Page 99 of To Wed an Heiress
Such a man truly didn’t care that she was an heiress. No, if she were to tempt Lennox into marriage, it would have to be because he wanted to spend his life with her. Her, not her fortune. Her, and not any coercion she could bring to bear because of her family name.
Lennox led her behind the castle, following a well-worn path around the curtain wall.
For the first time she saw the stable, empty but for the two Clydesdales. If Lennox would agree to marry her she could fill the empty stalls with horses.
“Is that the chapel?” she asked, pointing to a structure set apart from Duddingston and slightly higher. Built of the same weathered brick as the castle, it looked somehow older.
“It is,” he said.
They headed up the gravel walkway leading to oak-banded double doors. He opened one and stepped aside so that she could precede him.
The first thing she noticed was the sunlight streaming in through the ruined roof.
“Oh, what a shame,” she said, looking around her at the water damage from the recent storm.
“I’ve moved the really important, historical pieces into the castle,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about the stained glass or the altar itself.”
The altar was a massive piece of carved wood that must have been completed inside the chapel. Otherwise she didn’t see how it could have been moved into the building. It had been covered with a tarp that Lennox removed now, revealing the artistry of the woodwork. She had never seen anything so beautiful and when she said as much to Lennox, he nodded.
“My ancestors were a good deal more religious than I am,” he said.
“How lucky you are to be around such history every day. We don’t have anything as old as the castle in America. You can trace your family’s history here and feel it all around you.”
“We’ve been here longer than the Macrorys, that’s for sure.”
She glanced at him. “Why do I think that the antipathy between the two families goes back a lot longer than Robert and Mary’s romance?”
He grinned at her, such a charming expression that she wanted to see it over and over again. It made Lennox look almost carefree.
“You’re right.” He strode toward the altar, looking up at the ruined roof. “A Macrory man came along one day and stole a Caitheart daughter. She was due to marry another man, but lost her heart to him. It’s been so long now that it shouldn’t be a great conflict between the families, but history has a way of repeating itself.”
Not only in the case of Robert and Mary, but with her and Lennox. Only his heart was not involved.
She wished it was. She wished, too, that there was something she could do to make him think of her as more than an American woman he’d once bedded. Wishing, however, never made someone fall in love. Wishes were for little girls dreaming of being a princess. Or a countess in a castle across the sea.
She turned and walked to the chapel doors, standing and looking over the expanse of Lennox’s kingdom. The loch was turbulent today. The wind was creating whitecaps and bending the boughs of the pines on the opposite shore.
For some reason, Duddingston Castle had always been a special place for her. Maybe it was the faint call of her Scottish blood.
Scotland had seemed so alien to her at first, but it had enfolded her in an embrace that felt warm and welcoming. Some people, like Irene and her sister, Jean, would forever remain in her memory. She would always be able to close her eyes and hear the sound of the bagpipes echoing through the glen. She’d recall the piercing beauty of that moment and how it had summoned her tears. She’d never forget how long the days were or how the sunlight looked glittering on Loch Arn.
She would miss this corner of the world and she hadn’t counted on that.
Perhaps she could stay in Scotland, make a life here. It would be as easy here as in New York. It might even be easier here because no one would know who she was. She wouldn’t be James Rutherford’s daughter. Or an heiress. Just an American who’d fallen in love with the country.
“Is something wrong?” Lennox asked, closing the oak-banded door behind him.
She didn’t know how to explain her abrupt, suffocating sadness, so she forced a smile to her face and shook her head.
“Do you want me to send a note to your grandmother?” he asked, surprising her.
The day she’d come to Duddingston, Lennox sent Douglas a letter explaining what had happened and why he’d issued an invitation to Mercy to stay at the castle. He’d advised Douglas that the authorities should be called about Gregory. He’d also asked for Mercy’s belongings as well as requesting that Ruthie be allowed to accompany Irene back to the castle. So far, they hadn’t heard anything from Douglas or any of the Macrorys.
It was entirely possible that Douglas was holding on to Mercy’s luggage out of spite. She didn’t care, and it surprised her how few items she really needed from day to day. Ruthie, however, was another matter. She and Irene had already discussed ways to spirit the other woman away from Macrory House. It was only a matter of time until Ruthie made it to the castle.
“A letter to my grandmother? She won’t understand,” Mercy said. “She’s taken on the Macrory feud like it was her own. She didn’t even live here when Mary and Robert eloped.”
Lennox didn’t respond, but what could he say?
