair asked.

  “Indeed, Scotland is a favored place to shoot. You are Scottish, are you not? Robin asked.

  “Aye, but I have not seen our home there for quite some time. Glenartair Castle burned some years ago.”

  Robin quickly chewed and swallowed. “I remember that. The papers say they are rebuilding it.”

  “Aye, they are,” Blair confirmed. “My Aunt McKenna wrote to say they got the roof on just in time, for it rained for days after. When the season is ended, Lady Bayington means to go with us to see it.”

  For a time, the four of them quietly ate their dinners and then Robin said, “There shall be dancing tonight.”

  “I fear I am far too tired,” said Claymore. “We were quite excited to sail, did not easily fall asleep last night, and were exceedingly rushed to get aboard this morning.”

  “And for what?” Abigail sneered, “The ship was late setting sail.”

  “I am tired too and I would much rather go to my room and read,” Blair said.

  “Read what?” Abigail asked.

  “Did I not tell you? Father put a copy of a lost MacGreagor story in my trunk as a surprise. You may read it too once I have finished.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” said Abigail. “I am still in awe that the books were found after all these years. How is it no one knew they were there?”

  “As I recall,” Blair answered, “there was a rug on the floor with the table set firmly over it in the Great Hall. Both burned in the fire, naturally and it wasn’t until Grady MacGreagor fell through the trap door that he discovered the box containing the writings. Aunt McKenna says she is amazed at how well they were preserved. And guess what else?”

  “What?” Abigail asked.

  “They discovered the trap door leads to an escape tunnel that runs all the way into the forest. They had quite a time lifting the hatch in the forest after all these years, but they managed to dig it out.”

  “An escape tunnel – how clever of them. Is that what your story is about?” Claymore asked.

  “I hope so. The castle burned once before and we are quite curious to learn when that was. Laird Neil MacGreagor used an escape tunnel when the clan was attacked many years before, so it stands to reason there would be one under Glenartair Castle. It is just that no one knew where it was.”

  “How very fascinating,” said Abigail. “I completely understand why you are eager to read your story.”

  Finished with her meal, Robin took a last sip of tea. “Well, if you are not attending the dance, neither shall I. Far be it for me to be the only wallflower in the room.”

  “Very well,” said Claymore, pulling his napkin off is lap and laying it in his plate. “We shall see you safely back to your mother.” He got up, helped his wife and before he could turn around, David was back, holding Blair’s chair while she stood up. Claymore rolled his eyes, helped Robin, and then led the way across the room to the elevator. Amazingly, David was already there.

  “Miss MacGreagor,” David boldly said, “The Captain said to say he is grieved by the way you have been received.”

  She graced him with a friendly smile, “Thank you, David. You are very kind.” She stepped into the elevator with the others, waited until the door closed and then took a deep breath.

  “What happened?” Robin asked. “What is he talking about?”

  “Nothing of any importance,” Blair answered.

  BLAIR WAS EXHAUSTED, but she wasn’t about to go to bed without reading at least some of the story. Besides, she was not committed to any particular activity the next day and could sleep in. Lucy was there waiting to help her undress, and as soon as Blair was in her night gown, the maid turned down the bed, said goodnight and left her to her reading. At long last, Blair slipped under the covers, added two more pillows behind her head to sufficiently prop her up, and opened the book.

  CHAPTER 3

  MACGREAGOR GLEN, 1493

  I, William MacGreagor, pick up my pen and paper, and recount the happenings in the year 1457, some eighty-six years after Lindsey’s story, which, I might add, is well preserved and safely hidden from all possible dangers.

  The years of Laird Michael MacGreagor numbered thirty-seven, during which time Elena gave him three stout sons. After Michael, came Aulay, who was the father of Torradan, who was the father of Dronstan. Dronstan died in battle and left in his stead two sons, the eldest of which was Laird Donnan MacGreagor, now deceased and his brother, Cullen, who kindly recounted the following story in his last days.

  During the years after Lindsey’s bridge was completed, vigorous fighting took place between the English and the Scots, and after one particularly disastrous loss, the English destroyed most of Edinburgh. Therefore, the little shop across the road from the MacGreagor glen gained in popularity, so much so, that people came from miles around to set up tables and offer their goods. Yet, not all was easily bought and sold, for Scotland had returned to a time of bitter clan wars. Some say the Kennedys and the MacKintosh began it, but no one is quite certain. The clans constantly fought over the usual things such as land boundaries, water rights, livestock, overpriced goods, women, and as little as an accident or an ill-spoken word. As well, alliances came and went, friendships dissolved and new friendships flourished. The MacGreagors did the best they could to stay out of various disagreements, but the best they could was not always good enough. Therefore when the MacGreagor laird and the Kennedy laird set aside old grudges and became friends, they vowed to resolve their differences face to face. So far, it worked well for them all.

  In need of warriors to fight the English instead of each other, King Robert III commanded that thirty from each side fight to the death. Few survived, and in the end, it settled little.

  For the people living in the MacGreagor Glen, the times changed far too quickly to keep up. The ways of the English and the French continued to influence the ways of the Scots. With the invention of gunpowder, catapults became cannons which were equally as dangerous to the lads loading
them as to the enemies being fired upon. It is said that when first fired, seeing the lightning and hearing the thunder of the MacGreagor cannon caused Elder Nagle’s heart to stop, never to beat again. The cannon ball completely severed five gravestones and frightened two cows out of giving milk.

  The pride of Scotland’s Royal Navy was their magnificent sailing ships with which they hoped to have a go at the English at sea. As well, word came that a Scot had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and discovered a new fertile land. More than one MacGreagor lad dreamed of seeing that for himself.

  When it came to fighting battles on land, the Scots struggled to keep up with the might of the English. If the English were using cannons and longbows, then so should the Scots. Nevertheless, cannons were difficult to transport and although the longbow did indeed send an arrow farther and hit a target with much more force, the longbows were difficult to carry and even harder to shoot with any measure of proficiency. As well, no one knew when next the king would send for warriors to fight his next battle and some feared they would not be ready.

  Not all was about clan wars, battles with the English, longbows, and gunpowder. The people still worked the land, cared for their livestock, fell in love, and welcomed the next generation. Yet, if they were called to battle, as they knew they could be at any time, longbow practice was of the utmost importance.

  Then along came a game called – futeball.

  AUTUMN IN SCOTLAND brought longer nights, and more often than not, misty mornings. After a particularly hot summer, cooler days were more than welcome. Pine trees stayed green year round, but in autumn the hills were dotted with patches of Aspen, Oak and Silver Birch trees with leaves that had just begun to turn yellow. Squirrels busied themselves collecting hazel nuts, black bears searched for a place to hibernate, and people began to add layers to make their clothing warmer. Dogs barked, chickens pecked at the ground, children played, cats kept the mice away, and the red fox and gray wolf kept both the dog and cat population down. They were hard working people, yet when it was time to bring in the crops, everyone set aside their other duties and helped, even the children. At last, the crops were stored in various cellars and everyone could look forward to the yearly harvest feast.