Highlander’s Unexpected Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book Page 4

  Sadie looked at Heather her mouth open with amazement. "Milady, I think it is a wonderful idea!" She clapped her hands. "We could use the church hall, an' later build a proper schoolhoose. But who will the teacher be?"

  Heather spread her hands. "You are looking at her," she replied, "I will require no wages and I can bring plenty of books for the older ones when they are proficient. We will have to order some writing materials too. They will also need something to eat and drink because you cannot learn on an empty belly. I will have my father provide that as well, even if I have to threaten him with a riding crop! My mother is a wonderful storyteller and she loves children, so we can use her skills too. And somehow, I will drag my bone-idle brother into helping, even if it isn't in the school. So, do I have your blessing? And more importantly, will the villagers of Invergar accept it?"

  "Milady, you dinnae need my blessing," Sadie replied warmly, "an' I think they will love the idea. Who in this world doesnae want to better him or herself?"

  The two women smiled at each other.

  "Now," Sadie said in a businesslike manner, "whit I suggest is that we pit it to the Parish Council Meeting for a vote, then if that is approved, an' I have nae doot it will be, then we will announce it frae the pulpit!"

  "So that is settled," Heather said contentedly, sipping her tea. "Sadie, this room is so cozy I could sit here all day, but I need to get back."

  "There is nae hurry, milady," Sadie answered, "stay for as long as ye want."

  Heather shivered, not with cold but with excitement. Her eyes were shining in the firelight and her cheeks were flushed.

  Sadie looked at her and felt a glow inside. This was a good woman through and through, and somehow, she knew that better times were coming because of her. She thought it a pity that her own family was one step down the social ladder because her son Dougie needed a good wife, but a Laird's daughter? She sighed. That would never happen.

  The Parish Council met and were overjoyed about the idea of the school, although some of the more conservative among them were doubtful about the wisdom of having a woman in charge. Still, the vote was carried by a substantial majority.

  The people in the village were asked at church the following week if they liked the idea and the answer was a resounding 'yes,' so Heather's school was about to be a reality. Heather was in favor of calling it simply 'Invergar School,' but she was outvoted in favor of 'Lady McVey School.' She was thrilled beyond measure.

  The excitement in the village was palpable, especially when slates, chalks, and books began to arrive. Heather was there to supervise everything. She began to become a familiar figure in the village and was soon teaching the children lots of little lessons like how to say 'please' and 'thank you,' how to open doors for a lady, and how to bow and curtsey. All the little ones now delighted in saying 'good day, how are you?’ or ‘Excuse me, pardon me, sorry.' She loved to see the little boys scrambling to open the doors as their sisters swept into the doorways ahead of them. It made Heather feel wonderful, but she was still apprehensive about the idea of having children of her own.

  The night before the opening ceremony, Heather went in to look into the church hall. It had been decided that in the beginning there would be only an hour of school a day, but Heather was determined to extend it to two or even three hours as it became feasible.

  The children's ages ranged from seven to fourteen, and she was determined that in a week everyone would be able to sign his or her name. Then in a few months, everyone would be reading simple stories and after that, hopefully, whole books.

  She was as nervous as a bride on her wedding night, but as she looked at the neat rows of tables and chairs she could see them already filled with happy shining faces. She smiled to herself and went out. She couldn't wait for the next day.

  7

  Opening Day

  Kenneth Jamieson was not so happy about Heather's new venture. He had known when he met her, and after they became engaged, that she was not the conventional kind of Laird's daughter. However, he had not been expecting someone who insisted on having her own way quite so much of the time.

  He had known that she had an affection for the villagers and the tenant farmers, but to open a school for them was radical in the extreme. He could not put a stop to it, but he would stamp his authority on it somehow and stop it from going too far. How to stop Heather was another matter. He did not want a progressive wife.

  The church hall was not far from the blacksmith's forge and Bruce could see the procession of children and adults going in. So, this was the new school they had all been talking about, he thought bitterly that if he had been able to read and write he might not now be a blacksmith in Invergar but an under manager on one of the estates, a bank clerk, or a shopkeeper.

  He had never had high ambitions. He only wanted a comfortable life, but now that Bridie had gone, there was no point in even trying to improve himself anymore. He applied himself more forcefully to the shoe he was making and he was making so much noise that he failed to hear the footsteps coming down the hill towards him.

  James had seen the bright fires of the blacksmith's forge all the way from the church house. The opening service was long and tedious, only interesting for those involved, and he was bored witless, so he decided to go down and chat with the blacksmith for a while to entertain himself.

  He stood by the anvil for a moment. Evidently, the fellow had not heard him or had been ignoring him, but since he either could not or would not hear him, James stood watching the fascinating process of the fashioning of a horseshoe. He watched Bruce cut, flatten, and bend the hot molten metal with great interest. It looked so easy that he was sure he could do it himself.

  Bruce straightened up to ease his back then jumped back in fright. James spread his hands in apology.

  "I'm sorry, I was so fascinated I forgot you couldn't hear me."

  "Nae harm done," Bruce said and was about to go back to his work when James spoke again.

  "Do you like horses?"

  Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "For why dae ye ask?"

  James shrugged. "I always think a man who loves horses is a man worth knowing," he replied.

  Bruce stared at him in disbelief. "Somebody like you makin' friends wi' the likes o' me?" He laughed cynically. "I dinnae think so!"

  James stood looking at Bruce's muscular arms as he pushed the bellows to make the fire rise. He was wishing he had a physique like that, but it must have taken endless hours of work. He knew that if he had a body like that the ladies would flock to him like bees to a honeypot. Suddenly, he was seized by an inspiration.

  "I would like to learn your trade," he said suddenly. Bruce looked up at him as if he were mad, but James stared back at him impassively.

  "Are ye oot o' yer wits, man?" His voice had gone up an octave in disbelief. "Dae ye no' knaw how strang ye need tae be? Ye willna last five minutes!"

  "Maybe you are underestimating me," James replied tartly. And disrespecting me, he thought but said nothing.

  Bruce looked at him from the top of his well-combed fair hair, his snow-white shirt and stock, long silk jacket and clan kilt, to his carefully shaved face. This man had never known hard work or hardship in his entire life.

  "My Laird," he said with heavy irony, "forget this idea. Ye hae been gently brought up. Stick tae yer ain life. Onyway, I havenae time tae teach some snooty gent my trade jist cause he takes a fancy tae it. If I dinnae work, I dinnae eat. Do you knaw how that feels?"

  "No," James admitted, "I do not, thank God." He looked at Bruce directly for a few minutes. "Thank you for the insight." He turned away, then turned back. "Mrs. McFarlane told me you lost your wife recently."

  "Aye," Bruce nodded, grimly, "a wee while ago."

  "Then may I offer you my sincerest condolences?" James asked with a little bow.

  Bruce stared at him, astonished. The nobility did not bow to people like him. "Thank ye kindly," he said gruffly.

  "I have two horses who need to be
shod," James told him. "I will bring them next week." Then he grinned. “Maybe you are right. I will leave the blacksmithing to you! Forgive a gentleman's foolish fancy. Good day to you."

  "Good day," Bruce said curtly. He gave a tiny bow that was just on the right side of being insolent.

  Then James turned away and began to slowly walk back up the hill. Bruce watched him till he was halfway up, then went back to work. James got back just as Heather was stepping off the little platform they had erected for her just in front of the pulpit. She was glowing with happiness as if she had just received a longed-for gift, which indeed she had.

  "Where did you go?" Heather hissed, glaring at him.

  "I went to see the blacksmith," he replied.

  She shook her head in astonishment. "Why?" She asked blankly.

  James shrugged. "Ceremonies like this bore me to tears!" he replied. "So, I went outside to have a breath of fresh air. I saw him working and it interested me, so I went to speak to him."

  Heather grunted inelegantly. "Was he pleasant to you?" she asked caustically, "he seemed like the most unutterably rude person I ever met!"

  James grinned. "He likes you," he said, laughing.

  "I don't think so!"

  "Definitely!"

  "Why?" Despite herself, Heather was intrigued.

  "Because men always pretend to hate you when they like you," he said gleefully.

  "You know, Jamie McVey," she replied, "if I didn't know better I would think we came from different wombs!"

  "What makes you think he doesn't like you?" James asked.

  Heather sighed. "Because I made him shoe Tommy - I goaded him into it - and while he was with me his wife died. He has not yet forgiven me."

  Jamie put an arm around his sister. "He will when he sees how much good you are going to do." He kissed her hair. "I think I must follow your example and do some good myself." Then he thought about what he had said for a moment. "As long as it doesn't involve too much hard work. But look at that man back there." He jerked his head backward toward Bruce. "Do you think hard work would give me a figure like that?"

  Heather glanced at Bruce and hastily looked away again. The sight of those rippling muscles was far too attractive. Heather looked up at her brother, smiling and shaking her head in disbelief.

  "So, you did not make this suggestion out of the desire to do good to your fellow man, Jamie," she said, "merely to satisfy your own vanity?"

  Jamie pretended to look hurt. "Sister, I am not half so hard-hearted as you think!" They laughed, then James said doubtfully. "But what skills can I teach the children?"

  "You can teach the boys to swim," she replied.

  Jamie was stupefied. "Sister," he pointed out, "if I went in the River Gar, even in summer, I would lose all hope of becoming a father because my - um - equipment would be ruined!"

  Heather threw back her head and laughed. "We will think of something else, then," she replied, "but I am glad you decided to be one of us."

  James' promises, however, meant little to him and were soon forgotten. He smiled as the minister drew him away for another conversation. They had become fast friends, for which Heather was glad because their father was an intimidating man and even she was sometimes scared of him. Heather much preferred the benign influence of Mr. McFarlane.

  There was a party after the opening, and the local children were treated to all manner of fancy sweetmeats, pies, and other rarely-experienced delights which Heather and her mother had provided.

  Heather looked down and saw Bruce still hard at work. On impulse, she decided to take him down a plate of delicacies. She selected them, put them in a bowl, and walked down the hill. She was apprehensive as she got near to the forge. He was nowhere to be seen and she was just about to walk back again when she heard the sound of splashing. Then the same deep baritone voice she had heard at the funeral began to sing, this time a more upbeat song, something like a sailor's shanty.

  She peeked around the corner of the cottage to see Bruce standing there in a tin bath full of water washing with a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush. His hair was thick with lather and he was wearing nothing but a strip of old sacking around his hips. Heather could not tear her gaze away from him.

  My God, she thought, this must have been what Adam looked like.

  He stepped out of the tub and rinsed his hair under the water pump. His face in repose was less hostile and more cheerful than she had ever seen it, save for the time when he had briefly smiled at Tommy, and the outlines of his muscles and the bones of his torso were clearly delineated by the film of water that clung to him.

  He began to whistle some old folk song and she smiled, feeling inclined to join in. Then her foot stepped on a twig, which broke with an audible snap, and he stopped his whistling at once. Heather whipped around to try to get away since there was no use in hiding. She began to run but had advanced only a few steps when a hand gripped her arm with an iron grasp. She looked down at the bowl which she was still holding in her hand, feeling incredibly foolish and very frightened. For the life of her, she could not make sense of why she kept doing this to herself. Bruce looked as if he could commit murder.

  "I-I came to bring you some food," she said tremulously, dropping her gaze to the ground. "I didn't know if you were coming to the gathering."

  "I was, in fact," he said evenly, "but I wanted tae wash a' the soot aff mysel' first. Believe it or no', I like tae be clean."

  "I'm sorry to have disturbed you," she said, raising her eyes to his again." She pushed the food at him and he took it, his eyes never leaving hers.

  "Doesnae matter," he said, "and thank ye for yer kindness."

  She nodded slightly. "My pleasure," she said, smiling and turning away.

  "Milady?" Bruce said suddenly.

  She turned back and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  "Did ye like whit ye saw?"

  She was amazed. He was flirting with her! For a moment she felt annoyed, then she decided to pay him back with the same coin. "Oh, yes," she said huskily, "very much."

  He stared after her in astonishment as she strode up the hill and into the church again, and was amazed by the feelings she had aroused in him.

  He had thought that when Bridie died he could never again look at another woman, let alone one like Heather. But he realized that he had developed a grudging respect for her and another feeling that he was too ashamed to even think about. Bridie was hardly cold in her grave, for God's sake!

  He looked at the food she had given him: good country fare, and plenty of it. He put it away for supper, then squared his shoulders and went up to the school.

  8

  Kenneth

  When Heather came back to the hall she looked flushed and agitated. Kenneth, who had been searching for her, went up to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

  "Lovie, what’s wrong?" he asked anxiously.

  "I'm fine!" she replied, a little too heartily. "I took some food down to Bruce the blacksmith. He always rubs me up the wrong way!"

  "Is that the man who has just lost his wife?" he asked, frowning.

  Heather nodded.

  "You must allow him a little latitude, my dear. He loved her very much I hear, and he is still grieving." Then, completely out of nowhere he said, "I can't wait for you to be Lady Jamieson, Heather. I love you so much, and if anything happened to you I would rather die too."

  "No, Kenny, you must not talk like that. It frightens me," she replied gravely, "but I too would like to be married soon. I think Heather Jamieson sounds rather pretty, don't you?"

  "I do." He kissed her, wishing that just once she would say 'I love you' and mean it. He wanted to see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, and taste it in her kisses. But she was fond of him, and many marriages were built on less.

  Now, she was doing something for her community and he was sure she would be loved for it. How could people help loving her?

  Just then, Bruce came in, and Mrs. Mcfarlane went up to him imm
ediately. He was a different person when he was speaking to her, Heather saw. He was smiling and teasing her, and she was laughing at some joke he had made. However, as soon as his glance fell on her she turned her back to him, crooking her arm around Kenneth's, and walked away.

  Bruce frowned as he watched them going around the room, talking to friends, laughing, and generally being sociable and genial to everyone. He envied that ability.

  After his brief exchange with Mrs. McFarlane, he partook of the feast laid out on the big table in the middle of the room and retired to a chair in the corner. He dreaded meeting people he knew who would offer him sympathy because his grief was still too raw. He had thought that it might do him some good to be in a gathering of friendly people, but he was beginning to regret the impulse. He decided to eat then sneak out and go back home as soon as he decently could.

  He could not help but admit to himself that he had a powerful attraction to Heather, despite, or perhaps because of, their mutual antipathy. She had a haughty, aggressive manner and he had never forgiven her for keeping him away from Bridie at the moment of her death. However, there was something about her that attracted him on an almost primal level, although she brought out a level of anger in him the likes of which he had never felt before.

  But anger was a form of passion too, one which was building up inside him and which he had no means to vent. Damn the woman! Nothing could redeem her in his eyes, not even her attempt to force her charity on the villagers. No doubt there was an ulterior motive behind that too.

  Just at that moment Kenneth looked over his shoulder and saw Bruce looking at them. There was something about the man that irritated and even alarmed him. He was so intense and so powerful, both physically and in his obvious dislike of them both, that made him feel threatened. He was not a coward, so he decided to confront Bruce about his blatant disrespect of Heather.