Chapter 13 A Grave Mistake

The laird of Eilein walked into his home, the only home he had ever known. Castle an Càrn Gorm was larger than Eilein Castle and had been built after the causeway of Eilein had flooded by the rising waters of the loch.

The number of rooms had been ten folded as Càrn Gorm had forty bed chambers to Eilein's four. In addition, it was by no means old nor run down. Built upon a hill, he had no fear of flooding in the rainy autumn and winter months, neither when the snow thawed in the spring. It was a large, comfortable home not much inferior to Pemberley herself. That was not the point of his bereavement.

Mr MacGregor is walking towards him through the long gallery. The red walls and arched ceiling gave the room a warm ambience that does nothing to alleviate the dread that had gathered in the pit of his stomach.

"I have made a grave mistake," he admits aloud before a greeting have been made.

"Welcome home, Laird Eilein. May I say that I am mightily pleased to see you looking so hale? Whatever has brought you to that conclusion can be remedied over a tumbler of whiskey, I am sure. Let us adjoin to the library and sort it out."

Had Mr MacGregor been an ordinary estate manager, this kind of over-familiar address to his laird would have been unheard of but Mr MacGregor was so much more than a mere grieve. He was the closest he had come to something likened to a father. Laird Eilein had grown up at his knee, learnt most of what he knew and trusted him explicitly.

Mrs MacGregor must have heard him coming, she was running as fast as her mature legs could carry her. She enveloped him in a fierce embrace as soon as she reached him. Mrs MacGregor was the other certainty in his life and had adopted the role of his mother after his grandmother had died. Not that she had not already had that role. His grandmother had been much occupied with his ailing aunt.

"I am thrilled to have you home, laird. You had me ever so worried, setting out like that. Had I known what the letter contained, I might not have given it to you," she pronounced haughtily although they both knew she would do no such thing.

He could tell when the first excitement of his homecoming had worn off as she was assessing him and his apparel.

"Tell me, what on earth have you been doing? Your breeches are in tatters, the shirt looks like it has been worn for days and I can hardly see your handsome face with all that growth on your jaw."

Mrs MacGregor was not fond of beards, she leaned in closer and he was certain she had smelled him. "Let me rephrase that assessment to weeks," she muttered and wrinkled her nose. "I will have a bath drawn for you."

Mrs MacGregor rang the bell and a maid was ordered to heat the bathwater for laird Eilein.

"How is Lady Annabel?" he inquired when the hustle had died down.

"Not well, I am afraid, not well at all. She does not respond well to disruptions in her routine. You being away for such a long time distressed her greatly. We have had to restrain her on occasions or she might have injured herself."

"I am sorry, I should not have run away as I did. I am afraid I lost my head in more ways than one."

"It is all forgotten, we are delighted you are back, laird Eilein."

"You may not when I tell you what I have done. I have done something utterly stupid..."

"Pray, you did not confront them?"

"No! No... I bungled it up far worse than that."

"What could possibly be worse than a confrontation with Mr Darcy?"

"Abducting his son's betrothed?"

Both Mr and Mrs MacGregor countenances fell, unable to speak and much less close their mouths. Laird Eilein rested his head in his hands. No words were necessary, he already knew he had made a mistake so monstrous he could hardly believe it when he heard himself admit to his offences aloud.

"Please, tell me you returned her to her friends?" Mrs MacGregor pleaded.

"No!"

What did you do to her? You cannot have killed her?" Mr MacGregor had an aghast look on his countenance.

Laird Eilein looked at his long-trusted grieve and housekeeper who had practically raised him from he was an infant. How could they believe this of him, having known him all his life? He had been raving mad when he left but still...

"No, I brought her home with me."

Mrs MacGregor looked around like he had her hidden behind his back.

"She is down at Eilein Castle with Moira." Laird Eilein rummaged through his pocket. "Here, Moira made a list of fabrics she needs to make her wardrobe. She has nothing but the clothes on her back, she needs everything."

"Could you not just send her back?"

"No! Not because I am concerned for my own sake. The chances of the Darcys descending upon us up here is slim to none but for her safety. I witnessed some disturbing events from my advantage point in the Hunting Tower. In addition, there is a complication of sorts. I need some time and distance from her to contemplate what could be done to salvage the situation, although the solution quite escapes me at the moment."

Mrs MacGregor got up from her seat and walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of the Castle's finest whiskey. Filling three tumblers to the brim before she locked away the bottle. Her dearest men are offered a tumbler each before she sits down to nurse her own.

"It sounds like we might need some fortification before you relate the complication that, by the sound of it, is worse than abducting an innocent young maiden."

Laird Eilein groaned and rubbed his temples with his thumbs, effectively concealing his face with his hands.

"I took her for wife."

"You did what?"

"It was a misunderstanding."

"You deflowered a maiden because of a misunderstanding? Not even I thought you that obtuse of the ways of the world. I have raised you better than that!"

"No!" he practically had to shout to halt Mrs MacGregor's indignant rant. "I did not ravish the girl. She was going on and on about her reputation and the ruination of her four sisters... You know I am not comfortable around strangers. I thought she would reject me outright so I told her we could marry to solve her problems."

"She accepted you?"

"No, she misunderstood me. She thought it was enough that I declared we were married when I explained that Hardwick's marriage act does not apply in Scotland. I explained the demands of the Scottish marriage laws she mistook my meaning. She has been under the apprehension that we have been married for some days now. Moira thought that because she believed us to be married, we are. This is one of the subjects in need of sorting out. What do you think, would you consider me a married man, under the circumstances?"

"You will have to start from the beginning and explain all that has occurred since you left Càrn Gorm before I reveal my judgment in the matter of wed or no..."

Laird Eilein started with the beginning, leaving nothing out, not even the part that put him in a particularly bad light.

"I think I might be afflicted." He let his eyes rest on the roof above them.

"You lost your head boy but under the circumstances, I hardly believe it to be a sign of anything sinister. We may all lose our head under great duress."

"As I watched them play sports, laughing as nothing despicable had never happened. Mr Darcy sauntering across the lawn with this petit brunette, laughing on his arm without a concern in the world, they were winning by the bye...

"My emotions ran off with me and I started planning what I could do to him should he venture into my path alone or with that fop of a friend he always dragged along. I had not thought I would act upon any of it despite some incidents that rendered me sceptical of the scion's intentions. I just wanted to see if I could glean who was the perpetrator.

"Suddenly, early one morning, she stood there in front of me with her eyes closed and her head tilted heavenward. It was too easy, like fate had given me a sign to rescue her from the clutches of Pemberley's darkness. I did not think only acted and ran back the way I had come from. The route was already clear in my head as I found the best paths going south. I am not as certain as you that the affliction has not begun to show itself. I have hardly made a rash decision before this event. I must be going mad."

"If we think you are, we will be the first to let you know. In the meantime, what are you going to do with your wife at Eilein Castle?"

Laird Eilein flinched at the mention of a wife.

"Nothing! You understand that I cannot go near her as she robs me of my sane mind. A trigger of sorts, for the madness. Believe me, it is better this way, she cannot stand the sight of me. I thought I should remove myself from her company."

"But why install her at Eilein?"

"She is kind of a flight hazard."

"You believe she would try to escape?"

He nodded solemnly. "With every opportunity."

"I believe our Moira is right, you are married and if the clan of Eilein is to continue—you are the last heir, you must provide the next generation. As you are conveniently and irrevocably married, I suggest you try to salvage what you may and woo the lady of your choice or the future would look bleak at Càrn Gorm Castle."

"I think not," Laird Eilein muttered. How could you turn deep seated hatred to love? It was impossible!

#

"George!" Lady Annabel called out as she lay eyes on him. "You have come home, I quite despaired of ever seeing you again."

"Nonsenses, I have been south to acquire some necessities. Nothing for you to worry about."

"But you were gone for weeks!"

"Yes, I was delayed by some business. I am sorry if my tardiness has caused you any distress, it was not my intention."

"Of course, you did not worry me on purpose but people have a tendency to disappear, you know."

"Not I, aunt. You can always count on my return."

"You are such a good boy."

#

He did not drink to excess nor smoke those ghastly cigars. He ate properly and exercised regularly, yet he felt sick, utterly and completely sick. The listlessness had crept stealthily up on him, starting with feeling dirty and deprived. Everything he ate tasted the same and the whiskey no longer burned his throat, he must be sick. Some illnesses divested you of taste and smell. Yes, that must be it.

Before he fell into a dreamless sleep at night, his history disturbed him or rather his lack of history. It had been taken from him by an unknown entity that lived at the Pemberley estate and now he had done the same. Stooped down into the abyss of reckless behaviour, sinful and distraught. A rock of dread settled in his stomach.

Hooked, tired and exhausted he awoke the next day. He had denied someone of their history, distorted ugliness remained. It had been two months of deprivation yet he could smell her skin. Conjecture it in his mind effortlessly with the feel and dared he admit taste, would be like.

He pretended to be happy, deprived of words. What could be said? Nothing...