counted two flights of stairs before they exited into the corridor. “Are the servants’ quarters on the top floor?”
“Some, though many stay in cottages down by the stables.”
“Is there not enough room for them?”
Ciar cleared his throat. “Well, the nursery is on the fifth floor.”
Nursery? Emma’s throat constricted. Perhaps one day soon their children might occupy those rooms. God save they have the gift of sight.
Stopping, Ciar opened a door. “Here we are.”
Emma cued Albert to walk on, but the dog only went a few paces and sat. She studied him. “I would have thought you’d want to explore every corner.”
Ciar stepped behind her. “Your trunks have arrived, but Betty’s not yet here.”
“She’s most likely with Mrs. MacClarin.”
“Indeed. I’m sure she’ll be here directly.” Ciar took Emma’s hand and led her deeper inside, turning left, right, moving forward, then seeming to walk in a circle. “In the interim, why not make yourself comfortable on the settee.”
She brushed her fingers over the velvet upholstery. “Must you go?”
His lips whispered over her cheek. “The sooner I meet with Chisholm, the faster I will return.”
Emma gave a nod while Ciar slipped out the door. As it closed, a shiver coursed through her.
Should she start counting steps and learning the layout of the chamber? But how could she with her trunks strewn about?
“What are we to do, Albert?”
The dog yowled and lay at her feet.
Dropping the lead, Emma tried to retrace her steps, but when she thought she’d reached the door, there was nothing. Where was the bed? Where was the window? Perhaps she ought to wait.
“Albert?”
The dog shook.
Starting toward the sound, something caught her foot. “Ack!” she screeched, flinging out her arms, grasping for anything to stop her fall. But down she went, tumbling facefirst to the floorboards.
Flat on her belly, Emma fumbled, completely disoriented. Her nose throbbed as she rolled to her side and sat. “Ow,” she mumbled, drawing her hands to her nose. Hot, sticky blood oozed through her fingers.
“Albert!” she cried.
The dog’s toenails tapped the floorboards as he hastened to her.
Emma groped for her kerchief. If only she’d had her cane or at least hadn’t dropped his lead. She held the cloth to her nose and tipped back her head. “How could I have been so daft?”
And now her face must look a fright, her gown ruined.
A sob pealed from her throat. She’d been so excited to arrive at Dunollie Castle, and there she sat alone on the floor in a foreign chamber, bleeding profusely.
For the first time since her wedding day she missed Moriston Hall. She didn’t belong here. Aye, she’d heard the whispers from the servants. They had been shocked to see a blind woman. She’d felt their eyes upon her in the courtyard, judging her as if she were not worthy of Ciar’s love.
Albert circled and lay down beside her, but Emma pushed him away and buried her face in her kerchief. “What am I doing here?”
* * *
In his solar, Ciar shook hands with Roderick Chisholm—son of the Chisholm, a stalwart Highland chief. “I’m told you have news from Mar?”
The young man was solidly built, of good Highland stock like his da. “I do. He’s in London.”
“Still?” Ciar had hoped the earl would be on his way to France.
“He’s under Argyll’s watchful eye. The duke and his allies have mobilized Britain’s army and navy alike to ensure George makes the crossing from Hanover without incident. Their orders are to use whatever force is necessary to stop any insurrection.”
“But what of our supporters in parliament?” Ciar asked. “Is there a chance of rescinding Anne’s mindless succession legislation? Any chance of peace?”
“The prospect of war nears with each passing day. Mar broached the subject in the House of Lords and was met with the threat of immediate arrest for treason.”
“Good God. Has the world gone completely mad?”
“It appears the entire kingdom has.”
Ciar dropped into his chair at the head of the table. “It all began with Cromwell’s wars. Ye ken the bastard murdered my grandfather and MacDougall clansmen at Gylen Castle—and for naught.”
Roderick slid into the chair beside him. “Aye, and we’ve been left to pick up the pieces.”
“What else does Mar say? Keep our armies at home and our mouths shut whilst the new king strangles us with taxes?”
“He cautions us to remain vigilant. See what George has to offer. Find out how he stands with Scotland.”
“That sounds like Bobbin’ John—never one to take up the sword when the sword needs to be wielded.”
“Mayhap caution is best