Page 28 of Highland Fire
Mr. Haughton glanced first at Fiona, then at Daroch. In a more considering tone, he said, “Yes, I am a true sassenach , I fear,” and turning pointedly to Caitlin, he said, “Our host tells me you are a student of history, Miss Randal?”
“Lord Randal exaggerates. My interest is merely in stories about the past. Why do you ask?”
“My father, also, is something of an historian. He is fascinated by Deeside and all the myths and legends that surround the blood feuds which were once so prevalent here.”
“Myths and legends?” repeated Caitlin, her brow wrinkling.
Daroch let out a laugh. “What Mr. Haughton means is that, in the retelling, truth has a way of becoming lost in what we accept as history.” He looked pointedly at Fiona.
“Not unlike gossip and rumor. It’s human nature, one supposes, to want to embroider on a rather dull story to make it sound more interesting. ”
“That’s it exactly,” responded Mr. Haughton. “Well, just look at all the legends that have grown up around Bonnie Prince Charlie.”
Fiona glared at Daroch. “Where there is smoke, there is fire,” she declared, with all the force of a priestess delivering an oracle.
Mr. Haughton, unaware that two conversations were going forward simultaneously, nodded. “That’s very true. However, sometimes the smoke becomes so dense that it obscures the fire.”
“Or,” said Daroch, his eyes boring into Fiona’s, “those with vested interests fan the smoke to blind the rest of us till we cannot see straight.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Fiona. “Who has vested interests?”
Mr. Haughton answered at once. “I myself would not put it so strongly. All I meant was that in the heat of battle, it’s almost impossible to credit the enemy with any redeeming virtues, and afterward, one tends to justify one’s own position.
” He laughed in a deprecating way. “Well, one only need look at England and Scotland. We each have our own version of what passes for history.”
Caitlin, who had been following Mr. Haughton’s train of thought attentively, gestured with her hand, cutting off Daroch’s next remark.
“Then how can fact be separated from fiction?” she asked.
“The task would seem to be impossible.” She was thinking of all the histories and biographies which littered her uncle’s bookroom.
“No one said it was easy,” replied Mr. Haughton.
“My own father never accepts anything that is uncorroborated, that is, three sources are preferable to two. One source, on its own, must always be suspect.” His eyes smiled into Caitlin’s.
“Miss Randal, I would consider it a great favor if you and I could get together at a more appropriate moment and compare notes.”
Caitlin shook her head. “It is my uncle you should approach, Mr. Haughton. He is the real historian. I merely transcribe his notes. They’re in the Gaelic, you see, and I translate for him.”
No one was eating. Everyone’s cutlery was laid aside. Daroch’s eyes glanced into the faces of his companions and finally came to rest on Fiona. “That’s the trouble with us Highlanders,” he said. “We dwell too much on the past. It’s the future that should concern us.”
Fiona picked up her fork and speared several small potato fritters on her plate. “As my Uncle Donald would be the first to tell you, Mr. Gordon, the past has a way of catching up with you.”
“Not if we rewrite it,” riposted Haughton, and everyone laughed.
Caitlin’s mind was still assimilating that odd conversation when she and Fiona were restored to her aunt. One look at Charlotte Randal’s face and she knew trouble was brewing.
“Have you no pride?” were her first words to her daughter. “Don’t you care that people are talking about you?”
Fiona’s head clipped. “Talking? About what?”
“You and Daroch.”
“I’ve only danced with him once,” protested Fiona.
Charlotte’s voice rose. “That may be. But you are so transparent. Everyone can see that you’ve been hurt by the tales about him. You are making a spectacle of yourself.”
“What tales?” Fiona studiously examined the toes of her dancing slippers.
Charlotte cast a surreptitious look over her shoulder. “We can’t talk here,” she said, and shepherded her charges to a vacant sofa against the window wall and bade them sit. She remained standing, glowering down at them.
“You know very well to what I refer. I’m talking about Daroch and his fancy women. They say he has one tucked away in every hamlet between here and Aberdeen.”
“Daroch denies it. He says it’s a pack of lies.” Fiona’s lip was trembling.
“Oh? Then tell me this. Where does he get to half the time? He’s certainly not here where he ought to be, looking after his estates.”
“He visits friends,” answered Fiona stubbornly. “He told me so.”
“Then why are you at outs with him?”
When Fiona had nothing to say to this, Caitlin remarked, “It’s my opinion that these rumors about Daroch are highly exaggerated, if, indeed, they have any basis in fact.
And as for Fiona making a spectacle of herself, she did no such thing.
On every side, I have heard her described as a credit to us all. ”
Her intervention gave her aunt’s thoughts a new direction.
“Credit is it? Then let me tell you, I gave you credit for more sense. I saw you on the dance floor with Lord Randal. He is toying with you. Matrimony is the furthest thing from his mind. If you are not careful, my girl, you’ll find yourself embroiled in a scandal. Don’t say I haven’t warned you.”
With these words, the evening was robbed of all its joy for Caitlin. Not for one moment had the thought of marriage to the Randal entered her head. She was Glenshiel’s bastard granddaughter. The Randal was above her touch.
Truth to tell, since he had kissed her in the shieling, she had been living in a dream world. Her thoughts had dwelled on the feel of his strong arms about her and the heady pleasure of his kisses. She had not considered what the future might have in store for her.
She considered it now and saw at once that she was heading for disaster. She knew that he wanted her, and just as surely she knew that he would not be satisfied for long with mere kisses.
When Rand pounced on her for his third dance of the evening, he found her pleasant but evasive, and nothing he said could persuade her to partner him again. He watched her go with a faint smile, supposing, wrongly, that her grandfather had warned her against him.