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He heard himself speaking, and once he started he couldn’t stop.
One of the things he’d concluded, on his walks about the city, was that he should have told Olivia the truth in the beginning. Yes, he would have been risking everything by doing so, but by keeping his secret he had hurt her even more. If he had explained why he’d done what he did before he married her, perhaps they could have averted this disaster.
Well, the point was now moot. Olivia was never going to forgive him. He’d tried to explain but it was all to no avail. Olivia, being so honest and true herself, had found his behaviour inexcusable.
She would leave him.
“I’m only surprised she has not done so already.”
“You must fight for her.” Monkstead spoke softly. “Some things are worth fighting for.”
“And if she is already gone? Her parents were never fond of the man in the kilt. I took her from them and now they want her back.”
Monkstead replied, but Rory didn’t hear what he said. He was back in the past again, tearing the memories apart, searching for something that might help him repair the damage.
“When they know you as I do, they’ll love you, too,” Olivia had reassured him in those early days.
It had been on the tip of his tongue then, to confess all. My castle is falling down. Your father is right, I am marrying you for your money.
If only it was that simple! He almost wished he was that hard hearted cad who could wed a girl like Olivia simply to gain her fortune. But he wasn’t. Somewhere between his original plan and the wedding vows, Rory had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love.
When Olivia had asked him when she would see Invermar Castle, his home, for herself, he’d made excuses about distance and the difficulties if they were to start out their married life in Scotland.
“I would not take you away from your family and friends,” he had told her. As if he was being generous. And when she’d agreed he was relieved, and at the same time hated himself for it.
Their romance had been a whirlwind affair. After Olivia had rescued him from the burn, they had spent the following days in each other’s company. He’d already known that Olivia Willoughby’s family, although not top draw, were very well heeled. He’d overheard that piece of information at the inn on the evening before the incident in the burn.
A skinny looking fellow had been boasting he was to be guide to the English party, and one of the women seemed to have caught his eye. “Pretty and rich!” he’d sniggered. “Maybe she’ll take a shine to me?” If his friends’ catcalls had been any indication then that didn’t seem likely.
But Rory had heard and he knew that someone like Olivia Willoughby was exactly who he’d been looking for, a miracle in fact, fallen into his lap at just the right moment. He’d just about given up hope after he and his father had spent a fruitless few days trying to persuade a distant relative to give them a loan.
“No one in his right mind would give you money, knowing it will be impossible for you to repay it,” the relative had said. “You must know that. No, your only hope is for Rory to marry well.”
On their way back to the inn, Rory’s father had spoken the words they both dreaded. “There’s nothing for it, lad. You must marry the Widow MacIntyre.”
Rory was twenty-five and the widow was ten years older. Beautiful and rapacious, she had run through three husbands already. This made her wealthy, which was what the Macleans needed, but she had an unsavoury reputation and there had been much gossip about her previous husbands’ deaths. The general opinion was that she wore them out.
The Widow might be physically attractive, but Rory found her totally repugnant, and he wondered if he would survive the wedding night. He knew if he married her then she would make him work hard for every penny she gave him. Some men might think the exchange worth it, but Rory had more pride than that. A fool he might be, but he wanted to choose his own wife, and if he had to marry someone with money then let it at least be someone he could respect and like, and maybe even learn to love.
“There must be another way,” he’d argued.
His father’s voice had a false joviality that couldn’t disguise his desperation. “Look on the bright side, lad. Maybe you’ll outlive the Widow!”
Once they’d reached the inn, his father had wanted to sit up with him so that they could drown their sorrows together, but Rory could see he was exhausted. Lately Archie Maclean had often seemed weary, but that was because he wasn’t getting any younger, Rory told himself. Rory was still in the taproom when a group of men had come in, and that was when he had overheard the talk about the English party, and the heiress. Rory’s plan was born of desperation and a certain arrogance. He knew he was good looking and women liked him, so why not an Englishwoman? She could not be as bad as the Widow!
The next morning, when he told him his plan, his father had been hesitant that he could pull it off. He’d also had some reservations about the morality of such a thing, but he had comforted himself with the observation: “In the old days, lad, we Macleans would raid our neighbours for livestock and women. Perhaps you are but following the family tradition.”
“I will bring home a wife, father,” Rory had replied with determination. “A rich one. Wait and see.”
True, it had not gone quite to plan. His horse had taken a misstep on the slippery rocks and he’d fallen and hit his head. He remembered darkness and the sound of water, and then his father’s dog barking furiously. But it had ended well, and surely that was all that mattered? He’d meant to attract the attention of Miss Olivia Willoughby and he’d certainly managed that, quite spectacularly.
There were a few difficulties he had faced, after his wits returned. One of them was Olivia’s uncle. The vicar was a most unpleasant fellow, and at one point tried to send Rory on his way. That might have been the end of his scheme, but Rory soon realised that the vicar was not in charge of Olivia. She was used to getting her own way, and she didn’t want him to go anywhere. She was completely taken with the idea of having saved him from a watery grave—Romantic Rory Maclean, last of an ancient and revered family.
As he sat, shivering, sipping whiskey from the guide’s flask, he’d listened to his father talking about the legendary Sword of the Macleans, which Archie had been searching for most of his life. “I know, if only we can find the sword, everything will be well!” With pronouncements like that, he wove his spell around Olivia, so that her blue eyes grew big. Margaret, the cousin, had been less impressed, but it was Olivia who Rory couldn’t keep his eyes off.
Later, they rejoined Olivia’s parents. The mother was easily charmed, but the father eyed him with suspicion and dislike. Mr Willoughby was unimpressed by the whole episode and seemed to blame his brother for failing to prevent it from happening. Rory was sure, if Mr Willoughby had had his way, he would have left him to drown in the burn. As it was, he clearly wanted the Macleans gone as soon as possible.
But again Olivia had prevailed, and once more Rory could see that Miss Willoughby had been used to getting her own way all her life, and her parents had been used to bowing to her wishes. It was too late now for them to resort to authoritarianism.
