Winnifred drew a square in the dirt with the toe of her slipper. “My father did something similar once. The idea is not mine.”
Sin harrumphed. He greatly doubted that. His wife was ever so eager to hide her intelligence. Did she think he was some milksop Sassenach, wanting a dull wife who did nothing more than smile and nod? That he wouldn’t appreciate any advice to get them on their bloody way as soon as possible?
No matter. She’d learn. And he’d learn why she felt the need to hide. How she’d come to be so self-effacing. Last night he had felt defeated by her cool responses. Thought perhaps their temperaments were too different to form a happy union. But she was a challenge, and one he was determined to meet. He would strip her of her disguises and enjoy every moment of it.
“You heard the woman.” He skimmed his palm down her arm, wanting the contact. “Let’s collect every bit of rope we have. Gregor, help me unstrap the luggage. And if it isn’t enough, we’ll throw in the reins.”
Chapter Six
Winnifred peered out the carriage window when they turned from the rutted road onto a smoothly-groomed lane. A large lake lay to her left, its surface dark and impenetrable under the overcast skies. Across the water, a forest of Caledonian pine grew thick and untamed. A valley thick with heather and thistle led to its near shore. This time of year, the purple of the heather should have been bright and vibrant, but the entire scene looked as faded as an old memory.
Perhaps that was only her mood.
The carriage rounded a curve, and Winnifred’s jaw dropped. Kenmore Castle was like nothing she’d ever seen. It didn’t have the grace of a Windsor Castle, but it was impressive just the same. Built of a reddish-brown brick, the castle consisted of a core structure which towered into the sky, surrounded by three-story wings. The tops of the walls were crenelated, and she wondered if the battlements had ever been used by Dunkeld archers. Every corner of the castle was rounded into a bastion, and there were many corners. Whoever had designed the castle must have had an aversion to clean lines. The wings shot in every different direction from the central keep. The bastions were of unequal size, sometimes a sturdy explosion large enough to hold rooms and staircases, sometimes a dainty half-circle of brick only large enough for one window. Winnifred counted eleven turrets before the carriage came to a stop.
She pulled her head back in and clutched the edge of her seat. The difference between her new home and the apartments she and her father had in London were as different as a thistle to the pines across the lake. Both in the plant family, but that was where any similarity ended. The difference in the sizes of the homes was, of course, most noticeable. But more than that, Winnifred already missed the orderly rectangle that was her old room. The sensible organization of London’s architecture. Would the management of Kenmore be as chaotic as its outward appearance? Winnifred hated when her father moved her microscope just inches out of its proper place.
A worry which no longer mattered. The back of her throat burned. She’d left her microscope with her father. Her microscope, the books on soil erosion and scientific processes that would be too shocking for a woman to own, her protective leather apron and gloves. Everything that made her happy but proved a danger. Normal women didn’t share her interests, and her new family must never suspect.
The door swung open. Sinclair stood before her, stretching his hand out.
Winnifred took a deep breath and cleared her expression of any nerves. She slipped her palm against Sin’s and climbed from the carriage. Her smile froze on her face. Every servant in a fifty-mile radius must have been arranged in a semi-circle on the gravel drive in front of the castle’s front door. Surely, they couldn’t all belong to Kenmore.
“Welcome home,” Sin said. He led her to an elderly man and woman at the head of the line. “This is my steward, Tavish McKinley, and his wife and our housekeeper, Sheona.”
Tavish bowed and Sheona dropped a curtsy, both lowering their heads and showing similar white-grey hair.
“Welcome back, milord,” Tavish said. “It will be nice to have you aboot again.”
Sin shook the man’s hand. “Thank you. May I present your marchioness, Lady Winnifred Archer, Marchioness of Dunkeld.”
Winnifred shook each of their hands in turn, careful of the paper-thin skin. “Good to meet you.”
“And this is our butler, Niall Greer, and our head maid …” The introductions began to blur. Was Winnifred expected to remember all the names? Their positions? She could remember Ingenhousz’ publication,Experiments upon vegetables, nearly word for word, but a houseful of forty-three, no forty-four servants was going to undo her.
“I’ll introduce you to the grounds- and stablemen later.” Sin patted her hand. He clapped a young boy on the back as they strolled toward the open door of the castle. “For now, I’d like to wash the dust of the road off of me.”
“There’s more?” she asked weakly. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim entry. A figure to her right made her jump.
Sin chuckled, striding around her to rap his fist on the face plate of the standing suit of armor that had startled her. “All of these are empty. Souvenirs of our victory over the English at the Battle of Ancrum Moor. There are sixty-one more of these downstairs.”
She ran her finger over the smooth metal chest plate. “You’re well-prepared for battle, I see?” Her words were only partially a jest.
“These are antiques.” Sin planted his fists on his hips and arched his back in a stretch. “No, if trouble comes, our real defenses are downstairs, in the armory.”
She cut him a sharp glance. “You’re a member of the House of Lords. I thought you believed in the union. You do not truly believe you will need to defend yourself from England, do you?”
He crossed his arms. “I do believe in the union. We have had one of the longest periods of peace here in Scotland because of it. But I’m a member of the House to promote Scottish interests. Our two nations may have joined, but the partnership is not equal. Only sixteen of my fellow peers are allowed in the House. Our political power is limited. And peace is a fragile thing.”
“Aye, and a costly one, too.” A woman with Sinclair’s auburn hair, only threaded through with silver, bustled across the tiled floor. She wore a green plaid dress in a finely-spun wool and a large sapphire pendant nestled above her bosom. “And it seems to be an account Scotland willnae ever finish paying.” She planted herself in front of her son and crooked her finger.
Sinclair sighed, but bent and offered his cheek for his mother’s kiss. He herded them out of the way as a line of footman bearing their trunks streamed past them and up the staircase. “Mother, let’s not rehash old arguments. Now, greet your new daughter-in-law properly.” He turned to Winnifred. “This is my mother, Deirdre, Dowager Marchioness of Dunkeld.”
The woman clapped her hands together. “Well, let’s have a good look at you.” She examined Winnifred from head to toe. “At least ye didn’t bring home one of those sallow English lasses. She looks sturdy enough, and has ample hips for birthing Dunkeld young.”
Winnifred sucked in a breath, swallowed her saliva down the wrong pipe, and started coughing.
“Mother!” Sinclair’s cheeks went as red as his hair. The shock Winnifred felt at being discussed so faded away as amusement at her husband’s discomfort took hold. It seemed hardly sensible that a man as hard and fierce as he’d shown himself to be should be embarrassed by mere words, but there it was.
