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Chapter Two
Early December, Brechin, Scotland, Kinnaird Castle
“Och, ye dinnae need a companion, ma,” said James Kinnaird to his mother, Fiona, as they sat in front of a roaring fire in the main hall. James had a pint of ale in his hand, and he turned to his mother with concern.
“And why not? Ever since your father died, I’ve been so lonely. We haven’t been to any social functions or had any balls, and it’s far too cold for me to travel for visiting.” She stared into the flames, and discretely wiped a tear from the corner of one eye.
“But ye have me, dinnae ye? Am I not companion enough?” James moved to kneel by his mother, and he took her hands in his, looking into her soft brown eyes.
Fiona smiled and squeezed his rough hands. “Ach, Jamie, you are a wonderful son, of course! But it’s time I had a little female company. Women need other women, you know, my dear. I would love a young girl with a good education to come and read to me and discuss the gossip of the day. I’ve already sent out an advertisement in the newspaper.”
Jamie sat back down, sipping his ale again. Fiona chuckled.
“Now, why do you look so concerned?”
“‘Twill be a stranger, ma, in our house! I don’t very much like the idea of leaving ye alone with someone we don’t know while I’m away on business.”
Fiona lifted her chin stubbornly. “I’m left all alone with no one to speak to while you’re away. Think of the danger of that in such a cold and lonely place!”
Jamie said, “Aye”, and he stared into the flames.
Fiona sighed next to him, “When your father was here, every hall of this old place was filled with laughter. He was always so kind to everyone, from the kitchen cook to your angry cousin Donald.” She laughed slightly to herself, remembering. “He was the love of my life.” She turned and placed her hand on Jamie’s. “I wish as much for you, my dear.”
Jamie thought back to when his father, Laird James, had died four years prior in The Battle of Culloden. He saw his father, pride in his eyes, fall victim to an English bullet and release his lifeblood into the grassy hills. Since Jamie returned home alone limping from the battle, released from prison and spared his life, a light had gone from his mother’s eyes, and no matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t been able to replace it.
Fiona’s hand upon his shoulder roused Jamie from his dismal reverie. “All will be well, my dear. We shall hear a response from someone, I hope, in the next few weeks. But, I must retire to bed. Good night, my son.” Fiona bent down to kiss him on the cheek and placed her hand on his brown hair.
“Good night,” Jamie replied with a weak smile.
After his mother left, Jamie went to lean against the mantle, his muscled shoulders stretching as they angled upwards, and he stared at the flames. He began to pace the floor in front of the fire. He disturbed the sleep of his dog, Prince Charlie, and the dog began the pacing rhythm with him. “Charlie, I hope ma is making the right choice. It has been so long since I’ve seen her smile. But will this bring her the happiness she so desires?” He couldn’t bear the thought of his mother being disappointed after so many years of sorrow.
Feeling hot from the pacing and the proximity to the fire, James removed his dark green wool coat and the linen stock from his throat. His white shirt was damp with sweat, and it hung loosely on his body. His brown hair was hanging below his shoulders, and its ragged look matched the multiple emotions he felt swirling around in his belly. It wasn’t only his mother. Something else was tugging at his mind…
* * *
Late November, journey to Brechin
Amelia felt her mother squeeze her hand as they bounced along roughly in the carriage. Amelia turned her head from the window and smiled weakly at her. Henrietta looked tired with heavy circles etched under eyes, but she was all out of tears for now. Amelia and her mother had left their London home the morning after receiving her father’s letter, early enough to avoid being seen, and it had been several days since. She assumed the creditors were finished their work, having picked over each and every one of their belongings, evaluating it for sale.
Her throat thickened with impending tears, but there was also another feeling that reared its head: disgust. Her father, a man she had so trusted and depended on, turned out to be utterly flawed.How could he have treated his family with such callousness? He is weak to have let his base urges ruin his entire family. I hope we never see him again.
“How could father have done this? Leave his family to starve?” Amelia said aloud to the air. But, Henrietta grabbed her wrist, a fresh batch of tears making their way down her face.
“Please dear. I can’t bear it. I don’t know how we’ll survive.”
Henrietta was a beauty, with her blond hair still full of color and pale skin with full, red lips. Amelia had inherited her mother’s beauty in full, but that was the farthest thing from her mind.
Her mother’s whole body seemed diminished somehow, as if it lost the confident countenance of a wealthy English lady, and she was practically curled up on the seat next to Amelia. Once she spoke to Amelia, she swallowed and turned her head to the window, her gray eyes looking unfocused.
Amelia touched her mother’s hand and attempted to make her voice sound as strong as possible. “Mother, I will take care of us. Please, don’t worry.” Henrietta turned back to her daughter, her eyes wide, and she spoke in a loud whisper, “Amelia, please, we must see if we can bring your father back! Oh, I can’t even imagine how he’s faring in such a horrible place. We must try!” Seeing the desperation, fear, and fatigue in her mother’s eyes, Amelia knew that she would have to do whatever it took to get him out of prison and restore her mother to her original good spirits, and she turned her face forward, resolve formulating in her mind.
Along with the morning carriage another letter had come, bearing the seal of Devereaux. Amelia had thought perhaps Charles would offer his assistance in such a time. But, in the world of the English aristocracy, word traveled fast, especially about calamity, and saving face was everything. It was two lines:
Amelia, We can no longer be wed. My family’s reputation is at stake.
Best of luck in your endeavors. C.D.
And with one swipe of the pen, Amelia had not only lost her home and father and possessions, but also her fiancé. Over the past few days, Amelia and Henrietta had had to stay in filthy little inns to rest and take their meals and take care of their needs. Amelia had been saving a bit of money she’d received as an allowance, and so they were able to pay for scant meals and dirt-covered rooms. It had been their first time in such places, and they clung to each other tightly in the bed they shared, fearing who or what might be next door to them.
