his family is not respectable. They will soon be gone. If I hear of you seeing him again, the consequences for you both will be even more severe, I promise you.’
Alex’s eyes ached and she was determined not to let him see her cry again. He would never see her cry again, would never know what she was really feeling. She ran up the stairs, past the rows of silent closed doors, to her chamber. Once she had loved that room; it was small, but in the corner of the old stone hunting lodge so boasting windows on two sides to let in the rolling countryside. Her white bed, draped in yellow tulle, her dolls stacked in the corner, her little white dressing table with its antique mirror, she had loved it all, found it a sanctuary from her family’s silence. Today it was only another prison.
She threw herself on the bed and buried her head in the pillows, trying not to howl. She remembered the sun-splashed river, Malcolm’s smile, the touch of his hand. He had been a good friend to her, maybe her only real friend. She couldn’t leave things the way they were. She had to see him, to say she was sorry, if only she could sneak past her father.
She quickly wiped at her eyes and went to peer out the window. The sun was starting to sink in the sky, the familiar purple, dull-pink Scottish sunset gathering in. Her father would be in his library for hours, until dinner. She would have to hurry if she wanted to find Malcolm and apologise to him. See him one more time.
She wrapped herself up in a long, dark cloak and crept out of her room, praying she would not be seen.
* * *
The croft was silent as Malcolm approached it, no smoke curling from the chimney, no one working in the small kitchen garden to gather the last of the vegetables. It was just as he had left it that morning, yet he had hoped, as he always foolishly hoped, that something would change.
The Duke’s words, that he had to see to his own house now, echoed in his mind, ominous and chilling. He had long known that the Duke, not a soft or kind man, would be patient no longer, but he hadn’t expected that moment to come just then. Because of Lady Alexandra.
Malcolm shook his head as he studied the overgrown path of weeds that had once been a vegetable garden. Alexandra was a lovely girl, pretty and kind, eager to learn all kinds of new things around her, full of questions. At first, when he met her trying hopelessly to fish and offered to teach her, it had been out of pity. Yet he came to look forward to their afternoons together, to enjoy their conversations, hearing her laughter and chatter. She was extraordinary, entirely unworthy of her father. Surely she would do wonderful things in her future.
But now that friendship had brought trouble to his door. He only wished he could have protected her, kept her that sweet innocent he adored so much.
Malcolm shook his head and sighed. She would have to learn of the real world soon enough; everyone was forced to it sooner or later.
He took off his muddy old boots and left them with the basket of fish near the door. Despite his own efforts, he could see all the signs of neglect on the cottage. The peeling paint, the loose shutters, the tangled garden.
When his mother had been alive, it had always been bright and clean and welcoming. How Malcolm tried his best to keep it up, to keep his father from being evicted by the Duke. It was the only way Malcolm could escape, if his father was all right. The only way he could take the apprenticeship he had been promised as a draper’s assistant in the city. He could be more than a farmer, if he worked hard there. Could win Mairie’s hand at last. Only if his father could recover.
Mairie. Some of the glow from his afternoon with her faded as he looked up at the loose tiles on the roof. Her father would never give her to a poor crofter’s son; she would never so give herself. And Malcolm wanted more for himself, as well. The vicar who had been teaching him for years said he was smart and quick, and could build his own business if he wanted. Maybe one day he and Mairie could make something together. They both had their own interests at heart, the interests of moving forward in the world, which was all that really mattered in a relationship.
He thought of that morning, fishing with Lady Alexandra, so quiet and sweet and clean. He wanted to build a life like that, a life where everything could be fine and good. A life just like her. He knew he shouldn’t think that way; Mairie was more appropriate for him, was within his reach, only just. Someone like Alexandra, never. The terrible ending to their fishing meeting showed him that so clearly.
He pushed open the front door, loose on its hinges. Inside the small room, it smelled of smoke and mildew, of old whisky. When his mother was there, the floor was always swept, the furniture dusted, the air smelling of fresh herbs. He remembered when his father would come home in the evening, the way he would catch his mother up in his arms and kiss her until she laughed.
His parents had loved each other so much. Too much. His father had lost his way without her. Malcolm vowed never to love anyone like that, never to lose so much. He would never be helpless like that, never live his parents’ mistakes.
‘Pa?’ he called. There was no answer.
He found his father up in the loft, sprawled across his bed. Still wearing yesterday’s stained clothes, reeking of cheap whisky, his skin greyish and clammy, his jaw unshaven. An empty bottle had fallen to the dusty floor.
None of that was unusual any more. What was strange was the crumpled paper that lay next to the bottle. Malcolm scooped it up and read it quickly, anger burning higher and higher inside of him.
It was an eviction notice. Signed by the Duke of Waverton.
Malcolm remembered the sting of going last week to see the Duke, his hat in hand, to beg for time for his father. Time to gather the rent money. The Duke had only watched him, stony-faced, and said he would do what he could, but he could not help those who would not help themselves for very long.
Now, he had tossed Malcolm’s father out. Now, at their family’s most vulnerable moment.
One day, Malcolm vowed as he tucked the blankets around his father, the shoe would be on the other foot and the Duke would beg him for help. And Malcolm would never give it.
* * *
Near the gate that led to one of the tenants’ farms, Alex was surprised to see a glimpse of bright red against the grey-green of the fields. She looked closer and saw it was Mairie McGregor, the daughter of one of the shopkeepers in the village, perched on the gate. Alex always rather envied Mairie, for her beautiful, long dark hair and velvety-brown eyes, so different from Alex’s own pale looks.
Today, Mairie’s black hair fell free down her back and she wore a bright blue skirt and red shawl, looped loosely around her shoulders. And she was not alone. A man was beside her, leaning on the gate as he gazed up at her, their hands entwined. Their heads were bent together as they spoke together intently, seriously. Mairie tenderly touched his cheek and he turned his head to kiss her fingers.
It was Malcolm. Malcolm kissing Mairie McGregor.
Shocked, Alex tried to step back, to hide, even though she knew they could not see her. They were obviously much too wrapped up in each other to see anything else. And she felt the sinking, cold ice of disappointment.
Mairie jumped down from the gate and walked away, tossing a strangely angry look back at Malcolm as she left.
Impulsively, Alex called out to Malcolm as he started to follow Mairie.
‘Malcolm!’ she called. ‘Please, just a moment.’
He
