Chapter 2 Thistle Fury

Scottish blessing:

If there is righteousness in the heart, there will always be beauty in the character.

When the day finally came and guests were milling over the stone bridge to Eilean Bennet Castle, Lizzy was busy.

Her mare had decided to have her foal on this very day and Elizabeth was not about to abandon her horse in her time of need. Besides, the stable hands were occupied with accommodating all the horses that were arriving with their guests.

Lizzy had, fortunately, not had time to change into her new frock but her shoes had not been so lucky. Sodden by blood and birth water as her mare's new-born, black stallion had seen his first ray of light and taken his first wobbling steps on shaky legs. Elizabeth had laughed out loud, startling Kelpie, as he staggered to his feet. He looked like he was blootered.

The music had begun playing before Elizabeth thought it safe to run inside and change into her new gown.

The drawback was that there was nobody left inside to help her. It was fortunate that her gown was laced in the front and not in the back but her hair was another matter. She braided the front but gave up on mastering her long curls and left it hanging down her back. The worst was still her shoes. She dried them off with flannel cloths but they made gurgling sounds as she tried to pull them on. It was a futile endeavour and she left them off with her now sodden socks.

The weather was balmy or she might have had to stay inside. It matched her new tunic perfectly as she had opted for the short, puffy sleeves and low neckline.

On her way out she glanced into her fathers favourite hideaway but he was not there. Elizabeth was glad that he had chosen to participate rather than exclude himself from the company.

Elizabeth was rushing out the door towards the big bonfire when she remembered that she had forgotten to leave a fresh bundle of hay for Kelpie. The detour would not be long and she turned on her heel towards the stable, found a pair of oversized boots inside the door so she would not tread on bare feet in something nasty and threw fresh hay over Kelpie's stable wall. The temptation to look at the foal, one last time, proved too strong and she sneaked into the cubicle. Kelpie was none too pleased with Elizabeth standing in the way of her fresh hay and nudged her but Elizabeth managed to stay on her feet. She was off-kilter though when the new-born foal came bouncing around his mother, knocking her further off her feet. She stumbled in her large boots and landed on her hindquarters in the fresh hay.

Relived that she had landed in the cleanest spot she could have possibly managed, she brushed the hay from her skirt and headed outside before anything more untoward could happen.

The dancing was in full swing and the first familiar person she spotted was Jane dancing with a handsome man with a wide grin and twinkling eyes. He looked utterly besotted but so did Jane. The man winked at a fellow on the outskirt of the dancers. He did not dance himself but seemed to amuse himself by stalking around the revellers. The dark-haired man on the outskirts rolled his eyes at the blond winker and turned for a second in Elizabeth's direction. She froze on the spot and was glad that the musicians had drowned out her loud gasp.

He was the most magnificent specimen of man she had ever seen. Tall, broad-shouldered, chiselled bone structure, the corners of his mouth curled in an amused smile. She hoped his eyes were blue but it was impossible to discern at a distance. He moved elegantly and confidently, like her father's treasured stallion.

Elizabeth started out in the opposite direction, hoping to encounter him face to face along the perimeter of the dancers. He had ducked out of sight when the dance was over and she was waylaid by her sister and her dance partner. Jane introduced her man as the much revered Charles MacBingley and he bowed to her and thanked Jane heartily for the dance. He coerced Jane into promising him a dance later after he had ensured the comfort of a friend that did not have many acquaintances in attendance.

'He seemed so kind-hearted and good-natured, perfect for her sister Jane.' Elizabeth thought, a little embarrassed that she had not recognised him.

Elizabeth could not help herself and tugged Jane into a tight embrace while she whispered in her ear: "He is half in love with you already. You must forge while the iron is hot."

Jane laughed and pulled herself free and grabbed Elizabeth's hands in hers.

"Hush Lizzy, you might jinx it."

Shy Jane was practically bouncing on her feet, Elizabeth had never seen her sister looking so perfectly happy. Her eyes glittered in the rays of the setting sun. It made Elizabeth just as gloriously joyous. Her mare had birthed a strapping foal with little trouble and Jane's heart had been touched, nothing could destroy the joy she felt at that moment. Above her own happiness, was Jane's happiness. Who would not wish every pleasure on such a deserving creature as her eldest sister?

Fitzwilliam Darcy was sulking on the outskirts of the merriment. Charles, who had promised to never leave his side in the company of these savages had done exactly that, minutes after their arrival. Lured away by a strawberry blonde beauty. Even he would admit that she was uncommonly pretty but she was still Scottish which would not be so bad if she had not hailed from the uncouth Highlands. As did Charles but he had lived his forming years under the best tutelage that England could offer. It had turned him into a refined gentleman. That would never have happened had he not left for Eton and later Cambridge, where they had been introduced.

Darcy had taken an instant liking to the merry fellow with a happy disposition that concealed a keen mind for business to many an ignorant but not him. He had spotted it almost at their first meeting and they had been friends ever since which had ultimately led him into the conundrum he now found himself in, at this very moment.

When he reluctantly had agreed to visit MacBingley, he had not expected to be dragged along to dance with the heathens, out of doors by a bonfire. He would be the laughing stock of all of London's high society if they ever found out he had participated in this pagan festival. Not to forget his relations. Lady Catherine would be appalled which might not be such a bad thing if it would convince her that he was unsuited as her daughter's husband. He could not fight the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth by that thought. Perhaps he should mention the trip, just in her hearing. Nah, she would never keep quiet. The Matlocks would be informed as quickly as an express rider could be dispatched.

His musings had left him in a rare, humorous disposition. The fact that MacBingley had been freed of his dance partner and was coming towards him, added to his stellar mood.

"Darcy come here, I must have you dance. This is not like the stiff balls of the upper éclat's of London. The girls are prettier and the dances are much more fun."

Darcy was not that fond of fun, he preferred quiet contemplation or heated debates to fun at any given moment.

"You were dancing with the only pretty girl in the entire Highlands. She is occupied as I just spotted her being scurried away buy a burly warrior in a kilt. I would prefer not to antagonize him by stealing his partner. To stand up with any of the other women present would surely be more punishment than pleasure."

"I would not be as fastidious as you for the entire Highlands. Jane MacBennet is an angel but there are many pretty ladies here. Just behind me is Jane's sister, Elizabeth. She is uncommonly pretty, would you not say?"

MacBingley turned and pointed at the girl in a dark green gown with fiery red curls tumbling down her back. Darcy snorted, did she not know that a lady never wore her hair down in company? It was simply not done.

To add to the lack of refinement, she had straws of hay in her hair and at the bottom of her hem, he noticed as his eyes travelled downwards and spotted her lack of shoes as she rose on her toes to hug a friend.

"Surely not... That hair looks like it is about to catch on fire, mayhap it already has. I can see hay sticking out of the mess. To be out in company without donning her hair with hay protruding from her scalp to her ankles which are bare, I noticed. I do not dance with peasant girls MacBingley. I daresay my toes will bear the deprivation of being stepped on by your Scottish thistle."

At that moment, the Scottish thistle turned towards him with beautiful green eyes, or were they blue? Even in daylight, right in front of him he could not choose one colour over the other and decided they were both. The outer rim was definitely dark green but the rest was flecks of green and blue, scattered with specks of silver. He was lost. Belatedly, he remembered to close his mouth that had fallen open on its own accord. Her lips were puckered in a kissable manner but he doubted the gesture would be welcomed. He lifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes. The wide-open orbs had been narrowed by long thick lashes, they were red as her hair. Her nose and cheeks were dusted with freckles, how adorable, all ladies should have them. He must remember to tell Georgiana when he was back home, not to wear those ridiculous wide-brimmed bonnets...

"Mr MacBingley, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your nitwitted friend?"

The dryad quirked an eyebrow. Even her alto voice flowed through his ears like the softest velvet.

"Certainly, Miss Elizabeth."

'Elizabeth, what a beautiful name. Perfect for whispering softly in a dainty ear while... Why was MacBingley scowling at him?'

"Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

"Sassenach?"

'Her nose had cute little wrinkles, accentuating her lovely freckles. She let out a musical laughter.

Good, she was not offended by his misapprehensions before they were introduced.'

"My horse just had a foal... today. I had to check on him and my mare before I could join the merriment. I just had a splendid idea for the name of my new stallion. Fitzwilliam means son of William doesn't it?" Charles nodded as Darcy had not found his wits yet.

'Elizabeth, because that was what he was allowed to call her in his mind, let out a shrill sound. Was she calling her horse like he had taught his horse? The lady kept amazing him at every turn.'

"I think I will call the foal Fitzfitzwilliam's spawn of the devil as he is a lanky, wobbly arrogant little bastard. His coat is black as the night. I hope you do not mind me naming my horse after your manservant but his ridiculous suit reminded me of the foals black coat. Mischievous little rapscallion, he knocked me over while I was feeding his exhausted mother. What do you say, Camkirk? Shall I make you trade your kilt for braise?"

A giant of a man appeared before his eyes. Weathered and scarred, the telltale signs of a warrior that had experienced many battles and survived them all.

"Come now, Miss Lizzy. You cannot go around, insulting your mother's guests. You must apologise to MacBingley's gentleman friend."

'Goliath had been stern but his tone of voice suggested great affection for his Elizabeth which endeared him to Darcy. Wait, who had she insulted?' His eyes moved from the giant to the petite lady in front of him. 'She looked a little tired, had she been up all night with her mare? Was her eyes misty, did her lip tremble ever so slightly? Who had affected her so, he would knock him out cold. Unless it had been the giant, even he knew, he would never win over this abnormity of human strength.' Darcy rarely looked up at any man, being a tall man himself but this Camkirk had an advantage of him by several inches.

Elizabeth lifted her now suspiciously cloudy eyes and met the tender gaze of the giant.

"He called me a peasant girl and... and... a thistle!"

'The hitch in her voice was unmistakable, she was on the verge of crying and it was his own damn fault...'

Camkirk pulled Elizabeth into a fierce bear hug.

"Did he now? Dinna fash yerself... Let me tell you a little story lass, then you can decide if he should live or no...

In the mid 13th century, a Norse king called Haakon tried to invade Largs.

His Viking warriors came creeping upon the Clansmen and Highlanders in the stealth of night, planning an attack while they slept.

To approach without a sound, they took off their shoes which became their undoing.

One of the Vikings stepped on a thistle and his screeching could have wakened the dead. The Clansmen and Highlanders leapt to their feet, grabbed their swords and charged into battle. The legend says that because of the vital role the thistle played in the victorious outcome, the thistle was immediately picked as the national emblem of Scotland. Now lass, what shall we do with that loser of a Sassenach that stepped on the thistle. Should we send him back to England with his tail between his legs or shall I snap his neck and bury him within the manure pile behind the stables? Surely, none will be looking for him in that foul-smelling hill..."

The wood nymph laughed and swatted the giant's arm.

"No, I think my tongue lashing will have to suffice. I haven't had a chance to danced yet, come."

Elizabeth grabbed the giant's hand and tugged him towards the dance floor. He did not budge.

"Absolutely not, lass. My dancing days were over before they began. I am your protector, not your sport. You know my hip would not survive. What would be entertaining was if you and the Sassenach..."

Elizabeth head snapped towards Camkirk, eyes shooting daggers in his direction as she deftly interrupted the giant.

"You cannot mean... He called me..."

"Aye, peasant and thistle. Neither is insults lass. The peasants work hard for Eilean Bennet Castle's food and prosperity, thistles are worth its weight in gold. We might have been ruled by the pagan Vikings if not for that hardened plant. I recall someone referring to the spawn of the devil. I say the insults were evenly distributed and the punishment for the both of you will be an awkward and uncomfortable dance with each other.

Now, where are your shoes, lass? Your mother will have both our hides if she finds you gallivanting around without..."

"They were drenched in the birth water. I tried to dry them off but they had soaked through."

"You could have taken your slippers."

"And ruined them after few steps over the pebbles and grass?"

The eyebrow that seemed to have a life of its own leapt towards her hairline.

"Right, that would not do but you are not talking me out of me mission, lass."

Camkirk grabbed her hand and offered it to Darcy.

"May I suggest, Sir, that you utilize that fine education I am sure your father lavished upon you with a heartfelt and sincere apology. No amount of grovelling could prove too much."

Darcy nodded and offered his elbow to the indignant Highland Valkyrie. She threw a look towards Camkirk that could probably ignite a fire as he put her hand on Darcy's arm but the giant proved to be implacable.

Darcy lay his free hand atop of Elizabeth's. He told himself it was to give her comfort because that is what he did when he was escorting his sister and he could feel her tense up. That was only half of the truth as it was as much to prohibit her from fleeing as it was to provide her some comfort.

He had tried to be funny, failing miserably when he made those comments about her hair. He should have known better, he was not a funny man. Never had been, never would be. It was a pathetic attempt to make MacBingley laugh and it had fallen flat. MacBingley had not been amused and he had hurt the most gorgeous creature he had ever beheld. What could he ever say that would make amends for such an affront? Nothing that came to mind... He wished she would look up and meet his eyes. He could communicate his regret with his eyes what his mouth could not express but she did not. Her eyes were averted to the ground. Perhaps she worried that he might step on her bare toes.

He looked around and it got worse. He did not know this dance, it was none of those his dance master had drilled into his head. The steps seemed haphazard, he strained to understand the order of it when Elizabeth tugged her hands free. She was going to bolt, abandoning this clod that had led her to the midst of the revellers, only to freeze on the spot.

Elizabeth kept her head down, making sure her bare feet did not show as she walked to the midst of the dancers. She had freckles even there, on the top of her feet but he had not mentioned her freckles, had he? No, it was her hair which was nothing new under the sun. She had seen her own reflection many times.

It was the peasant and thistle comment that hurt. The arrogant English bastard was unlikely to have heard the Viking story or even to have known it was a Scottish national emblem. She was not about to disparage the peasants that put food on their table and made Eilean Bennet Castle prosper but grabbed onto the thistle remark with vengeance in mind. She added Camkirk to the plot.

Had he known her thoughts before the insulting remarks, he would probably not have forced her to dance with the scallywag but she was never going to enlighten him on that account. The secret would be tucked away in the most remote recess of her mind, never to be called upon again.

She noticed that their progress had stopped. A glance told her that her escort was looking around with a bewildered expression. He clearly had no idea how to dance. Oh, bother and misery...

She loosened her hold on his arm and his head snapped up in her direction, his blue eyes opened wide. His lashes were thick and black, what would she not sacrifice for lashes like that. A limb came to mind but she soon realised that was perhaps a feature she needed.

She grabbed both of his hands and moved to her left, twirling them around. If he could not lead them, she would...

He was dizzy, they were spinning around on the grass in a dance he had never seen the likes of when she suddenly stopped and he almost stumbled forward. She raised her left hand and went to his left side. He did not comprehend so she took hold if his left arm and raised so she could clap it. When she moved to his right he knew what to do. Elizabeth moved away from him and skipped and bounced with her arms held high. Her hair flowed in auburn waves down her back as she twirled, it must have been the light from the setting sun that had made it look like fire.

Darcy stood rooted to the spot as he notices the other male dancers skipped around while their feet moved like drumsticks. He would have liked to see Elizabeth's feet move in a similar fashion but they were covered by her white tunic and deep green gown.

Another Highland lady grabbed Elizabeth's arm and spun her around simultaneously, a Highland warrior grabbed his arm and he had no choice but to let himself be twirled. Fortunately, it was just a few rounds before the warrior let him go and it was Elizabeth linking her arm in his. Another spin and he felt faint. He had an apology to make but no appropriate words were materialising in his mind.

"I am sorry you heard me, in an around about way, calling you the spawn of the devil."

She had beat him to it. Apologised in a circuit manner, followed by a secret smile that she was trying to conceal by pursing her full lips. It made him yearn to touch them with his own. He was fully aware that her apology had been nothing of the sort but he thanked her anyway. It made those celestial orbs widen in surprise, leaving him breathless for more. On that thought, the bagpipes went silent. The dance was over, he had missed his chance. He could do nothing but escort her back to her sister or could he. He needed more time and she seemed preoccupied as he led her towards the outskirts and paid him no attention.

"May I call on you on the morrow? I owe you an apology."

"To what purpose? I believe we have paid our penance, there is no need to further this tragedy. Let me make it easy for you, Mr Darcy?

I forgive you. There you have it. Now, I give you leave to forget we have ever met."

He did not get the chance to reply before she yanked her hand free and broke into a run. Obviously desperate to get away from him as fast as humanly possible.

He kept on walking with his eyes strained on her retreating form and the curls that whipped her back as she ran. She was heading towards the stables. Darcy thought she was going to check her horse when she whirled off track and disappeared behind the stable.

Almost immediately, she resurfaced with another redheaded girl that she was pulling along by her braid. A young lad followed with his head turned down. The spectacle proceeded towards the entrance of the castle when a man intercepted them. He wore his long white hair in a queue and sported a massive white beard.

Elizabeth showed the other girl in front of him, relating some sort of tale, judging by the gestures but he could see that the shoulders of the man slumped in defeat. He waved to Camkirk who stepped up to them, grabbed the girl that Darcy guessed was a MacBennet and hauled her over his shoulder. He carried her into the castle while the girl wailed, slapped and kicked with all her might. Camkirk yanked off her shoes and threw them towards Elizabeth, making the girl wails intensify by a tenfold.

Elizabeth picked them up and sat on the steps to pull them on while the man he thought was her father shook his head. The patriarch, Darcy guessed, put a comforting hand on Elizabeth's shoulder.

Shoes in place, Elizabeth grabbed her father's hand and dragged him towards the dancers. He obviously tried to fight her off but she was relentless. They passed him without any acknowledgement and joined the vigorous reel. The father stood in the middle, much like Darcy himself had initially done, making him look like a curmudgeon. Elizabeth laughed and teased until he gave in and joined her in her merriment.

Darcy stood on the outskirts, watching the revellers when Campbell, Charles younger brother approached him.

"What an unpleasant way to spend an evening. I suppose you are missing the refinement of London society rather desperately. Perhaps we should all go, sooner rather than later, I would suggest. Charles is dancing with the eldest MacBennet for the second time. You know how easily he is persuaded by a pretty countenance. She could pull him into the dark depths by a thread."

London, he would not have traded a thousand balls for the chance of bathing one second in those stunning eyes. Neither would he deprive Charles of an angel if she was in fact one. He would at least meet her before he decided one way or the other. In the meantime, he would be watching his mouth like a hawk. Better to say nothing than let that mischief-maker run on without guidance.

He needed to think... He had to come up with something extraordinary if he were to earn Elizabeth's good opinion but he would be persistent in his pursuit.

Love at first sight, he would never have believed it possible, had he not experienced the notion himself.

His eyes moved from Elizabeth to her sister. They did not resemble each other much apart from the red hues in their hair. While Elizabeth was short and curvy, Jane was tall and willowy. Jane's features were flawless, she had ivory skin without a freckle in sight while Elizabeth nose turned a little upwards and her skin was dusted with freckles. They both had high cheekbones, a heart-shaped countenance and full lips but Elizabeth upper lip was a straight line, without the cleft that Jane had. It somehow made her lips look softer and fuller.

The dance ended, Charles had spotted him with Campbell and was heading their way with a firm grip on Jane's hand. To his astonishment, so was Elizabeth. She was being hauled along by her father, obviously preferring another direction but her father would have none of it.

"Campbell, Darcy, meet beautiful Jane MacBennet. She is an excellent dancer, is she not?"

Darcy nodded politely.

"Miss MacBennet, my friend Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, my brother Campbell you know."

Jane curtsied politely but did not meet their eyes. Darcy recognized the signs he so often had observed in his sister, Jane was shy.

The MacBennet patriarch arrived with his reluctant daughter in tow but it was not him she was scowling at, it was Campbell, interesting... He preferred to be ignored rather than the recipient of that scowl.

Thomas MacBennet extended his large hand towards Charles, giving him a heartfelt welcome back to Eilean Bennet Castle. He asked him intelligent questions about his education at Cambridge before he greeted Campbell. Campbell in turn, introduced Darcy as he was his particular friend, stepping in between Jane and Charles, forcing her to step back.

"I see your manners have not improved, despite your University education from Edinburgh," Elizabeth remarked wryly. Campbell turned towards her and smirked.

"You are mistaking university for a ladies seminar, perhaps you should attend one?"

MacBennet put his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. Elizabeth smiled up at him but he shook his head discreetly. Elizabeth's shoulders slumped at her father's curtailment.

"How is your sister Georgiana, Darcy? She is the epitome of female grace, beauty and accomplishments. In my eyes, no Highland wench can compare, braw or not."

Darcy frowned at Campbell, he had never met Georgiana. All he knew was what his brother had told him and Charles better not have cast his mooning eyes in that direction. The girl was four and ten, years from her come out, into society.

"Georgiana is currently residing at the Misses Hewlett's seminary." Which was all Darcy was prepared to divulge on that topic.

"An excellent educational institution, I am certain."

"I am not so sure, Georgiana's letters have been rather bleak lately..."

Darcy drove his hand through his hair before he could stop himself and immediately tried to brush down the tangled mess it had left in its wake.

"How old is your sister?" It was the timid Jane that had spoken.

"She is four and ten."

Darcy let his hands drop to his sides. What would he have done if he had overheard someone calling his sister a peasant and a weed?

He would probably have tied him behind his horse and dragged the culprit trough rocky terrain... It was a futile attempt but he needed to deliver a sincere apology.

"May I call upon you on the morrow, Laird MacBennet?"

The patriarch eyed him for a long enough moment to get uncomfortable but Darcy weathered it down.

"You may Mr Darcy."

*The Scottish Thistle, the earliest recorded Scottish national plant in the 13th century.

*Blootered – drunk

*Braw – beautiful