Page 51 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

“Where’s the harm in that? You sound too much like an old woman.

We’re young. That’s the time for being as free as sunshine—that’s what my papa says.

Actually, what he says is, ‘Ailie, my wild Scottish rose, you’re only young once, so make the most of it.

Happiness when you’re young is as free as sunshine.

’ He and Mama are always talking about the mischief they did when they were young.

Mischief when you’re young is perfectly all right.

” Ailie went on talking, but Bella wasn’t listening.

You sound too much like an old woman.

The sad thing about those words was that they were painfully close to the truth.

Bella didn’t know if she sounded like an old woman or not.

But she felt like one. That gave her a start and she began to think upon it.

It was true. She did feel old. Ancient, in fact.

And oddly enough, it wasn’t Ailie who had fired those feelings, she realized, for they had been festering within her like a deeply driven splinter.

And the person who had driven that first splinter of doubt beneath her skin was Ross Mackinnon.

It had been Ross who planted those tiny seeds of awareness, who made her yearn, just a little, to speak words of her choosing—to see life through her own eyes and not those of someone else.

She felt as though she should hate him for that, for making her desire something just beyond her reach. But she couldn’t.

“Why are you so stern, so hard with yourself?” Ailie asked after a moment of silence.

“You’ve never been allowed to be really and truly free, have you?

” She asked those words as a question, yet Bella knew she did not expect an answer, for it was obvious that she already knew.

Something about the way she said the word free made Bella envious, for she mouthed the word as if it were the closest friend she had—something she could pull up by the roots and take with her.

It all began innocently enough, just that same gradual warming sensation in her stomach, the fluttering of her heart, the perspiring palms—the same symptoms Bella always had whenever she contemplated something forbidden.

“The devil’s own brand of temptation” was her mother’s way of putting it.

Bella sighed and, as she always did, willed the yearning away.

But something strange happened. The more she willed it away, the more it came back, stronger and more resolute.

She began to question herself. Who was this person inside her, this grave and voiceless critic who plagued her?

Who was this tormentor who urged and prodded her on toward an attitude of fruitless servitude, only to judge her more stringently for the mistakes she was driven by this same voiceless critic to make?

She glanced at her cousin. Ailie looked so fresh and free sitting there on the edge of the bed, life and vitality sparkling in the depths of her eyes, long coils of rich chestnut hair curling over her shoulder.

She was thinking Ailie looked so happy sitting there, the amber light from the lamp picking out the red-and-gold highlights in her hair as if it wanted to stroke them.

Her skin looked warm and glowing, her face almost celestial, and Annabella thought she looked as one blessed, for there was no mark or blemish upon her life because she was as pure and clean and honest as one who had never had to practice restraint, or been forced to curb her instincts and her words, one who had never felt the agony of self-betrayal or the abject misery that came from abstaining from life.

She has never had to live by the code of temperance and moderation, and so she has never learned to doubt her own feelings; she always does what she desires, always expresses the emotions she is feeling, not those others might find more pleasing.

And as she thought these things, Bella couldn’t help wondering, How does a person get to be as free as that?

Ailie was still talking, saying “As soon as we get up to the house…” And she filled the rest of the sentence with pictures of such varied and vivid descriptions of what they would do that Bella could not see how one little night could contain it all.

Bella was never sure exactly whether it was her own yearning or simply her weary surrender to Ailie’s endless chatter that made her roll over at last and say, “Ailie, do let’s sneak up to the house and see what these despoilers look like.

” As an afterthought she added, “But we must take care to see we don’t get too close. ”

“You’re right. You can’t very well go to the altar if you aren’t a vestal virgin,” Ailie said as the two girls dressed.

If Bella had been allotted more time, the wheels in her head might have begun to turn, but Ailie was not known for her patience. She had already taken two black cloaks from the peg by the door and was handing one to Bella.

No English spy could have cloaked himself any better or moved with any greater stealth than Ailie and Annabella as they pulled the hoods over their heads and slipped out the cottage door.

Cooler weather was definitely on its way, for the night had turned cold, cold enough to put frost on the ground by morning.

The cousins made their way toward the great house, inching their way through the darkness. “Do hurry up, Bella. Even if they are young, they’ll be creeping with age by the time we get there.”

Bella pulled her cloak closer around her, keeping her eyes on the lights of Seaforth in the distance and the dark shadow of Ailie’s form just ahead. “Do you have any wildcats about?”

“Sometimes, but mostly they stay higher up—except on rare occasions.”

Bella was just hoping tonight wasn’t one of those rare occasions when they drew close to the stables and carriage house.

“Let’s go through here,” Ailie said, opening the door to the stables.

“It’s closer…and warmer.” They passed several stalls where curious horses came forward to stretch their necks over the doors to see who was about.

Suddenly Ailie stopped. “Look!” she said, pointing at a great black horse.

Annabella looked closely at the animal. “He’s very pretty.”

“Yes,” said Ailie, “but he isn’t one of ours.” Before Bella could respond, she added, “And neither is this one.” Bella followed the direction of Ailie’s point to see a beautiful bay with a delicate Arab head.

“They must belong to the despoilers,” she whispered to Ailie.

Ailie patted the bay’s nose. “Just think. Here we are, petting the noses of the horses of the most despicable rakes in Scotland.”

Bella, who was trying to understand just what was so glamorous about that, said, “Where did you hear that they were the most despicable rakes in Scotland?”

“I forget where,” said Ailie, “but I’m sure I heard it.”

“Or made it up,” said Bella. “Come on.” A moment later Bella was in the lead.

When they arrived at the house, the lights were on in several rooms. “Let’s try the dining parlor,” Bella said. “They might still be eating.” But a look through the dining parlor windows showed only old Dugal, the butler, and Sibeal, the cook, clearing the table.

“The music room,” offered Ailie. But the windows there were dark.

“Your papa’s study,” Bella said. “The lights are on.”

They arrived at the window, but it was too tall by half for the cousins to see through. “Back to the stables,” Bella said. “We can get one of the saddle racks to stand on.”

A few minutes later the saddle was unceremoniously dumped on the floor and the cousins tugged and pulled the saddle rack to the study window. “I’m taller,” Ailie said. “I’ll go first and help you up.”

Once she was up, she held out her hand. Bella had just pulled herself up when Ailie put her face to the window, apparently seeing something she liked—for a moment later she wiggled closer and pressed her nose flat against the cold pane.

“That,” she said with open-mouthed satisfaction, “is what I call a man.”

With gluttonous haste, Bella put her face to the window and came to the same conclusion. Her astonished gasp was both immediate and short. Not believing what she had just seen, she did as Ailie had done and wiggled closer, pressing her nose against the pane.

It wasn’t so much the pressing of her nose that made her lose her balance but simply the sight of Ross Mackinnon tossing down a glass of whisky.

The sight of a man of such fine form made the two of them forget for a moment where they were and what they were standing on.

Leaning as they were against the window caused their feet to push against the saddle rack beneath their feet.

The rack teetered precariously on two legs for a brief moment before tipping over, sending the cousins to the ground in a tangled heap of legs and petticoats.

Ross heard the commotion outside the window.

Perhaps it was because he was standing nearest the window, but more than likely it had to do with his past, for a man who has spent a good many years jumping in and out of beds learns to keep one ear tuned to what is going on around him.

This had saved him more than once from being caught red-handed in bed with some man’s daughter, or another man’s wife.

A quick glance at Barra told him that he hadn’t heard anything, or if he had, he wasn’t letting on.

It’s probably a sheep dog prowling about , he told himself as he stepped to the window.

Lifting his glass to his mouth, Ross took another drink, seeing a cloaked figure run across the yard and disappear into the darkness of the stable.

He could tell it was a woman by the way she ran.

His curiosity piqued, he tossed down the rest of his drink and yawned.

Barra smiled and made his apologies for keeping Ross and Lord Percival up.