Jamie turned and met his gaze.
“Then . . . aye,” the lad nodded. “I would be honored tae be the sixth member of the Brotherhood of the Tartan.”
6
Nervous?” Master MacTavish asked, his voice echoing in the entryway hall.
“Of course. How could I not be?” Eilidh replied, smoothing her gloved hands down the fine-spun wool of her new pelisse.
She had no regrets about its expense.
The garment was luxurious—a sky blue with smart golden military-style braiding across the bodice. It was the most fashionable thing Eilidh had ever owned, even in the days before her father’s injury and the fall of their fortunes. The matching buttery-soft gloves were a cloud on her hands.
After living so many years on Mrs. Gillespie’s leftovers, it was fortifying to feel like a true and proper lady again.
And given the anxiety that battered her numbness, she needed all the bolstering she could manage today.
Whyshe felt such anxiety was harder to pinpoint. Was it the looming questions from the procurator fiscal? Or, perhaps, the knowledge that she would soon meet men she had supposedly considered friends?
They followed the butler across the domed entrance hall. Unlike the castle, Kilmeny Hall was airy and modern, with a grand pedimented facade and symmetrically-placed, floor-to-ceiling windows.
Eilidh had never been inside so fine a house.
Master MacTavish walked beside her with what she could only assume was his typical swagger. He wore a great kilt today, a dark tartan slashed with bold stripes of red and white and gold. The hilt of asgian dubhglinted from the top of his gartered stockings.
He looked like a Highland raider intent on pillage and conquest, completely at odds with the refinement of their surroundings.
Eilidh was a rather pocket-sized woman, so she was accustomed to feeling small beside men. But even so, MacTavish exuded strength and masculinity. The top of her head didn’t quite reach his shoulder.
She swallowed.
“Are you going to tell me who I will meet?” she asked.
“The Brotherhood,” he said.
Eilidh nearly rolled her eyes. “I understand that. But who, specifically, belongs to this Brotherhood, aside from Dr. Whitaker? You have told me nothing about them beyond their first names.”
Oddly, her snippy tone brought a smile to his face. “Patience, lass. We all want tae see how much ye remember before we make introductions.”
Ahead of them, the butler pushed open the door, motioning for Eilidh and Master MacTavish to enter the drawing room.
Eilidh walked into the room and paused.
It was full of people, all slowly rising to their feet, every head turned her way.
Some faces seemed familiar.
Others . . . did not.
The fluttery, panicked sensation increased, urging her to race from this place, from these people and the lurking memories they represented.
A hand touched her elbow.
Eilidh flinched away, following the outstretched palm up to Master MacTavish’s pale eyes.
“My apologies,” he said. “As I said, before I make introductions, we would like to see who ye recognize.”
Of course.
