Once Trevelyan told her one of these stories while she lay in Bonnie Prince Charlie’s bed and watched him undress. He took forever to take off his clothes, all the while telling her the story of the love affair between a beautiful princess and her father the king’s adviser. Had either of them been caught the king would have put them to death. But through the cleverness of the adviser, he managed to make the king allow him to marry the princess.
Trevelyan told the story slowly, telling in detail what the princess and her lover did in bed. By the time Trevelyan was undressed and ready to come to bed to her, Claire wanted to tear at him with her teeth. A naked, a magnificently naked Trevelyan walked toward the bed and Claire eagerly opened her arms to him. He stopped beside the bed and yawned.
“I think I’ll write for a while,” he said, then picked up a silk robe, slipped into it, and walked out of the bedroom.
Claire was astonished. How could he tell a story like that, then just leave her? She had every intention of telling him of his rudeness as she angrily got out of bed, pulled on one of his robes, and went into his writing room. He was calmly writing away, utterly unaffected by the passion that Claire was feeling.
She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of him, but then she saw that his hand was shaking as he held his pen. She knew then that he was as affected as she was.
She walked very close to him and whispered, “Teach me how to sit on your lap.” He dropped the pen instantly, his strong hands reaching for her, pulling her toward him. He taught her how to make love while sitting on his lap. He held her, caressed her, supported her weight as they made love.
If their nights were full of the pleasure of lovemaking, their days were full of other kinds of pleasure. Trevelyan had seen so much in his life, remembered all of it, and was willing not only to talk about it but to reproduce what he had seen. He showed her dances from Africa, games from India. He tried to sing folk songs from some of the countries he had visited, but he couldn’t carry a tune. Claire was able to piece some of the words and tunes together enough to re-create some of the songs.
They walked together and talked and laughed. He drew her into bushes and kissed her. He had a way of kissing the back of her neck that made her quiver with desire.
When they weren’t touching each other, he allowed her to read what he was writing. Once when Claire dared to make a comment, something to the effect that perhaps all his readers wouldn’t be interested in the measurements of the rocks of the walls surrounding Pesha, they had a fight. Or at least it became a fight when Claire forced Trevelyan into speaking to her again. After her comment, he merely walked away, saying nothing to her. He said nothing when she asked him a question. He said nothing when she kissed him. He said nothing when she whispered an invitation in his ear.
She told him he was being childish and he turned on her with a gaze that made her take a step backward. He told her that she was the child, that he had boots older than she was. Her first instinct was to run away and hide, but she forced herself to stand her ground. She told him that his age was one of the main things wrong with him, that he was of an old-fashioned generation and that he had no modern ideas. She also made comments about his being a backward Scot.
He told her what he thought of America; she told him what she thought of pigheaded men who wouldn’t listen to reason.
It was Nyssa and Brat who managed to stop the fight. Claire and Trevelyan had been yelling so loudly they could be heard outside. Nyssa and Brat came running up the stairs and stood against the wall, listening for a while, then Nyssa began to applaud. She told Brat to keep score and see who the winner of the argument was. The person who made the most vicious remarks won. She and Brat awarded Trevelyan four points when he made a derogatory remark about Claire’s parents. Claire countered with a statement that Trevelyan had no parents, that he probably hadn’t been wanted by his parents. Nyssa loudly declared that a death-blow when Trevelyan stomped out of the room.
Claire sat down on the yellow sofa, stunned at what had just passed between her and Trevelyan. She’d had no intention of saying the things she had. She knew nothing about his parents. How could she have said such things, and all because of his books? She’d had no right to criticize his books. What did she know anyway? It was just her opinion. For all she knew, his measurements were what his many readers liked the most.
Nyssa sat beside Claire and put her arm around her. “You had better go after him. He is like a wounded animal when he’s hurt. He will not get over this easily.”
Claire didn’t like it that Nyssa knew so much about Trevelyan, knew things that she, Claire, didn’t. But Claire didn’t have time to think about that now. “Where do you think he went?”
“To the old summerhouse,” Brat said. “He goes there often.”
Claire nodded. Here was someone else who knew what she did not.
Claire left the tower and started the long walk to the summerhouse. It was two miles at least, and she knew that Trevelyan would be walking very fast. Since he’d recovered his strength, his pace had increased until she couldn’t keep up with him.
He was sitting on a bench on the front porch of the little house, looking out toward the hills of Scotland. “What do you want?” he said to her, anger in his voice.
She sat beside him but didn’t touch him. “We said some awful things to each other.”
He didn’t bother to answer.
Claire knew that she had hurt him in some deep, deep way but she wasn’t sure how she’d done it. Was he so very sensitive about his writing? “I like your books,” she began. “I’ve always liked them. I like all of them. Every part.”
He looked at her as though he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Your books, remember? That’s what we fought about.”
He looked back toward the hills. “Was it? Maybe I should leave out some of the measurements. Maybe I should write two books, one for people who want to know everything and one for the masses. For the masses I’ll tell all about Nyssa and the other beautiful women.”
“I think the world can do without that book,” Claire said stiffly.
“Maybe so,” Trevelyan said without much interest.
Claire sat by him in silence for a while. She’d already learned that Trevelyan could talk for hours, but he could also be silent for hours at a time. “If what I said about your books didn’t upset you, why are you angry at me?”
He looked at her in puzzlement. “I’m not angry at you. You have your opinion and I have mine.”
“But you are angry at me. You stomped out of the tower and came here. You were furious with me.”
Trevelyan looked at her as though she’d lost her mind, and Claire had her first experience of men rewriting history. “I did no such thing. I merely wanted some air.”
Claire wanted to shout at him but she knew it would do no good. The next moment she realized that he was keeping something from her. There was something that he didn’t want her to know. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked softly.
Trevelyan stood up and walked to the edge of the porch. “I have no idea what you mean. I’ve told you more about my life than I’ve ever told anyone.”
“That may be true, but you’ve told me only about Captain Baker. You’ve never told me about your life before he was born. Where did you grow up? How are you related to Harry?”
“I’m getting cold. I think we should go back.” He turned to look at her, lowering his lashes and giving her a lascivious look. “Or perhaps you’d rather stay here? We could go into the summerhouse and—”
“You’ll give me your body but not your secrets. You know all there is to know about me but you tell me nothing about yourself. You share nothing private with me.”
“I share all that I can with you.”
“You share all that you want to with me.” She turned on her heel and walked away from him.
He caught her when she was just a few feet away from the summerhouse. “Stay with me,” he s
aid. “Don’t leave.”
She looked into those eyes, those unreadable eyes, and wondered what was behind them. She wanted to pull away from him but she felt that he needed her. She leaned against him and he held her close. “All right, I’ll stay.”
He kissed the top of her head and continued holding her for a very long while. “So, you think I should leave out some of the measurements in my books, do you?”
“Why don’t you let me take a pencil to them?”
“Allow you to edit them? You? A mere child?”
They argued all the way back to the tower. Claire argued with Trevelyan but she saw that half of what he was saying was to tease her. Yet when they had argued before, something she’d said had seriously upset him.
In their precious four days together, that was the only argument they had. The rest of the time they spent making love and dealing with Brat and Nyssa. On the first morning after Claire had agreed to spend the days with Trevelyan, she had not wanted to spend any time with the beautiful young woman. After all, what woman would want to spend hours beside a woman who was so beautiful that she was called the Pearl of the Moon and was worshiped by an entire city of men? It could make one decidedly uncomfortable. But besides Nyssa’s beauty, Claire still remembered the dreadful things that Nyssa had said about her, that she was the color of the underbelly of a frog. There was also what Trevelyan had said about Nyssa being more woman than he could handle. Claire would have wagered there was nothing in life that could make her like Nyssa.
But Claire had not counted on Nyssa herself. Nyssa’s aim in life seemed to be to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it. Trevelyan said that as the priestess of the Peshans, her only responsibility was to enjoy herself—and that Nyssa did. She laughed; she sang; she danced. She teased Trevelyan and made him smile, then, just when Claire was ready to walk out of the room, Nyssa started teasing Claire. Nyssa asked if she didn’t find Trevelyan’s moods most annoying, then she admired Claire’s hair and asked if she could brush it for her. It was difficult to be angry at someone who was brushing your hair. Nyssa arranged Claire’s thick hair into braids, then inserted three jeweled combs in them. After that she led Claire into Trevelyan’s bedroom and soon had her dressed in one of his embroidered robes.
“Now for the face,” Nyssa said.
Claire started to protest but she was too curious to want to stop. She watched in fascination as Nyssa opened her trunk and rummaged inside until she found a lump of black stuff that looked like charcoal. Nyssa had Oman bring her a brazier, then she lit the lump. As the black stuff burned Nyssa held an overturned bowl over the smoke. After a few minutes, there was a black residue on the underside of the bowl. Nyssa took a small brush from her trunk. Claire had to bite down a protest when Nyssa spit in the residue in the bowl and used the brush to make a paste. In the next minute, Nyssa quickly and expertly applied the black paste to Claire’s lids and eyelashes. After this Nyssa applied powder and rouge to Claire’s face, using more of the rouge on Claire’s lips. When she was done, she handed Claire a small mirror.
Claire was sure that she’d look like a clown in a circus, but she didn’t. Nyssa was an expert at applying cosmetics. Claire knew that she had never looked so good. She glanced toward the writing room.
“Go to him,” Nyssa said. “He will like it.”
Shyly, Claire went to Trevelyan’s writing room, where he was at table number five. Whenever he was not actively engaged elsewhere, he was at one of his tables writing.
Claire stood by him for some minutes and had to clear her throat three times before he looked at her. When he did look at her, he studied her, then took her chin in his hand and turned her face this way and that. He said something to Nyssa in Peshan, then he kissed Claire and went back to his writing.
Claire felt somewhat disappointed as she walked back to Nyssa. “What did he say?” she whispered.
“He said that you were already perfect and that I might need enhancement, but you did not.”
Claire smiled in delight, then went back to Trevelyan and kissed him soundly. Trevelyan was puzzled by this, as what he had actually said to Nyssa was that her application of the cosmetics needed work, that she used too heavy a hand.
After Nyssa had dressed Claire, she asked if she might put on Claire’s American clothes. Nyssa’s small breasts did nothing to fill out the top of the dress, so Claire wadded up several pairs of Trevelyan’s socks and padded the bosom of the dress.
Happily, Nyssa paraded herself before Trevelyan and Oman, who admired both of the women outrageously.
It was during this fashion show that Brat entered the room. It was her first close-hand sight of Nyssa. From the moment Brat entered the room, the air was charged with tension.
Nyssa’s lovely face changed from one of delight over the odd gown she was wearing. She stopped admiring her false bosom and stared at Brat. Claire knew immediately that Nyssa had never before seen another female who was competition for her when it came to beauty. But Brat was certainly competition. Whereas Nyssa’s looks were dark, with dark eyes and hair, Brat’s beauty was of the palest. Brat had light brown hair, blue eyes, pink lips, and skin the color of ivory.
Claire glanced at Trevelyan and saw that he was leaning back in his chair and watching the two young women with great interest. He had on his I’m-going-to-write-about-this face.
Brat was the first to move. She walked toward Nyssa, looked her in the eye, for Nyssa was small and Brat, at fourteen, had not gained her full adult height, then Brat doubled her fist and hit Nyssa smack in the face. Nyssa went sprawling to the floor.
“Brat!” Claire yelled at her sister, who was looking down at Nyssa as though she were her sworn enemy. Claire went to Nyssa to help her up and as she did so, she looked up at Trevelyan. “Help me,” she ordered him, but Trevelyan just sat there smiling, obviously fascinated by the scene.
“I am so very sorry,” Claire began as she helped Nyssa to stand. “Sarah Ann, I demand that you apologize this instant.”
Brat stood where she was, her face hard and unmoving.
When Nyssa was standing, Claire went to her sister. “Either you apologize—and explain yourself—or I’ll give you something to be sorry about.”
Behind them Nyssa’s laughter spilled out, and Claire turned to look at her.
“She has never been in a room with a woman prettier than she is,” Nyssa said.
Brat didn’t say a word, just kept glaring at Nyssa.
Claire looked at Trevelyan as though asking him for help.
Trevelyan shrugged. “You have your money and your sister has her beauty. Have you ever met an heiress richer than you?”
Claire looked at him as though he were insane. “What has this to do with money? My sister just hit someone and—”
She didn’t say any more because Nyssa walked past her and put out her hand to Brat. “I will do your face as I have done your sister’s,” Nyssa said softly. “I have a blue robe the color of your eyes and I have silk shoes with little mirrors sewn on them.”
Brat stood where she was for a few minutes, then, with her jaw still set, she followed Nyssa into the bedroom.
After that first episode, Nyssa and Brat became inseparable. Not that they liked each other, not that they ever said a kind word to each other. It was as though each didn’t dare allow the other out of her sight. Claire thought that Nyssa was amused by this game, but that Brat was deadly serious.
At first the animosity Brat showed toward Nyssa bothered Claire, but Trevelyan shrugged it off. “It entertains Nyssa, so it’s all right.” She didn’t understand his answer any more than she understood what was going on between Nyssa and Brat. Nyssa was nineteen, the same age as Claire, but the young Peshan woman acted much younger. She acted as though the very thought of responsibility might kill her. She told Claire that she meant to enjoy herself and that was all she planned to do in life.
Once Claire tried to talk to Trevelyan about Nyssa’s future, but Trevelyan wouldn’t discu
ss the subject. In fact the whole concept seemed to make him angry. “She’s not like you,” he half yelled at her. “Can’t you understand that other countries have different ways? You complain that America is different from England and England is different from Scotland. But you have no idea how different the rest of the world is.”
Claire didn’t know what she’d said to cause such anger in him, but this particular anger was the least of what she didn’t understand about him. Sometimes he looked at her with love and sometimes he looked at her as though he had no idea who she was. When he was writing he had an ability to concentrate that was almost frightening. Brat and Nyssa yelled at each other but Trevelyan would sit in the midst of them and seem as though he heard nothing. Once, when Brat and Nyssa began to fight over a particularly lovely red robe, Claire had to shake Trevelyan to get him to stop writing so he could negotiate between the two women. Trevelyan frowned, didn’t look up, and said, “When they tear it in half, they’ll be sorry. They’ll learn more from that than I can teach them.” He was, unfortunately, right.
On the morning of the fourth day, Oman handed Claire a letter. He said that a man on a lathered horse had brought it for her. Trevelyan turned away from his writing to look at her with great interest. As Claire reached out for the letter, she found that her heart was pounding. Had Harry heard what she was doing with Trevelyan? Was the letter from him?
“It’s from the Prince of Wales,” she said. Nyssa and Brat came out of the bedroom to watch her open the letter. Claire read it quickly, then looked up at Trevelyan. “The Prince of Wales has issued a royal warrant for MacTarvit whisky.”
“He wants to arrest whisky?” Brat asked.
Claire smiled. “No, the prince says that it’s the best whisky he’s ever had and he wants the world to know it.” Claire locked eyes with Trevelyan. “She won’t be able to throw him off the land now. Not if the prince wants the whisky.”