The Highlander's Yuletide Love

by Quigley, Alicia

  “I think that they are both charming and wonder why a little family party should thrust you into such a fog of indecision! You always have very strong opinions on your clothing!” Harriet exclaimed. She glanced over at the dresses. “Dear me, child. The green silk is a bit formal for dinner with the Exencours and then a bit of dancing in the drawing room with the neighbors. It is something you might wear to Carlton House. Wear the primrose, and those pretty amber beads and earrings your papa gave you for your birthday.”

  “It is not just family--Colonel Stirling will be here,” Sophy countered.

  “So he will, but I consider him quite one of us. You should be well used to him by now; he is constantly underfoot.”

  “He always seems to be laughing at me,” Sophy protested.

  “I’m sorry he has put you out of countenance, my love,” Harriet replied. “But do finish dressing and come to the drawing room. It would be very rude of you to be late, and dear Ranulf would have every excuse to look at you censoriously!” At Sophy’s stricken look, she gave her a little hug. “You will look perfectly lovely in the primrose, but do make haste,” she urged, before turning and leaving the room.

  “There, Lady Sophia, wasn’t I just saying that I thought the primrose would do nicely?” Wallis asked.

  “Yes, you did,” Sophy agreed in a harassed tone. “It’s just--”

  “Put your arms up now,” Wallis interrupted her, as she approached Sophy with the dress in her arms. Sophy ducked instinctively, and seconds later, the primrose dress covered her, and Wallis was deftly adjusting the tapes in the back. She circled Sophy once, adjusting the twin rows of deep gold broderie anglaise trim that framed her neckline and puffing out the primrose gauze sleeves shot with gold, before steering her towards the cheval mirror.

  “There, Lady Sophia. You see, Lady Glencairn was quite right. You look lovely.”

  As Sophy gazed discontentedly at her reflection, Wallis returned with the amber beads and fastened them around her mistress’s neck, and then placed the earbobs in her ears, before proffering a pair of gloves. Sophy put them on absently as the maid gazed at her critically.

  “I have just the thing,” said Wallis, and reached into the wardrobe, emerging with a twisted wire hairband of gold ornamented with spangles. She threaded it around the topknot from which glossy ringlets fell about Sophy’s lovely face. Finally, the maid draped a silk Norwich shawl across her elbows and steered her to the door.

  “There you are Lady Sophia. I haven’t heard a sound from the front of the house, so if you hurry, you should be in time to please Lady Glencairn,” Wallis said, barely refraining from shoving Sophy out of her bedchamber.

  Sophy found herself standing disconsolately in the hall, and, with nowhere else to go, she set out reluctantly for the drawing room. She had assiduously avoided Ranulf since their kiss at the old Roman fort, and she wasn’t sure how she could face him now, with her whole family in attendance. She contemplated returning to her room and telling Wallis that she felt unwell, but she knew that the maid would greet that gambit with scorn. There was nothing for it, she realized, but to acknowledge that she must encounter Ranulf now. It would have to happen sometime.

  She entered the drawing room to find her father and stepmother already there, but Kincraig was still absent. She was relieved not to be the last family member to arrive, and when her scapegrace sibling appeared, she allowed Harriet’s gentle remonstrances to float past her as she pondered the imminent appearance of Ranulf Stirling. The kiss they’d shared a week ago was burned into her memory, but so were his slighting words. He had called her a child, she thought angrily—though he had hardly treated her as one.

  As she fretted, the door opened, and the butler appeared. “Lord Exencour, Lady Exencour, Colonel Stirling,” he pronounced.

  Sophy gave a little start and turned away to compose herself as her parents welcomed their guests. By the time she had greeted Francis and hugged Isobel, she was able to acknowledge Ranulf with tolerable composure, but turned toward Isobel again as quickly as good manners allowed.

  “It has been some time since I have been to your excavation. Would you like me to come and sketch for you tomorrow?” she asked.

  Isobel looked a bit surprised. “I thought you were working on a painting up on the moor.”

  “I—I haven’t been back to the moor,” Sophy said, aware of Ranulf’s gaze on her. “I’ve been painting by the river instead.” She glanced briefly at the colonel, and noted his raised eyebrows.

  “I thought you were intent on the moors.” Isobel looked perplexed “You waxed rather poetic about that painting last I saw you—the wind, the sun, the wildness of the view.”

  “It can be finished another time,” said Sophy hastily. “For now, the river is—is closer to Glencairn, and more peaceful.”

  “I know nothing about painting, so if you say that is what you want, I cannot disagree,” Isobel replied with a laugh. “It’s also true that it would be helpful to have a new sketch of the dig, as we have just finished exposing another section of the footings that I have been working on this summer.”

  “I will come tomorrow then,” Sophy replied.

  “What do you plan to do tomorrow, my love?” Harriet asked, having overheard only Sophy’s reply.

  “Oh, I am going to sketch the dig for Isobel instead of painting. She is in need of my assistance.”

  Ranulf looked faintly amused at this remark and gave her a look so meaningful that she found herself flushing for what seemed to her to be the tenth time that day. It was true, she acknowledged to herself, that her sudden interest in assisting Isobel and her abandonment of the moors arose primarily out of a desire to avoid encountering Ranulf alone.

  “What an excellent notion!” exclaimed Harriet. “I’m so pleased you will be spending time with friends instead of painting away all day on your own! And you must need some exercise. You should ride with Colonel Stirling and Douglas one day.”

  With relief Sophy saw MacDonald approaching, and his announcement that dinner was served saved her from having to respond. The little group entered the dining room. Harriet kept a very good table, and the table groaned under its load of turtle soup, salmon fresh from the sea, preserved fruits, venison, peas, and sweetbreads au jus. To Sophy’s great relief, Ranulf was not seated next to her, and she gave her full attention to Francis, who sat on her left.

  As the first course was removed, Harriet turned to Ranulf. “I know that Spaethness lies farther north, because of course, it could hardly be farther south, since Glencairn is in the Border country. But I do not know precisely where it is.”

  “Have I not told you before?” Ranulf said with mild surprise. “Spaethness lies in Argyll, near the Trossachs.”

  “The Trossachs? “ Harriet exclaimed delightedly. “The wild country of which Sir Walter Scott has written so eloquently?”

  “I am not very familiar with his works, I fear,” Ranulf began.

  “Oh, how can you not love The Lady of the Lake?” Harriet broke in. “It takes place in the Trossachs, you know where,

  ‘The stag at eve had drunk his fill,

  Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,

  And deep his midnight lair had made

  In lone Glenartney's hazel shade.”

  She looked questioningly at Ranulf, as though she expected that at any moment he would tell her Spaethness was only a matter of five miles from Glenartney. Instead, Ranulf looked a bit nonplussed. Francis, stifling a smile, intervened.

  “I fear that both of us were somewhat lacking in access to the latest poetry when The Lady of the Lake was published,” he said.

  “Oh, indeed, you were in Spain! How remiss of me not to consider it.” Harriet sounded contrite. “I am very sorry, Colonel Stirling. Nonetheless, I envy you, for I have longed to see the Trossachs ever since I read those lines.”

  “It is not a long trip, should you wish to visit Spaethness,” Ranulf responded. “Only a matter of two easy days in good weather, and ther
e is a very pleasant inn at Kirkmuirhill at which we could spend one night.”

  Sophy watched Harriet’s joyful reaction to this burgeoning plan with horror. “Aren’t you worried that traveling again will bother little Euan?” she asked. “He did not do well on our trip from London; he fretted so at being cooped up in a carriage while Douglas and I rode.”

  “Oh, it is nothing,” her stepmother said airily. “It is such a short distance, I’m sure it will not bother him.” She turned her attention back to Ranulf. “Of course you must consult with your father to make sure that a house party would not inconvenience him, but I would find it beyond anything to see the Highlands, which I have often wished to visit. And the Trossachs! Nothing could be better.”

  “I would love to visit Spaethness!” declared Douglas. “I’d give something to see your stables, Ranulf!”

  “That is certainly a simple proposition,” replied the colonel. “You are all more than welcome; it is time I saw how my father goes on, and tend to some matters with the bailiff. Having my friends with me will make my return home even more delightful.”

  “What a pretty thought,” said Harriet. She looked at her husband. “What say you, Glencairn? May we visit Spaethness?

  The earl looked at his wife’s and son’s eager faces, and inclined his head. “I don’t see why not. It is high summer now, and the tenants seem to have things well in hand. I could spare a few weeks from my duties.”

  Harriet clapped her hands with delight, but Sophy’s eyes widened in alarm. “I—I must stay here and work on my paintings,” she protested. “Perhaps you should go, and I will stay here with Isobel. There is room at Dargenwater Cottage, and I can more easily assist her this way.”

  “Not at all!” said Harriet. “Isobel and Francis must come as well. They also have never visited the Trossachs! We will miss them sorely if they do not come. I know you will wish to stay with your excavations, Isobel, but only think, such beauty—Glenartney, after all! And Sophy, you will of course wish to make sketches for future paintings. The landscape there is far lovelier than ours!”

  Isobel glanced from Ranulf’s amused face to Sophy’s anguished one, and then turned to her husband, a little smile on her lips. “What say you, my dear?” she asked.

  Francis returned her look. “I think we must all go to Spaethness. I have a very lively curiosity to see it now, after Harriet’s encomiums.”

  “Then we shall, of course,” agreed Isobel. She shot a quick glance at Sophy. “I’m sorry my dear, but I think your mama is right. Think of the vistas you will have to paint at Spaethness. It will be something new for you, and an artist must always seek out varied experiences.”

  Sophy had turned a bit pale, but, realizing that all eyes had turned to her, she arranged a smile on her face. “Of course we must go,” she said as lightly as she could. “I just thought—but it is no matter.”

  She looked down the table in Ranulf’s direction and caught the sardonic gleam in his eye. She narrowed her own briefly, and then turned back to her food with grim determination. As the second course was served, the conversation turned naturally to the coming trip, the plans for travel, and the anticipated delights of Spaethness. While Harriet waxed rhapsodic about the possibility of picnicking on the moor, Douglas peppered Ranulf with questions about the salmon and trout to be found in Loch Lomond, and Francis and Glencairn discussed the possibility of purchasing a mare from Ranulf to improve the earl’s breeding stock. Sophy poked at her food in silence, eventually turning to Isobel.

  “What a pity that you must abandon your work,” she said. “The Romans never went so far north as Argyll, I believe.”

  “It is indeed well past the Antonine Wall, although quite a number of forts were north and east of it,” Isobel agreed. “But a week or two away from my excavations will do no harm. After all, what has been buried for centuries can wait another few days.”

  Sophy frowned slightly, and Isobel leaned in closer. “My dear, I have no idea why you are so displeased with this idea, but you should put a good face on it. There will indeed be lovely views to paint, and I fear that your continued disapproval of Ranulf will only make you look ridiculous.”

  “I don’t disapprove of him!” protested Sophy.

  “Perhaps not, but whatever it is between you, it is you who look silly, and not him,” said Isobel softly. “You have asked me not to treat you as a child, and so I shall not. You are one-and-twenty and must think of yourself as a woman, not a girl, when he is about.”

  Sophy stiffened, offended, but Isobel only patted her hand and turned to talk to Glencairn, who sat on her other side. She finished the meal in near silence, speaking only when addressed, but the others scarcely noticed, so delighted were they with the prospect of the visit to Spaethness.

  Chapter 16

  Sophy was relieved when dinner drew to a close and the company returned to the drawing room, where the carpets had been rolled up and refreshments spread for the guests. As other families began to arrive, Sophy was gratified to find herself surrounded by the sons of several of the neighbors, all eager to dance with her. When the fiddlers struck up a tune, the son of the local squire escorted her onto the floor for the first country-dance by. While she had known him since she was a child, and thought him a bit of a fool, she nonetheless turned a brilliant smile on him, making it clear to all present that she was very pleased with her partner.

  The next hour passed in a whirl, with Sophy’s hand never once unclaimed for a dance. After one particularly energetic reel, she stood by the terrace door, her cheeks becomingly flushed, as her partner went to fetch her a glass of lemonade. She looked out over the garden, admiring the deep pinks and golds of the sky as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon, its rays of light gilding the flowers and grass spread out before her and touching the ancient grey stones of Glencairn with a rosy hue.

  She felt the air stir at her side and turned her head to find Ranulf standing next to her, regarding her gravely. She stiffened and began to turn away, but he laid a hand on her shoulder, his clasp light, but firm.

  “No, don’t run away again,” he said.

  “Run away?” she repeated. “When did I run away?”

  “Every time you see me.” The glimmer of a smile appeared on his lips and he turned her slightly toward him. “Not to mention all this week.”

  “I haven’t seen you this week!”

  “Precisely. You knew I would come to the moor to find you, so you did not go there. What of our unfinished painting?”

  “I think it is best left incomplete, Colonel Stirling,” she snapped.

  “We are alone. You are free to call me Ranulf,” he murmured.

  “I have no desire to call you Ranulf—or anything else, for that matter.” Sophy folded her arms defiantly.

  “No? You said my name very nicely not a week ago.”

  She flushed. “You are rude.”

  “And you are dishonest.”

  Sophy closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to tamp down her anger. “If you are attempting to apologize to me, Colonel Stirling, you are doing it in a very odd manner.”

  “I’m not apologizing. Those minutes were quite wonderful. Though I regret it if I made you unhappy.”

  “You are making fun of me now. That is unkind of you.”

  Ranulf shook his head. “I have no idea why I put up with you. You are contrary enough to enrage a saint. But somehow, I do wish to be near you. Sophy—”

  “I did not give you permission to call me Sophy!”

  “You did indeed, and very sweetly, last week.”

  Sophy glared at him. Over his shoulder she saw her partner returning with her glass of lemonade, and her lips curved in a little smile. The colonel would have to depart now, or risk being impolite. But when the younger man approached them, Ranulf deftly relieved him of the glass of lemonade with an expression of bland friendliness.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dyson,” he said, handing the glass to Sophy.

  Mr. Dyson hesitated, but
when Ranulf did not yield his place at Sophy’s side, and indeed raised his eyebrows in an inquiring manner, he beat a hasty retreat.

  “That was rude of you,” Sophy declared.

  “Was it? I rather thought I was preventing you from being bored into a stupor. I have not met Mr. Dyson before tonight, so perhaps I am wrong, but he did not strike me as a brilliant conversationalist.”

  Sophy stifled a chuckle. “Colonel Stirling—” she began, hoping to make it clear once and for all that his presence was unwelcome, but she was interrupted as the musicians began the next dance.

  “Ah, I believe this is our dance,” said Ranulf, taking her hand. “I asked them to play a waltz. Even in the country it is surely acceptable now. Though, personally, I don’t much care if others are shocked.”

  Before Sophy was quite aware of what had happened, Ranulf had swept her into his arms and onto the dance floor. Sophy had, over her three Seasons in London, waltzed with many gentlemen, but she found herself very much more aware of the colonel than she had been of her previous partners. His hand on her waist clasped her only lightly, but she could feel the strength in it as he guided her effortlessly, and the sensation of being held so closely by him made her recall far more clearly than she wished the kiss they had shared a week ago.

  She noted vaguely that Isobel and Francis were dancing, as well as a few of the more adventurous locals. “We don’t usually waltz at Glencairn,” she said. “It’s still considered just a bit fast.”

  “You don’t? I wonder why your father and stepmother have joined us, then.”

  Sophy turned her head to see that the earl and countess had indeed joined the dancers, and seemed to be enjoying themselves. She bit her lip and looked down.

  “Come, Sophy, you can’t argue with me properly if you don’t look at me,” said Ranulf, amusement in his voice.

  That made her look up, her eyes flashing with annoyance.

  “That’s better.” Ranulf guided her expertly across the floor. Some part of her brain acknowledged that he was an excellent dancer.