“And the laird Douglas of Eilean Ros? Where are his rooms?” Mared asked.
“The west tower. The rooms are larger and more comfortably appointed, befitting a laird. Yer footmen and coachmen will be housed in the old stables. They’ve been made into servants’ quarters.” He smiled at Una. “Shall I recite the agenda for ye, then?”
“Do, please,” Una said.
“This evening, when the ladies and gents are served their supper in the formal dining room, the remainder of us shall be fed in the old stables. On the morrow, there will be traditional Highland gaming. Friday morning, the wedding ceremony will be held at the kirk in Kinlochmore, and Friday evening, the wedding ceilidh will be held on the south lawn by the loch to honor the bridal couple.”
“Ooh,” Una said. “It’s all so lovely.”
“Very well then, lassies,” he said with a click of his heels and a bow. “Supper for the downstairs staff is served promptly at eight o’clock. I shall hope to see you there.”
He and Una smiled at each other before he quit the room. The moment the door closed, Una whirled about, her hands at her breast. “’Tis bonny here is it no’?” she asked dreamily and walked to the window and looked out at the forest. “I hope that one day I shall marry in a fine celebration such as this, in a castle in the forest. Do ye, Miss Lockhart?”
The question took Mared aback; she’d never really thought what sort of wedding she might have—it seemed such an improbable, unlikely event. She glanced uncertainly at Una.
The poor girl instantly realized what she had said and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I do beg yer pardon, Miss Lockhart!” she whispered and frantically looked about the room for something to attend.
“Calm yerself, Una,” Mared said with a thin smile. “I’ve lived with the curse all my life and scarcely give it a single thought.” Never a single thought…but maybe a million.
They unpacked their things and put them away, made two trips to the well in the courtyard for water, and when they were satisfied that they were refreshed, they made their way down the spiraling narrow staircase to the main floor of the castle in search of Alan and Charlie.
They encountered dozens of people, so many that it was difficult to say who were servants and who were masters. Some of the men were dressed in fashion typical of the Quality—trousers and coats and waistcoats. But several wore coats and waistcoats and the féileadh beag, their clan plaid, as well as the ghillie brogues and sporrans and all that went with it. The women wore the arisaidh wrapped around their shoulders or like a sash across one shoulder and fastened with the luckenbooth at their waist. Everyone was laughing; the mood was festive.
In the old bailey, Mared and Una found their way to the stables where the male servants had been housed. The renovations had consisted of changing stalls into small rooms and not much else. But the mood within, like that outside, was decidedly festive; men shouted back and forth to one another, and one man played a lively tune on a bagpipe.
They found Alan and Charlie quickly, and both men were in fine spirits—Charlie instantly grabbed up Una in a dance and whirled her around the small space. “There she is, me bonny lass,” Charlie sang happily. “Come to give this lad a kiss.”
“Donna be silly, Charlie!” Una cried laughingly, playfully pushing him away.
“Come on then, ladies,” Alan said, offering his arm to Mared. “We’ll dine together, we lowly servants.”
What had once been the tack room had been made a dining hall, and two long tables, filled with what seemed dozens of servants, swallowed the entire space. The close proximity of so many people from so many different houses, and most of them Douglas, made for a raucous affair. There was a lot of friendly ribbing back and forth both in English and Gaelic; several challenges were issued for the games that would be held on the morrow.
Ale was served along with mutton chops, and the laughter grew louder and more boisterous as the meal went on. When the wooden plates were cleared away, the man with the bagpipe appeared, and another man joined him, carrying a flute. An old pot was made into a drum, and the little trio began to play Highland ceilidh tunes.
It was only a matter of time before several of the men moved the tables and benches aside, and Charlie grabbed Una to dance.
Mared’s feet were moving, too—she’d not danced often in her life, but when Alan looked at her, she smiled, and he eagerly grabbed her hand and led her onto the makeshift dance floor, into the thick of laughing men and women. Round and round they went, kicking up their heels to the gay Scots music, laughing and pausing only to gulp their ale before they went again.