This Heart of Mine (72 page)

“I am more than well aware of the passage of time, Deirdre, but our sister is not the same girl.”

“No,” Deirdre had to agree, “she isn’t.”

“Did you expect her to be?” inquired their mother. Skye looked at her two older daughters. God’s nightshirt! Was it actually possible that she was the mother of daughters aged thirty-one and twenty-four?

“What has happened to her, Mama?” asked Deirdre.

“Believing Alex dead, she fell in love with another man. Now her heart is torn between the two. She has no choice in the matter and must return to her husband. It makes the forbidden fruit, in this case the Indian emperor, somehow more attractive, and being an independent girl, she chafes at being
forced
to a decision. She would like to feel that the choice is hers to make.”

“Poor Velvet,” said Deirdre, who was a compassionate and gentle woman.

“Humph!” snorted Willow. “If she had stayed where she belonged, instead of running off when she believed Alex was killed in that ridiculous duel, none of this would have happened.”

“You are too hard on your sister, Willow,” replied their mother. “In your whole life nothing has ever gone awry for you. You cannot know how you would have acted under similar circumstances.”

“Well, I most certainly would not have left my husband’s burial to others!” Willow appeared to be outraged, but the truth of the matter was that she was made somewhat uncomfortable by her mother’s reference to her charmed life. She
had, she thought, been born practical, and most of her upbringing had been supervised by Dame Cecily, who had raised Willow to have all the English goodwife’s virtues of thrift and loyalty to duty first. She felt secure with her values, and only once or twice in her life had she entertained the thought of a life as filled with adventure and passion as her mother’s had been, only to push such a wild notion aside with a shudder. Willow, Countess of Alcester, was the perfect example of a high-minded English noblewoman, and she would have had it no other way.

“Has not Velvet led a charmed life, too, Mama?” she countered. “She has certainly had much more time with you than the rest of us did, and is the only child you really raised yourself.”

“That is true,” agreed her mother, “but you must remember that both Adam and I were forced to leave her at a time when, as it turned out, she needed us very much. She had no one to really guide her. Be patient, Willow. Velvet has been home only two weeks, and she is very worried about her reunion with Alex.”

“She doesn’t seem comfortable with us,” grumbled Willow. “I told her that I had made her little Johanna’s godmother, and she was not the least bit thrilled. All she wants to do is ride that damned stallion of hers from dawn to dusk!”

Skye said nothing more, her eye catching a glimpse of Velvet through the window as she mounted her big-boned chestnut and galloped down the drive. How could she explain to Willow about Velvet’s own daughter who was only a month younger than Johanna? She couldn’t. Before they had even reached
Queen’s Malvern
, Velvet had insisted that nothing be said to anyone about Yasaman. Pansy had already been sworn to secrecy, as had Daisy and Bran.

“What of Alex?” Skye had queried of her daughter.

“No! If I cannot have my baby, then why should Alex have the knowledge of her with which to reproach me, Mama? I will never tell him of her.”

Then they had reached
Queen’s Malvern
, and the family had joyously hailed her safe return, thrusting their new babies upon her to admire. It had not been easy, and Skye had devoutly wished in the days that followed that her children and grandchildren would all depart for their own homes if only to give Velvet some peace. When they didn’t, Velvet sought her own solitude upon her horse, feeling no guilt at all in making her escape for she knew that her mother understood.

This particular afternoon, she had eagerly sought refuge
from her elder sister who persisted in dandling her youngest child at her. Velvet had tried to enjoy little Johanna, who was a most charming baby, but each time she held her niece it brought her to tears remembering her own daughter. Finally this afternoon she could stand no more and had rudely thrust Johanna back into her mother’s arms, snapping at Willow, “Her bottom is wet, and she is drooling all over me! Do not give me the child again unless I ask for her. I dislike being soaked!” Then she had stormed from the room.

Now, as the late-summer wind blew her auburn hair about her face and shoulders, Velvet felt the weight lifting from her. Leaning forward, she kicked her horse into a gallop and raced up into the hills, feeling freer than she had in weeks. It was almost as it had been five years ago when she was yet a child and could not remember the name of Alexander Gordon, Earl of BrocCairn. She had been in such a hurry to grow up. Why was it, she wondered, that children were always in such a damned hurry to get older? Childhood was so very brief. If only children understood that and enjoyed their time in that safe and innocent world. She sighed, then laughed softly to herself. That was knowledge that came only with age.

Reaching the crest of the hill, she stopped and, turning her stallion back for a moment, gazed down upon her home.
Queen’s Malvern
, so called because it had been built for a queen and was situated in the Malvern Hills in an almost hidden valley between the Severn and Wye rivers, sat like a jewel in a perfect setting. She had never thought to see it again. There was a faint late-summer haze over the valley, and everything was so very lush and green. There was peace here; the kind of peace she had never been able to find anywhere else. She would miss it when she went to Scotland with her husband.

Then her eye caught a movement on the road below, and, gazing down, she could make out a large party of men approaching the manor house. Even from a distance she could see they were Scots, their plaids fluttering bravely in the light breeze.
Gordon plaid.
He had come, and she could not take her eyes away from the scene below. He rode at the head of his men, but suddenly they stopped, and then Alexander Gordon broke away from the main group and headed his horse directly up the hill toward her.

Panic gripped Velvet’s heart, and, wheeling her own stallion sharply about, she galloped blindly off. It wasn’t long before she heard him behind her, his own horse relentlessly coming onward. Inwardly she cursed herself for being caught like this.
In the valley below she was certain she could have outrun him, but here the ground was so uneven and dangerous. Should her mount step into a rabbit hole he would break a leg, and she could break her neck.

Then she felt herself being lifted from her saddle, and, surprised, she didn’t even have the presence of mind to struggle.

Bringing his own horse to a stop, Alex lowered her to the ground and then, dismounting himself, asked her in a none-too-gentle voice, “Just what is it about me, madame, that sends you fleeing almost every time we meet?” He towered over her menacingly, his golden eyes blazing.

If he had expected tears or anger, he was totally surprised when, looking up at him, she burst into laughter instead. “I have never thought about it,” she said with complete candor, “but I do seem to spend a great deal of time going in the opposite direction from you, my lord.”

He gazed down at her. Had she always been this beautiful? He shook his head, surprised at his bemused thoughts, and then said, “Welcome home, Velvet. I’ve missed ye.”

She would almost rather he had shouted and railed at her, but that, she was certain, would come later. “Did you, Alex? Did you really miss me? You didn’t wait overlong to replace me in your bed with Mistress Wythe.”

“Nor did ye wait overlong to desert me. My body wasn’t even cold, Velvet, and ye were hurrying off to India to yer parents.”

“Padraic swore you were dead! I was in shock! I was in agony, for I loved you, and you had wagered our future for the false honor of a strumpet in a ridiculous duel! I begged you not to go! I begged you, Alex, but you would not listen!”

“Could ye not at least have stayed long enough to bury me, Velvet?”

“Did you want to be buried on English soil, Alex? I gave orders that you be taken home to
Dun Broc
because I believed you would have wanted that.”

He was surprised again. In the back of his mind he remembered Murrough saying something like that. So she
had
cared. He was relieved. And yet … “But ye weren’t going to accompany the body, were ye, my dear wife?”

“No, I was not! You broke my heart, you bastard! Did you want me to follow you into the tomb, for I would have been dead of grief long before we reached
Dun Broc!
Would that have pleased you, my lord? Perhaps your little mistress would have done it, but not I!”

“Alanna Wythe means nothing to me, Velvet. I took her to
my bed, I will admit, but what of ye? Ye were as quick to replace me.”

“Never!
I spent a six-month voyage mourning you, Alex. When I was kidnapped and sent to the Grand Mughal I mourned you yet.”

“Not long enough, obviously, madame. He made ye his wife in very quick order, I am told.”

“Of course he did. It was the polite thing to do, for I was a gift to him from the Portuguese governor of Bombay. It wasn’t me he was marrying, it was the gift!”

“Which one of ye did he fuck, Velvet?”

“Ah,” she said, “that is what bothers you more than anything else, isn’t it, Alex? In your mind ’tis perfectly all right for you to have taken a mistress because your wife ran off and left you; but for me, believing myself widowed, to remarry and love again,
that
is the crime!”

“Did ye love him, Velvet?”

“Yes!”

She looked straight at him when she said it, and it was he who flinched under her steady green gaze. She had changed, he thought, and he didn’t know if he was going to like that change. Still, standing there looking at her, he realized that he still wanted her, perhaps even still loved her. There was a great deal to be settled between them, but only time could accomplish that.

Holding out his hand to her, he said, “I’ve come to take ye home, lass. Will ye come wi’ me?”

He is as unsure of me as I am of him, Velvet thought, and yet he seems willing to try to rebuild the life together we both so heedlessly shattered. Slowly she put her hand into his, and his fingers closed over hers. “Aye, Alex,” she replied to him. “I’ll come home with you.”

Her horse was grazing nearby, and they caught it easily. Giving her a boost, he aided her in remounting and then gained his own saddle. Together they quietly descended from the hills to the gentle valley below. Upon returning to
Queen’s Malvern
, they found that Alex’s men had already stabled their horses and were just now trooping into the house. They were in time to witness the reunion between Pansy and her Dugald.

Pansy stood in the doorway to the kitchen, little Dugie holding her hand with one of his own, his other thumb in his mouth as he stared wide-eyed at the troop of men with their plaids and bonnets. There was no doubt whose son he was, and as the Highlanders began to poke each other, chortling with delight,
looking from their comrade to Pansy and her child, Dugald stopped and stared, open-mouthed.

Finally Pansy said impatiently, “Well, say something, you big oaf! You’re going to scare the lad to death if you don’t.”

“What’s his name?” Dugald ventured, shifting nervously.

“Dugald Geddes, the same as yours,” she answered.

“How old is he?”

“He’ll be two the day after Michaelmas,” Pansy replied.

“But how …” Dugald shifted his feet again.

“Well, if you don’t remember, Dugald Geddes …!” began Pansy indignantly, and the other men chuckled.

“But ’twas only once!” he burst out.

“Me ma says once is more than enough!” she answered, and Dugald’s companions, unable to restrain themselves any longer, burst out laughing.

“Gawdalmighty, man,” said one of them, “ye’re not going to deny him, are ye? He’s yer spit fer certain, and ’tis true!”

“N-nay, I can see he’s my laddie,” Dugald said slowly.

“And are you still of a mind to wed me?” Pansy demanded.

“Aye,” he answered without any hesitation.

“Then wash your face and hands, Dugald Geddes. Father Jean-Paul is awaiting us in the chapel.” She bent down and spoke to the child at her side. “Say hello to your pa, Dugie.” But the little boy hid his faced in his mother’s skirts, much to Dugald’s disappointment.

“He’s just shy,” Pansy said. “He ain’t used to men in plaids and bonnets with bony knees, but you’ll win him over soon enough.”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Dugald wrapped Pansy in a fierce embrace.

Watching from his horse, Alex turned to smile at Velvet. It was the first smile he had offered her. “He’s missed her very much. Pansy has a good man in Dugald,” he told her.

“She loves him,” Velvet said quietly. “She had many suitors among the Mughal’s best soldiers, but, knowing that Dugald was alive, none would do for her.”

Dismounting, he helped her down from her own stallion, and the horses were quickly taken away by two stableboys. They continued together into the house. Seeing them coming, Skye realized that they had already made some kind of peace between themselves.

“Welcome to
Queen’s Malvern
, Alex,” she said graciously.

He kissed her hand. “Velvet has agreed to come home wi’ me,” he said.

“But surely not for a few more days, my lord. We have
scarce had time with our daughter these past five years as you well know.”

“We would be pleased to remain with ye for a time, madame,” he said quietly, and Skye saw that he was anxious to please Velvet.

“I want a bath,” Velvet said. “ ’Twas hot riding this afternoon. I fear that we will have a storm before nightfall. Can you send Daisy to me, Mama? I don’t want to disturb Pansy’s reunion with Dugald.”

“Of course, my darling. Alex, I would like very much to speak with you, and perhaps while Velvet’s bathing would be a good time.”

“Have Alex’s things put in my room,” Velvet said to her mother. “For propriety’s sake we must share a bedchamber.”