S.D. Grady

Scotland, 1814

The sturdy palomino pony raced across the top of the world; her hooves sweeping through the heather, sending the lush scent of the highlands up to her rider. Fiona kneed her mount on, glorying in the wind whipping through her red curls. Her Irish wolfhound racing on Maira’s heels leant his voice to the joyous afternoon. Fiona laughed and urged the pony on towards the rocky outcrop.

The day’s chores were completed now. The Connolly’s, a pair of crofters living in a tiny dell, had the medicine for their boy and a visit to Michael the shepherd had resulted in the happy birth of a pair of twin lambs.

Pleased with the results of her efforts, Fiona then begged leave of her companions and chaperones for the afternoon. She left Carol and Connor behind on their stolid, shaggy mounts as Maira’s lithe form lifted into a gallop.

The midwife and her husband from the tiny village of Rockwall Vale often took Fiona about on their many errands about the farms and tenants looking to Fiona’s home, Morninghall Manor. Fiona took great pride in the knowledge she was accumulating. It was also rewarding to know she was helping so many of the people that looked to her home for support and aid in difficult times.

But it was now, in the late afternoon under a sky of pure blue, that Fiona lived for. Laughter, exhilaration and freedom combined for moments of complete assurance that all was right with her world. Just turning fourteen this summer, Fiona was convinced that nothing could dim her happy outlook.

Her aunt, Matilda Fitzhugh, the mistress of Morninghall and the landlady of the dozen crofts that lay about the manor, was Fiona’s only existing relative. As Tilly was a unique woman of diverse talents and unusual opinions, Fiona’s life thus far was full of many freedoms normally denied a girl of her gentle birth. Tilly encouraged Fiona in her interests towards healing creatures and children. She also ensured her niece was taught practical matters such as ciphering, arithmetic and estate management. However, Tilly understood that Fiona held a place in her heart that was wild and had little room for the confines of polite society.

Thus, when Fiona asked Tilly, “Might I go riding with Carol and Connor today?” Tilly would smile indulgently as her niece mounted upon her favorite pony and escaped the routine of the manor. Tilly knew-- it was wonderful to be young and happy.

The pony skidded to a halt, a mere yard from the edge of the outcrop. Fiona whooped her elation.

Grimm, her black Irish wolfhound and unflagging friend, joined Fiona’s cry with a resounding, “Woof!”

Fiona’s blue eyes flashed with good humor as she bent in her saddle to rub Grimm’s head. He was really still a puppy, although enormous already. Fiona wondered if the common sense and wisdom he often displayed were not the result of divine intervention. He could run on the heels of any horse in the stable and easily avoid the flying hooves. He also knew just when Fiona needed somebody to hug, appearing in her bedchamber after silently avoiding Cook’s ire as he sneaked into the house through the kitchens.

Yet, as Fiona sucked in the sweet highland air and studied the rocky hillside, she was alone. Her smile faded briefly. It was the kind of loneliness that ate your heart.

Once, long ago, in a wooded park in Suffolk, England, she had shared her world of animals, races and adventure with a friend- Roger. Although they had been young, just eight, when they parted ways; Fiona was quite sure that a friend such as Roger would be impossible to find again.

Roger-- calm brown eyes in a serious round face, always worried about what was right-- followed Fiona through every dare and deed. Like a rock, the memory of Roger remained for Fiona to cling to in her moments of solitude.

Grimm nudged her hand.

Fiona turned to her shaggy friend with a wan smile and said, “But he’s coming to visit. And someday, we’ll be together for good.”

Grimm acknowledged this announcement with a wag.

Fiona turned her pony towards Morninghall and a hopeful future.

***

Morninghall was a bustle of happy activity as the household prepared for their guests. Miss Fiona’s betrothed, Roger Ranly- the son of Lord and Lady Arthur Ranly, was arriving in two days for a fortnight visit. It would be the first time since Fiona’s parents’ death, six years earlier that the childhood friends would meet.

Tilly’s orders, issued in an indifferent tone, were to ensure that the grey stone manor house was to shine, glisten, sparkle and welcome the baron and his family properly.

The inhabitants of the manor worked hard for their mistress. Although Lady of the Manor in position, standing orders were to never address their employer as “Lady” or “Miss”- Tilly didn’t stand for that nonsense.

Tilly stated on numerous occasions, “My hands work just as hard and get just as dirty as any of yours, so standing on ceremony is a waste of breath and time!”

So, her household dipped a curtsy or tugged a forelock and addressed her with a smile and just “Tilly”.

There was one exception, though.

Jamie McHugh, Tilly’s steward, stalked across the great hall; avoiding scurrying maids as he went. The heavy carved door banged against the wall as he burst into Tilly’s office.

“What’s this, then?” he yelled as he flourished a letter under Tilly’s nose. “Are ye daft? Have you taken leave of yer senses?”

Tilly eyed her friend closely, trying to divine Jamie’s meaning. She then spied a familiar seal on the fluttering letter. She snatched it from Jamie’s shaking fist replying with equal heat, “What’s it to you?”

Jamie heaved a sigh and sank into the worn leather chair before Tilly’s heavy oak desk. His square aging features and laughing hazel eyes studied Tilly’s impassive face. He tugged at his dull red coat. He cleared his throat. Battles with Tilly were never easy to win. Their mutual explosive personalities made for rather spectacular engagements.

“Well, now then, Miss Tilly,” he began.

Tilly scowled at the polite address. Her dark red curls pulled back in a rather severe bun did nothing to soften the hard line of her pointed chin and martial gleam of her pale blue eyes. Jamie could remember, a terribly long time ago, when Tilly had been a carefree, beautiful girl. Life’s cruel twists had stolen that from her. Jamie would never allow anyone to injure her again.

He started over, “My dear Tilly,”

Tilly’s face softened.

“This letter from your solicitor in London indicates that you have invested in a ship.”

Tilly nodded. “Yes, that’s right, Mr. McHugh.”

Jamie understood he was standing on thin ice. Tilly never addressed him formally unless she was warning him off.

“But it’s half your personal assets!” Jamie couldn’t help the exclamation.

Tilly merely raised an eyebrow as she picked up a pen and turned back to the open ledger on her desk.

“More than 2,000 ₤!” Jamie added.

Tilly looked up. Jamie’s face was flushed red with tension. She calmly replied, “It’s my money, Jamie.”

“But, why?” he begged the answer.

“It’s for Fiona.” Tilly’s tones were clipped. “So she won’t have to marry that Ranly pup. I could see a return many times the original investment.”

Jamie’s blank expression asked for clarification.

Tilly eyed Jamie for a moment before continuing, “My sister, Phillipa, was fortunate to marry for love. I know that Sir Reginald Fairweather made her a happy woman in her short life. But, they left little security for their child.” She stood and turned her back to Jamie.

With her arms crossed, she stared out the window, “They left Fiona nothing but the promise of wedlock when she’s grown. Now, Phillipa may have deemed Lord and Lady Ranly the perfect pair to help her daughter. But, it’s not Lord and Lady Ranly that Fiona will wed. This “Roger” may prove to be a cruel man when grown.”

Tilly turned back to face Jamie and leaned across the desk. “I won’t thrust Fiona into a marriage like that. She should have a choice! A fortune made from a ship load of spices would provide my niece the dowry and independence to allow her to wed where she will.”

Tilly paused as she stood back up, “Or not, if she chooses.”

Jamie blinked. The gamble was enormous. If the ship were lost, as so many were in the South Seas, Tilly would be looking at a long life of little comfort. He briefly took in the worn carpet beneath his feet and old curtains hanging at the window. If the gamble succeeded- he suspected Morninghall would see a different future as well.

A flash of tartan and red curls atop a galloping pony streaked past the window. Jamie leaned back in the chair as he tapped his upper lip with a finger. He returned his gaze to the one woman who had his heart, but had refused his hand.

Miss Fiona had been the savior of Morninghall in many ways. Until her parents’ untimely death in a carriage accident six years ago, Tilly spent little time caring for herself or even the home her father had left her. Upon Fiona’s sudden addition to Morninghall, Tilly seemed to find purpose in her life. The fire of spirit in Tilly that Jamie had hopelessly lost his heart to some ten years prior, found its spark again. The eight year old carrot top, with a laugh like a waterfall and a heart to heal the world had won Tilly and her fierce loyalty.

Jamie could see that Tilly wished to thank the girl by allowing Fiona a freedom so few women ever had; a choice in her future.

He smiled, “Well then, my dear, why didn’t you say it was for the lass?”

The uncertain glare left Tilly’s face. It was replaced with a warm grin. She shrugged, “Mayhap the boy will be everything our girl needs, but I’d prefer not to take a chance.” She closed the ledger and neatened her desk, avoiding the misty eyes watching her.

“When does the ship leave?” he asked.

“Next month. ‘The Adventure’ is scheduled for a two year cruise to the Orient around the Cape of Good Hope.”

Jamie nodded his understanding. “Does Fiona know?”

Tilly just shook her head. “Why give hope where there may not be any? We will just have to wait, my friend.”

Jamie sighed. False hopes were what crushed Tilly when she was a girl. She would never raise Fiona’s only to dash them.

As Tilly straightened her blue gown and checked her hair she continued, “So, we shall encourage the match with young Ranly. He may yet be her future.”

Jamie placed his hand on Tilly’s sleeve before she walked out the door. “Will you forgive this old Scot his poor manners and doubts? I should’ve known it was for our girl.”

Tilly blushed. For a moment she was the sweet young girl that Jamie loved so dearly, his warm hazel eyes comforting all her own doubts. She leaned up and kissed her friend and defender on the cheek, “You best see to the hall. I don’t believe the armor has been polished in ages.”

Jamie watched Tilly walk out the door. It was near suppertime and Tilly would want to be checking with Cook. His eyes perused the neat office filled with bound ledgers, dark wood furniture and hard work. It was from here that Tilly wielded her power. The letter of notice from the solicitor lay neatly folded on the corner of the desk. Two years they would have to wait.

Well, Miss Fiona was young. There was plenty of time.

Jamie walked out of the office looking for a footman to see to the armor.

***

Fiona studied the deepening purple of the summer twilight out her bedchamber window as Tilly patiently brushed Fiona’s tangled red locks. It was an evening ritual that the pair had shared since shortly after Fiona’s arrival some six years ago; a moment for the sharing of adventures and local happenings.

Tonight, though, Fiona found little comfort in the gentle hands. She was quivering with the excitement of seeing her friend in just one more day. Questions swirled in her head.

Would he be tall? Would he still laugh with her? Had he become far too restrained during his years away at Eton? Would he remember how to catch a fish with his bare hands? Would he still be her friend?

“Sit still Fiona!” Tilly admonished, “I can’t make this mess behave with you squirming around like a fish!”

Fiona took a deep breath and sat up straight, “I’m sorry Tilly.”

Fiona managed to stay quiet for another minute before losing the battle yet again. She jumped up from her bed and ran to the open window. A soft warm breeze tugged at the curls. Fiona pushed an errant strand away from her face.

She looked back at her aunt asking, “Do you think Roger will remember? I mean, the way that I remember?”

Tilly looked at the sparkle in her niece’s eyes. She smiled wanly at the adolescent exuberance, “I’m sure that Roger has fond memories of your shared childhood.”

Fiona spun back to the window. “I can’t help but wonder what he will be like. I know I’ve changed. Roger must have, too.”

Tilly stood up, unsure what Fiona was trying to say. She approached the window. It was these moments of Fiona’s uncertainty that Tilly was most at a loss. The scars of her own young life had left a void where she was sure motherly intuition was supposed to reside.

“I’m sure he will be much as you remember him.”

Fiona smiled at the reassurance.

Tilly watched her, breathing in the innocence of the girl in a white night rail standing in the starlight. A voice full of warnings whispered to Tilly.

“Fiona.”

“Yes?” Fiona asked openly. Fiona turned and found her aunt’s brow wrinkled, a frown tugging at her lips. “What is wrong?”

“I...” Tilly paused before continuing. “I want to speak with you.”

“About what?”

Inside Tilly cried for the seeds of doubt she was about to plant. However, she could not allow her niece to face the same kind of heartbreak that she had suffered.

“Come, Fiona. Sit with me.”

Aunt and niece sat on the large bed, face to face. Pale blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles of worry looked into deep blue pools of innocence. Fiona smiled encouragingly. Tilly grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

“I want to tell you a simple rule, Fiona. It is terribly important.”

Fiona cocked her head to the side, “What is it, Tilly?”

“Don’t trust people.”

Fiona saw that Tilly would no longer meet her eyes. “I don’t understand, Tilly. What are you trying to say?”

Tilly’s face was averted, but Fiona could find no measure of her aunt’s usual good humor in Tilly’s voice as she replied. “Just that, Fiona. You must promise me that you will always keep yourself safe. Before placing yourself in anybody’s care, you need to know that you can’t trust anyone.”

Fiona sat back as she shook her head. What Tilly was saying just didn’t make any sense. “Why are you saying this?”

Tilly finally met Fiona’s confused gaze again. Her shoulders slumped as if in defeat. “Nobody will be with you forever, my dear. They will leave you behind.”

Fiona continued to shake her head. Sensing that Tilly was very upset, Fiona leaned forward, hugged her aunt and made a promise of youth. “I’ll never leave you, Tilly”

Tilly returned the embrace, knowing that Fiona did not understand. Why was it so difficult to speak to Fiona? She took another deep breath before saying, “Just be careful, my dear. I don’t wish for you to be hurt again.”

Fiona clung to her aunt wondering what all the worry was about. There were many things that were constant in her young life. Tilly, Jamie McHugh, Caroline, Connor and all the other members of the Morninghall household had been present since she had come so long ago. As she thought harder, she could never quite remember being left behind.

Her parents had died, she thought. But, they had left her in the care of Tilly and Roger Ranly was her betrothed- her future secure. She was rather lonely at present, as she lacked any girls or boys her age and station nearby. That was not her or anybody else’s fault.

Wishing to reassure her aunt, Fiona sat back and said, “Truly, Tilly, I am happy and hope to be happy in the future. I can’t think of any reason that I should worry. Can you?”

Tilly wiped an uncharacteristic tear with the back of her hand as she peered at Fiona’s eager countenance. Tilly considered the question. A young heart was such a fragile object and she could easily see Fiona losing hers over a young boy arriving in just a day. She weighed her fears against Fiona’s innocence and lost the battle.

If all that Fiona would have in her later life were bittersweet memories of a love unrequited, who was Tilly to keep even that small joy from her beloved niece?

“No, I can’t, Fiona. Please forget all I said.” Tilly lifted her hand and lightly traced the satin soft skin of Fiona’s cheek. “This sour old woman worries, that is all.”

Fiona climbed under the sheets. Tilly bent down to kiss her brow before snuffing the bedside candle.

As the door closed, Fiona turned on her side and looked back out at the night; a black canvas full of light. Fiona smiled whimsically wondering how far she would have to ride to catch a shooting star. Of course, she was certain that it would be far easier to accomplish with Roger by her side. He would never leave. Roger was her friend and her future.