Page 14 of Return to Wildsyde

14th May 1845, Wildsyde Castle, The Highlands of Scotland.

Lyall stood in the chilly dawn light, watching as over two dozen fishing boats unloaded their catches, the coastline a hub of activity. Herring rose at night to feed, so this was the best time to catch them. Simple undecked craft sailed close to the coast, watching for signs of fish, usually with the gulls leading the way. The herring lasses lined the docks, waiting to process the catch. It was a harsh life, exposed to the worst of the weather, but you would not know that from the lively banter and singing that could be heard much of the time while the women worked. On seeing him, many of them waved and called out saucy remarks, which was a relief, as he had not been here since Lilith’s death. He had feared they might look at him askance and ask why his wife had been so determined to run from him that she’d died trying.

As they waited for the catch, they wrapped bandages around their hands, which offered some protection from the stinging brine. Cuts and blisters were inevitable, though, working with knives and slippery fish. They worked in teams of three, two of them processing the fish, gutting and removing the gills, heart, and bloodline. The third girl, the tallest of the three, would then pack them into barrels.

Lyall nodded a greeting to one of the coopers, whose job was to make the barrels the so-called ‘silver darlings’ were packed into.

“A fine catch,” the fellow called cheerfully before catching sight of the black armband Lyall wore and rearranging his face. “Er… my condolences.”

Lyall resisted the urge to laugh bitterly, for everyone hereabouts knew the circumstances of his marriage and would know too that there was no love lost between him and Lilith. The man no doubt thought he should congratulate him instead. Lyall did not feel like celebrating any more than grieving. His temper rose and fell in a ferment of contradictory emotions as he lurched from fury to relief, from humiliation to frustration, but mostly he felt like a failure. All his life he had seen the relationship his father and mother had, one of trust and respect and an enduring love that no number of challenges could diminish or change. He had assumed he would find that, too. Not yet awhile, but one day. Perhaps he’d been arrogant to think that his due, for he knew many marriages which were far from happy. He ought not to have believed it was his right to find a woman who would suit him as his parents suited.

He had been unprepared for Lilith.

She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes and a way about her that had driven him to act like a bloody fool just to snatch a moment alone with her. He had not known then, during a chance meeting at Wick, that he had been singled out, chosen as a gullible fool, ripe to fall into her lap. He had known what she wanted him for… or thought he had. She was ripe for a tumble, and he had been only too willing to oblige. Lyall had assumed she was a courtesan seeking a new protector, and she’d given him no reason to believe otherwise. When her father and mother had burst in on them in the best room of the busy hotel in Wick, they’d made a God almighty scene about him deflowering their precious daughter. Bollocks to that. She’d been no innocent, but she’d apparently played the part well enough for everyone else in town to believe he’d seduced the beautiful young woman into wickedness.

The scandal sheets had made much of his wild behaviour with his friends over the past years, and so there were enough people ready to believe the lies Lilith and her parents told their gleeful audience. He’d been caught like a bloody herring and packed off to the nearest kirk, his fate sealed.

Lilith hadn’t even tried to make amends or to pretend affection. It had been nothing but business to her, and as soon as she’d considered herself secure, she began making demands of him. He had wondered if there was something wrong with her then, some part of her missing or incomplete, for she had seemed entirely amoral, solely concerned with her own pleasure and uncaring for the feelings of others. She was almost childish in her desire for the things she wanted, and not beyond tantrums when she did not get her own way.

Lyall shook himself and returned his attention to the bustling scene on the shore. His father had begun this business, providing five fishing boats to the tenants on his land. Lyall’s tenants now. There were over fifty boats in all today, and Lyall had commissioned ten more, providing a good, steady income for so many families that had struggled to survive for so long. That, at least, was something to take a pride in.

He turned away, striding back to his horse, though he was in no hurry to return to Wildsyde, knowing his dead wife’s cousins were there. The knowledge irked him. The castle had been his home and his refuge, the place where his heart resided. It was for that reason he would never let Lilith set foot in it. She might have got his name and a call on his purse, but by God, he’d let her have no more of him than that. But look where that had got him. She had spent her time flirting with poor stupid Rory Stewart until the besotted devil was so caught in her toils, he would have died for her. He had, too, in the end. Lyall grieved for him more than he did his wife, though they had never been close. Rory was a part of this land and this community, though, and his father had lost his only son. Lilith had done that, come in and ripped apart a family. Lyall had been fool enough for her, but at least he had survived, and he intended to survive the rest of her bloody family too.

He'd already had her father here, blaming him for being cruel to his darling girl, playing the grieving parent and demanding money at the same time. In a way it had helped, knowing that Lilith had come from this, that she had not had a chance to be anything but what she had become. Perhaps in time his anger would fade, and he could pity her. For now, though, he would keep her cousin close so he could keep his eye on her. He would have no one falling under the woman’s spell and he did not doubt she could do it if she tried.

No, she was not the beauty Lilith had been, but he had seen at once that there was something about her that Lilith had not had. His late wife had been beautiful and unprincipled, but not terribly bright. A cleverer woman would have made Lyall love her, but she’d had wit enough to know she could not do that, could not keep his attention if he got to know her well.

But Luella Fulbright had a spark in her eyes, intelligence glittering there, and pride in the way she held herself. If Lyall knew anything, he knew she was every bit as dangerous as his wife had been, and he did not intend to give her an inch.

“Oh, Jack! Would you just look at that!” Luella exclaimed, setting the loaf reverently down on the table. The delicious scent of freshly baked bread permeated the kitchen and Luella was so pleased with herself she could almost burst.

“Good, Lord, child, it’s a loaf of bread. Ye have nae reinvented the wheel, ye ken?” Mrs Baillie said impatiently, though there was amusement lurking in her eyes.

“Perhaps it does not seem like much to you, but for me, this is a triumph,” Luella said indignantly.

“If you’d eaten as much burnt toast as I have, you would understand,” Jack added, grinning at Luella, who rolled her eyes.

“Can we cut it?” she asked hopefully.

“Not yet,” the housekeeper said with a click of her tongue. “Bide awhile and wait for it to cool down a wee bit.”

“Oh, very well,” Luella said, a little crestfallen. There was a cabbage on the table and a knife set beside it, so she went over and began chopping.

“I did nae ask ye—”

“I know, but Morag isn’t back from the market yet, and I can do it just as well. Jack, that silver looks very fine,” she added, for the boy was not looking pleased with his lot, polishing a fine array of silver cutlery.

“Hmph,” he said.

Luella watched him anxiously. She hoped Lord Buchanan was sincere in teaching him to ride or it would be a long week. Luella was content to learn what she could from Mrs Baillie, but Jack needed an education. She sent up a silent prayer that he would meet some decent lads at the school he would go to and settle down quickly. She glanced again at the silver laid out on the table and the considering way Jack was looking at it. Her stomach tightened as she watched him, for she knew what he was doing, calculating how much money they could pawn such fine silver for. Enough to get them away from here and keep them for a good little while.

And then they would have the law after them and never a moment's peace. No. They would never live that life. Luella would learn everything she could from Mrs Baillie so she could cook and run her own household. Though she could not fathom how her father had money enough to leave her an inheritance, she wondered if perhaps it would be enough for them to buy a little place somewhere, with an extra bedroom where she could offer room and board, even if she had to keep sharing a room with Jack for a while. She indulged in a pleasant little daydream while she chopped, imagining a sweet little cottage with a pretty garden and the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread emanating from inside that would have people clamouring to stay there.

A bell rang and Mrs Baillie looked up to see the bell next to the board named ‘study’ was still jangling.

“Ah, Himself is home and wanting to be fed,” she said with a nod. “Now, where is that girl? Morag!” she shouted towards the scullery.

“She’s still not back. Can I help?”