The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,101

your indisputable qualifications to be the lady of this house, the sooner you’ll earn your due respect.”

Emma plucked a high E. “I have a meeting this afternoon with Cook to review the menu. At that time I will discuss the feast. Mark me, we will plan a meal like no other.”

“In a week,” he said as if it were decided. “And I shall ensure the excitement builds among the clan. By the time the day comes, people will be champing at the bit to file into the hall.”

She kissed his hand. Oh, how she loved this man. “See? With a wee bit of planning it will be marvelous.”

Giving her a squeeze, he chuckled. “Ye ken you can charm the grumpiest troll in Christendom with your music. I vow, by the end of the evening every last one of them will fall in love with you.”

* * *

It took no time at all for a sennight to pass, thank God. And though his wife had her reservations about playing, Ciar felt it was best to astound the clan with a demonstration of Emma’s brilliance. He would have preferred it sooner, but he understood, and the bruising on her face had faded markedly. In truth, when they’d first arrived, he’d also heard the whispers and seen the stunned looks from the servants, and the most fitting time to show them the extent of his wife’s charm was now.

The crowd grew quiet as he took his place on the dais. “What say you?” he asked. “Did Cook not prepare the most delicious feast you have ever enjoyed?”

“Aye!” they responded with raucous applause.

“Indeed, our bellies are full, which, in part, is due to Lady Dunollie’s particular attention to this evening’s menu.”

Again came applause, though somewhat more reserved.

Ciar clasped his hands behind his back. “Let me share with you a wee morsel about Her Ladyship. I have known Emma since I was a lad. And I think I fell in love with her the first time we met. She was about seven years of age at the time, and full of happiness and laughter. In fact, I challenge each of you not to smile when you find yourself in her presence.”

He paced a bit. “Born early, she was not given the gift of sight which most of us take for granted. But she sees so much more of the world than any of us can imagine.” Ciar thrust his hand toward his wife, who waited along the east wall with Betty. “She taught me more about honeysuckle and flowers than I ever learned from my tutors. In a mere week, her keen mind has already conjured a detailed diagram of every chamber and every piece of furniture in this keep. And if it weren’t for her courage, I might have swung from Fort William’s gallows as an innocent man.”

As gasps and murmurs resounded, Ciar held up his hands. “Without further ado, please join me in welcoming Lady Dunollie, my wife. And if you are not thoroughly enchanted by her music, then I say there is no hope for you.”

He took his seat while Emma confidently climbed the stairs and situated herself with her Celtic harp. She’d chosen a series of Highland folk songs familiar to everyone. Ciar closed his eyes and thoroughly enjoyed the first two pieces, but on the third, he glanced over his shoulder.

No one moved. All eyes focused on her. Each face had a smile or an expression of utter awe. His heart soared. By God’s grace, she would be happy here. And by the applause at the end of the performance, she had earned the admiration of young and old alike.

Ciar climbed the dais, pulled Emma into his arms, and kissed her. “You were astonishing, as always.”

She patted her chest. “I hope they liked it,” she said as the applause continued.

“They’re standing for you. If that’s not a fine display of appreciation, I do not know what is.”

Cook met them on the dais with a plate in his hand. “As a surprise for Her Ladyship and to show our appreciation, I have made a trifle smothered with elderberry syrup. ’Tis my understanding elderberries are your favorite, m’laird.”

Grinning, Emma drew her fingers over her lips. “I told him we are quite fond of elderberry jam.”

Ciar threw his head back and laughed. “Indeed, I believe it is my favorite and will be forevermore.”

After the dessert was served with glasses of port wine, Ciar took his wife to his chamber, where they had been