They managed to fasten it, and while she could scarcely breathe, she realized that she looked pretty, as pretty as she’d ever been. And while she might deny it to the entire world, she could not deny to herself her curiosity about men and their love and, well, how Payton would react when he saw her in this gown, and how…how he might go about making love to her….
When Natalie returned with the needle and thread, they made a few hasty adjustments that would allow Mared to breathe, then fussed over her undergarments until they were quite certain she had everything she needed for a night of bliss. Only then did the three of them descend to the main salon where the rest of the family was gathered.
Duncan lay on a blanket near the hearth with the puppy Mared had brought him. Natalie attempted to play the pianoforte, but it was terribly out of tune, and since leaving London, her lessons had fallen by the wayside. But they endured her determined efforts all the same, nodding and smiling politely.
They were just about to retire to the dining room when Dudley walked into the room carrying a tarnished tray, on which there was a letter. “A messenger, sir, from Laird Munroe.”
“Munroe?” Carson muttered, and took the letter, broke the seal, and scanned the page. “Ach,” he said after a moment and flicked his wrist dismissively.
“What is it, Father?” Grif asked.
Carson frowned darkly and looked at Mared. “A wee bit of rubbish. Munroe claims to have seen MacAlister. Says he’s about in the lowlands.”
Grif quickly strode to where his father was sitting and took the missive.
“But this is wonderful news!” Aila cried.
“No!” Carson said sharply. “We’ve gone down more rabbit holes than a bloody rabbit! The bastard is no’ in Scotland, and he’ll never return to Scotland. No, mo ghraidh, he’s living quite high on the hog at our expense in some foreign land.”
“Aye,” Grif said, nodding as he folded the letter, having read it. “That is undoubtedly true, Father. But we canna ignore any rumor that he’s returned.”
Carson shrugged. “I’ll no’ raise our Mared’s hopes again. He’s no’ come back to Scotland, and he never will.”
He looked at Mared. She smiled reassuringly at her father, for she had resigned herself to that truth several weeks ago.
Twenty
T he weather held for the journey deeper into the Highlands, and the Douglas party from Eilean Ros arrived at the tiny village of Kinlochmore in two days’ time. Another mile and they reached the old castle on the banks of Loch Leven, surrounded by the Mamore Forest.
The castle was typical of highland fortresses, built high against a hill. About half of the old castle wall was still intact, along which carriages and carts were parked and servants were carrying in the luggage of guests. There were two towers anchoring the structure at the west and east ends, and between them stretched a massive stone structure that housed the great room, the dining hall, and various old chambers turned into sitting rooms and parlors.
Entrance to the main living area was made across a narrow bridge which led into an even narrower and dark corridor that had once served to keep invading enemies from entering in droves. It was the same sort of entrance as the one at Talla Dileas, and in fact, the only difference between this old castle and Talla Dileas was that Talla Dileas had been expanded over the centuries, so that now it was a peculiar mix of architectural styles and different kinds of stone.
It was along those narrow corridors that Mared and Una were led by a very congenial footman, who had, apparently, caught Una’s eye, judging by the way she giggled and hurried to stay beside him.
Mared followed stoically behind, carrying her own luggage, watching carefully where she stepped, for she knew from her own home that years of foot traffic had worn down some of the stones and made them treacherous.
They walked along, Una chattering like a magpie, the friendly footman pointing out various features of the old castle, including the dungeon, which he found particularly amusing, until they reached a narrow curl of stairway that rose up. Mared struggled to fit herself and the luggage within that narrow space, until they reached a small landing. There was a door to their right and another corridor stretching out to their left.
“Here ye are, lassies,” the footman said, and opened the door, gesturing for them to precede him through. Una and Mared walked into the small, circular tower room. The ceiling was low and beamed with thick slabs of wood; the walls were made of stone. There was a single bed, big enough for two. A worn Aubusson carpet covered the flagstone floor, a vanity and bureau were near the hearth, and a pair of narrow windows looked out over the Mamore Forest.
“’Tis lovely,” Una said, her fingers trailing across an old tapestry that covered a wall.
“This room belonged to the first Lady Douglas. She died in childbirth in that very bed,” he said. “Naturally, the mattress has been replaced.”
Una giggled.