“Well met, Emer,” one of them said with a smile, “the cock has hardly begun to crow, and ye’re here to clean the room already. Why are ye going about yer chores so early or so late at night these days? We heard the Laird saying to Gilby only t’other day that he misses yer willingness to read through all his letters for mistakes.”
Emer indicated she was not there to enter.
“Thank ye, MacGill, but I dinnae have to clean the library this day. Please will ye give this note to his Lairdship?” she handed the guard the twisted parchment, “and tell him I have to return home to Nethy for a spell.”
The guard kept his musket upright, saying, “Nay, Emer, ‘tis nae problem if ye go in and lay in down on the Laird’s desk yerself. If he does nae see it or come by the library today, I will remind him of it – ‘tis all.”
Emer nodded, opened the door, and went inside. The library smelled of old books, ink, oiled wood, fire ash, and whisky. This is where Caillen met with castle visitors to discuss business. The atmosphere, once reminiscent of the old Laird’s deteriorating health, was now evocative of Caillen’s industrious presence.
She went to the desk and ran her hand over the leather armchair where he would sit and write. The memory of him breaking off writing across the parchment, carefully placing the quill back into the inkpot, stretching his weary back, and flexing his cramped fingers brought a soft smile to her lips.
Giving herself a shake to reaffirm her resolve, Emer put the twisted letter on the desk, gave one last look around, and left for the stables. Bessie had been brought back from the croft on the road to Lachlainn, well-groomed and stuffed full of oats. The palfrey gave a whicker when it saw Emer and bounced its head up and down.
“Sssh,” Emer patted the pony’s nose and gave it a small piece of the bannock she was nibbling on, “Save all this excitement for the road.”
Not half an hour later, mistress and pony were out the keep gateway and on the road leading to Nethy. Emer only looked back once and then kept her concentration on the road stretching in front of her, a determined expression on her face.
It took two days to ride back to Nethy. Emer realized, as Bessie carried her back towards the Cairngorm mountains, the route appeared to her as though it were the first time she saw it. Only then did it occur to Emer that the shock and tragedy of her parents’ death must have placed her into some kind of stupefied trance. It was a miracle she had found her way to Maclachlan keep at all.
Riding Bessie necessitated a slower pace, but Emer was happy to keep her eyes on the lookout for recognizable landmarks once she had left the castle far behind her. Even after sharing half the gold with Davinia, she still had quite a little nest egg left for herself. She had heard Caillen mention that gold could earn interest at a very agreeable rate when it was invested in merchant ship cargoes, but that sounded far-fetched to a girl who had been brought up in a village, where any spare gold was kept buried at the bottom of the garden.
And even with the gold their parents’ legacy had left them, their annual salaries at the castle, and the vails guests gave them as gratuities, Davinia still would not have a substantial amount for her dowry – not if she wanted to find herself a handsome farmer or local tradesman as a husband.
But what about me? Why am I only concerned about Davinia? Is it because I dinnae want her to wear the willow for that awful Gawain? Or is it because I’m unwilling to contemplate being with anyone else?
Anyone else but whom?
Emer, alone with her chaotic thoughts on the ride back to Nethy, had plenty of time to think about why she found the idea of obtaining a dowry for her own marriage repugnant.
If I were to find a man who wanted to marry me, he would have to fit into my image of what a man should look like and behave.
Emer began to count off the characteristics she wanted in the husband of her dreams.
He must be tall and strong. That goes without saying.
I dinnae think I could bear the thought of being with any man unless he were dark with thoughtful dark brown eyes that can twinkle with laughter when they want to.
He should have sun-bronzed skin and muscles made prominent from activity too.
Now that I have given it a bit more thought, I like the idea of me husband having hair of goodly length, but nae hanging down his back all the time. Tying it into a knot at the nape of his neck seems like a very practical thing to do.
Leather trews or kilt? I care nae – both are attractive garments if the legs wearing them are muscular and long.
Good rider? – aye. Intelligent and educated enough to hold a decent conversation? – Most certainly, however, nae so learned as to have nae sense of humor. Me perfect man must be able to crack a joke. Imagine living with a surly man who cannae make ye laugh? How dreadful!
I want him to have a beard, cut close enough so that his mouth and jawline can be seen, but still thick enough it scratches most delightfully when he kisses me.
And so the road to Nethy was made very pleasurable as Emer considered the man of her dreams.
She was positive the image of her perfect mate had appeared in her dreams consistently for the past three months, at least. It was just a matter of finding such a person.
By the time Emer reached the newly constructed Nethy village, her mood had been lightened considerably by her happy thoughts along the road. She tethered Bessie to the rails outside the new inn - its stone walls were the same, but it had a new slate roof over it – and went inside to ask directions to where Ernest the sexton now resided.
After organizing hay and water for Bessie with the inn’s groom, she walked to where Ernest was overseeing the construction of a new kirk.
“Emer!” the young man said with surprise, “What brings ye back here? Is Davinia well down at the castle keep? We hear rumors of another war brewing between the Sutherlands and the Maclachlan's. Is it true?”
Emer, always amused at how scandals and sensational stories somehow seemed to make their way to the Cairngorms in greatly exaggerated form, smiled at Ernest.
