Angus beamed, showing off a couple of missing teeth.
When the pretty young women reappeared from inside Angus’s house wearing the kilts, their legs bare, there were some disapproving looks f
rom the women and some leers from the men. Trevelyan went to Brat and Nyssa, offered each an arm, and escorted them to the pipers. All disapproving looks stopped, as did the leers. When the music was playing again, he walked back to Claire.
“It’s as though your word is law,” she said, looking up at him. “They didn’t think the girls should wear the kilts until you said it was all right. And when you escorted the girls, the crofters gave their approval.”
Trevelyan shrugged and looked away. “They’re fine dancers, aren’t they?”
Claire knew she was going to get no answers out of him. She stood to one side and watched as he moved among the people, talking to them. He seemed to know most of them by name and he asked after their relatives and their homes.
At noon Claire saw Trevelyan talking to two young boys, then she saw the boys hurry off down the hills toward Bramley.
“Where are they going?” she asked Trevelyan, but he chucked her under the chin and told her it was a surprise.
It wasn’t until sundown that she found out what the surprise was. Trevelyan had arranged for all of the crofters, over a hundred of them, to be fed at Bramley, and they were invited to see a play in the theater of Brat’s friend Cammy.
Trevelyan mounted a horse that a stable boy from Bramley had brought him and put his hand down to Claire to lift her up in the saddle before him.
When she was seated in front of him, she leaned back, feeling the strength of him. It was difficult to believe that this was the man who she’d thought was old when he’d fainted after catching her horse.
Trevelyan rode with her through the woods, away from the many people who were walking toward Bramley.
“I don’t think your presence here is going to continue to be a secret,” Claire said.
“No.”
She had expected him to say more, but he didn’t and she didn’t press him. He was not going to tell her more than he wanted to.
“Do you sometimes feel that there are moments of perfect happiness?” she asked. “That there are times that you do not want to end?”
“No,” he answered. “I always want to see what’s going to happen.”
She smiled in the darkness and was quiet as she rested against him. Right now she didn’t want to think about the future.
They rode so slowly through the dark Scottish countryside that they reached the door to the east wing of the house at the same time as the crofters did. Inside they found tables in a sitting room Claire had never seen before being filled with food, and Camelot J. Montgomery was beside himself with excitement. He was going to have an audience for his plays.
Claire stood in the doorway and watched the people tentatively approach the tables and the food.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Trevelyan asked her. “Isn’t this the sort of thing you plan to do when you’re the duchess? Isn’t this equality something like what you Americans believe?”
“I guess so.” She looked up at him, worry showing on her face. “What will Harry’s mother do when she hears of this?”
Trevelyan shrugged. “She’ll do nothing she hasn’t done before. Now stop worrying and come and eat.”
Claire allowed him to lead her into the room. She made an attempt to keep her worries to herself, but she couldn’t help thinking of that woman and what she might do.
After the people had eaten, they went into Cammy’s tiny theater. There were seats for only half of the people, but the others stood along the walls and looked in awe at the gilded surroundings. When the curtain rose, Claire thought she’d see an odd version of a play, but instead she saw Nyssa alone on the stage.
Nyssa was beautifully dressed in a heavy red robe that flashed with jewels. Behind the curtain a flute began to play an eerie tune.
Standing beside him, Claire could feel Trevelyan stiffen. When she looked at him, his eyes were wide and he looked almost angry. “What is it?” Claire whispered.
Trevelyan looked away from her, hiding his face so she couldn’t see it, but she had the distinct impression that something was causing him great distress. “Tell me what’s wrong?” she whispered. “Who is playing the flute?”
Slowly, Trevelyan turned back toward her, then he pulled her to him, her back to his front. “Watch,” he said and his voice was husky. “She is going to dance. It’s an ancient dance of great meaning.”
“What does it mean?” Claire asked, trying to turn so she could see his face, but he wouldn’t allow her to turn.