old chimney swept at the end of the autumn.
He assumed she would accept. She saw it in the tilt of his chin, the smug, proprietorial smile. But he would be good to her. Arrogant he might be, but he also had a kind heart. He had all but confirmed that he would take her on, and not expect her to be a virgin on her wedding night. Many men would reject her for that, but the gossip about her and Frederick all those years ago was still current today. He must know.
That night in bed, because, of course, she went to Frederick again, he gave her another box. It said Present on the lid.
Inside, she found a carved wooden castle, one she could hold in the palm of her hand. It was a replica of the keep, beautifully carved. She held it up to the candlelight, turning it and admiring it. “Did you carve this from memory?”
“I had plenty of time while I was recovering.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders catching the smooth, linen sheets. If she was an artist, she’d paint him like this. But she wasn’t. He was. “You didn’t do the other parts of the castle. Just the keep.”
“That’s where my heart is,” he said. “In there, with you.” He pointed to the window of the small turret room. “Rhona, I don’t want us to part. I want you to come with me when I leave.”
Words failed her, so she turned into him and made love to him instead.
Chapter Three
Future
Christmas Eve, and the last day of tranquility before the madness began. The villagers looked forward to this time of year all winter. Placed strategically in the middle of the season, it gave them something to remember as the weather deteriorated, and something to remember on the climb towards spring. When the duke came, they added more sophisticated entertainments, but he wasn’t coming this year, so Rhona had planned something simpler and more boisterous.
Rhona sat at the kitchen table with her slate and chalk, drinking tea and chatting to Cook, who was alternately chivvying the scullery maid to make it quick with those tatties, and creating something delicate and elegant for his lordship’s dinner. “They’re bringing the holly branches today,” Rhona told her. “I need them to leave them in a pile in the hall. We’ll put a cloth over them until tomorrow. The minister might call again.”
Just because she had a private celebration she wouldn’t stint these people. Some were relatives, others were people she’d known all her life. They all meant so much to her. As did the man currently snoozing upstairs.
Cook sniffed. “I’d have thought he’d be busy today. The service tonight and then decorating the church, you know. What time does he have to come a-courting?”
Rhona looked up sharply. “Hush!”
“Ah, wheesht. Do you think people haven’t worked it out?”
Elsie, who was polishing silver at the end of the kitchen, chuckled. “They’re taking bets in the village. Then, when his lordship arrived, the odds went right up. You can get ten to one right now. But they’ll go back the other way when he goes.”
Ah, so they assumed Frederick would leave alone.
At the reminder, her heart jolted. He would go and leave her here. A lump rose in her throat and before she could prevent it, a tear fell out of the corner of her eye and trickled down the side of her cheek. She tried not to sniff, and failed.
“Och, lovey.” Cook pushed her dish of tea in front of her. “Drink your tea. Everything will work out. It always does, one way or the other.”
Elsie muttered something in Gaelic.
“It’s not his fault,” Rhona protested. “How can he help it if I…”
“Nae more,” Cook said. Cook always spoke in English, made a point of it. Most of them did, since lapsing into Gaelic could mean accusations of treason, if a stranger passed through, or even if a disgruntled villager decided to complain to the soldiers in Fort William. “Whatever you feel, it’s longstanding. We all know that, even those of us who weren’t there. It’s for you to decide, but remember this. Whatever you do, you’ll always find a home here.”
That simple statement meant more to Rhona than anything else Cook could have said. Even if she decided to become a lady of the night, a courtesan, they would have her back. Except for old Mrs. MacKay at the end of the village, who claimed she was no relative to any of the other