“I somehow cannot see him like that,” she admitted. “To me, he has always been as he is now, and he frightens me.” She glanced up at him quickly. “I am sorry, Rory. You do not want to hear all this.”
“If it helps ye I dae,” Rory stated firmly. “Ye see, I knaw whit is inside him, mistress.
“Then all the lassies knew there wis a young laird-in-waitin’ an’ he wid inherit the Dubhgnall Brae estate ane day. Abi, have ye ever seen seagulls when ye throw scraps o’ food on the ground? They a’ fight each other tae be the first tae eat it. That is whit it was like—dozens o’ them flingin’ themselves at him. He went tae that many ceilidhs I’m surprised he didnae dance his feet aff!”
Abi was giggling helplessly.
“Weel, ye can imagine, the first couple o’ times it was braw,” he said, then his face became sad. “All that attention, all those lassies sayin’ how handsome he wis, then he got fair scunnered* o’ it’ an’ wide go tae ony mair. His faither was beelin’*. His ma tried tae talk tae him but he was having none of it.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes far away in the past.
“What happened then?” Abi prompted eagerly. This was all the news that had been hidden from her; she had never known nor guessed any of it before. She wondered desperately if what she was about to hear would give her a window into her father’s mind because she knew that she could not bear to live with him any longer if things did not change.
Rory cleared his throat. “He started tae help oot on the estate, at first tae take his mind aff things, an’ then because he liked it.” He smiled, his round face crinkling into hundreds of laugh lines. “Most lairds dinnae like tae get their bonny hands dirty, but no our Laird Dubhgnall the Younger. Ye have never seen a lad heft an axe like that yin!” His voice throbbed with admiration. “An’ then his faither an’ mither decided that if he widnae find a wife then they wid find ane for him, an’ that is whit they did.”
“My mother?” Abigail asked excitedly.
Rory felt desperately sorry for her ignorance. It was so unfair that a girl just blossoming into womanhood should know so little about the history of her family, and especially about the woman who had given birth to her.
“Ishbel Anderson, as she was then,” Rory said, smiling at her. “A beautiful lass, wi’ long fair hair that fell a’ the way doon tae her waist—an’ a tiny waist it was an’ a’—she was fairly smitten wi’ yer da the first time she clapped eyes on him.”
Abigail leaned forward in her seat, the picture of eagerness. “And was he attracted to her too?”
Rory looked thoughtful for a moment. “No’ exactly, or so it seemed at first, although lookin’ back I think he might have been. ‘Tis awfully hard tae tell wi’ yer paw. He is very closed an’ a person cannae always tell whit’s gaun’ on in his head. Anyway, they were married, an’ she looked like a queen. He still looked the same way he aye did. Knaw whit I mean?”
Abi nodded, smiling. “Stern, miserable, angry,” she said bitterly.
“I didnae say that lass,” Rory said gently, “or mean tae suggest it. But after a few weeks, he changed. He became...happy, an’ every time he walked past, or she was wi’ him, he looked as if the sun had come out. He was a different man. One day I found them kissin’ at the side o’ the stables. Kissin? Naw, it was mair like—” Suddenly Rory stopped, remembering who he was talking to.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed as he remembered how they were kissing as if their lives depended on it, and he was making a soft growling noise which seemed to excite her even more. The Laird had his hand underneath his wife’s dress and was stroking her rhythmically while she moaned in pleasure.
He ducked back around the corner but he heard her cry out in ecstasy a moment later and heard Fraser’s lascivious laugh and her low, gurgling one. He knew a passionate encounter had just taken place, but he also knew that it had been an act of love.
“Anyway,” he went on hastily, “a wee while after that we heard Milady was wi’ child and we were delighted because she was a good person an’ we were glad for her. Then she gave birth to your good self!” He laughed happily as he said this. “Both of them adored ye. The Laird used tae carry ye around on his shoulders an’ yer ma used tae sing songs tae ye, an ye used tae clap yer wee hands. Ye were a lovely wee thing. Still are!”
“Thank you Rory,” she said, smiling at him.
He patted her hand and went on. “I have never seen such a change in a person as there was in yer faither. He was a happy faither. Whit a time it was. Then Ishbel died. Whoopin’ cough. Ane day she was here and the next she was gone, poor lass. Yer faither was in bits. For months he hardly spoke, an’ he was hardly tae be seen here. He left in the mornin’ an’ came hame late, just in time tae say goodnight tae ye. He didnae want to be here in the castle tae be reminded o’ Ishbel. He worked all day.”
“Do I look like her?” Abigail asked hopefully, but on that answer, Rory did not have to lie or exaggerate.
“Ye are the livin’ image o’ her,” he said. “Yer eyes are a wee bit darker, a bit mair like yer faither, but in every other way ye are her double, nae doot about it!”
“Good. Father hardly mentions her. At one time I thought they might have hated each other but I know now that they did not, and that is an enormous weight off my mind. Thank you, Rory.”
“Ane mair thing, Abi,” he added, and his faded blue eyes looked very deeply into hers. “Never, never think yer faither disnae love ye. He loves ye mair than anybody else in the world. He wid die for ye, or kill for ye, but he cannae show it. He hides his good feelings behind a wall o’ anger.”
“But why does he do that?” Abi asked, mystified. “No one likes him.”
“He disnae care,” Rory answered. “He disnae let himself care.”
“That does not make sense,” she protested. “Why not?”
“Because the person he loved most in his whole life was taken away,” Rory explained. “He disnae want tae let himself love again.”
Abi had never thought of that before.
“But there is a difference between loving and falling in love, is there not?” Abi pointed out. “He cannot fall in love with me. Anyway, he loves Annie.”
