1
SCOTLAND, 1836
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a young lady of good breeding, leading a comfortable life, should make her devoted parents happy by her obedience to their wishes and expectations for her future.
Sadly, Miss Flora Louisa McGregor was not living up to these high ideals. Her mother gazed at her in despair, wondering fleetingly if her old nurse had been right in saying that she suspected Flora of being a changeling, deposited in the cradle at birth, with the rightful baby whisked away by wicked spirits.
“But Flora, my dear child, you must see how wrong it was for you to call the Rector a stupid man. It was disrespectful; if your papa were here and not away in Canada, he would be most upset, as of course, am I.”
Georgiana McGregor glanced out of the window down the slope of the hillside to where the waters of the loch lapped calmly today against the rocky shore.
Her home, Tawny Keep, was an old grey stone, turreted house that seemed to grow out of the very hills that rose up sharply behind it, surrounded by tall pine trees that sighed continually in the wind.
Above the tree line, the rough hillside of gorse and heather stretched for miles, home to herds of deer and tough little sheep. Slowly the hills sloped up into mountains where wild cats roamed and snow still lay on the highest peaks even in the summer months.
The loch below Tawny lay reflecting the blue of the sky and the surrounding trees. On this spring day it was hard to remember how wild the waters became when the winter winds arrived. Georgiana had come here to Scotland as a bride many years before and still felt her heart lift at the beauty of her adopted home.
She had grown to adulthood in the grandeur of rural Derbyshire, which would always hold a special place in her heart, but this part of the world was where she had found love and raised her family.
Sighing again, she tore her gaze from the still waters and forced herself to concentrate on the wayward daughter who was causing her so much grief.
Georgiana had some sympathy for the girl but knew that, had he been in Scotland, her husband would be furious at Flora's recent behaviour. And as a woman, Georgiana had never grown out of the belief that gentlemen were always right.
The greatest influences in her life were her brother, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and of course her husband, Rodrie, both determined characters who never doubted the rightness of their views. She wished Rodrie was here now; she missed him a great deal.
Looking at the stubborn expression on Flora's face, she sighed. Her husband was a “Black McGregor” as were her two sons—tall, handsome, dark-eyed and dark-haired.
If Flora had been lucky, she would have inherited her mother's own blonde elegance, but instead the only family resemblance was an uncanny likeness to her McGregor grandfather, now long deceased, whom, short of stature, with wiry, reddish hair—that in Flora's case had a distressing tendency to riot into tight curls when wet—stared down at the family with a belligerent expression from his portrait in the dining-room.
Flora heard her mother sigh and sighed in return, feeling sad. She knew she was a disappointment to her mama; she tried so very hard to be quiet and obedient, to smile sweetly when people said stupid things, to keep her opinions to herself and not speak them out loud, but sometimes it was just too difficult to keep from saying what she thought and the words were out before she could call them back.
“I know he is the Rector, Mama, and I'm sorry if I was rude, but he was talking of my marrying Mr Erskine as if it was all happily agreed. When I told him I would rather die than marry him, he called me a silly little girl, so I called him stupid! I didn't mean to.
“He just sat there at the dinner table, gulping down his soup in the most disgusting fashion, insisting that I should marry a man I dislike, without any thought of my feelings. I tried counting to ten before I spoke, as you have told me to do so many times, but it didn't help. Perhaps I should try twenty next time?”
Georgiana shut her eyes briefly, praying for patience.
“Let's hope there will not be a next time! But Flora, Mr Erskine has asked for your hand quite properly. Are you so against the match? He is, perhaps, a little older than I would have wished for your husband, but he is wealthy, with pleasing features, even if not handsome. His estate is much larger than ours, to be sure, and he could certainly choose any other young lady in the district, but he seems very keen on the alliance.
“He tells me that he has given you a few days to think about his offer. I know you will give it serious consideration.”
Flora felt a cold shiver run down her spine and pulled her shawl closer round her shoulders. She loved her mama dearly but sometimes she reminded her of the elusive white deer which, it was rumoured, roamed the hills and moors around their home, appearing out of the mist as if they were living in a dreamworld.
Shy and retiring, her gleaming blonde hair now streaked with the odd silver strand, if Georgiana McGregor had a fault, it was that she always thought the best of everyone, even though life had taught her at an early age that was unwise.
Flora knew it would be pointless telling her mother that while Mr Erskine might appear all charm and affability, she sensed there was another, far nastier person lurking just under the urbane surface.
“Mama, surely I have to ask myself why this should be? I am not witty or elegant and, as you say, I can name several girls who would be more than willing to become his wife. Why should he want someone who does not care for him?”
“You might well grow to care for him. Of course it is splendid if you have deep feelings for your husband before you marry, but often those emotions grow once you are wed.”
Flora tried to keep a look of disbelief from her face. In a hundred years she could not see herself ever having any feeling but dislike for Gordon Erskine, no matter how much money he had, or how many carriages and jewels he gave her.
Georgiana sighed and wished, not for the first time that day, that her husband would suddenly return home from Canada as a surprise! How she longed to see his dark, handsome face, feel his strong arms locked around her in the great four poster bed that had been one of her many wedding presents from her dear brother.
“Papa is not against the marriage, my dear. If he decides that our family's future lies in Canada, then he will be happy to sell the estate and it seems sensible that Mr Erskine should purchase it as it lies next to his and gives him access to the loch. He has given your father every belief that he will be pleased to do so and at a good price.
“We would be sad to leave you behind when we move, but it is such a rough, dangerous world we are entering. I know your papa feels as I do—the boys are strong and happy to face the pitfalls of such a life, but we will be happier knowing you are safe here, close to our beloved Tawny.”
Flora frowned. “Are you saying, Mama, that Mr Erskine will not buy Tawny if I refuse to marry him? Surely, he would not be so … so petty!”
Georgiana gazed down at the tangle of embroidery silks that lay in her lap, twisted together, a hopeless knot she was attempting to pull apart. Sometimes she felt as if trying to guide her daughter from the innocence of childhood to a more aware adult state was just as difficult.
She herself had learnt at a very early age—fifteen—that there were many men in the world who could not be trusted. She still had nightmares about how different her life would have been if not for the timely intervention of her dear brother when she had been entranced by the wicked charms of a certain Mr George Wickham.
Men, she had learnt, married for two reasons—love or money. Her darling Rodrie loved her, she knew that, and she had seen how the passion between her brother and sister-in-law had changed their lives for the better.
She had no reason to doubt that Gordon Erskine would care for Flora and give her a comfortable life. Did he love her? She doubted it but knew from the expression she had seen on his face many times that he wanted her. And he was a man very used to getting his own way.
Would he refuse to buy Tawny if Flora refused him? It was extremely likely. There were plenty of other estates in the area adjacent to his own who would happily sell to him.
Frowning, she recalled the excitement in the words of Rodrie's latest letter. He had found land in Canada he wanted to buy, but it needed to be done quickly, and it was imperative he sold Tawny.
Georgiana sighed as she glanced at the stubborn expression on her daughter's freckled face.
“Well, we are invited to dine with Mr Erskine tonight. It will give you a chance to see the house that could be yours. You may find yourself changing your mind. I know your Papa would be delighted at the match.”
Flora found, to her astonishment, that she was blinking back tears—she who prided herself on not being the weak and watery sort of girl who cried at any problem.
The thought that her dear papa would be disappointed in her turning down Gordon Erskine's proposal was upsetting, but she shuddered to think of becoming that man's wife.
Murmuring that she would, of course, think carefully about the offer, Flora slipped from the drawing-room, leaving her mother busy adding to the long letter she was sending to her husband so many thousands of miles away on the far side of the Atlantic Ocean.
Pulling her heavy wool shawl tightly round her shoulders, she walked swiftly through the flower gardens that her mama had valiantly tried to establish over so many years, a battle fought against the army of small deer that tried to eat anything she planted!
A small gate led out onto the hillside and a steep path that ran down to Tawny Loch in one direction and in the other through the pine trees, up to the top of the surrounding hills.
Flora hesitated; she would have liked to have climbed up to the wild moorlands she loved so much, where she had roamed for miles since she was a child, but there wasn't time. Within the hour she would need to get ready for the dinner party. Even though she had no wish to impress Mr Erskine, she knew her mama would expect her to look her best.
Reluctantly, she turned onto the downward path, through the woods to the loch below.
The steep track was no problem to a girl who had run across these hills barefoot for many years, before she had been forced into pinning her hair up, wearing skirts that did not show her ankles and forcing her feet into shoes she hated.
Kicking off the hated footwear, the thick carpet of pine needles silenced her steps as she ran down the path, heading for the loch, her private place where she could nurse her aching head and try to calm her emotions before the difficult dinner ahead of her.
Lost in her own unhappy thoughts, she burst out of the woods onto the little shingle beach startling the horse who was drinking at the edge of the water, which shied violently as she shouted in alarm and threw his rider heavily to the ground.
***
Daniel Kincaid—who seconds before had been relaxing, admiring the view and thinking about the ram he was going to buy to enhance his own flock of sheep—felt the breath knocked from his body as he hit the ground.
Instinctively he rolled, to escape the thudding hooves as his mount reared again, then skittered around, pawing at the shingle.
Cursing under his breath, Daniel opened his eyes, to find a girl kneeling next to him, her face so close to his that he could count the freckles across her nose, red curls cascading down from their pins and big green eyes that looked shocked and cross at the same time.
“Are you hurt, Sir? I think not. The shingle is very soft just here.” Flora sat back on her heels as the man groaned.
“I expect I shall survive, Madam! No thanks to you. Who comes running out of woodland like a whirlwind, frightening horses in such a fashion?”
Flora frowned. She was profoundly thankful that the man was obviously uninjured, but really, there was no need for him to sound quite so cross.
Without stopping to think she blurted out, “Why Sir, this is a private beach, and I had no reason to expect someone here who could not control his mount. Perhaps you should ride a quieter horse next time.”
The man rolled over and, with an effort, got to his feet, brushing the little soft clinging pieces of shingle from his coat, breeches and tousled, dark brown hair.
He reached out his hand to help the girl to her feet but, with a toss of her head, she ignored his gesture and jumped up to glare at him. He had a grim, solemn face—not a man who smiled often or easily, she thought.
“Perhaps you could walk through the woods in a quieter fashion next time, Madam!” He turned away to soothe the horse who was still moving nervously at the loch side.
Once more Flora forgot all about thinking before she spoke, forgot about counting to ten before showing what her true feelings were. She did feel a little guilty but pushed that thought aside.
“That comment is quite unfair, Sir! This is my home and I will act in whatever way I see fit. If I wish to run, I shall run. I could say that as you are trespassing, any harm that befalls you is your own fault.”
Daniel Kincaid stared down at the girl in astonishment. He knew many young ladies, indeed was hoping to become closer to one whose elegance and manners were above reproach. But then most of his female acquaintances were quiet, good mannered young women, only too ready to defer to his opinions, to put his comfort before their own.
This … this Scottish firebrand was another creature altogether. He had never met a woman who spoke out so openly. Why, it was almost indecent!
He fought to keep from wincing as a bruise began to make itself felt.
“I apologise for trespassing, Madam. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Daniel Kincaid, newly arrived in Scotland. I am here to buy sheep to add to my flock at home. And if you will allow me, I will be on my way, seeking a warm bath to bring relief to my bruises, which, as you so rightly say, have been inflicted by my own behaviour.”
“Goose grease.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Flora tried to tuck her wayward hair behind her ears. “Oh, you need goose grease for bruises. Wherever you are staying tonight, I suggest you ask the cook for a pot and apply it lavishly.”
“And do you have personal knowledge of this, er, modern medical miracle?”
Flora tossed her head and turned to go. “You are obviously an Englishman, Sir, and so I expect are ignorant of these useful items and slavishly follow all the latest fads and fashions. But here in Scotland we trust in the old methods. Now, I must bid you good day and wish you safely on your travels.”
Dropping a swift curtsey, she sped away back up the path into the woods to find her shoes. She would need to run like the wind if she was not to be late for her dinner engagement with Mr Erskine and annoy her mother.
Daniel watched her go, then limped back to his horse and swung himself painfully into the saddle. Goose grease! What nonsense. What a ridiculous girl. She would lose whatever reputation she had if she continued to behave like that. He urged his mount homewards as he realised he did not even know the wild cat's name.
Not that it mattered; he would only be in this part of the country for a very short time before returning home to a sensible part of the country—where the young ladies did not argue and answer back to gentlemen!