Chapter 20
Much to his relief, Tony felt more at home in Scotland than he ever had in England. It was the wildness of it, he knew. As a child, he’d slept under the stars or in their traveling wagon. The wind had been his lullaby, making a lilting duet with his mother’s voice.
The green fields had rolled, dotted with stones before them and they had been free. So very free.
Now, as he scaled the ben with his wife, he felt the same soul-soaring hope he’d had then. Here, in the fierce hills, where stags roamed and heather-covered cliffs jutted up from the silver sea loch, he felt certain that everything he had ever hoped for was about to come true.
As a boy, he never could have dreamed of such a thing. He’d not known more than the small villages of whitewashed, thatch cottages. Now, he was a grand man, capable of helping people. It was what his mother would have wanted.
Perhaps not the dukedom. She hadn’t been overly fond of the English, except for her pirate lord. But she would want him to put his resources to good uses.
The last weeks had been spent in deep conversation with the new agent. They’d had to replace the last one who seemed to think that a new roof on a crofter’s cottage meant ruin for the dukedom.
If repairing cottages and villages, harkened the death knell of the Ayr Dukedom, it didn’t deserve to exist in the annals of power.
He and Eleanor had spent a great deal of time in the library and in their chamber in the wee hours, considering how they might draw work into the area. It had been decided that the Ayr Distillery would be opened in the spring. Whiskey, after all, was something that would never go out of fashion. And he felt certain, it would be an investment that could last more than a hundred years and help a good many families on his land. Now that there was so little chance of employment in the Highlands, something like the distillery would be essential.
Eleanor, as nimble as a mountain goat, led him up over the rocky face of the ben and easily took him down a narrow ravine until at last they came to a small burn that wound its way between the shoring hills. In the distance, he spotted a waterfall, its plume dancing down into a waiting pool.
“Some say there is a hiding place behind the waterfall,” she informed him. “It’s said that it is a place that supporters of Bonnie Prince Charlie hid when the English soldiers came into these parts.”
“Should we find out?” he asked mischievously, ready to sprint naked into the pool if she’d but agree.
“I already have,” she teased.
He adored seeing her in such good humor. Clearly, London made her ill at ease though she had warmed to it. No, this was where Eleanor was meant to be. And he loved to see her in her element, like some wild fairy queen.
“Have you, by God?” he asked, swinging her towards him, encircling his arms about her waist.
She slid her hands up his arms and nodded her dark head. “Och, yes. You see, I was a most curious child. One day, I snuck up into the hills, doffed my frock, jumped into the pool and swam to the back.”
“And?” he prompted, astounding by the idea of her childhood adventure. He never would have pictured it. But he should have. Eleanor was a woman of surprises.
“Nothing, alas. It is a lovely story and naught else.” She gave a mysterious smile. “But there are standing stones.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Have you not been to Stonehenge in England?”
He gazed down at her sheepishly. “I confess a group of young bucks went, but we were all deep in our cups. I remember hugging something tall and grand and cold. It was not my best moment.”
She laughed. “Tony, you’ve the heart of an adventurer. But if you’ve an affinity for embracing ancient stones, I shallna be the one to stop you.”
He pulled her up on her tiptoes. “And if I prefer embracing you?”
“Again,” her eyes danced, heating. “I shallna stop you.”
This time, it was he who led her down the small, quiet glen that felt as if it were hidden from the world. A magical place of old ones, and old beliefs. It was theirs. Secret. Magical. Away from the world.
They wove their way through the tall, waving grass until they stood before a swath of deep purple heather. Soon, it would be gone, the blooms faded until spring.
Despite the slight chill in the air, he pulled her down to the verdant ground. He tugged off his great coat and laid it out for them to rest upon.
He lay back, propping his head on his arm and he contemplated the beautiful woman who had somehow come to accept him. She had such a good heart. And he knew that her life had been a cold one. It was evident in the way the servants spoke about the past. In how she had no friends nearby. How so many still seemed frightened that the least little bit of mischief would displease him.
It was going to be a long road. But they would heal Castle Ayr. And he hoped that Eleanor would be healed, too.
Gently, he stroked a lock of coal black hair back from her face. Damnation, how he loved her hair.
“Kiss me,” he urged.
She did not pause, but pressed her mouth lightly to his. It was not a kiss meant to incite his wildest passions, but it was intimate nonetheless. While he dearly would have loved to make love to her here, he knew the importance of simply holding her. Of making her understand he wanted to be close to her, not just her physical form.
So, he eased her down beside him and they gazed up at the bright blue sky.
The wind danced through the grass and heather, and the air was filled with the sound of fast rushing water.
Somewhere deep in his heart, he felt the urge to do something he hadn’t in years.
Le grá dhuit níl radharc am cheann,
Eibhlín a Rún,
Is trácht ort is saidhbhreas liom,
Eibhlín a Rún;
Ó mo mhórdháil ró-ghreidhnmhear thú,
sólás na Soillse’s tú,
Ó mo lile thú, mo mheidhir is tú,
mo bhruinneal thú go deimhin.
A’s mo chlús dá bhfuil sa choill seo’s tú.
As mo chroí ’stigh níl leigheas gan tú,
Eibhlín a Rún.
The song tumbled out of him, playing on the air, spinning around them and creating a deep sense of contentment. This was life. This was what it was meant to be, here in the arms of the woman he loved.
Her breathing had slowed and she’d grown very quiet as she listened to him sing.
But as he allowed the last note to slip past his lips, he kissed the crown of her head, his heart so full he could hardly bear it.
Her fingers curled tightly into his shirt. “That was Gaelic.”
“So it was, lass,” he said into her hair.
“That’s illegal.”
“And don’t I love flouting the law,” he teased. The war upon the Highlanders was a brutal one and a similar one was brewing in his homeland. But now was not the time to think of pain. Now was the time to think of other far more happy things.
“It’s very beautiful.”
“It’s a love song,” he whispered.
His heartbeat began to pound, a quick pace as words rushed up out of him. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Eleanor.”
He waited, still hopeful. Knowing that they had come so far in such a short time.
She laid there for a long moment. He could barely feel her breathing.
“Eleanor?” he asked softly.
She sat up abruptly, her eyes wild. She shook her head. “You canna, Tony.”
“Why can’t I then?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. A deep sense of foreboding began to take hold of him as he realized the extent of her distress.
She scrambled back. “You dunna love me.”
He reached for her. “Eleanor—”
“No!” She stopped him with a raised hand, her gaze panicked. “You’re besotted. It’s this place. We like each other. We’re friends. But you dunna love me.”
“I don’t?” he echoed, hollowly, his happiness draining from him. “I’d no idea you knew me so thoroughly.”
“Please, listen,” she all but begged. “Please. You dunna and you willna. And. . . And. I canna love you.”
Without waiting for his reply, she stumbled to her feet and rushed away from him. Her feet stamped down the heather, the small purple flowers crushing beneath her walking boots.
He watched her go, watched his happiness slip away. He could not make sense of how it had suddenly all gone so terribly awry.
He did not follow. It would be fruitless. It was clear from her entire demeanor that she needed to be alone. But that grim feeling that he’d thought was gone from him seeped back into his bones.
Was this to be his life then? Always shoved away by his wife? Always left hoping, waiting to be accepted?
What had made her this way? For he knew she cared. It would be impossible to feign the feeling he’d seen from her in these last weeks.
No, Eleanor cared. He knew it in his sinew. So, why would she not let him care for her?
He had to find out or all was lost. For he could not live like this. Even if she could.