The Loveless Marriage E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 217

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

After centuries of violence between the feuding McBrara and MacSteel Clans in the Scottish Highlands, a fragile peace is about to break into a new war when one of the MacSteels' shepherds is murdered allegedly by the McBraras. In a desperate attempt to avoid further bloodshed before the imminent visit of the English King George IV, the Laird of the MacSteels proposes that they unite the Clans with a marriage and the Earl of Braradale agrees somewhat reluctantly. And so the Laird's daughter, the elfin young beauty, Fyna, is obliged to marry a man she has never even met – the Earl of Braradale himself. Thus they are both ready to enter into a loveless marriage to save their Clans from further bloodletting and strife. For his part the Earl is dreading the marriage, imagining that she will be 'pious and heavily built', while for her part Fyna too dreads a loveless union with a man she does not love and who will look down at her as his inferior. As the two Clans celebrate their Wedding, the reluctant bride and groom begin to become acquainted and from the start both are pleasantly surprised to find that they have much in common, notably that they are both fey as many Scots are and can sense each other's thoughts and moods. But it is only when the life of her new husband is imperilled by her murderous cousin, Hamish, that Fyna suddenly realises that she has fallen deeply in love.

Leseprobe

Author’s Note

King George IV was one of the most interesting and at the same time most controversial Monarchs England has ever had.

While his enemies, especially those who had supported the Queen, decried him and did everything they could to oppose him, but his charm, his good taste and his strong personality eventually won over the country.

There were, however, undoubtedly episodes in his reign that were extremely unpleasant.

One part of the British Isles that was always antagonistic to everything that the English did was Scotland.

The Scots had never forgotten the appalling cruelty after the Battle of Culloden of the Duke of Cumberland and his troops.

The Scots had recently suffered the Highland Clearances, when families who had lived for years on the same land were evicted, had their houses burnt down and many were sent across the seas to Canada.

The Scotsmen, with their own historic feuds between the Clans, had long memories like elephants and they never forgot.

In August 1822 the King decided to go to Edinburgh and it was the first visit of a British Monarch to Scotland for nearly two hundred years.

Unexpectedly the visit was an enormous success, due mainly to Sir Walter Scott, who was called upon to be the Master of Ceremonies.

He had already created a romantic atmosphere for Scotland by his novels and his poems.

To entertain the King he produced Plaided Panorama, in which he made Edinburgh a stage for one of the most amazing and exciting parades of Scots, Highlanders and the Clans that had ever been seen.

The Highland Regiments had already greatly distinguished themselves under the Duke of Wellington and fought brilliantly against Napoleon especially at the Battle of Waterloo.

But the English had still to understand and to appreciate how much they had suffered.

It was this visit by the King which changed the feelings of the Scots towards the English and of the English towards the Scots.

His delightful good manners that had made him ‘The First Gentleman of Europe’, were exceeded only by the surprise he gave Scotland when he appeared in a kilt, plaid and bonnet.

The number of people he met while he was in Edinburgh and the enthusiasm with which he was received by the crowds was something that Scotland would remember for a very long time.

It did much to bridge the huge gulf, which before the King’s visit had divided the North of the British Isles from the South.

Chapter One ~ 1822

Fyna was walking along the bank of the river just as the sun was sinking over the high towering hills that it flowed from.

As usual she was moved by the beauty of the Strath that she had known from childhood.

The river was now low and the larger stones could be seen above the surface as the water rushed past them towards the sea.

There was the buzz of bees in the air and the sound of the grouse on the moors as they swung over the heather.

It was all so familiar, but to Fyna it always had a magic touch that made her feel that she walked in dreamland.

She was very slim.

Anyone seeing her might have thought that she was part of the trees that bordered the river.

Her hair had a small touch of the Scottish red in it and it was not too sharp a red to be unattractive, rather it was the deep red of the cedar trees.

As she looked down into the moving water, their colour seemed to be reflected in her eyes and the evening sun revealed the transparency of her white skin.

It never occurred to her that she was beautiful.

This was because she was not the usual hearty, strongly-built, sturdy young woman that the Scots admired so much.

There was something elfin in the grace of Fyna’s movements that belonged to an ancient age and it was written in the poems of men who were long since dead.

She wandered on, seeing a salmon jump high in the air.

She knew that it was running up the river from the sea to spawn and just for a moment its body shone silver in the sunshine.

She hoped, although she knew it was unsporting of her, that none of the fishermen would catch it before it reached the Loch at the far end of the river.

She was deep in her thoughts, when unexpectedly there was a voice beside her.

“I thought I would find you here,” a man said.

She looked up and was not surprised to see that it was Hamish MacSteel.

He was a distant cousin who had made himself notorious in her father’s Clan.

Fyna looked at him and thought that he looked much more aggressive and in a way more overpowering than usual.

He was a large, heavily built young man with dark hair and dagger-like eyes.

And they seemed to be seeking out trouble wherever he went.

“Papa has been looking for you, Hamish,” Fyna said. “You will find him at The Castle.”

“I want to see you and not your father,” Hamish replied.

“And I want to be alone,” Fyna retorted. “As you know, this is the only time of day that I have to myself and I have so much to think about.”

“Then you should be thinking about me,” Hamish MacSteel said, “and giving me the answer I want to hear.”

Fyna turned away to look at the river and he went on insistently,

“Marry me and let’s get on with it. What are we waiting for? I love you and I will make you love me.”

“I have told you a hundred times before,” Fyna replied in a quiet voice, “that I will not marry anyone I do not love.”

“Love will come with marriage,” Hamish asserted firmly.

There was something almost unpleasant in the way he spoke and Fyna felt herself shiver.

Her cousin proposed to her almost every day and each and every time she gave him the same answer.

She had no wish to marry and, if she did, it would be to a man she really loved.

It was difficult to explain to this hard-thinking, hard-speaking young man that to her love would be something very wonderful, very romantic and very spiritual.

Fyna was extremely well-read. She had found many stories of those who had loved and suffered for it, a theme that had inspired many authors all over the world since the beginning of time.

She had known then that this was the love she herself wanted.

She would never be content with anything that was not just as beautiful and inspiring.

It must be different from the majority of marriages that she saw taking place around her and she knew instinctively that the love that Hamish was offering her was something entirely physical.

It would be impossible for him to understand just what she required.

She moved a few paces further on along the mossy path.

She herself had worn it down because she came here every evening to contemplate.

“I am waiting for an answer,” Hamish insisted sharply.

“But I have already given it,” Fyna replied.

“You expect me to be satisfied with that? For Heaven’s sake, Fyna, what are you waiting for? What do you want? I can give you everything you require within reason.”

“Unfortunately what I do require,” Fyna replied, “you do not possess. Therefore it is no use for us to go on talking about it.”

“What do you mean, ‘I do not possess’?” Hamish asked her angrily. “I have money of my own, as you are well aware. I have a fine house, which, now that my mother is dead, is waiting for a mistress. As I have already said, I will give you everything you want.”

Fyna shook her head.

“Unfortunately that is impossible for you.”

“But why? Why?” Hamish asked. “Oh! For God’s sake, Fyna, stop behaving in this ridiculous manner! We will be married in a month’s time and the whole Clan will celebrate our Wedding with delight.”

Fyna thought that this was very much wishful thinking.

She was aware that Hamish was not popular with the Elders or with her father.

There were stories about him that were most unpleasant.

His persistent feuding with the neighbouring Clans, especially that of the McBraras, had become increasingly notorious.

There would be no point in her remonstrating with him as her father had already done.

As she moved a little further along the path, she said,

“I have no wish to discuss it now. In fact I wish to be alone.”

“That is what you always say when I want to talk to you,” Hamish complained. “Why can you not behave like any other woman and listen to me when I tell you that I love you?”

“It is something that I don’t want to hear,” Fyna responded.

As if her last words annoyed him, he reached out his arms and pulled her round to face him.

“Now listen to me,” he said angrily. “I am sick to death of being put off by your talking nonsense. I love you and so I intend to make you my wife. If you do not agree reasonably to this, I shall force you to marry me in a way that you will find very unpleasant.”

As he finished speaking, he would have pulled her closer in his arms and kissed her.

But with a swiftness that he did not expect, Fyna moved away from him.

She gave him one scornful glance.

Then, when he expected her to reply to what he had said, she moved with the swiftness of a young deer amongst the trees.

She wound her way in and out and through them and was now almost out of sight before Hamish realised what had happened.

For a moment he contemplated running after her.

But he knew that he had tried this before and had been defeated.

He was too heavy on his legs and he knew of old that Fyna could run as swiftly as any man in the Clan.

Because she was so slim, she could slip through trees and bushes that would have proven a heavy obstacle to anyone following her.

Scowling, Hamish could see the way she had gone only by the movement of the leaves and an occasional glimpse of her head above them.

Then there was only the sound of the river moving beside him and the call of the birds.

‘Damn the girl!’ he said to himself. ‘I have a good mind to forget her and find someone else to take her place in my life.’

He knew as he spoke that this would be impossible.

There was no girl in the whole Clan who could be compared in any way to Fyna.

The MacSteels were one of the oldest of the Highland Clans and had been living on the River Steel since the twelfth Century.

As the daughter of the Laird, the Chieftain of the MacSteels, Fyna had a unique position.

Hamish was aware that if she was his wife, she would raise his standing considerably.

He was a cousin, although somewhat distant, of the Laird.

At the same time, he knew, because of the way he behaved, that he was not particularly acceptable to the family who he belonged to by birth.

He was determined that one day, although Fyna had a brother, he himself would be the Laird and Chieftain of the MacSteels.

He was, however, not quite certain at the moment how it would be possible.

He was aggressive and he was dangerous. And quite a number of the members of the Clan were afraid of him.

But Fyna defied him and refused to listen to his continual insistence that they should be married.

In his own way Hamish did love her.

But what it really amounted to was that he wanted her not only as a woman but also for her position.

She would greatly enhance his standing with the MacSteels.

As there was no longer any sign of her or any movement in the bushes, Hamish sat down by the river and he was still scowling.

He was wondering whether it would be in any way possible to abduct Fyna and force her into marriage before her father or anyone else could prevent him.

If he took her away to some place from where she could not escape and made her his, then what could the Chieftain or anyone else do about it if she was having a child?

It all passed through his mind.

At the same time it was not the Chieftain who he was afraid of but Fyna herself.

Despite the fact that she was so small and feminine and sylph-like, he knew that she had a character and brain that he could not compete with.

Yet he wanted her.

Up to now he had always managed to get what he wanted, however difficult it appeared.

‘I will make her mine,’ he told himself. ‘And the sooner the better.’

Out of his reach, Fyna was moving speedily back towards her father’s Castle.

She was thinking that Hamish was rapidly becoming an intolerable nuisance.

She was wondering if she should get her father to speak to him, but then told herself that he had enough troubles to cope with already.

There were stories of Hamish and the young men who followed him stealing or killing the sheep belonging to other Clans.

They also indulged in fights that ended in those they attacked being badly injured.

Fyna that knew her father was really furious when such stories reached him and, as he was extremely busy, she did not want to upset him more than he was already.

Ever since he had become the Chieftain, he had tried to improve their reputation in the Highlands.

He had succeeded in making them a more prosperous and respected Clan and many of the younger men had distinguished themselves in Service in the Highland Regiments.

Some had lost their lives, but those who had returned after the War was over had been treated as heroes.

It was unfortunate, Fyna thought, that Hamish had been too young to become a soldier before the War ended with the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte and the French.

Her father had said over and over again that the discipline would have done him good.

She was very sure that he was right.

But Hamish had remained in Scotland and his escapades were becoming more notorious and unpleasant month by month.

‘How could I possibly marry a man like that?’ Fyna asked herself.

She knew that somewhere at the back of her mind there was a dream man who would fulfil all that she longed for in love.

As she walked on, she was thinking not of Hamish and his rough voice asking her to marry him but of love – the love that Henry II of France had for Diane de Poitiers.

Because she had been so clever as well as so beautiful, she had helped him make France more prosperous than it had ever been before.

King Henry had loved her passionately and completely from the moment that he had first known her when he was a small boy.

There had never been another woman in his life and then he was killed in a joust.

Diane had also loved him until her death.

‘That is love,’ Fyna said to herself. ‘A love I want and I pray one day I will find it.’

Her father’s Castle was now just ahead of her.

It had been altered over the years, but still had a rugged strength about it.

It had survived many enemies over the centuries, including the Vikings, and it was, Fyna thought, a fitting background for her father and his Clan.

As she drew nearer, she could see that there were several horses outside the front door.

She knew that once again people had come riding up the Strath to consult her father and ask for his advice.

She only hoped that there were not too many additional problems for him to handle.

He was now beginning to feel his age and, because he was very perturbed over what was happening in the Highlands, he was finding it difficult to sleep.

Fyna’s mother had died one very cold winter when they had been snowed in for some weeks.

She had known then that she must now look after her father and make him as happy as possible.

Fyna had done her best, but no one could take her mother’s place and make her father as contented as he had been with her.

Fyna only hoped that, when her brother finally came home, which he was expected to do very shortly, he would marry.

There would then be someone who would help her look after The Castle while he took on many responsibilities of the Clan.

Her brother, as it happened, was enjoying being a soldier more than he had expected.

He had joined the Highland Regiment because he had felt it was his duty to do so and he had found that serving under the Duke of Wellington was by far the most exciting thing he had ever done in his life.

He enjoyed the campaigns in Spain, the victory at Waterloo and being in the Army of Occupation that followed it.

It was then, Fyna thought eagerly, he would come back home.

Instead he had remained with his Regiment even when a large number of his friends had returned to their families.

‘Perhaps he will come home at the end of the year,’ Fyna now thought.

She had not done so before, but she told herself that she would write to him.

He should know that their father was working far too hard and it was so essential for Alistair to come back.

He could then cope with the many problems that were brought by the Clansmen.

She was well aware that quite a large number of the younger sons of the Chieftains had left Scotland for England.

They found the many gay amusements of London far more to their taste than the endless complainings and problems they encountered in Scotland.

It was a situation that had never happened before in the history of the Clans.

The Chieftain was the shepherd of his flock and the Clansmen turned to him with every problem, big or small.

His decision was final and he was obeyed implicitly in everything he told them to do.

When Clansmen were left without their Chieftain, they were in many ways helpless.

They had never, all down the ages, had to decide anything for themselves and, without receiving orders or guidance, they did not know what to do.

It was something that her father was very vividly aware of and Fyna knew that he would lead his Clan to the best of his ability until he died.

‘It is, however, getting too much for him,’ she thought again. ‘Alistair must come home however much he is enjoying himself in the South.’

She entered The Castle by the huge Gothic door that had stood there for centuries.

Inside everything was far more up to date.

Her mother had brought rugs and carpets for the floors and hung velvet curtains over the windows.

The whole Castle was now as comfortable as it was possible for it to be.

A Sinclair from Caithness, she had fortunately been not only beautiful but wealthy.

She could therefore afford comforts and accessories which had never been seen in The Castle until she married the Laird.

As Fyna walked up the ancient staircase with its thick carpet, she thought how fortunate they were.

Many other Lairds lived in the discomfort of draughty ancient houses with dilapidated furniture worn down over the centuries.

Her own room was very pretty.

It had been furnished as a background for a young girl and muslin curtains fell down on either side of the comfortable bed. The dressing table with a muslin petticoat was not what was usually seen in the wilds of Scotland.

When Fyna went to the window, she could look at the mountains on the other side of the Strath.

She could see the river moving only a little way below her, glowing silver and gold in the light of the setting sun.

It was all so beautiful.

Once again she felt a violent resentment against Hamish.

He had driven her from the river back into the security of her home when she wanted to be alone.

‘How can I convince him,’ she asked herself, ‘that I will never marry him even if he was the last man on earth.’

Because there was no answer to this, she gave a sigh and then heard her father calling her.

“Fyna, Fyna,” his voice rang out. “I want you.”

She opened her door.

“I am here, Papa.”

She ran down the stairs and he waited for her in the hall.

She could hear his visitors riding away on their horses.

“I have just come in,” she said. “I saw you were busy, Papa, so I did not want to disturb you.”

Her father did not answer, but went back into the room where he had been sitting.

It was a rather severe study, but round the walls were a great number of books.

There was a portrait of Fyna’s mother that had been painted soon after their marriage.

As the Laird closed the door behind them, Fyna slipped her hand into his.

“You look worried, Papa,” she said. “What is it?”

“I am very worried,” her father answered, “by the news I have just received.”

“What is that?” Fyna asked.

“There has been trouble once again on our borders,” her father replied. “Three men have been badly injured and, although it is hard to believe, over twenty cattle stolen.”

Fyna gave a little cry.

“Surely that cannot be true! On whose ground was it.”

She knew before her father replied what the answer would be.

“The McBraras.”

Fyna sighed.

She knew only too well who was responsible for what had happened.

Hamish had sworn for years to avenge himself on the McBraras.

It was an old feud that had now been carried on for several generations and it had suited Hamish to declare them, as they had been in the past, the enemy of the MacSteels.

He did everything he could to cause trouble with them.

“What can you do about it, Papa?” she enquired of him.

“I am just wondering what I can do,” her father answered. “It is not the first time, as you are well aware, that there has been trouble with the McBraras. They have done nothing to us, as far as I know. They should be left alone to run their own lives, as we want to run ours.”

He paused for a moment before he added,

‘They are a far bigger Clan than we are and the Earl owns many more acres than we can ever hope to possess. What is the point in fighting them when they have no wish to fight us?”

Fyna well knew the answer to this.

Hamish was determined to make trouble and she did not know how her father could stop him.

He was very clever at covering his tracks.

But the Earl, like her father, could not be responsible for what happened at night in the darkness.

That was the time when Hamish and his confederates crept away from their houses.

She could understand in some ways the excitement of it.

The young Clansmen had too little to do and too few amusements.

It was thrilling to go out and steal someone else’s flocks and fight those who tried to protect them.

If only Hamish had gone to the War, things would have been very different.

She knew how much it was worrying her father.

“You will have to speak to Hamish, Papa,” she said, “and tell him this cannot continue.”

“I have spoken to him before,” the Laird replied, “and it has had little effect.”

There was a silence and then Fyna said,

“You could exile him from the Clan.”

Her father stiffened.

“That is something which has been done only in very extreme cases.”

It made one man so treated an outlaw with a grudge against the whole world.

As the Laird sat thinking and she knew that he disliked the idea, Fyna thought how much her father had aged in the last year.

His hair was now almost completely white and there were lines on his face that had not been there before.

She knew that a great number were caused by worrying over Hamish and his behaviour.

What was more there had been one or two incidents lately that had affected their own people.

Sheep had disappeared.

There had been traps on the moors that had caught not only a wild cat or a fox.

They injured a man who had stepped on it by mistake.

Fyna was certain that these had been put there by the McBraras in revenge for what they had suffered from the MacSteels.

‘Things are getting worse,’ she told herself. ‘In fact, if we are not careful, the two Clans may be at war, as they have been in the past when they shot at each other from the Towers of their Castles and had violent fights in which many men were badly injured or killed.’

As if he was reading her thoughts, her father said,

“I am quite aware, my dearest, that this cannot go on.”

“You will have to do something, Papa,” Fyna commented, “but I am not sure what it can be.”

“That is what I am saying to myself,” her father answered. “As you know, the Earl of Braradale has not come back from the War as everyone expected him to do.”

“Is there no one else in his Clan whom you can speak to?” Fyna asked.

“No one of any importance,” he replied, “and their Elders are rather like ours, they talk a lot and do very little.”

They both laughed because this was an old joke.

“Was it the Elders who came to see you this morning?” Fyna asked.

Her father shook his head.

“No, it was members of the McBrara Clan. They are absolutely convinced, as, of course. I am, that it is Hamish who is at the bottom of all the trouble, but unfortunately they cannot catch him.”