Chapter 42

Castle Doom

The Highlands

Kyle shaded his eyes as he studied the boldly silhouetted castle that crowned the crag ahead of them. "I'd forgotten just how ominous this place is. It chills the bones."

"You remembered the steepness of the hill correctly, though," Troth said. "Can the horses make it up there?"

"I wouldn't ask it of them. You and I shall walk and learn if the chi exercises have been working." He climbed from the carriage and helped Troth out, then hobbled the two horses where they could drink from a small stream.

"Where did the name come from? It sounds like a Gothic romance."

"The original name was several syllables longer and Gaelic, but the first syllable was Doom, and it fit so well that it stuck. It's a Clan Campbell fortress that was destroyed by the English after the Forty-Five. No one has lived here since."

He swung a picnic basket from the curricle. The food had been packed by the landlord's wife at the small inn where they'd stayed the night before. Their trip north had been leisurely, with plenty of detours to see things he thought she'd enjoy.

As he'd hoped, the sheer normalcy of their journey created a relaxed, easy mood they'd never shared before. Except when he kissed her good night. In a spirit of feminine revenge, she had taken to kissing him back with a thoroughness that threatened to bring him to his knees, begging to share her bed.

The hard part was knowing that she'd probably bed him gladly. But he was playing for higher stakes than a single night's pleasure, so he'd always returned to his room alone.

As they crossed a crude plank bridge that had been laid over the stream, Troth said, "This seems like the end of the world, as if no one has been here for decades."

"Few people do come-it's well off the main roads, and that last stretch was almost too much even for a carriage like ours." He squinted at the sky. Was that a wisp of smoke rising from the castle? No, it must be a ribbon of cloud. "It's been many years since I visited here with Dominic, and I doubt the castle has changed at all. Yet not far from here in the Hebrides, modern steamboats are now carrying people through the islands in luxury. Quite a contrast."

"Steamboats? I'd like to travel on one of those someday. But I like the wildness of this better."

Conversation ceased as they started to ascend the rough track that snaked up the hill to the castle. A quarter of the way along, Kyle said breathlessly, "Let's take a rest. I need to hang over the edge and gasp for a bit."

"I'll bet the people who lived in the castle never came down, not when it meant climbing back up again!" Troth gratefully sank onto the low stone wall that protected travelers from the sheer drop. "I'm glad you suggested wearing Chinese trousers. This is not a ladylike excursion."

"Definitely not for the faint of heart or weak of lungs." A category that included Kyle at the moment; apparently he still hadn't recovered fully from the malaria.

Warmed by the climb, Troth loosened the plaid she wore draped around her slender frame. She'd been enchanted when they found a tartan shop in Stirling, then disappointed that there was no plaid for Montgomery.

Kyle had cheered her up with a Campbell plaid, saying she had a right to wear it since his mother had been a Campbell. Troth and the green-patterned plaid had become inseparable. When she wore it with a Chinese tunic and trousers, the effect was improbable but charming.

She peered over the wall. "There are two streams, not one. They flow together at the back of the hill."

"The one below is called the Burn of Grief, and the other is the Burn of Despair. Another reason for calling this Castle Doom."

She made a face. "What a grim lot these Highlanders were."

"There's truth in the romantic tales Walter Scott and others have woven about the Highlands, but it's always been a hard life." He looked north toward Kinnockburn. "I think my mother married my father mostly to bring English money to her glen so the crofters wouldn't starve. She was the Maiden of Kinnockburn-the hereditary chieftain of her branch of the Campbells. The only asset she had was her beauty, so she went to London and found a lord so besotted he'd agree to her marriage terms."

"Wrexham, besotted?" Troth asked in amazement.

"Hard to imagine, but true. He adored her." Kyle offered his arm and they resumed their ascent. "In the marriage settlement between them, it's specified that her inheritance be put into a permanent trust so it can never be enclosed and the crofters forced to leave the glen, which has happened in too many places in the Highlands."

"Your father agreed to that? I may end up approving of him in spite of myself."

"He's difficult, but his sense of justice is admirable. He understood my mother's fierce attachment to the glen and her need to serve her people. She spent several months a year in Scotland as the Lady of Kinnockburn, running around in bare feet and plaid like any crofter's wife. We children spent a good amount of time there, too. Especially me, since ultimately it's my responsibility to see that the glen prospers."

"Did you run around barefoot also?"

"Indeed I did."

"That explains a great deal," Troth said thoughtfully. "The crofters are lucky your mother was willing and able to make such a bargain. Did she and your father love each other?"

"I think so. Each of them placed their duty before their personal pleasures. That was probably one of their most powerful bonds."

"What a woman your mother must have been."

"You'd have liked her, Troth. And she would have loved you."

Troth tugged the Campbell plaid closer. "I wish I'd met her."

"Lucia is very much like her. All three of us have the look of the Highlands."

As the track became even steeper, they started to zigzag back and forth across the incline, which lengthened the distance but made the climbing easier. Though they had to rest several more times, Troth never suggested turning back.

Even so, when they passed through the broken gate that opened to the lowest of the three castle levels, Troth staggered toward the shade of the nearest tree. "Next time you mention a steep hill," she panted, "remind me to flee in the opposite direction."

She was about to flop on the ground when a bristling feline leaped from the undergrowth beside the tree with bared teeth and a fierce growl. Troth gave a squeak of dismay and retreated. "What is that?"

He caught her arm and drew her farther away. "A wildcat. See the stripes and whiskers? She's a close cousin of your grandmother's tabby, actually. Her fur is up, but underneath she's not much larger than a barn cat."

"The difference is that Grandmother's tabby likes me. Your wildcat looks like it wants me for dinner." Troth circled the tree, keeping a wary eye on the glowering cat.

"This is the season for kittens, and her den must be hidden near the tree. A den so close to the path proves how few people come here-usually wildcats are very shy."

"Does mother love make a female dangerous?"

"So they say. You'd make a fierce mother, I'm sure."

She gave him a swift glance, then turned away. "I'm ravenous. Perhaps we can eat on this level before climbing to the higher ruins? "

Hungry himself, he unpacked the basket, starting with a coarse blanket that he spread under another tree where they could admire the rugged hills and picturesque ruins. As they ate, the wind rose, rustling the leaves and sending clouds racing overhead. "It feels as if a storm is coming. We should aim to be finished with our sight-seeing and back at the carriage by the time it strikes."