She experienced a sudden lightening of her heart. She knew it was her husband’s dearest wish to one day retire close to his birthplace, though he would never abandon the Duke while he believed Nicholas had need of him. But perhaps one day, they would come here and live openly as man and wife.
The carriages turned onto the road bordering Loch Lomond, and Jennifer gazed in wonderment at the majestic scenery surrounding it. Truly, she could never have imagined anywhere quite so beautiful. It was late afternoon, but this far north the sun was still high in the sky casting moving cloud shaped shadows on the purple covered hills rising steeply on the other side of the loch. In awe, her eyes rested on the huge mountain, dark and mysterious towering above the water in the distance.
‘Ben Lomond,’ Felicity clarified, pointing at the moody peak. ‘The wordBenis from the Gaelicbheinn. It means mountain or hill.’
Jennifer threw Felicity an arch look. ‘You sound like Malcolm,’ she grinned before turning back to the window and watching avidly as they approached the peninsula on which Caerlaverock was situated. Finally, the carriages turned off the road and a few minutes later approached a set of large wrought iron gates.
After a couple of minutes waiting, a large, gruff man came out of a tiny cottage situated to one side of the entrance. Without speaking, he quickly doffed his cap, then set to, unlocking, then dragging the gates open. The narrow drive beyond was a gentle climb towards the top of the bluff, taxing the skills of their coach drivers as they made sure to keep the horses moving at a pace that would keep their hooves from slipping on the cobbles but wouldn’t tax them too much at the end of such a long journey.
Finally, the road levelled out and bent to the right to follow a high wall - clearly, the boundary of the formal gardens though the house wasn’t yet visible. Eventually the road curved back tothe left, and the loch suddenly appeared through a copse of trees in the distance. Still following the line of the wall, the carriages slowed as they came upon a large gate. Seconds later, they clattered through a high archway and out into a large courtyard.
As the carriages finally drew up outside the wooden doors, Jennifer suppressed a gasp. She’d had no idea that Caerlaverock was so considerable. Before leaving Blackmore, her father had given her an impromptu history lesson, so she was already aware that the house was Jacobean. Climbing thankfully down from the carriage, Flossy in her arms, she spied an older man with a shock of white hair bowing to her brother.
‘Welcome tae Caerlaverock, ma lord,’ he beamed, clearly delighted to have visitors. ‘May ah be so bold as tae say you’re a wee taller since last ah saw ye.’
Peter laughed and shook the elderly steward’s hand. Clearly, this was Gifford. Smiling, Jennifer stepped forward.
‘Ma lady, tis a pleasure tae welcome ye. For a wee minute there, ah thought ah was lookin’ at her grace.’
‘It’s very good to see you too, Gifford,’ she responded with a small curtsy before putting Flossy on the ground. The little dog promptly stood on her hind legs and wagged her tail.
‘She loves an audience,’ Jennifer laughed. ‘Her name’s Flossy.’
‘It’s guid tae meet yer, Flossy,’ the steward smiled, bending down to give her a quick fuss. ‘Ah dinnae ken what auld Fergus’ll make o’ ye.’
Straightening up again, his smile broadened. ‘Malcolm Mackenzie, as I live and breathe, yer nae lookin’ a day older than the last time ye were here.’
‘Clearly my wife is taking good care of me,’ Malcolm beamed, stepping forward and holding out his hand. Both Jennifer and Felicity looked at him in surprise.
‘Ah didnae ken you’d wed, ma auld friend, that be guid news indeed.’ The old steward took Malcolm’s proffered hand in a firm grip, and the two men shook hands, clearly well acquainted.
Then, taking hold of his wife’s hand, Malcolm pulled her towards him and made the introductions. ‘This is Felicity Mackenzie. My wife. She’s made me the happiest man alive.’
‘It’s an honour tae meet ye, Mrs. Mackenzie. A braw woman was well o’er due to keep this auld ne'er-dae-weel in line.’
This was the first time Felicity had ever been introduced as Malcolm’s wife, and the matron found herself fighting back tears, but before she could respond, a loud snore erupted from behind them. ‘Grandfather!’ Jennifer gasped, turning and hurrying back towards the carriage, Flossy in tow.
Gifford blinked and looked towards Peter who offered a rueful grin. ‘Another unexpected addition to our party, I’m afraid.’
‘LET US PRAY,’ a voice bellowed abruptly from inside the carriage. There was a pause, then, seconds later, ‘Thunder an’ turf, Jennifer, you nearly gave me a deuced apoplexy. Are we nearly there yet?’
∞∞∞
The inside of Caerlaverock was a testament to the Scotland of a bygone age. Wood panelling, high, intricately decorated ceiling and colourful tapestries decorated the entrance hall, though the large square room was dominated by a huge ornate staircase that put Blackmore’s to shame. Jennifer gazed around her in wonder as they were shown into a cosy sitting room where a cheerful fire burned to ward off the late afternoon chill.
‘Ah ken ye must be nigh on exhausted, and yer bedchambers’ll be aired and ready within the hour. Until then, can ah offer ye a weedram tae gae along wi’ yer tea?’
Naturally Peter, Malcolm and the Reverend acquiesced eagerly. Jennifer and Felicity however, decided on a large slab of the delicious homemade shortbread ready and waiting on the sideboard.
‘So who is the fellow you’d like to put forward as the new steward?’ Peter asked, taking a cautious sip of his whisky. From the first eye watering swallow, he sensed the fiery liquid would put him on his back if he was foolish enough to overindulge – especially on an empty stomach.
‘His name be Brendon Galbraith. His clan were the original landowners hereabouts.’
‘Dougal’s son?’ Malcolm queried with a frown.
‘Aye. Tae be fair, old Dougal might hae been a tad fiery when he was a lad, but he’s nae likely tae be causing trouble fer his son.’
‘The Dougal I remember would cause trouble just fer the hell of it,’ Malcolm retorted. ‘What makes you think he’ll bide his tongue this time?’
