The House of the Laird (2 page)

It would
have been almost a physical impossibility for her to carry her own suitcase to the train, which showed how ridiculously weak she was
!

CHAPTER
TWO

Late the f
ollowing afternoon she stood on an almost deserted platform at Inverlochie station and watched the few people who had alighted from the train disappearing through the barrier. There were one or two cars drawn up on the other side of the barrier, and beyond the cars a steep street wound upwards between neat houses and shops to the tower of a stoutly built church which lifted itself above the climbing roofs and soared in splendid isolation into the cold, sunset-flushed air.

This sunset light also bathed the purple wall of hills which ringed them in, and the dark woods clothing them in patches. The sky was clear, like a sea of tender turquoise, or an inverted blue lake across which very soon now the shadows would fall. With the falling of those shadows the cold would increase, and already it was intense enough to set Karen
’
s teeth chattering almost uncontrollably as she gazed rather helplessly about her. She had a hollow, slightly sick feeling inside, for she had eaten practically nothing at all that day, and although when she arrived in Edinburgh that morning she could have breakfasted very comfortably
she had made do with a cup of coffee because at that time she had not been inclined to bother with food. For some reason, although at times she felt extremely hungry, at others even the thought of forcing some solid substance past her lips filled her
with nausea.

But now, after the warmth of the train, the long hours of sitting, and probably as a result of her empty interior, she was conscious of feeling so bewildered by the cold that her cramped limbs bent under her, and it was well-nigh impossible to prevent them from shivering. She tried to force herself to think clearly, telling herself that it would be impossible for her to reach Ellen that night, because the last bus which left for her village must have left already, and the only sensible thing was to find herself a hotel. There was almost certainly more than one hotel in Inverlochie, and at this season of the year they would not be full; one of them would be small and reasonable and provide her with a bed, at least, into which she could crawl as soon as she reached it, and in that way stop this dreadful shivering which was making her knees knock, and her teeth chatter harder than ever.

She saw the porter at the barrier looking towards her somewhat curiously, and she bent to pick up her suitcase, which somehow she had managed to persuade to leave the rack in her recent train compartment, and allow itself to be dumped on the platform. But now she couldn
’
t get a grip of the
handle, and in any case it was too heavy, and
—

She heard a voice speaking to her, sharply, out of hazy clouds of bewilderment, and she thought she recognized a face as it wavered in front of
her.

“
Can I help you?
”
the voice asked.
“
Have you any idea at all where you
’
re going?
”

And then the voice ceased abruptly, and the man caught her as she sagged and swung her up into his arms, where at least she was no longer in any danger of falling. The porter, who had been collecting tickets, hurriedly deserted the barrier and jo
ined
him, and the two of them stood looking down at the limp form of the girl whose fair head dangled pathetically over the duffel-coated arm of the tall man who held her, her small, heart-shaped face absolutely colorless. It was a delicately-featured face—rather like a flower when color warmed it, although an exceptionally fragile flower, at that—but now the soft lips were pinched and blue, and there were heavy purple smudges beneath the closed eyes. The porter, who had a daughter of his own about this young woman
’
s age, gazed sympathetically, and then he said quickly:

“
Come along with me, Mr. Mackenzie, sir, and we
’
ll get her out of this cold wind.
‘
Tis like knives tearing into you, and I
’
ve no doubt at all it
’
s from cold she
’
s fainted.
”

But Iain Mackenzie was not so sure of that as he stood beside the hard horse-hair sofa on which his recent burden had been placed, in a somewhat dingy waiting-room where, however, a bright fire was blazing half-way up the chimney, and waited for her to show some signs of returning consciousness. He had managed to get a little brandy between her lips, and had vigorously chafed her hands and her small, ice-cold feet, but the waxen pallor of her face remained, and he felt a strange anxiety deep down inside him; a feeling of guilt, also, because the night before when she had struck him as being quite unfitted for travel at the late hour of the night he had done nothing about it, and asked her no questions.

And yet, on the other hand, what questions could he have asked her that she might not have resented? And what business was it of his, anyway?

Nevertheless, he caught his lower lip between his hard white teeth and gnawed at it thoroughly for several seconds while he continued to gaze at her, and his black brows met in an almost straight line above the noticeably high bridge of his nose. When the porter made his appearance with a steaming mug of hot tea he waved it away.

“
Let
’
s make another attempt to revive her with the brandy,
”
he said, and held out a lean, commanding hand for it.

This time he succeeded in getting her to swallow some of the raw spirit, and within a matter of moments after that the faintest tinge of color stole into her cheeks and dis
si
pated some of that alarming pallor. Her long eyelashes lifted, and as he picked up one of her hands and held it strongly between both his own a pair of dull blue eyes—that reminded him of a blaze of blue larkspur seen through a misted window—gazed back into his own, and a
thread-like voice enquired:

“
What
—
what has happened?
”

“
It
’
s all right,
”
he assured her, as she attempted to struggle up into a sitting position.
“
You fainted when you got out of the train just now—I don
’
t think you
’
ve eaten very much for a good many hours, have you?
”
with a shrewd, considering look at her.
“
But you
’
ll feel better when you
’
ve got inside a little of this.
”
He placed the cup of hot tea in her shaking hands, taking the precaution of keeping a firm grip of it with one of his own hands while she took a few uncertain sips.
“
Don
’
t talk for a
few moments, but try to drink as much as you can.
”

She obeyed him, lying back against the hard pillow of the horse-hair sofa, and thinking in a kind of vague wonderment how extraordinary it was that he should be the man who had apparently come to her rescue yet again! The man with the dark hair and the quiet grey eyes who travelled first, and who had wanted to put her into a first-class carriage also! The color increased in her cheeks, and as the combined effects of the hot tea and the brandy she had consumed drove away the last of the icy chill from her limbs, and a warm and comforting glow began to take its place, her eyes also started to glow a little, until the effect of a misty window was banished along with her pallor, and at the same time they were suddenly so acutely shy that she could hardly m
e
et his look.

“
I
’
m afraid I—it wasn
’
t just because I—I haven
’
t eaten very much,
”
she told him truthfully, at last.
“
I
’
ve only just come out of hospital, and I don
’
t think I was really fit to travel
—”

“
I
’
m quite sure you were not,
”
he responded a little curtly.

The larkspur-blue eyes were suddenly heavy with wistfulness.

“
But I
’
d only two rooms to go back to, and there was no one there even to talk to, and I thought of Nannie McBain
...
I
’
m on my way to her now.
”

“
What were you in hospital for?
”
he asked, even more curtly.

“
I caught a bad dose of flu, and it turned into pneumonia.
”
She
smiled apologetically.
“
I
’
m sorry I
’
m such a nuisance, but I honestly thought I was much better than I am. Otherwise I
’
d have put up with the two rooms—only they
’
re not really two rooms, only a bedroom and a kind of kitchenette.
”

“
And who would have looked after you?
”
he wanted to know, with so much unmistakable grimness that she act
u
ally began to feel a little frightened of him all at once.

“
Why, I—I don
’
t know ... My landlady might have done a little shopping for me, and she might even have cooked for me if I
’
d made it worth her while. But I
’
d have managed all right. It was just the loneliness that I didn
’
t feel I could face, som
eh
ow.
”
Her eyes pleaded with him, and they were clouded again with anxiety.
“
Can you tell me if I can find a room for tonight? A hotel room? I know it
’
s no use trying to get to Nannie tonight—the last bus to Craigie will have gone, and I don
’
t expect there are any taxis I can hire. Ther
e
never are very many, and they
’
re usually snapped up as soon as the train comes in. And, in any case,
I think I
’
ll feel a little more like it in the morning—
”
swallowing something in her throat, because in spite of the fact that she was completely revived, the thought of the effort it would require to get herself off the couch and outside to a hotel was somehow in itself a little appalling. And she didn
’
t want to do anything silly again, like fainting right under this man
’
s eyes, and putting him to the trouble of bringing her round with brandy which he had undoubtedly had to purchase, and cups of hot tea.

She put down the empty cup she was holding on a convenient little table beside her,
a
nd made a determined effort to rise, but he said quickly, before she could slide one foot to the ground:

“
Stay where you are, and we
’
ll get things sorted out in a moment.
”
He walked to the uncurtained window and stood looking out at the now completely deserted platform, glowing with the last angry redness of the sunset, while around there was a feeling of night, dark and i
m
penetrable, waiting to swoop upon them at any moment. Through the partly open doorway of the waiting-room the cold found its way in, like an almost tangible thing, and Karen began to shiver on the couch, realizing that in about another hour it would almost certainly be freezing. How unwise she had been even to think about coming north at this season of the year, when she was physically such a poor thing, and even her best tweed coat had not enough substance to combat the rigors of this sort of weather!

From the window the man
’
s voice reached her.

“
Craigie?
”
he echoed.
“
You want to get to Craigie, and you mentioned a Nannie McBain. Is that Ellen McBain?
”

“
Yes.
”
She turned her head over her shoulder, and tried to get a glimpse of his face.
“
D-do you know her?
”
half hopefully.

“
Yes; I know her quite well, and what
’
s more
I
can take you to her tonight. I
’
ve a car outside.
”

“
But
—”
in spite of the sudden relief, a disturbing
thought assailed her. Supposing—just supposing Ellen had not received her telegram, or for some reason was away from home! What a dreadful thing that would be!—
“
But won
’
t it be causing you a lot of inconvenience?
”
There was no doubt about the anxiety in her eyes, because she knew she
was
causing him inconvenience, as he turned and walked back to her and met them with his slightly inscrutable grey ones.
“
I
’
m already holding you up
—”

“
Not at all,
”
he answered, his tone as uncommunicative as his looks, although when she had first recovered consciousness after that extraordinary faint there had been nothing but gentleness in his expression, which she was not likely to forget.
“
I
’
ve got to go through Craigie, and I can drop you off there.
”
He smiled at her suddenly, a rather odd smile.
“
By the way, I
’
d better introduce myself, hadn
’
t I?
”
I
’
m Iain Mackenzie.
”

“
And I
’
m Karen March.
”

She said it in the shy voice he was beginning to associate with her, and his smile softened a little, so that all at once it was extremely attractive.

“
Well, Miss March, I
’
ll be happier about you when I know you
’
re handed over to somebody who can really look after you, and as it won
’
t do you any good to remain here in this draughty waiting-room we
’
ll get outside to the car, shall we?
”
As she made an instant movement to rise he prevented her by slipping one hand expertly under her slim knees, and another behind her back, and lifting her—as he had lifted her once before, barely a quarter of an hour before—right into his arms. And, ignoring her protestations that she was quite capable of walking, he carried her outside to his car.

And what a car it was, she decided, when she first caught sight of it in the rapidly failing light. Entirely in keeping with his pigskin suitcases, and the aura of opulence which clung to him. Low-slung, black and glistening, with a chauffeur seated behind the wheel, who jumped out immediately and greeted
his master with obvious pleasure, while at the same time apparently accepting it as normal that he should be carrying a young woman in his arms. Unless he had been previously warned by the porter!