Page 4 of The Shooting Season

The carriage took the Achinore Road west out of the village and traveled beside Loch Linnhe. The conversation was genial, but all of us kept our cards very close to our chests. I did not add much information to the conversation; primarily I hoped none of these men coveted the same item I did. I did not want to give away what I was traveling all of this way to purchase, and neither did my companions.

Although interminably cold, the West Highland scenery took my breath away. The mountain, Ben Nevis, was unmistakable; snow-capped and appeared wild and romantic in the distance. I had not been in this area since that fateful autumn I spent in the arms of Lord Ardmillan’s only son, and my fondness for the area was renewed by nostalgia. The thought of seeing Euan again after all these years made my heart palpitate. My feelings for him had been so all-encompassing in my youth that I was willing to risk my immortal soul to continue our illicit trysts. But God had intervened and our affair was not to be. On our return to Edinburgh University Euan’s behavior towards me changed, and then his eye fell on another boy, and another. Euan later married the daughter of a Duke, and fulfilled his duty, fathering twin sons, but from the talk I overheard at my club, the match was not a happy one. Even though, publicly, Euan remained Lord Ardmillan’s doting son, when he did venture into town with his set, the rumor was that he debauched himself in ways that meant a speedy retreat from society always followed to save the family reputation.

Euan Ardmillan had just made his fiftieth year and as I had not set eyes on him for what felt like a lifetime, I wondered if, like me, he was perpetually lonely, fearful and felt the years of regret crowding him.

More than an hour after we stepped onto the coach we neared Ardgour, where the Glenlair Estate stretched out over forty-thousand acres of wild Scots landscape. As the carriage passed through imposing wrought iron gates and started up the steep hilly roadway to Dunecht Hall I stared out of the window. The road was lined with ancient Scots pine trees. The snow was beginning to fall thick and fast at once shrouding the winter sun, and turning day into night. The hardy Clydesdale horses seemed well-used to the weather and did not slow their pace.

When we arrived at the hall the blizzard surrounded us on all sides, shrouding what should have been a stunning view of the Loch and the Bens. All I could see was the front porch and a withered elderly lady at the door. The housekeeper, Mrs. McKelvie, was so thin and frail I worried a gust of wind might blow her away. She stood beside tall carved timber double doors, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a knitted hat placed at a jaunty angle on her head.

“Come away in sir’s, quick as ye can. We don’t want te let the heat out!” The Scotswoman cajoled in a stern, almost matronly way. Young stable hands appeared, first to assist the carriage driver to remove our trunks from the roof of the carriage, and then to tend to the horses.

I gingerly stepped out of the carriage, hoping I would not slip on the icy ground. I made it into the hall and greeted Mrs. McKelvie, for I knew her from my last visit. I was surprised that she remembered me; I was surprised also by the sparkle of fondness in her milky pale eyes.

“Ah, welcome back sir.” She cooed and her gnarly hands gripped my cheeks and she held my face as if I were a child. I was appalled that she had touched me without permission.

“Lemmie get a look at ye, son. Mah old eyes aren’t as good as they use-te be!”

I permitted the peculiar, almost motherly intimacy because I could not rightly refuse it.

“Yer lookin’ well Mr. Hannan, but yer freezing. I’ve set a big fire, go warm yersel.” Mrs. McKelvie ordered.

I had mixed feelings about returning to Dunecht Hall. My memories of the month I had spent here during the shooting season were of myself as a young man so lost in the rugged Scottish wilderness and overcome by desire for Euan that he did not care about the future. I recalled that it had felt like I’d stepped out of time and societal rules did not matter. I did not recognize myself as one who would become so besotted and reckless as to lose myself completely to sin, but as Euan Ardmillan matched my desires we did lose ourselves. We found we had plenty of time alone to indulge when the other guests hiked up into the hills to hunt pheasant and grouse.

I shuddered from my memories and found I was in the Great Hall, standing in front of the enormous white stone fireplace stacked with burning logs. The heat it sent out was intense and much needed to fill such a vast room with a high vaulted ceiling. The three men with whom I had traveled were gone, and I was alone.

I removed my hat, and my leather gloves, and laid them on a side table, and then I unbuttoned and shrugged out of my heavy greatcoat. I turned and laid it over a chair, then noted my surroundings. This was still a house of mourning and it felt somewhat like a mausoleum. I had left my townhouse where garlands, holly wreaths, and ribbons decorated my home for the seasonal celebrations in three days' time when my sister Gracie and her family would visit, and I had come to a house where there would be no Christmas at all. It felt peculiar.

I glanced at the items displayed in cabinets and on the walls in the Great Hall. They told the story of Lord Ardmillan’s life, his military career and the deaths of many—man and beast. The hall was filled to the brim with antiquities and treasures from the dead Lord’s travels—ceramics, tapestries, paintings, and ornaments, along with a vast haul of hunting trophies. I counted at least ten stag’s heads in this room alone, all with impressive antlers, mounted to display the Lord’s prowess. A familiar voice echoed from the foyer and stole my attention. My heart thudded with anticipation and fear.

“Mrs. McKelvie, you should have sent a boy to tell me our guests had arrived.” Euan Ardmillan admonished playfully.

“Ye know yer not too old te go over my knee m’lord!” Mrs. McKelvie retorted, and then I heard Euan’s light laughter and a witch-like cackle from the elderly housekeeper.

I was amused by their repartee. Mrs. McKelvie had ruled the hall’s kitchen when I visited thirty years ago, in fact, she had wet nursed Euan as a babe, and so, with Lady Ardmillan dead forty years, Mrs. McKelvie was the matriarch and considered part of the family.

“Yer nice gentleman friend is in the Great Hall, Euie.” The housekeeper said affectionately,

“The other guests have retired to their rooms. I’ll send in tea and set out the lunch buffet in the dining room.”

“You’re a treasure, Mrs. Mac! What would I do without you?” Euan praised. I then heard the tip tap of shoes on the flagstone floor.

Remembrance

Before I could prepare myself Euan Ardmillan stood in the doorway to the Great Hall. A wicked part of me had hoped that he had filled out and become bloated and ravaged by his debauched, sinful lifestyle, but no. Euan Ardmillan may have aged, but he had done so gracefully and somehow, he had become more attractive. I wondered if, like Oscar Wilde’s character Dorian Gray, Euan had done a deal with the devil and there was a vile portrait of him in the attic that absorbed his sins. Euan’s frame was still boyishly slender, but his blond hair had faded to silver and was worn to his nape. I knew him as a fresh-faced youth, but now he sported a well-trimmed silver beard that gave him a rather regal air. His blue eyes still sparkled with the mischief of youth and when he smiled at me I was that boy again—a boy so entranced he was unable to resist falling into Euan’s arms. But no, I was determined that I was no longer a sinner. I stood ramrod straight and remembered my place.

“Good afternoon, Lord Ardmillan. I would like to convey my deepest sympathies for your loss.” I said respectfully. “I am sorry it has taken such a sad event for us to meet again.”

“Ah, come now, Ben. You know as well as I that my father was an old reprobate and the world is better off without him. We’re not on show! Let’s be done with the formalities,” Euan said, marching towards me.

“It has been long, far too long,” He said pulling me into an embrace. I was horrified. Euan had not known me to be afflicted with this fear of touching for I had been extremely tactile when we were lovers. But that was thirty years ago and I had closed myself off to all intimacy. I was shocked by his lack of decorum. We were in a public hall and there were other guests and staff. Any could wander in and see me wrapped in the arms of the new Lord. The scandal could ruin us both. But Euan’s embrace felt…good, warm, and familiar and the swirl of affection long-denied stirred in my gut. A tear leaped to my eye as Euan placed a tender, whiskered kiss to my lips and then stood back. I should have been appalled and embarrassed by how informal and intimate he was behaving with me, but as Euan held both of my hands and took my measure I was still that tongue-tied boy who had been so overawed by Euan’s interest that I allowed him to lead me a merry dance.

“Age looks good on you Ben.” Euan grinned.

“I can’t believe I am the one to go grey while you still have your lustrous black locks!”

“It’s a family trait.” I said almost apologetically, “My own grandfather retained his hair color until well into his seventies.”

“A few years to go until we are both silver foxes then!” Euan laughed. He let go of my hands, and in all honesty, I did not want him to. The immediacy of our reconnection was startling and not unwelcome. I’d harbored secret thoughts of Euan for many years, pined for him even. But I knew my longing would do me no good, in this life or the next. The sound of footsteps and the tinkle of china brought me back to myself.