4-3
1107 Words
“But of course! We have overlooked the formality of introduction. May I present myself, Lord Niall MacCraggan, at your service.”
He bowed.
“Then of course you know who I am,” Beatrice said, “without my telling you. It was most gracious on the part of your brother to have sent you to meet me.”
Lord Niall’s dark eyes met hers.
“No one has sent me. In truth my brother has no knowledge of my intention to intercept your Ladyship.”
“Really?”
Beatrice’s surprise was not simulated.
“No, I wanted to meet you, Lady Wrexham, but above all things I wanted to talk with you before you reached Skaig. I think there is much that we might say to each other – of advantage to both.”
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. There was a hidden meaning in his voice and it did not escape her.
“Shall we dine first?” she asked quietly.
“But of course,” he replied. “You must be fatigued.”
He rang the bell and almost immediately food was brought to the table.
Lord Niall had ordered cleverly. The meal was simple and not beyond the culinary efforts of the inn cook, but each dish had a special quality about it, and the wine that his Lordship had brought with him surpassed anything Beatrice had ever sampled even in London.
“I had not realised until now how hungry I am,” she said approvingly.
When the meal was finished, the servants withdrew and Beatrice crossed the room to an armchair by the fire.
“May I offer you a glass of brandy?” Lord Niall asked.
He poured it out and Beatrice took the goblet from his hand. His fingers touched hers and looked down in to her face.
“You are far lovelier than I remembered,” he said.
“You have seen me before then?” she asked, her eyes searching his strange, dark, somewhat secretive face to recall it to her memory.
“Yes, I have seen you in London,” Lord Niall replied. “I have watched you in your box at the opera on two occasions.”
“But we have never met?”
“Never, until now.”
He turned to the table and poured himself out a glass of brandy.
“My stepmother told me she had a letter from you suggesting a visit to Skaig Castle. I was surprised.”
“I have always wanted to visit Scotland,” Beatrice said somewhat unconvincingly, “and the beauties of Skaig are talked about even at St. James’s.”
Lord Niall smiled.
“Shall we be frank with each other, you and I?”
“Why not?” Beatrice replied lightly.
“I would hate you to think me a fool,” Lord Niall said. “I know why you are here.”
“You do?” Beatrice questioned.
“My brother’s position in the Highlands concerns two people very deeply. One is the Pretender, Charles Stuart, the other the Marquis of Severn. I will not say His Majesty, King George II for I doubt if he is aware even of my brother’s existence.”
Beatrice was interested and intrigued, but she had no intention of declaring her own hand in this game of hazard.
“I am extremely interested in what you say,” she said, “but frankly I know nothing of your brother and less of where his loyalties lie.”
Lord Niall gave a little chuckle.
“Nor does the Marquis of Severn,” he said, “and that, my dear Lady Wrexham, is exactly what you have come to find out.”
Beatrice sipped her glass of brandy before she replied, and then she said slowly,
“I am wondering if you are a very impertinent young man or a very impudent one.”
“I am neither,” Lord Niall replied. “Like yourself, madam, I am merely ambitious.”
“Would it be indiscreet to ask where your ambitions lie?”
“It would not,” Lord Niall replied, “and once again I Will be devastatingly frank with you. I want to be the Duke of Arkrae.”
His reply was so unexpected that Beatrice could only stare at him. Utterly composed, he smiled at her and put his glass of brandy down on the table.
“Have I shocked you?” he asked. “I cannot believe that Lady Wrexham is shocked because a man is honest and truthful. I suppose it is because so very few people are either.
“I will repeat, I would like to be the Duke of Arkrae. If anything happens to my brother, or should I say half-brother, I inherit the title and the territories of Skaig. I should also be Chieftain of the Clan. Is it necessary, after saying that, to tell you that my sympathies are wholly and completely English, and my loyalty to His Majesty, King George II, unswerving?”
Beatrice felt a little breathless. In all her experience things had never happened so swiftly or so strangely as this.
“How can I trust you?” she asked at last.
“I will answer that question,” he replied. “Because I love you.”
Beatrice got to her feet.
“This is absurd,” she said. “I think your Lordship goes too far. You are making fun of me.”
Lord Niall looked down into her face.
“I have loved you since the first moment I saw you at the opera,” he said, “when I said I had seen you but twice, it was an understatement. All this spring, wherever you went, I went too. I could have gained an introduction to you, but what good would that have done me? Severn can offer you far more than I can – at present.
“I have walked the streets at night beneath your window, thinking of you. I have waited hour after hour in crowds for the privilege of seeing you pass by. I came back to Scotland hoping that somehow I would be able to forget the beauty of your face, the carriage of your head, the way your little hands seem too small for the great rings you wear. Then your letter arrived. My stepmother showed it to me and I knew that we were meant to meet, that this had all been planned by a fate which was stronger than circumstance.”
His voice was deep and he spoke slowly. His words seemed somehow all the more poignant because he did not hurry over them.
Beatrice looked away from him.
There was something about him that frightened her, something almost sinister in his very directness and a frankness which seemed to her at variance with the dark secretiveness of his face. And yet she did not disbelieve him. He was not lying to her, she was certain of that.
Lord Niall looked at her averted face.
“Why are you afraid, my sweet?” he asked softly. “I can help you, even as you can help me. Besides, I know now we can never escape one another.”
She turned to look at him, prepared to say something light, to laugh perhaps at the very seriousness of his tone, but the words died on her lips. His eyes held hers magnetically, compellingly.
She felt the warmth of a red-hot flame awaken deep within, her lips part and her eyes suddenly become heavy with desire. Suddenly there was no need for words – the magnetism between them was expression enough.
She felt herself sway a little towards him before his arms came out and took her. Then his lips were on hers and he carried her away into the shadows.
- Writer
