Secrets to Seducing a Scot

THIRTY-THREE

Serena had learned by experience that the weather in Scotland could be fickle. But as their brand-new town coach rumbled up the lesser-trodden roads in the Highlands, she gloried in the cool air and the bright sunshine.

Ravens Craig House was all Malcolm could talk about since they left Edinburgh. He talked of his earliest memories of the house—fond memories that Serena doubted he had ever unearthed until now—and what the place would be like once they moved in.

But as they neared his lands, he grew quiet. There were memories hidden in the forests and hills that sent him to another place. It was here that Malcolm lost his innocence, learning of evil firsthand and all alone. How she pitied that child. The twenty years since that boy had been here had been bleak, but she silently promised herself to make the next twenty his happiest.

At first, the furrowed road to Ravens Craig seemed to be nothing more than a path overgrown by rhododendron shrubs and beech trees. Then it began to peek out at her. A window pane flashing between laurel branches, a hint of a turret peeking through the lofty oak trees. And then it appeared, springing from the top of the hill.

The house was wreathed in centuries. It slept atop a green field, surrounded by acres of forests and meadows. The walls were bricked with gray and brown stones that seemed hewn from the very mountain behind it. A crenellated tower overlooked the view of the neighboring rises, dotted with sheep and lambs. A massive door, reinforced with black iron strap hinges, remembered the house to a bygone age.

The carriage turned onto an ancient stone bridge painted by a thick coat of moss. They traversed a stream that wept around the hill.

Serena turned to Malcolm in disbelief. “You lived here?”

“Aye.”

The house was not at all what she expected. She wasn’t sure why, but she had assumed Malcolm had lived in a tiny cottage. Though Ravens Craig was no manor or palace, it was far from being a one-room croft.

Malcolm stepped out of the carriage and took a lingering look around before helping Serena alight.

“Welcome home, wife,” he said, grinning into her face.

Serena glanced at the impressive structure. “Welcome home, husband.”

As they approached, an elderly couple came to the door.

“I’m so glad ye’ve arrived safely,” said the woman from the door. “Mr. Brooker here can see to the horses. I’ve a warm stew and some fresh-baked bread waiting for ye. Come in, come in!”

The lady had on a simple apron, and she wiped her hands on them. “My name’s Mrs. Brooker, sir. I used to be the cook here. When the sheriff came here aboot a month ago with orders to the previous owner to vacate the premises, he let Mr. Brooker and myself stay behind to look after the house until ye arrived.”

Serena looked around the house. It looked as if it had been cleaned out of all its belongings. Hardly a stick of furniture was left behind. “And who was the previous owner, Mrs. Brooker?”

“It belonged to the McCullough.”

Serena’s eyes flew open. “Brandubh McCullough?”

“Aye. ’Twas him who lived here since the time he came of age. His father be the man who took hold of it, aboot eight year ago.”

Malcolm looked at the yawning emptiness. “And took all its antiquities with him.”

Serena was in shock that Brandubh McCullough was still alive. “McCullough is a wanted man. Didn’t the sheriff take him into custody?”

“He wouldna do that. The sheriff is the McCullough’s kinsman.”

Malcolm walked away into another room. Serena was about to follow him, but Mrs. Brooker stopped her.

“Pardon me, missus, but would it be asking too much if me and the husband could stay on awhile longer ? Just until we find another situation for the both of us, mind. Only it’ll take a bit of looking, and we’re not as young and strong as we used to be.”

Serena nodded. “I’ll consult the matter with Mr. Slay—that is, Mr. MacAslan. But I don’t think he would be opposed to letting you stay on for as long as you wish. We don’t have anyone else to assist us at the moment, and we’d be grateful for the help.”

“Oh, thank ye, missus! Thank ye! We’ll do our best to please ye.”

Serena followed the path Malcolm had taken. She found him standing in the kitchen.

She looked around the room. There was a fireplace big enough for her to stand in, where Mrs. Brooker had a pot hanging from a spit. There was a long wooden table at the other end. And there was Malcolm, lost in a world of memories.

Mrs. Brooker came in behind them. “The table’s all set for ye in the dining room. I’ll bring the pot out straightaway.” She seemed somehow embarrassed, as if they were inspecting her cooking area.

But Malcolm didn’t hear her. There was a door that led out into the rear of the house, and Malcolm walked through it.

Serena followed Malcolm through the rear garden, down the hill, and to a patch of gravestones under a shady oak. Her eyes darted around at the ones still standing. Most of them were smashed, the names of the honored dead unrecognizable.

A surge of anger welled up inside her. Whoever had desecrated the gravestones had tried to obliterate the MacAslan name.

“Don’t worry, Malcolm,” she said, putting a hand around his elbow. “We can rebuild them. We’ll put up whole new ones even more beautiful than these. Marble ones, if you like.”

He shook his head. “No need. My ancestors … they’re no longer here. Beneath this ground are only bones. There’s no need to venerate the dead.” He picked up the corner of a stone slab that had fallen facedown, pushing away the grass that had grown high around it. “I only care to know where my brother and my sisters are. If they’re alive, or … if they also need gravestones.” The slab fell from his hand. “I feel ashamed somehow … being the only one to return to the house.”

She turned him around to face her. “You must never say that. You belong here. And so do they. If they’re alive, then we will find them … together.”

She hoped that some of her optimism would splash upon him. His countenance shifted, and a look of hope twitched the corners of his eyes.

“Do ye think then that I am no’ the last of the Mac-Aslans?”

She smiled. “No. You’re looking at one now.”

He chuckled, and engulfed her in his mighty arms. “No wonder I delight myself in ye.”