A Place Called Freedom (1995)

All the same, the encounter with Robert had shaken her. He had his father’s ruthless determination. Of course he could not take High Glen from her. But what might he do instead?

She put him out of her mind. She had got what she wanted: Jay instead of Robert. Now she was eager to plan the wedding and set up house. She could hardly wait to live with him, and sleep in the same bed, and wake up every morning with his head on the pillow beside her.

She was thrilled and scared. She had known Jay all her life, but since he had become a man she had only spent a few days with him. She was leaping into the dark. But then, she thought, marriage must always be a leap into the dark: you could never really know another person until after you had lived together.

Mother was upset. Her dream was for Lizzie to marry a rich man and end the years of poverty. But she had to accept that Lizzie had her own dreams.

Lizzie was not worried about money. Sir George would probably give Jay something in the end, but if he did not they could live at High Glen House. Some Scottish landowners were clearing their deer forests and leasing the land to sheep farmers: Jay and Lizzie might try that, at first, to bring in more money.

Whatever happened it would be fun. What she liked best about Jay was his sense of adventure. He was Willing to gallop through the woods and show her the coal mine and go to live in the colonies.

She wondered if that would ever happen. Jay still hoped he would get the Barbados property. The idea of going abroad excited Lizzie almost as much as the prospect of getting married. Life over there was said to be free and easy, lacking the stiff formalities that she found so irritating in British society. She imagined throwing away her petticoats and hooped skirts, cutting her hair short, and spending all day on horseback with a musket over her arm.

Did Jay have any faults? Mother said he was vain and self-absorbed, but Lizzie had never met a man who wasn’t. At first she had thought he was weak for not standing up more to his brother and his father; but now she thought she must have been wrong about that, for in proposing to her he had defied them both.

She reached the bank of the river. This was no mountain stream, trickling down the glen. Thirty yards wide, it was a deep, fast-moving torrent. The moonlight gleamed off the troubled surface in patches of silver, like a smashed mosaic.

The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, but the fur kept her body warm. Lizzie leaned against the broad trunk of an old pine tree and stared at the restless water. As she looked over the river she saw movement on the far bank.

It was not opposite her, but some way upstream. At first she thought it must be a deer: they often moved at night. It did not look like a man, for its head was too large. Then she saw that it was a man with a bundle tied to his head. A moment later she understood. He stepped to the riverbank, ice cracking beneath his feet, and slipped into the water.

The bundle must be his clothes. But who would swim the river at this time of night in the middle of winter? She guessed it might be McAsh, sneaking past the guard on the bridge. Lizzie shivered inside her fur cloak when she thought how bitterly cold the water must be. It was hard to imagine how a man could swim in it and live.

She knew she ought to leave. Only trouble could result from her staying here and watching a naked man swim the river. Nevertheless her curiosity was too much for her, and she stood motionless, seeing his head move slantwise across the torrent at a steady speed. The strong current forced him into a diagonal course, but his pace did not falter: he seemed strong. He would reach the near bank at a point twenty or thirty yards upstream from where Lizzie stood.

But when he was halfway across he suffered a stroke of bad luck. Lizzie saw a dark shape rushing toward him on the surface of the water, and made it out to be a fallen tree. He seemed not to see it until it was upon him. A heavy branch struck his head, and his arms became entangled in the foliage. Lizzie gasped as he went under. She stared at the branches, looking for the man: she still did not know if it was McAsh. The tree came closer to her but he did not reappear. “Please don’t drown,” she whispered. The tree passed her and still there was no sign of him. She thought of running for help, but she was a quarter of a mile or more from the castle: by the time she got back he would be far downstream, dead or alive. But perhaps she should try anyway, she thought. As she stood there in an agony of indecision he surfaced, a yard behind the floating tree.