The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,95
below Dunollie Castle, Emma took in a breath of fresh Highland air. At last they had arrived at her new home. The past week of sailing had been as perfect as if she’d existed in the pages of a fairy tale.
She sighed and swayed in place while a wind blew her skirts against the back of her legs and made her bonnet strain against its ribbons. “Perhaps I should have brought my cane.” Emma clutched her husband’s arm. “After a sennight on the Flying Ceilidh, I still feel as if I’m rocking with the ship even though we’re standing on dry ground.”
Ciar patted her hand. “Not to worry; if you swoon, I shall sweep you into my arms.”
She sniggered. “Be careful, my dearest. Being in your arms sounds rather enjoyable.”
“Och, I ought to throw you over my shoulder.”
“Is it a brute ye are now?”
His quiet yet deep and sensuous rumble made her insides flutter. “You bring out the beast in me.” As he cleared his throat, Emma sensed his change from playful to officious. “The wagons are here to haul your things above.” Ciar stood beside her, the wind making his kilt flap loudly. “It is quite a strenuous walk up a winding path to the keep from here. Would you rather I send for a pony?”
“Och, nay.” Albert stepped beside her, his cold nose nuzzling her hand. “It will be good for us to stretch our legs.”
“I think a pony is wise,” mumbled Betty from the rear.
Emma turned her ear. “Mayhap next time, but today I want to walk at my husband’s side.”
As they started up the incline, leaves rustled overhead, but the trees helped to block the wind coming off the firth. “A forest?” she asked.
“Aye, they’re turning gold and red.”
“So soon?”
“No matter how long our summers, autumn always seems to come faster than I’d like.”
Emma’s breathing grew deeper. “My, it is a climb.”
“We’re not yet halfway. Would you care to stop for a wee bit?”
“Nay. I’d run if I could.”
“Are you excited to see your new home?”
“Ever so.” She was nervous as well but said nothing. No, no, she’d be mortified if anyone discovered the unease gripping her chest.
“I think you’ll like it here,” said Livingstone.
“I do as well.” Emma turned her head toward the Dunollie man-at-arms. “But why do you say so?”
He sputtered. “Well, for starters, we’re all kin, and there is no clan in Scotland who will protect you like the MacDougall.”
She liked that, though her brother was most likely every bit as vigilant.
“And I love you like no other,” Ciar whispered in her ear.
His warm breath tickled, making the nervousness fade a tad. Emma reached up and brushed a clump of drying leaves.
“They’re coming!” called a youthful voice ahead.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“It sounds like Scottie, Cook’s son.”
“He didn’t tell me he had a boy.”
“I’m sure there are a great many things you’ll learn in time.”
As the incline gave way to level ground, the wind picked up, and applause roared.
“Welcome, m’lady!” said a woman.
Ciar leaned in. “The serving staff has assembled to greet you.”
Emma’s palms suddenly perspired inside her gloves. “Already?”
“They’re eager to see the new Lady Dunollie.”
Emma gulped as he led her forward. “I-I am so gloriously happy to be here.”
“This is the housekeeper, Mrs. MacClarin.”
“Pleased to meet you, m’lady,” the woman said in the same voice that had called out the welcome.
Emma held out her hand and, after some mummering from the crowd, the housekeeper took it. “So very lovely to meet you as well. I look forward to coming to know you better.”
“Mrs. MacClarin,” said Ciar. “This is Betty, my wife’s lady’s maid. Please show her to Her Ladyship’s chamber. I’m having her effects delivered there directly.”
“Straightaway, m’laird,” said the housekeeper.
“Excellent, and please do take Betty under your wing.”
“Of course. Perhaps I ought to start by taking her on a tour of the servants’ quarters?”
“Fine idea.”
Ciar led Emma down the row of servants, each one offering their tidings, though something seemed off—tense, and she could have sworn she heard unpleasant whispers. Were they disappointed with her appearance? How much had Livingstone told them? Did they not know of her malady? Did they fear her?
Suddenly, she felt cold. Even though Ciar had hold of her hand, she felt alone, lost among a sea of people like she had been right after Kennan and Divana’s wedding at Achnacarry.
At the end of the line, Livingstone gave Emma Albert’s lead while her husband took her up the steps and inside the castle. “Are you all