In Praise of Younger Men (9 page)

“This looks like a nice spot,” Sir Duncan said. “It affords a stunning view of the city.”

Harriet had to agree. They stood upon a high bluff secluded by tufts of heather and gorse overlooking the whole of the city of Edinburgh. From their vantage, she could clearly see the High Street running through its center, looking from this distance like a vast herringbone with its countless narrow wynds and lanes branching off on either side. At its head, the maiden castle fortress rose like Olympus through the hovering mist.

They enjoyed a pleasant meal of cold chicken, oatcakes, and fruit the cook had packed for them while chatting quietly about the view, the pleasantness of the weather, other trivial things. It was indeed a splendid day, the sun shining its warmth from a blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see. Afterward, Sir Duncan offered to read a bit of poetry aloud from a book he’d brought with him while they stood on the heights appreciating the vista before them. But as he serenaded Harriet with delicate words about love and longing and loss, she scarcely heard him. She was far too occupied with searching the lower pathways for any sign of Tristan and Miss Blum.

She told herself she simply needed to talk to him, to tell Tristan he was making a mistake. Tristan was angry with her, she knew, reacting to her rejection of the other day, and had sought out Miss Blum because of it. Harriet didn’t want to have been the one who had spurred him to rushing headlong into a hasty marriage he would regret for the rest of his life. What could he possibly know of this Miss Blum person? He’d danced with her
once
. He could not possibly have discovered her views on the world, her true character in the space of a single quadrille.

It, of course, never occurred to Harriet that she was doing much the very same thing with Sir Duncan.

“Miss Drynan?”

Harriet suddenly realized that Sir Duncan had finished reading. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sir Duncan. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts.”

He looked at her strangely. “Miss Drynan, I would be much obliged if you would call me simply ‘Duncan.’ ”

She smiled politely, peering beyond his shoulder to where their carriage was parked below, and where Mildred the maid was chatting with the coachman. “All right, Duncan. And you may call me Harriet.”

Duncan was silent for a few moments. “Miss Drynan,” he said, then corrected, “
Harriet
, I have been thinking of you often since we met at the assembly.”

“And I you, Duncan. I have enjoyed spending time in your company.”

Was that a footstep she heard
? Harriet craned to see if anyone was approaching on the path below.

“I know we’ve only just met and scarcely know each other. I don’t pretend to hide my financial troubles, but I wondered if ... I wondered . . . oh, Harriet . . .”

Duncan suddenly seized Harriet around the waist, pulling her abruptly against him and pressed his lips tightly to hers in a kiss that was fraught with desperation, nervousness, and uncertainty. It didn’t send her senses swirling the way Tristan’s kisses did. In fact, truth be told, Harriet was so shocked by the gesture, she didn’t immediately react. She just stood there, eyes wide, and waited for Duncan to release her.

Which he did, a moment later, when they heard the sound of someone clearing his throat behind them.

Duncan jerked away, his face coloring like a tomato. “Lord Ravenshall, I ... I mean
we
were . . .”

Oh, God, Tristan.

Harriet was at once stunned, horrified, and humiliated beyond imagination. How had this happened? She had been watching for Tristan for hours, and he chose that very inopportune moment to show himself? She focused on the toe of her half-boot, wishing she were dreaming.

“Sorry to interrupt,” came Tristan’s chill voice, confirming for Harriet that this wasn’t any dream. “Miss Blum and I had thought to check the view from here. We didn’t know anyone else was about.”

Harriet glanced upward. Tristan gave her one long, hard stare, his face set as rigid as the walls of stone that surrounded them. He made to turn. “We’ll just be going on our way.”

“No!” Harriet quickly spoke out. “Do not leave so soon, please, stay and join us for a little while.” She yanked a bottle from the picnic basket. “We have wine . . . and shortbread. Let us drink a toast to ... to your birthday, Tristan. Happy birthday.”

Tristan stared at her. “And happy birthday to you, Harriet.”

“You both share the same birthday?” asked Miss Blum. “How odd . . .”

Tristan hadn’t wanted to come there at all that morning. Had he his choice he would be anywhere but there at that moment. It had been by a bad stroke of luck that he had run across Miss Blum and her mother moments after he had left Harriet at the doorstep the day he’d met her in the park. He’d been angry, upset, at his inability to make Harriet see reason. Mrs. Blum had sensed a moment of emotional weakness in him and had seized it, mentioning an outing to Arthur’s Seat that left him no possible way of escape.

When he’d climbed that bluff only moments earlier, it had been to lose his thoughts to the incredible view he knew he’d find there. Instead he had found Harriet locked in another man’s embrace, and it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to explode. Tristan looked closely at Harriet as she sat on the blanket. Her face was flushed and her eyes were wild and her hands even trembled as she poured them each a glass of wine. Somehow he read in her eyes a plea ... a plea for him not to leave her there alone? Could she have been as startled by Harrington’s kiss as he’d been to come upon it?

He turned to the silent blonde standing beside him. “Miss Blum, would you like to stay?”

“I don’t mind,” she answered. “That was a bit of a climb.” She looked at Sir Duncan, “As long as you’re certain we aren’t intruding.”

“Not at all.” Harriet answered for him, making space on the blanket beside them. “Here, please sit awhile.”

She held out her hand to Miss Blum. “How do you do, Miss Blum? I’ve heard much about you from Lady Harrington. I am Harriet Macquair Drynan, but please call me Harriet.” She went on chatting nonstop. “Have you ever been to Arthur’s Seat before, Miss Blum? It is beautiful here, isn’t it? You can see for miles around. I was wondering though how it got its name, Arthur’s Seat.”

Tristan decided to join them on the blanket. Sir Duncan was looking rather glum, and he found he liked that. “Legend has it that Camelot was built on its crest and slopes, and that the Kings of Fairydom lived within the caves that pierce the hill. Some try to discount the tale, of course, but there was actually a prince named Arthur who lived in Scotland in the sixth century, around the time of the earliest records of settlements around Edinburgh.”

The conversation, and the wine, freely flowed. After a while, the foursome decided to walk together along the narrow mountain path, circling above Dunsapie Loch nestled far below the rocky heights. They stopped to observe some seabirds that had flown in off the firth before continuing upward toward rockier ground.

Tristan was pointing out a few of the more distinguishable landmarks on the horizon to Sir Duncan and Miss Blum, discussing the city at various times throughout history. He didn’t realize until he turned sometime later, and noticed the vacant space behind them, that one of their party was suddenly missing.

“Harriet?” he called, scanning the area nearby.

She didn’t answer.

“Is something the matter?” Miss Blum asked beside him.

“Harriet must have wandered off a bit in her explorations,” he answered. “Do you remember where you last saw her?”

“I thought she was inspecting that formation of rocks over there.” She pointed to where now there stood no one.

“Do you suppose she has gone back down to the bluff where we picnicked?” suggested Sir Duncan.

No matter her enthusiasm for wandering, it wasn’t like Harriet not to answer when someone called. Which only meant one thing: she was too far away to hear him.

“I suppose it is possible,” Tristan answered, trying not to worry. “Sir Duncan, why don’t you take Miss Blum back down the hill to the carriages. The skies have begun to darken and it looks as if a storm is brewing.” He ignored the fleeting thought that once again, when he’d been with Harriet, the weather had taken a sudden turn. “We don’t need for another one of us to get lost.”

“Do you fear Miss Drynan is lost?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. In any case, I am very familiar with the area up here, so I will more easily find her. If it should start to rain before we return, please see Miss Blum home safely.”

Sir Duncan reluctantly agreed. He really had no other choice.

When they’d gone, Tristan took a moment to think. He tried not to consider all the many perils that could befall a young lady alone up on these heights. There were sheer cliffs easy to slip from and pathways that wandered aimlessly for well over a mile. He remembered, too, when he’d been a lad, hearing tales of the gypsies who’d been known to lurk about the Dasses and the brush beneath Salisbury Crags. Harriet could easily be dragged off, if not by a gypsy, then by any other convenient fiend.

“Harriet!” he shouted to the now gusting wind.

Tristan glanced at the gathering clouds that were moving in swiftly from the firth. His uneasiness grew.
Little idiot. What was she thinking wandering off like that
? He started backtracking the way they’d come. It took him at least a quarter hour to circle the bog. Just as he came back around to the bluff where he’d first happened upon Harriet with Sir Duncan earlier, the rain began to fall.

“Harriet, damn it, answer me!”

He turned and stared through the rain at the great rock face of the ancient peak before him. She could be anywhere up there among the countless crags and crevices and—

—
caves
.

Tristan turned and headed at once for the far path.

Harriet was lost in more ways than one.

She had allowed her curiosity to get the better of her, stupidly wandering off amid a place where each rock had begun to look like the next. Somehow, before she realized it, she’d gotten separated from the others. She was now sitting in the shelter of a secluded cave, watching the rain fall outside. She was freezing, her teeth chattering against the damp inside the cave. It had been so warm and pleasant that morning, she hadn’t bothered to bring a shawl. Thankfully, she had offered to carry the blanket after their picnic and so wrapped it around her shoulders to ward off the chill. She wasn’t too worried. She knew that once the rain stopped, she would find her way back down eventually. The city was, after all, plainly visible below. The question was what would she do when she got there? The twenty-ninth of February was but a day away, her last chance—maybe her only chance—in which to secure herself a husband. But
who
!

Sir Duncan was younger than her, yes, and everything that was amiable and kind. He seemed interested in the things she had to say, asking about her childhood at Rascarrel, the books she liked to read. He wasn’t given to any falsehood, freely admitting that his estate in Aberdeen was badly in need of repair. He’d admitted, too, that he hadn’t the funds to see to it. She knew if she asked him to marry, he’d likely accept, even if he didn’t love her. He was dependent upon his uncle and aunt, and to refuse Harriet and her dowry would be foolhardy.

So why not simply marry him?

The answer was clear in Tristan’s words echoing on the keening wind.

Will you think of me, of that kiss, when it is Sir Duncan who is holding you . . .

The truth was, in that urgent moment when Sir Duncan had so earnestly kissed her, Harriet had thought of nothing else but Tristan.

He had been right. Duncan’s kiss had not been the sort that would fill her days with excitement, looking forward to the moment when she might steal another. His had been a kiss of routine, of “this-is-what-I’m-supposed-to-do-so-I’ll-do-it.” And while she might spend hours cataloging Sir Duncan’s good points, assigning him qualities he himself probably wouldn’t admit to, in the end, Harriet still found herself thinking about, longing for, Tristan.

And she knew she always would.

Just a single look from him sent her heart racing to the clouds. When she looked at Sir Duncan, all she could think of was the fact that if they were to wed, she would thereafter be known as Lady Harriet Harrington.

That thought alone was enough to make one think twice.

Tristan knew her so well, so completely. He knew her thoughts without her ever having to speak them. He knew her dreams unlike any other. But could she risk the danger of the Macquair prophecy? Somehow history had to be mistaken? In her heart, Tristan was the man she was meant to know and love, whether he was born one minute, one hour, before her or after. All her life, Harriet had been told the story of the Macquair maiden, of the young lad who had unjustly been denied the hand of his beloved bride simply because of his youth. But wasn’t this the same injustice, the denial of true love because of the technicality of a single day?

Surely her sorceress-ancestress could not condone her curse preventing the happiness of another pair of true lovers. Harriet looked outside the cave opening, peering solemnly at the glowering sky, high above the dark rolling clouds, where all the mysteries of the universe lurked and said aloud in a voice strong and clear, “Guide me, spirit of the Macquairs, maidens who came before me. Send me a sign, some indication of the course that I should follow.”

A flash of lightning severed the sky, illuminating the whole of the mountain peak. A moment later, a vision of Tristan appeared before her.

It was all the answer she needed.

“Harriet, thank God. Where in the hell have you—”

Tristan never finished his thought. Harriet stood and crossed the distance to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a kiss that sealed their fates forever.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He only took Harriet up in his arms, looking deeply into those gray-green eyes he knew and loved so completely, and carried her back inside the cave. He laid her on the blanket and kept on kissing her until the two of them were naked and wrapped in one another’s arms. The rain outside fell harder, the wind building and howling with each kiss they shared. Inside that cave, a destiny written centuries earlier was finally realized.