by Gill, Tamara
“I must admit that this town really is quite lovely, even if it is terribly small.”
Gretel nodded. They sat along the bank in long grass, simply watching the clouds pass over the highlands in the distance.
“You must send word to Miss Anderson. She’ll be expecting you in a few days and she may worry when we don’t arrive.”
Sophie nodded. “I shall pen a letter tonight to her and we’ll send it with the morning post. I should not think we will be here too much longer in any case. Peter said they were able to get a wheel from Inverness.”
“Miss Grant! Hello! Miss Grant is that you?”
Sophie turned at the female voice calling to her, or hollering would be a better term. From the direction they had walked came a young woman, dressed in a tartan skirt and white shirt, her shawl was wool and her hair was a simple plait at her back. She smiled and waved and for a moment Sophie was unsure what to do. Should she wave back to the strange woman who obviously knew her name, or wait and see?
She stood, brushing down her gown and decided that the lady looked harmless enough. What with her wide smile and bright eyes, she was obviously no threat.
She came up to them, panting heavily, and she clasped her midriff, smiling at them and yet unable to speak due to her exhaustion.
“Are you well?” Sophie asked when after a moment the woman still had not caught her breath.
“Apologies, Miss Grant,” she said, panting. “I’ve been trying to catch up to ye. You walk very fast for a Sassenach.”
Sophie raised her brow. For an Englishwoman she walked fast? She didn’t know whether to be proud or offended by the remark. “Can I help you with something?”
The woman nodded. “Aye, I’m Elizabeth Mackintosh, Laird Mackintosh’s sister. I think ye met my brother yesterday.”
The lady reached out and took Sophie’s hand, shaking it with vigor. “It’s very nice to meet you. Was there something wrong, or is there something you need?” she asked, unsure why the woman was tracking them down.
Elizabeth chuckled, pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. The laird’s sister was just as handsome as her brother, except her hair was a fiery red, which Sophie could well agree suited the woman’s exuberance and zest for life.
“Oh nay, nothing to worry about. My brother informed me ye were from London and the Marquess Graham’s sister-in-law. I know the marquess well. He’s a mutual friend of the family I stayed with during my coming out many years ago. Knowing this, I coudna allow ye to stay a moment longer at the inn. Ye must come and stay with us at Moy Castle.”
Sophie glanced at Gretel, who in turn stared bright-eyed at Elizabeth. The thought of staying with the laird of the area was tempting, and not only because the accommodations would be a little more roomy and comfortable, but also quiet. The inn was terribly noisy to all hours of the night. The few locals who did live in the village seemed quite in love with the taproom. “We would not wish to intrude.”
“Och, ’tis not an intrusion at all. We have ample room and plenty to keep ye occupied. I understand yer carriage is being repaired?” Elizabeth Mackintosh shrugged. “I see no reason why ye shoulda come and stay.”
Sophie looked to Gretel and with a small nod, she came to a decision. “Very well, thank you, Miss Mackintosh. We’d be delighted to be your guests.”
The following day Sophie, with the help of a servant, stepped out of the carriage that the laird had sent to collect them in Moy. She glanced up at the castle structure, a large, square tower sitting pride and center. The details about the roof were ornate and gothic in appearance and to Sophie did not represent what she’d always assumed a clan stronghold would look like.
Not that Scotland was allowed to have clans, such as they were hundreds of years ago. Even so, the families that had survived Culloden still bore the names, the independence and pride of their people.
Elizabeth bustled out of the hall, coming over to them. “So glad you’re here, and just in time for lunch. Come, I’ll show ye to yer rooms so ye may freshen up before we eat.”
They made their way indoors and Sophie felt her eyes grow wide at the size of the home. The entrance housed a library to one side and another room of equal mass on the other. Settees, a piano and other opulent furniture littered the space and oozed history and a well-used home.
Elizabeth started up the central staircase that was large and imposing like the house itself, its dark oak drew the eye and all but shouted wealth and power in these lands.
She followed Miss Mackintosh upstairs to the second floor. Turning right, Elizabeth strode down a long hall. “In there is the smaller drawing room, and if you follow me down the second passage,” she said, turning yet again, “here you’ll find the guest bedrooms. I also sleep in the farthest room down the hall here as it’s a corner room and has great views over the park from both windows. My brother occupies the other wing. I’ll show ye that tomorrow.”
“Where shall I stay, Miss Mackintosh?” Gretel asked, her eyes as wide as Sophie felt hers were. The home was even larger than the marquess and her sister Louise’s country estate. One could possibly become lost in all the rooms and corridors.
“There is a little adjoining chamber with a bed, side table and closet in through here for you,” Elizabeth said. “You may order your meals in here or join the servants below stairs. I’ve instructed the housekeeper either will be acceptable. Her name is Mrs. Kenny.”
“Thank you,” Gretel said, seemingly pleased with her accommodations.
“Dinner is at eight sharp and we always dine in the great hall. That is downstairs,” Elizabeth said, looking over the room before starting toward the door. “Once you’re settled, please come down to have luncheon. We’re having a simple buffet today, so no need to feel ye have to be there straightaway for serving.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, turning to Gretel as Elizabeth closed the door behind her, leaving them alone.
“This house is out of a dream. The Mackintoshes must be very rich indeed,” Gretel said, walking into her room, her voice muffled.
Sophie turned, taking in what was to be her space. Again, all dark woods, rich Aubusson rugs, windows that ran from floor to ceiling. The view of the lands drew her eye and Sophie looked out onto the park. She could well understand why Elizabeth wanted a room with two windows overlooking such a landscape.
Large elm and oak trees spotted the lands, native grasses were left to grow wild and there was only the smallest area of lawn that surrounded the house itself before giving way to nature. Movement caught Sophie’s eye and she spied a stag, munching on the undergrowth, perfectly content. She could well understand that. With the view from here, her room was far and beyond better than the inn’s.
Sophie turned and sat on the window ledge. An imposing fireplace, opposite the bed, dominating the other side of the room. Even from where she was, she could feel the warmth emanating from it.
“I think we’ll be very comfortable here.”
Gretel bustled over to her. “Come, Miss Sophie, I’ll get you ready for luncheon, fix up your hair to hide your wound, and then you best head downstairs. I’ll unpack our things while you’re gone and have my lunch in here today. That way I’ll have you organized for this evening’s entertainments, whatever they may be.”
Sophie nodded, sitting at the dressing table while Gretel went about fixing her pinned hair and ensuring her gown was suitable for lunch.
How things had changed. Only a few years ago she was living in the small village of Sandbach with her aunt and brother. Louise away working as a lady’s maid, and now she was a marchioness. Beyond happy and in love with her husband and taking care of her and Stephen as she’d always had.
To be in the Laird Mackintosh’s home as a guest was simply too fantastical to imagine, and yet, here she was. Louise had made her promise to behave and enjoy her time away from London and this was certainly a lot of fun.
She just hoped the other house guests were as welcoming as Elizab
eth Mackintosh had been.
“There, all done, Miss Sophie.”
Sophie glanced at herself in the mirror. Her morning gown of rose pink was the height of fashion in London and because they did not have far to travel out to the hall this morning, she’d forgone wearing a traveling gown.
At least by doing so she was ready to dine. “Thank you, Gretel. I shall see you after lunch.” She took a calming breath, the pit of her stomach twisting at the thought of seeing the laird once again.
To see if he was as handsome as her mind told her he was or if she’d simply hit her head so hard that it had left her confused and muddled of mind.
Chapter 4
Brice sat at the head of the table and spooned mouthful after mouthful of food as he tried to hasten his departure from lunch. His sister sat quiet, a small smile playing about her lips and his eyes narrowed. What was she up to?
His attention snapped to the end of the table where Elspeth Brodie, his intended if his family had their way, sat and ate. Her expression was blank, displeased even. Was there something wrong with the food? “Is the food not to yer liking, Elspeth?” he asked, catching her eye and throwing her a small smile.
She looked back at him as if he were an inanimate object not worth her time. “Nay, the broth is too salty for my palate. Ye should have a word with yer cook. It seems she’s inadequate.”
Brice nodded, even though he had no intention of talking to Mrs. Ross. She was one of the best in the area, and made the most delicious-tasting kippers anyone north of the border. She wouldn’t be going anywhere.
He spooned more broth into his mouth. The thought of meals such as these for the rest of his life, of a wife who disliked his cook and his home if he were to guess, didn’t raise too much excitement in his blood. Why his parents had wished for such a union was beyond him. Just because one was friends with another clan did not mean such unions were necessary. He stirred his broth. But he knew the reason why. Debts must be paid and even if the fiscal ones were long over, the moral one still remained.
The door to the hall opened and every muscle in his body seized at the sight of the woman who strode into the room. He gaped at her, spoon partway to his mouth as she started toward Elizabeth.
His sister stood, gesturing to a chair beside her. “Everyone, this is Sophie Grant from London. She’s the sister-in-law of Marquess Graham. Sophie, this is our neighbor and friend Miss Elspeth Brodie and of course my brother whom you met yesterday.”
Elspeth took in Sophie’s appearance and smiled, sitting up and paying a little more attention to what was going on about her. Brice watched his intended for a moment, wondering why Sophie would spark such a reaction, certainly nothing else had.
Sophie glanced at him, her tentative smile slipping a little. He schooled his features to one of disinterest. “Welcome, Miss Grant. I can only gather from your appearance here this afternoon that my sister has invited ye to stay?”
Miss Grant glanced at Elizabeth and he knew his sister had not told her that he knew nothing of their coming here. “Rest easy, Miss Grant, ye’re more than welcome.”
He sighed, not sure how he was going to go about the house now with her under its roof. She was beyond beautiful, and even the little cut on her forehead that her maid had tried to mask with her hairstyle didn’t detract from the fact that he liked what he saw.
Brice stood, going to the server for more food, needing to distract himself. All would be well. He’d be polite, show her about the grounds and be friendly. Just because she was one of the most handsome people he’d met did not mean that they would get along as well. Not to mention Elspeth was here with the full knowledge that if he should ask she was to say yes to his proposal.
He slumped back in his chair, his appetite gone. For a time he pushed the bacon and fried egg about his plate and let the conversation about him continue without his input, until he heard Sophie’s sweet voice and his gaze was pulled away from his food.
“What did you think of the house, Miss Grant?” Elspeth asked. Brice glanced at her, having not heard such interest in her tone for all the years he’d known her.
“Very well, Miss Brodie. The house is beautiful and the grounds are marvelous. I said to my maid before coming down that even Luke and Louise would be envious.”
Pride filled him at her words and he found his lips twitching.
“Do you really? I always thought Moy Castle quite cold and masculine. ’Tis too grand for my blood and that of our Scottish ancestors too I believe.”
Brice stared nonplussed at Elspeth. The woman was daft, just like both her parents.
“Ye disagree, Miss Grant,” Elspeth stated matter-of-fact.
“I do,” Sophie said, taking a sip of her wine. “It is no secret that I along with my siblings grew up with very little. We are not nobility, even though my sister has married into that sphere. A house like this, grand, old, full of history and family memories is something I know naught of. We lived in a cottage growing up in a small village in northern England.
“My aunt took us in after our parents died, and even though she loved us, we were never really a family after that. At least not one that was together until Louise married the marquess. I would’ve loved to have grown up in a home like this. A residence that has seen generations of my blood before. A sanctuary that could never be taken away from you. A place you’d always have as home.”
Brice started when his sister clapped, nodding at her words. “I agree, Miss Grant,” she said. “Moy Castle has been here hundreds of years and will be for hundreds more. ’Tis a shame that others are not so fortunate.”
“Well, we’ll see what ye think of the castle after a cold winter. The rooms I grant ye are warm, but ’tis a dreary, dark place. If ye’re ever in Brodie land, ye must come to call, Miss Grant. Ye’re more than welcome at my home.”
Miss Grant smiled at Elspeth and his gut clenched. If the house was so dark and dreary as per Elspeth’s opinion, then a smile from Miss Grant surely made it brighter.
“I would like that, thank you. Maybe on our return to London I shall call.”
“Och, aye, that’s right. Brice did mention that ye were not staying in the area long. Ye have a friend in Scotland that ye were traveling to see.”
“I do. We went to the same school in Sandbach for a time before her family moved back to Skye. Her father is a tenant farmer for a laird up there.”
Brice continued to eat, but didn’t engage himself in the conversation. Miss Grant, for all her high connections now, certainly came from nothing, but her continual relationship with those whom she knew before her family’s elevation was a credit to her. So many people forget who they were once they become something better, in his opinion at least.
“Now, I think that is enough questions for Miss Grant. She’s here to enjoy herself and not be hounded by you lot.” His sister turned to Miss Grant. “If ye like, this afternoon my brother has to oversee some of the tenant farms here. Would ye like to join him?”
Her gaze snapped to his and with little choice thanks to his meddling sister, he said, “Ye’re more than welcome, Miss Grant. It shoudna take too long and ’tis a nice enough day for a ride.”
She studied him a moment, her teeth working her bottom lip as she decided what to do. Brice couldn’t tear his gaze from her mouth and all thoughts filled his mind of how soft her lips may be.
“If you’re sure,” she said at length, her words uncertain.
Brice pushed up from his seat, striding toward the door. “’Tis fine, Miss Grant. I’ll meet ye at the front foyer in an hour.” Brice strode from the room, heading toward his own to change. He would have a word with his meddling sister who wanted him to act the host and tour guide it would seem. He wasn’t laird for amusement’s sake, he had work to do, people to attend. Running about the lands and showing a Sassenach his home wasn’t one of them.
When he returned he would have a stern word with Elizabeth and ensure she kept her busybody self out of his business. And keep th
e delectable, sweet and alluring Miss Grant away from him also.
An hour later, they met in the foyer and with very few words spoken, the laird made his way toward a large stone building near the rear of the house. The stables were a long, rectangular-shaped structure with multiple stalls, all of them filled with both working horses and pleasure mounts.
“Ye may ride Elizabeth’s horse. She’s a placid mare, and will no throw ye.”’
Sophie walked up to the stall he pointed to, crooning as the mare made her way over to her and placed her soft velvety nose into Sophie’s gloved palm. “What a sweetie you are,” she said, leaning over and kissing her horse’s nose.
“Can ye ride?” he asked, stopping to stare at her.
Sophie frowned, not liking his tone or the fact that just because they had been poor did not mean they could not ride a horse. Which, in truth, neither she nor Stephen could when Louise had first married the marquess, but Luke had put an end to that and taught them both very well.
“The marquess taught me. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up.” She raised her brow at him and he turned his back to her, yelling out orders to a nearby stable hand to saddle her mount.
Sophie stepped back and kept out of everyone’s way as they readied the horses. Her mare was a pretty brown and had the sweetest eyes. She glanced at the laird, watching as he busied himself with his horse, the corded muscles on his arms visible even under his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his kilt today. Instead he was wearing a shirt, greatcoat, tan trews and boots.
Heat prickled her skin as her eyes took their fill of him. She’d never seen such a handsome man before, certainly in London the gentlemen whom Louise had introduced her to were nothing like this Scottish one.
The men in London seemed like boys compared to this man.
“Are ye ready, lass?”
She jumped at his curt question, meeting his gaze. One eyebrow was raised and she nodded, trying to ignore the fact that he’d caught her staring at his person.
