The Highlander’s Awakening: Lairds of Dunkeld Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Ferguson, Emilia

  “Don't worry yourself about it,” he said magnanimously. “My lady?” he said, turning to Henriette. “Shall we ride?”

  Henriette blushed. Brodgar felt his cheeks warm and something suffuse his whole body, ending with his heart. She smiled and rode toward him.

  “Yes, please.”

  When she looked into his eyes, Brodgar had to swallow. His whole body was consumed with a feeling as if he was in a furnace, every inch tingling and burning and vital.

  “Well, then,” he said huskily. “Off we go.”

  The ride was sadly brief, and they talked little more. When Brodgar returned to the castle and went to his rooms, his head was spinning.

  What am I going to do? I'm in love with this lady and I cannot have her. What can I do?

  It seemed there was little he could do. He was the heir to the thane of Dunkeld. He had to be responsible. He had to obey the wishes of his parents and his whole family. But what about his own heart?

  As he flopped down onto the bedcovers, head in his hands, he tried to drown out the sweet images of Ettie that played through his mind like wildfire and to think straight. It occurred to him, perhaps later than it should have, that Aunt Alina may have foreseen something about this. Perhaps that was what was worrying her the day Heath arrived. Perhaps, he decided, he should ask her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  POSSIBILITIES

  POSSIBILITIES

  “I wish I felt more welcome here,” Ettie said aloud. She looked out of the window at the view over the forest, the lands covered now by a thin blanket of white. It was afternoon and, as Alina had predicted, the snow fell.

  She seems to have a remarkable foresight.

  Ettie shivered. There was something about Alina that both interested and intimidated her. So beautiful, with that serene smile that hinted at mysteries untold, Ettie would have given a lot to be able to talk to her.

  She has been more welcoming than anyone else so far.

  Ettie sighed and sat down on the stool by her dressing table, lifting some embroidery she was working on. She couldn't exactly complain about how she was received. Here in the turret room she had been assigned was everything she needed. The room was small but luxuriously appointed, with soft linen sheets and a canopied bed. There were two chests for clothing, fragrant with strewing herbs, and the little dressing table was almost as fine as the one she used at home.

  It wasn't the surroundings themselves that lacked anything. It was just Lady Amabel and Lord Broderick who discomfited her.

  They are perfectly polite and accommodating. It's just...something.

  Ettie sighed. She leaned back on the chair and looked up at the ceiling, where thin vaulting supported the high roof above her. Snow still drifted down past the arched windows and she was pleased to hear a fire crackling in the grate behind her. She should just enjoy the respite from being alone.

  “Hello?”

  Ettie jumped. Someone had knocked on the door. “Yes?” she called out in reply to the voice. She didn't recognize whoever that was.

  “Hello,” Aunt Chrissie said, appearing round the door. “Sorry if I'm disturbing?”

  “Oh. No,” Ettie breathed, standing and beckoning the older lady to a seat. “Not at all. I'm glad of company.”

  “Thank you,” Chrissie said, sighing contentedly as she sat down in the seat tiredly. “I was looking for someone who could give me an opinion on choosing new cloth. Only Amabel's down talking to the housekeeper and Alina's in the attic and Amice is somewhere else...I could only find you.”

  Ettie bit back a smile at her easy frankness. “Well, I'm glad of that.”

  “Oh, that is kind,” Chrissie smiled. She patted her hand.

  She had very blue eyes, Ettie noticed, a delightful contrast to the masses of blonde curls. She was extremely pretty, and likeable too. No wonder Uncle Heath loves her.

  “Not at all,” Ettie said lightly. “It's selfish. I was lonely and hoping someone would come and find me and keep me company.”

  “Oh, you are delightful,” Chrissie smiled. “Well-mannered, gentle...so like Heath. Pardon me, my dear,” she added, blinking rapidly. “It's just so...so remarkable to meet a niece of his. Really it is.”

  Ettie smiled fondly. “Uncle cares about you,” she said softly. “It's quite clear in his demeanor that he thinks very highly of you.”

  “Oh!” She flushed pink. “You think so?”

  Ettie hoped she wasn't wrong to say that, but Chrissie was beaming as if Yuletide had come again and promised to stay. She decided it was a good thing to have told her about that. “Yes,” she said. “He certainly does.”

  “Oh.” Chrissie blinked rapidly and Ettie felt a lump in her own throat. She sat and waited for the older woman to say something. She spoke after a bit. “I'm sorry, dear. But it's been many years...I always did wonder what became of Heath. So good to know he's safe. He's a dear friend.” She dabbed at her face with a lace handkerchief, making no secret of tears.

  “I'm sure he is,” Ettie nodded firmly. “He's a fine man, Uncle Heath.”

  “Yes.” Chrissie nodded, still blinking fiercely. “Now. I forgot. Would you come and help me choose fabric? I want to make a new gown for the summer season, and we have so much fine cloth up in the attic; it's a real hunt to find something just right. Come along?”

  Ettie nodded, throat tight. “I'd like that,” she said.

  As she followed Aunt Chrissie up the stairs – she couldn't help thinking of her as Aunt Chrissie, though she was no relative to her – she listened to her speak.

  “And I think you should choose something too, dear. There's a gathering planned for the summer, and we'll all want new gowns. Though I'm sure you brought some very pretty things with you, there's no harm. A bit of choice is good, no?”

  Ettie smiled at her. “I would love that. You're sure it would be allowed? I wouldn't wish to impose...” she trailed off as Aunt Chrissie sighed.

  “No, dear. Not at all. No imposition. You're welcome here. Practically family,” she said, then leaned in and said with a conspiratorial grin, “I'd almost think of you as a daughter, since I have none.”

  “Oh,” Ettie swallowed hard. “That is kind. Thank you.” She felt her heart soften and was scared she, too, would cry. Her own mother was unfathomable miles away, with no sign of returning anytime soon. Moreover, she was alone here. Having been adopted by Aunt Chrissie, if informally, made her feel much better.

  “There, dear,” Chrissie said, patting her hand. “Now, come and join me. The attic is small, but we've room enough for two.”

  “Is Alina still here?” Ettie asked softly, imagining that if all three of them squeezed into what looked like a small space at the stair's top, there'd be little room.

  “Oh, no,” Ettie laughed. “She's in the other attic. She keeps herbs and things up there, I think. I don't like to ask, actually,” she added with a grin again. “Alina's too wise for me. Though when I was a girl she was almost mother to me.”

  “Oh?” Ettie inquired. There couldn't have been more than a few years between the two women, though Alina was sufficiently ageless for her to think they were at least of an age.

  “Well, she's not much older than me, admittedly. But when my own mother passed when I was...maybe ten years younger than you, dear...she watched over me.”

  “Oh.” Ettie was surprised. The tall, regal woman didn't seem motherly. “She has her own children now?” she asked.

  “She has a daughter, yes. Leona. She lives in France. Where your parents are, yes?”

  “Yes,” Ettie said in a small voice. “I don't know if they're anywhere close,” she added. “I don't know where they are.”

  “Oh! My dear! That's terrible.” Chrissie straightened up from where she had been looking through bales and took her in her arms. Ettie felt herself weep.

  She bit her lip to stop her sobs and embraced her in return. The two women stood in the attic, the sun shafting down behind Chrissie, its rays outlined in dust.

&n
bsp; “There, there,” Chrissie said, rocking a little as she held her, as one would a young child. “It will be well. They're safe – you know that – and they'll be back. Probably just when you're not missing them anymore.” She chuckled.

  Ettie laughed.

  “There,” Chrissie said again. “Now. I was thinking the blue? It's very fine, don't you think? The best linens are made in Flanders, I understand. I think this is one of them,” she added, wrestling a roll of deep sapphire-colored cloth from the rest.

  “Oh, that's lovely,” Ettie said admiringly. She looked around the space, which was wood paneled and lined with piles of bolts of fabric like the one her aunt held out. She imagined all the ladies of the castle making dresses from such pieces. Chrissie and the two other ladies were both beautiful, she had to admit. She felt quite plain beside them, despite the disparity of years. In addition, Amice was so pretty and lively that she was sure she'd sink into the background beside her vital presence.

  “Come on, dear,” Chrissie said, blowing dust off a silvery plate that proved, once the dust had been removed, to be a mirror on the wall. “Select something.”

  “Oh,” Ettie paused, looking around. “I don't know...There's so much.”

  “All the better to find just what you want,” Chrissie said, unrolling the fabric and admiring the effect thoughtfully. “I'm not sure about this one yet, so I'll keep hunting too. Perhaps we can both find something if we pull out enough rolls like this one.” She chuckled and Ettie had to laugh.

  “Are you always so hopeful?” she asked as she bent down to look at the stacks of fabric. The room smelled of rosemary and other herbs, presumably strewn to keep the fabric free of moths. She breathed in deeply, the nostalgia for home and her mother's sewing room that always smelled of strewing herbs hitting her like a wave.

  Chrissie giggled. “Am I, dear? I don't know.” She pulled out another piece of cloth, squinted at it critically and replaced it. “I just think that, well, every possibility is equally possible.” She stood and dusted her hands on her skirt, then turned to face Ettie, who was frowning. “I mean, we always think, somehow, that the bad things are certain to happen, and that happiness is unlikely, a distant dream. Well, why?”

  Ettie frowned. “Why what, Aunt Chrissie?”

  “Well, why do we think bad things are so powerful, and good so unlikely? If something's going to happen, it could equally well be a good thing as a bad thing. So why not be hopeful?”

  Ettie laughed. “What a lovely idea.”

  “It is, isn't it?” Chrissie grinned. “'Tis true, though. And, while we're about it, often the things we think are bad don't turn out to be so bad, either. Sometimes they're good things, only they're in disguise.”

  Ettie couldn't help it. She turned round and hugged the woman to her chest, until Chrissie coughed, protesting, and she had to release her.

  “Oh, you sweetheart,” Chrissie said absently, patting her shoulder. “It's true, though.”

  “Yes,” Ettie said, bending down to look at the pile of fabric herself now. “I think it is.”

  “It is,” Chrissie assured her. “It is.”

  Ettie saw a piece of fabric sticking out and pulled it. A bale of colorful cloth shot out at her and she ended up on her back on the floor, laughing in shock, dust everywhere. Chrissie giggled, and then ran to help.

  “Oh, you poor dear! Are you well? And all you have is some linen there. Not so pretty, after all.” She glanced ruefully at the linen Ettie had pulled out of the pile, which was for embroideries.

  “Oh,” Ettie was still on her back, looking up at the ceiling. She groaned. Then she noticed a color on the edge of her vision. One of the bales. It was like cosmos flowers, or early crocus. Or sunset. She sat up.

  “Oh...” she sighed aloud as she pulled it out. The rich mauve linen, so fine it could be silk, slid out of the pile and wrapped around her warmly. “Oh, it's lovely.”

  Chrissie smiled. “Just the thing!” She clapped her hands excitedly. “It's perfect with your hair. And your beautiful eyes! Oh...how good you found it.”

  “It is good,” Ettie murmured. If she hadn't fallen over, she wouldn't have found it. It was hidden underneath the pile.

  Mayhap sometimes it's a good thing. Only it's in disguise.

  She found herself feeling more positive than she had for weeks. As she went to drape herself in the purple cloth, she saw Aunt Chrissie looking over her shoulder with a big smile.

  “Oh, my dear. That's perfect. It brings out your eyes, just as I thought. You must have a gown from that for the gathering. Everyone will think you the most beautiful creature ever!”

  Ettie blushed and laughed. She felt pretty. The girl in the mirror looked confident and lovely. The magenta purple of the fabric did indeed bring out the blue in her eyes, and her hair was a radiant cloud.

  “You're just sweet, Aunt,” she said to Chrissie, who chuckled.

  “No. Mark my words. You'll have every lad there falling over his feet. And our Brodgar too.”

  Ettie felt her face fill with color. “Aunt? You think he...likes me?”

  Aunt Chrissie giggled. “I would have to be blind if not!” She waved a hand. “Sorry, dear. But he's been staring at you like a sick calf since you arrived.”

  Ettie flushed again. “Really?” Her stomach flipped over deliciously. She had realized by now what she felt for Brodgar, but she would never have imagined he actually returned the feeling. Now she knew.

  “Yes, dear,” her aunt agreed. “Now, come. Let's find Alina. See if she knows where Greere, our seamstress, has gone for the day. If Alina says we can take these – she's in nominal charge of the fabric buying, since she has the most sense with money – then we will.”

  Ettie grinned and resisted the urge to squeeze her aunt in another crushing embrace. Instead she took her hand and pressed it.

  “Thank you, Aunt. You don't mind if I call you Aunt Chrissie, do you?” she asked, remembering that she had not actually asked permission before.

  Chrissie smiled fondly. “My dear, I'd be mortified if you called me anything else. Now come, let's go and find our seamstress. For myself, I think I would like this new fashion of fluted sleeves...”

  As Aunt Chrissie planned their gowns in her head on the way to the solar, Ettie felt as if flowers bloomed in her heart. She had felt so isolated before, so unwelcome. Now she had a friend, and some hope. And the possibility, however small, that Brodgar liked her as well as she liked him. At least someone didn't disapprove of that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHAT MAY HAPPEN

  WHAT MAY HAPPEN

  At breakfast the next morning, Brodgar concentrated on his plate. They ate in the solar – it was much warmer in the winter, and more intimate, with just the family around – but he was aware of his mother's inquiring gaze and daren't risk looking at Henriette.

  “And the snow hasn't had any ill effects on the sheep pens, thankfully,” Broderick was saying to Duncan, his brother. Duncan cleared his throat.

  “Good. I was worried. The crofters'd be ruined come spring, if that happened.”

  “We could offer them succor here,” Alina pointed out, reaching across for a slice of ham as they talked. “We have more than enough stored for winter.”

  “We do, dear. Bless your kind heart,” Duncan smiled. She looked at him with a tenderness she rarely showed to anyone.

  Brodgar found himself wondering if he should approach her with his question.

  Mayhap later. First I want to think about this matter.

  “You going out today?” Alf asked from beside him. He was breaking bits off a bannock and eating with some enthusiasm. Brodgar smiled.

  “Maybe,” he agreed. “You want to take a ride?”

  “I thought we could take the horses up to the cliff again,” Alf said thoughtfully. “I want to get Fire used to narrow paths.”

  Brodgar nodded. Fire was the offspring of his father's destrier and a local breed. Alf had insisted on helping to train him, and
he and the horse were inseparable. The original destriers had been trained in France and, to Uncle Blaine's dismay, they spoke French; a language he himself did not, though his wife did. Trying to make the horses respond to Scottish words had been a real battle.

  “At least Fire understands what we're saying,” Brodgar grinned.

  “He does. He does,” Alf nodded. “Amice? Are you coming?”

  “I'll stay inside today,” Brodgar's sister said softly. “I should finish up with my embroidery.” She made a face and Brodgar grinned. “Henriette?” Amice asked, calling down the table to where Henriette sat with Chrissie on her left, Broderick on her right.

  “Yes?” Ettie asked. She looked across at Amice and Brodgar found himself desperately concentrating on his plate again.

  “Will you sew with me?”

  “I would like to,” Ettie said. “I want to make a border for a new kirtle.”

  “Oh!” Amice looked much happier. “Then I shall have plenty of company. How nice. That makes sewing much more fun.” She made a face at their mother, who laughed.

  “Aye, you will. And there'll be more people to sit still so I can wind skeins.”

  Amice giggled. “I can run fast enough to escape now, Mama.”

  Brodgar had to laugh. He and Amice had been subjected to sitting still while their mother wound her skeins of silk or wool round their hands – the perfect way, she always commented, of getting a nice even thread.

  “I'll help,” Ettie volunteered. Brodgar saw a shuttered look cross his mother's face and wished she would be a bit nicer to their visitor.

  “Thank you, Ettie,” she said politely.

  Brodgar looked away, reaching for another bannock for breakfast. His father grinned.

  “Come on, lad! You could look a bit more cheerful. How's the training with Arnold going?”

  “Well, Father,” Brodgar agreed amiably. “He understands Scottish words, anyway.”