Chapter 18 Trickles of Spring
It was strange how she had adapted to the cold weather. What had felt like excruciatingly cold at the beginning of winter had taken a few days to adjust to and then it felt less painful, almost to a degree of pleasant.
The snow mellowed all sounds into a comfortable silence but with spring in the air, nothing could measure. A dam had broken within, it was like her inner self sprung to life. Her spirit felt light and she had a spring to her step that had not been there before. She danced down the garden path to the little pond with a horn island that was almost submerged by the bourn fed by the thawing snow. A few patches of snow remained in the shady parts of the garden, everywhere else, the brown and dreary grass from yesteryear was turning lush and green. Who could feel listless surrounded by such splendour? Certainly not Elizabeth who had just found the first few coltsfoots of the season. She left them unmolested and returned to the house to break her fast with a new resolution.
She and Laird Eilein were at a stalemate, as her father would have described it. He made no attempt to importune her, sat quietly and stared at her when she was in his company but never tried to breach the gap between them. She had been given the keys to the Castle, including the tea cabinet and had the final say in their menus. It was a small consolation in her dreary existence that he did have some respect for her and thought her capable of being the mistress of his house. At least, in the aftermath of the new year's eve festivities, their relationship had not deteriorated but she surmised that one cannot break what was already broken.
Miss Moira MacGregor had shunned her since the new year's party that had continued unabated until the second of January. By far the longest party Elizabeth had ever attended but it had made her forget her woes if only for a few blessed hours. The contrast had been stark when the guests left and she was huddled up with Laird Eilein and his servants as the January weather had brought merciless gales and temperatures that would give you frostbites in a matter of minutes if you dared venture out of doors. Not until halfway through February had it relented somewhat. At the end of March, the weather had turned a few degrees above the freezing point and felt like a balmy summer day in comparison.
She was the last one to enter the breakfast parlour but nobody paid her late arrival any particular attention. They had grown used to her rambles and no longer commented like she had grown accustomed to dining with the grieve, housekeeper and their offspring. She had gathered by what Laird Eilein had related in addition to bits she had overheard, that they had practically raised him. His aunt had been ill upon their arrival and his grandmother was of advanced age. His father had never been mentioned by anyone. Elizabeth guessed he had passed in some sort of terrible accident, too awful to bear mentioning. Perhaps the same accident who had deprived his aunt of her wits? Some sort of poisoning or illness came to mind but it was all conjectures as nothing of that sort had been indicated. It was, however, clear that Lady Annabel had not always suffered as she did now, she had once been the bell of the ball.
Her ruminations had reminded her that she had yet to hear from her father. It had been months since she penned him a letter, yet there had been no reply. She knew the post was often delayed here in the Highlands but three months seemed excessive, even during the winter. They must be lost. She would address the matter as soon as she had stilled the demands of her empty stomach.
#
After supper, the Càrn Gorm residents gathered in the music room. Elizabeth felt at peace, the spring with its longer days and out of door exercise had done much to raise her spirit. A new set of letters had been written and lay with the promise of news from her family on the silver salver in the foyer.
"Would you not grace us with a song, Lady Eilein?"
Elizabeth did not react, she guessed Mrs MacGregor meant the senior Lady of Eilein, not herself. Not until she noticed that all eyes were on her did, she stutter out a denial of any proficiency.
"You cannot deny that you have a lovely singing voice, I heard you singing Auld Lang Syne on New Year's Eve," Mrs MacGregor chastised with much warmth.
Càrn Gorm's housekeeper had grown on Elizabeth. They worked together every day and Mrs MacGregor was a sensible and warm lady who Elizabeth had flattered herself had taken to Elizabeth like none other of the Eilein clan.
"Besides, you sometimes sing when you embroider, I do not think you are aware of it yourself."
Which was true, Elizabeth must have hummed some tunes but it had been a long time since she had sung before an audience. Her voice was probably rusty.
"What would you like to hear?" she found herself saying.
" The Lady of the Night from The Magic Flute would be lovely."
Elizabeth started, it had been her pièce the résistance at home, aeons ago when Charlotte Lucas sometimes called upon her to perform. Although she was not a soprano and the aria was written for a soprano voice, Elizabeth's alto brought a depth of feeling to the song that usually captivated her audience. Not that she imagined she did the aria any justice, it was a quirky delivery at best, not at all what those who were accustomed to the best of performers would expect. She must have, inattentively, let some stanzas drop in company with Mrs MacGregor. It fitted her current situation well though. It had not escaped her that servants and neighbours thought her a difficult wife who kept their Laird on arm's length. He could do no wrong in their eyes so consequently, it must be she that was a shrewish witch, not dissimilar to The Lady of the Night. At the end of the play, the Queen and her cohorts had been vanquished, allowing Prince Tamino and his Pamina to have their happily ever after. Perhaps there was a Prince Tamino and a daughter Pamina here at Càrn Gorm that yearned for each other clandestinely? She would not be surprised. Besides, Elizabeth would not mind disappearing albeit less dramatically than the lady of the night had...
Elizabeth rose and walked to a corner of the room that was far enough from her audience. She had a powerful enough voice and started to sing unaccompanied by any instrument. She started with the solfeggio to warm up her voice. The aria was not one she could perform without preparation.
#
There was nothing ever so beautiful! Even the memory of those sounds so clear, so sweet, so harmonious, the voice that ran like silver water of pearls!
There is no enjoyment equal to beautifully rendered music, simple or complicated when it is truthfully and earnestly given. It had always afforded him the most intense pleasure he was capable of feeling, yet nothing compared to the voice he had heard this evening. He was bewitched, enthralled! He had followed her to her chamber that night and could not restrain himself from kissing those lips that rendered him stupefied.
Their company had fared no better although Mrs MacGregor sported a knowing smirk, she must have known the gem that was hiding under their roof.
She should be performing on the great stages across the continent. Instead, she was locked away in a Highland Castle. The glimpse of her true nature that had surfaced at Hogmanay had not reappeared the three months that had passed. She kept herself rigidly aloof, treading carefully around himself and his servants. It must come at a high price, clamping down her nature in such a fashion and he certainly did not want her to. Her vivaciousness was exactly what they needed to remedy their past grievances—to chase away decades of gloomy existence.
He could not simply order her to be cheerful, he doubted that would have the desired effect but he hoped she would bring some of the levity she showed on her rambles through the garden, inside with her when she broke her fast. Where was she by the way?
"Have you seen, Elizabeth?" He momentarily forgot himself and called her by her Christian name rather than her title.
"Yes, she came by the kitchen about an hour ago to get a basket for old Mrs Farquharson. She had decided to visit this morning and notified me that we should not expect her back for breakfast."
"It seems like Mrs Farquharson has taken to Lady Eilein?"
"She has and to be honest, I am relieved. She rarely let anyone close, I am happy to have someone who can see to her welfare."
"Yes, good..."
Laird Eilein ducked his head back into his news sheet. It would not do for Mrs MacGregor to see his disappointment in being deprived of his wife's company for breakfast. Mrs MacGregor was too perceptive for her own good.
He excused himself as soon as he had finished eating and retired to his study, conveniently situated on the first floor; it had an excellent view of a favoured spot in the garden. He walked nonchalantly to the window to survey the garden; she was not there which probably meant that Mrs Farquharson had wanted her company. He should be thrilled, the old lady lived alone with only a maid of all trades to see to her needs. Once a great lady and a distinguished member of society and last but not least, she had been a dear friend of his beloved grandmother. She would be appalled had she seen Mrs Farquharson's current living conditions after her grandson, Laird Farquharson, had inherited the keep and his wife had made living there arduous. He had offered her shelter at Càrn Gorm Castle but the old lady had preferred a cottage of her own. Stubborn as a mule and fiercely independent, reminding him of someone else he knew. Hopefully, Elizabeth could persuade her to come for a visit?
Not that Mrs Farquharson was destitute, far from it but she had grown eccentric in her latter years, thrifty to the nines and revelled in her oddities. Perhaps it was not so strange the new Lady Farquharson had evicted the old lady. She believed one towel sufficed for a weeks use, rumours had that she slept in the shirt her husband had worn through the day to spare the scullery maids from laundry and he had once heard that she had sown up a turkey she had divided in two after her son had come on an unannounced visit. By what he had seen he would not put it past her.
He could not spend all day gazing out of the windows; Laird Eilein sighed and attacked the pile of correspondence that had accumulated on his desk. It was some hours later he entered the dining room to eat dinner. His aunt, Mrs MacGregor and Mr MacGregor were present, their offspring followed close on his heel.
"Should we wait not for Lady Eilein?"
"Why, I am famished," Lady Annabel proclaimed.
"I have not seen her since this morning, I thought she might be with you," Mrs MacGregor suggested, a bit contrived.
"Why would she spend the day with me? She has never done so before."
"I am seriously displeased," Lady Annabel started to say but the laird spoke over her.
"Summon the servants to inquire if anyone has seen her!"
Mrs MacGregor did as ordered and it was soon established that Elizabeth had not returned from her morning visit with Mrs Farquharson. The laird decided he could not wait another minute to retrieve her. There might be some emergency at Mrs Farquharson's cottage that prohibited Elizabeth from returning home or she might be lost, wandering aimlessly through the thick forest.
Mr MacGregor followed him from the dining room and called the mastiffs as soon as they were out of doors. The dogs liked a ramble and trailed happily by their side while the grieve wisely kept his peace. The stormy expression on the laird's countenance did not induce him to search for a topic for conversation.
#
Mrs Farquharson's quaint little cottage came into view. It dawned on the laird how easy it was to miss, particularly if you were unfamiliar with the land. Even with the snow-covered grounds, the ivy hid most of the walls and the trees hugged it in a tight embrace. There was smoke coming out of the chimney which would be discernible for a trained eye who kept watch of those things but he knew Elizabeth was not used to track.
Laird Eilein walked resolutely to the door and knocked forcefully. Mrs Farquharson had become quite deaf with age; subtle pats would not rouse her.
He heard shuffling footsteps before the door was opened by the lady herself.
"Do you not have a maid to open your door?"
"I have, she is out fetching water but do come in. How lovely to see you, your wife was here yesterday. Beautiful little spirit, very vivacious and lovely."
"Right, I wondered if she had not come by today as she mentioned bringing you a basket with some victuals."
"Oh no, she does not need to bring a basket every day, Laird Eilein. Once a week is quite sufficient for my needs"
"She could have come to talk to you?"
"A lady like yours, Laird Eilein, would never arrive empty-handed but I am not so feeble-minded that I cannot distinguish yesterday from today."
"No, I suppose not," the laird lied. He did not know Elizabeth well enough to determine if it was true or not so he thought agreeing would be the wisest course. It dawned on him how derelict a husband he had been. Expecting Elizabeth to warm to him over time, that she would discover what a paragon of virtue he really was when he had his facilities under good regulation. He was a respected landowner, a renowned laird to his clan and a vigilant caregiver to those who depended upon him. She had not...
He had thought himself the most patient husband that had ever lived. She must see that he was a decent man and not a sore to the eyes. He had enough of the female population hunting him down to be ascertained of his attractiveness but Elizabeth seemed immune to his charm, his wealth, his connections. Nothing mattered to her but her blasted Hertfordshire family who must be exemplar to have gained the affections of his lady.
"I must bid you a good day, Mrs Farquharson, with every wish of continued health and happiness. We must be on our way."
Mrs Farquharson returned the fare the well and closed the door. Laird Eilein stepped away from hearing range before he voiced his concerns to Mr MacGregor.
"I believe she might be lost, MacGregor. She has never missed a meal before."
"No, she has not. Should we get the horses or continue on foot?"
"We need the horses; she is hours ahead and darkness will soon be upon us."
MacGregor nodded, sensing the seriousness that had befallen his master who came to an abrupt halt by the creek in the garden. Little dainty footsteps led to the bourn and continued on the other side but did not return.
"We should go there first."
The horses were saddled within minutes and the laird and his grieve were on their way, following a path known to them, it led to the river Druie who ended up in the Spey downstream Rothiemurchus. On a rare and hot summer, they had to get water from the Druie when the garden bourn had run dry. It had happened once in his lifetime but every fifty years or so, they had a summer so hot that water became an issue. There was no reason to trod the trail on a spring day. Water was had in abundance and there were no cottages to visit on this trail, neither was fishing a possibility with the iced-over creek.
He should have accounted for the difference in the current running down the Druie when the snow in the mountains was thawing. He could hear the Druie over the din of clattering hooves, long before he saw it. He was still following the dainty footsteps that crossed every puddle of thawing snow.
Mayhap she had taken a fall or sprained an ankle like she had done on their journey northwards. With such elegant ankles, it was no wonder they sometimes gave away.
The laird dismounted his steed, the branches were becoming too low for riding. His horse would be fine but he would get whipping he was loath to experience. He tied off Swiftsilver and headed to the riverbank.
His heart sank into his stomach where it continued to pound ferociously. The dainty imprints continued straight into the frothing river. He looked upstream and downstream but nowhere could he spot a set of footprints leading out of the river. He tracked further down the stream, a hundred yards, two hundred yards, three... There was not a sign of her anywhere until he reached a small waterfall, he could not get past, he had no other option but to walk back to his starting point where MacGregor stood with the dogs, rubbing his chin.
"I went a little upstream but there was no sign of her."
"No, I found nothing downstream either."
A sudden idea struck him. He pulled out the kerchief he carried around in his inner pocket. He could pretend he had taken it with him on purpose but the truth was that it had been there since the first day Elizabeth had set foot in Càrn Gorm Castle. She had dropped it, running away from him but he had not returned it for some unexplainable reason—he continued lying to himself. To the uninformed, their marriage must appear to be love.
"You better forget about the lass, Fitzwilliam!"
Forget Elizabeth? Binding the wind would be about as easy...
He had married a Sassenach, no one who knew him would believe he had abducted the poor girl and locked her up in a castle to keep her by his side. He had admonished her for complaining when the reality was that he had been deeply impressed by her ability to conquer her fear. It had not passed his notice that she had trembled like an autumn leaf in a gale when they climbed the rock wall. He had worried her legs would cave and she would tumble down into certain death. The fear had made him abrupt and unfeeling towards her rather than aiding her to overcome her anxiety. The thought spurred him into acting, he had failed her repeatedly —he would not do so again...
Mr MacGregor was eyeing him strangely but he did not care. He trusted the blasted kerchief under the dog's nose and spurred him in to play, frolicking around before he called for Elizabeth. The dog immediately looked around before his nose lunged to the ground. He followed easily the footprints down to the river bank but that could just be following his recent imprints. When the dog turned upstream, he thought he had caught the whiff of some animal but he would not return when he called him back. Laird Eilein had no choice but to follow. He told Mr MacGregor to take the horses along the path that followed the Druie at a few yards distance while he tried to keep up with his dog along the riverbank.
The dog was walking in the river water which was strange but he noticed that he sniffed at rocks that broke the surface. He had a hard time following him through bushes and slippery icy patches along the trail and he worried for his dog who seemed oblivious to the current in the raging river.
"This a futile endeavour, laird, Tempest could be tracking an animal for all that we know."
Laird Eilein scowled at his grieve who obviously thought that Elizabeth had drowned in the river. He would not allow himself to believe that until he had investigated every other possibility. He owed her that much after ripping her from her friends and family in a moment of insanity. Not that his subsequent conduct had improved by much but there were too many circumstances to consider. The Eilein clan and all the tenants and tradesmen that were depending upon him to lead them and make their small corner of the world prosper. He owed himself...
The offence he had committed towered over him and held him chained to his course. There was no escape for either of them. He hoped that with time and familiarity, Elizabeth would grow to... What exactly? He did not know – less cold and more welcoming.
They must have fought their way upwards for about fifteen minutes when the dog took a turn into a particularly dense thicket. The laird had to crawl on his hands and knees to follow him but the dog kept going. He followed a trail alongside the path that swirled between the trees in a strange pattern, always on the dry, snowless spots until there were no more dry spots left. It was then he saw it, small footprints in the snow. It was by no means certain it was Elizabeth's but it was proof it was not an animal his dog was trailing but a human being. It was all could hope for at this point.
The footprints followed a path that made absolutely no sense to the laird. Along the Druie southwards and upwards to the Càrn Gorm mountain pass Lairig Ghru. There were no inhabited cottages further up the river. There were a few hunting cabins but none that were occupied this early in the spring. Elizabeth must be lost rather than on her way to visit anyone of his clan.
Two hours later the laird and his grieve had only the light from the moon to aid them to navigate the path. After the sun had set, the temperature had dropped below the freezing point, making the trickling thaw into treacherous ice. The horses moved at the pace of a snail to keep them on their feet. His steed had once slipped and fallen to its knees but the robust stallion had risen with his rider still in its saddle. He knew Swiftsilver was in a league of its own but he could not but be more impressed by the sheer strength in this beast. Besides, focusing on his animal took his thoughts away from Elizabeth who must be utterly exhausted, cold and disheartened. He tried valiantly to keep the thought of her as dead at an arm's length but as most thoughts to be avoided, it would not relent.
The sound of Tempest barking brought him out of his morose thoughts, the dog had not made much noise since his master opted to follow in his trail. Tempest had disappeared under a pine tree with low-hanging branches. His heart sank, it must have been an animal after all. He had not seen any footprints since the darkness fell upon them. Tempest kept on barking like a mad dog, he must have found a dead animal under there or there would have been growling and evidence of a fight coming from the tree by now.
Tempest did a little victory round towards him. His tale was high and wagging furiously, beckoning him to see his discovery. Tiredly, laird Eilein slid from the saddle and followed his dog to the pine. Pieces of cloth could be seen through the branches.
"Thank you, Lord!" Laird Eilein sank to his knees, reached for her with long sinuous arms and pulled her into the safety of his embrace.
#
His hands roamed her person. Checking for an injury she guessed but it served well to warm her so she did not complain. Laird Eilein grabbed her head in both of his hands and searched her countenance but did not meet her eyes. A chaste but lengthy kiss landed on her lips before he tucked her head under his chin, he let out a shuddering breath she could not interpret as anything but relief. He must be glad to have found her alive and well or as well as one could be on the verge of freezing to death.
Elizabeth was rocked back and forth while warmth from his body seeped through her thin clothing appropriate for the warmth of midday but utterly insufficient for the chilly nights and sleeping out of doors. The ice winged winds had whipped her face until her cheeks burned but it had not been until she had felt numbness overtake them that she had become frightened.
"I am glad you brought food, there is a hunting cabin not far from here. I am afraid we must spend the night there as Swiftsilver cannot carry both of us home without some rest first."
Did he realise she had run away from him? Deliberately left footprints into the raging river so that he would believe her drowned? Running back to Longbourn was no longer an option after she had been discovered by the Grants. She would have had to make her own way in the world, somewhere in the north of England. She had brought food to keep her alive for a few days until she reached inhabited areas on the other side of the mountain. However, this short adventure had taught her that surviving in the wild was not as easy as she had thought and bore no thought of repetition.
"I may safely promise you that I will never venture so far on my own ever again. I thought I was going to freeze to death."
If anything, his grip tightened and Elizabeth shivered.
"You are cold, let us get you home."
Elizabeth could only nod her assent as she was pulled out from beneath the pine tree and carried to the waiting horse. Tempest was jumping about, barking like an exuberant pup. Where he found the energy after such a long day was beyond Elizabeth but Mr MacGregor looked wary at her and exonerated nothing of the dog's joy. Elizabeth suspected he knew exactly what was Elizabeth's purpose in venturing so far from home but the laird seemed not to or he hid it well.
The cabin was not so far away, another ten minutes on Swiftsilver's back and they could get shelter from the wind between four sturdy walls. The cabin contained two cots, a table and two chairs. Mr MacGregor busied himself with lighting the fire while Elizabeth put food on the table. The men must be hungry but she was not, just excessively tired. She curled up in the cot closest to the raging fire, facing the wall so that no one could see her silent tears. Her teeth clattered and she fought to relax her high strung muscles enough to stop it. The chill came from within, along with resignation. When her husband lay down behind her and pulled her to his chest, she snuggled closer to reap the warmth of his embrace.