The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,126
“Ye did well, Annie,” said Campbell, laying a kiss on her forehead.
“Aye,” said Alexander, squeezing her shoulders. “I kenned ye would.”
Annie raised a wry brow. “Did ye, now? I recall a slightly different prediction comin’ from yer direction, Alexander MacPherson.”
“Nah,” he said. “When the occasion calls for pure aggravation, ye cannae do better than Annie Tulloch MacPherson Huxley.”
Rannoch laughed then kissed her cheek, lifted her, and spun her around before setting her back on her feet. “Aye, if ye need someone to prick a man’s pride or cook a meal straight from heaven, Annie is yer lass.”
She swatted each of her brothers for their laughter, then laughed, herself. “Well, I did enjoy the bit about his hands, I must admit. Unnecessary, perhaps. But fun.”
Angus wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I’m proud of ye, lass.”
She hugged his waist and closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank ye, Da.”
Before long, the MacPhersons joined the party out on the terrace. John tugged her outside, too, though she only really wanted to go home so she could show her Englishman how much she adored him.
He drew her past the lively fiddlers and milling dancers. He drew her around the outside of the manor house, through deep shadows and shafts of moonlight.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she demanded breathlessly.
“You’ll see.” He grinned over his shoulder and led her down the drive then onto the lane. Soon, they stood near the loch beneath a tall pine. He gathered her in front of him and pointed at a branch twenty feet up. “Look, love.”
She squinted. It was hard to see in the dark. But something fluttered. Something white. She lost her breath. Another flutter, and a white feather drifted down, whirling and twirling on a soft breeze. It landed in her open palm.
“Ah, God, English. How did ye ken?” She glanced back at her husband, who gazed at her with the most astonishing glow. “How did ye ken he’d be here?”
He kissed her softly. Sweetly. “The same way I know that Highland rain makes the best whisky and Highland lasses make the best wives.”
She turned in his arms and cupped his jaw, then drew him down to whisper against his lips, “And there could be no better Highland husband than a bonnie Englishman.”
Epilogue
TlU
September 14, 1826
Annie wiped sticky hands on her apron and ordered her kitchen maid to stop crying. “They’re onions, for God’s sake. Use yer handkerchief and keep choppin’!”
So much gravy. So many guests. She was dizzy and a wee bit nauseated, but at least she had enough bread left from yesterday. They hadn’t eaten all twenty-four loaves yet. For that, she was thankful.
A lad skidded into the kitchen. “Mrs. MacDonnell said to tell ye we’re out of bread,” he announced.
Annie groaned. “Fetch me the flour.” She shooed him toward the larder. “And find his lordship. Huxley, I mean. My husband.” There were many “lordships” in the castle at present. And many Huxleys. So many, she’d had trouble remembering all the wee ones’ names.
They’d all arrived at Glendasheen Castle the previous day. John’s parents, Meredith and Stanton. His five sisters. Their husbands. Their children. So very many children.
Annie paused. “Will somebody open a bluidy window! It’s stiflin’ in here!”
The hearth was blazing, her new range hard at work stewing venison. Another wave of nausea started when the scent of onions drifted past her nose. She leaned against the table, closed her eyes, and waited for it to pass.
“May I be of help?”
Her eyes popped open. She spun. It was Maureen, a bonnie, soft-featured woman with sweet, golden-brown eyes and hair similar to John’s.
Oh, God. Annie glanced down at her stained apron and dough-sticky hands. “L-lady Dunston.” What was she doing in here?
Maureen waved a hand and moved deeper into the kitchen, glancing around with obvious curiosity. “Now, now. Maureen, if you please.” She grinned, her cheeks displaying the most charming dimples. “Too many titles round here. Makes one dizzy.”
Annie blinked as Maureen plucked another apron from the hook near the sideboard and tied it over her lovely yellow gown. “Er, Lady D—Maureen. Is there somethin’ I can do for ye?”
“Hmm. No. I’ll just make myself at home, shall I?” She plucked a bowl down from the sideboard and wandered toward the larder. “Oh! What a lovely arrangement