Fitz consoled himself that there were worse things to be compared to than a Viking warrior.And after that night and the way the mating calls of her beloved birds seemed to inspire Caroline to a particularly vigorous, passionate mating dance of her own, he found the incessant noise of the birds more pleasant than not.
Anything that made Lady Fitzwilliam Drake happy was on the list of items approved by Lord Fitzwilliam Drake.
Fitz wondered if the contents of the rucksack he carried now would prove to make his wife happy, or the opposite.Only one way to find out.
Bees droned lazily amongst the tender new primroses and hardy rhododendron, their buzzing punctuated by the trills of various types of warblers—still one of Fitz’s favorite species of birds.
He spied their little encampment up ahead and found his strides lengthening to get there all the faster.The remains of their cooking fire smoldered gently before the dun-colored canvas tent, flaps tied tightly closed against the midges whose bite felt more like getting stabbed with a knitting needle than anything else.
As expected, the camp was deserted.The only sign of Caroline’s presence was her plain straw bonnet, dangling forgotten from a corner of the tent, ribbons whipping in the relentless wind.Shaking his head indulgently, Fitz rummaged about to retrieve a small square of folded paper from the rucksack he then deposited upon one of the camp chairs where he and Caroline perched to eat their dinner and stare up at the vast expanse of stars that blazed over the Sea of Hebrides at night.
He paused a moment to look at the hard little chairs, the rudimentary cookpot and rickety folding table, the rough tent that was too small for him to stand upright except in the dead center.Their current abode was undeniably cramped and uncomfortable, at the mercy of nature and the elements.There were midges.There was no valet.Fitz’s last bath had been in a frigid burn fed by melting snow.They dined mostly on bread, cheese, and whatever he could catch, trap or hunt.And there were midges.Days could go by without seeing another human being other than Caroline.Had he mentioned the midges?And yet…
There was also the fun of convincing crusty Scottish lairds that a mere slip of a lass was the best person to document the mating habits of a coastal sea bird.There was the satisfaction of making all the arrangements for their camp and ordering everything just so for their mutual comfort.There was the startled and delighted way Caroline smiled when he pressed a fresh cup of tea into her hand as she struggled to finish a drawing capturing their day’s observations—drawings that would eventually fill a book that would be published, and available for people the world over to read and learn and marvel at his wife’s brilliance.
Above all, there was purpose.
Slowly, Fitz smiled as satisfaction spread through all his limbs and suffused every sinew.
He had never been happier.
Scooping up the forgotten bonnet and whistling a cheery tune under his breath, Fitz set off to find his wife.
* * *
Utterly absorbed in her drawing of the spectacle of thousands of small black-and-white seabirds swooping about the nesting grounds, Caroline startled when she felt a bonnet plop onto her head.The shade provided instant relief; she realized she’d been squinting all morning only when she stopped doing it.
Heart lifting higher than the birds wheeling overhead, she leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Fitz as though he’d been gone for four days rather than four hours.
“Hail the conquering hero,” he said grandly, “for I come bearing gifts and tidings of strange lands.”
Caroline peppered kisses all over his handsome face, delighting in the slight prickle of his beard as it began to come in.The joys of being a wife: she was able to experience both the marble smoothness of the morning shave Fitz insisted upon, “lest standards begin to slip,” as well as the titillating roughness of his afternoon stubble.An embarrassment of riches, truly.
“I don’t need gifts,” she told him between kisses.“Only you.”
“You’ll be interested in this one, I think.You’ve finally had a response to your letter.”
“Oh!”Caroline bit her lip, drawing back to accept the missive Fitz produced from a pocket of his tweed shooting jacket.“Look, it was directed to Edinburgh originally.The Macleans must have sent it on.It’s taken its time getting here.”
“I suppose it isn’t always easy for mail to reach the island.”
Caroline turned the long-awaited letter over in her hands, suddenly reluctant to open it up.
Unable to support the idea of truly worrying her mother, she had written almost at once to inform Helena that she was well and happy and not, in fact, on her way to Gretna Green.Which had been splitting hairs, perhaps, since she and Fitz had set off for Scotland the very next morning after their night in the Thornecliff orangerie.They just hadn’t bothered to stop in the first town across the border, and had continued on to Edinburgh to meet with the laird of the Macleans of Coll, the clan who owned Rùm and whose permission Caroline needed to secure before beginning her work.
They’d wed in Edinburgh in a small chapel, in between provisioning for the voyage into the Highlands and Fitz’s campaign to charm the kilt and sporran off of Sir Charles Mclean and, indeed, his entire family.Never Caroline’s favorite part of the job, Fitz had entirely taken over the task of explaining her research and its vital importance to the local landholders, and he’d excelled at it.
In fact, Fitz had become such a favorite of Edinburgh society that Caroline had begun to worry she’d never pry him loose, but once he’d managed to talk Sir Charles into granting them full, unrestricted access to any part of the inner Hebrides isles they wished to explore, her new husband had been happy enough to depart.
The beauty of springtime in the Highlands unfolded before them as they made their way north and west, first by coach, then on horseback, and finally and laboriously on foot, carrying heavy packs and leading a sure-footed Highland pony named Gus laden with the rest of their supplies.All in all, the voyage had taken ten days, during which they’d hardly laid their heads in the same place for more than two nights at a time.Small wonder it had taken this long to receive a reply from her mother.
“I can chuck the letter in the burn, if you like,” Fitz offered.“We can pretend it went astray.”
“No, I want to read it.I do!It’s only…” She looked up at Fitz to find him looking at her in that intent way he had, as though every word she said, every thought in her head, was precious to him.“It’s been so lovely being here with you, in our own little world.I suppose I’m finding it difficult to let the rest of the world back in.”
“They can’t touch us,” he told her gently.“Whatever you fear, it will not come to pass.Nothing anyone could write or say or do would induce me to leave your side.”
Unbidden, tears welled in the corners of Caroline’s eyes and she had to work hard to swallow past the ache in her throat.Fitz knew she’d never cared a fig for the social conventions of the Ton and that her priority had always been to reach the Isle of Rùm before the shearwaters did, but she couldn’t deny that it sometimes felt as though she had absconded with Fitz like a thief in the night.
