“Such as?” Seth began walking again, though at a much slower pace.
“Well, before your great family came to own this land, it is rumored the Celts held celebrations by River Rune. So, there is magic in the water—magic in the soil—magic in the trees. In everything around us.”
The words were uttered with such reverence, Seth almost believed what the older man said. Though he would not disrespect his beliefs, Seth did chuckle. “I understand Scots are superstitious people.”
“Aye. And you are a Scot.”
Did the man’s accent deepen when he spoke with conviction? “I am what my father was,” Seth said with pride. “As much a Highlander as any man in the hills.”
The barrister grinned ear to ear and surprisingly gripped Seth’s forearm. “Then these good people will welcome you home.”
“Then there is no reason not to choose the manor house as my main residence, is there?”
“Nay,” the barrister said. “Only, I am sure your future wife would like a hand in choosing.”
“Perhaps,” Seth said, but in his heart, he knew his betrothed should be happy to reside wherever he chose, for that is what a husband did, make the best choices for his family. “I would request that you see to all the necessary preparations for the manor house and, as a special favor, have the staff ready for a Summer’s End celebration, too. It is the night I have chosen to speak my vows of marriage before God and the good people of this village.”
The barrister seemed to freeze in place. “Wed on the eve of Summer’s End?”
“Aye.”
“But… it is unheard of.”
“Let us start a new tradition then.”
“Sir, it is unwise to challenge the status quo of this place.”
The wordsuperstitioncrept into Seth’s mind again as he gazed curiously at the trusted barrister. How could a reliable, educated man believe in such nonsense. “What is it you fear, MacLain? Bad luck? Witches? A curse on the next ten generations of your family?” He chuckled and patted the older man’s back. “No more hesitation, for I will make it financially worth the extra effort you put in.”
Chapter Two
Lady Rosalind MacRae,the only child of the late Earl and Countess of Westley, stood before her uncle, the new earl, and awaited his word on what her betrothed had written them. The banns had been read, and now only a wedding day needed to be chosen.
Though she had never met Seth Montgomery in person, they had corresponded with each other for seven years—and she felt with all her heart that he loved her, and she loved him.
“Damnable American!” her uncle slapped the parchment with his hand. “Left here a Scot and came back an arrogant foreigner.”
“What is it, Uncle?”
He gazed up at her, his eyes growing soft. “Ye are a lovely lass, Rosie. The spitting image of yer mama, though ye have the raven hair of a MacRae.”
She approached him and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Has my betrothed done something wrong?” This much adored man had provided her with comfort and love since her parents had died three years ago in a tragic carriage accident in Italy. Even as he searched for his own wife, he had put Rosie’s needs first, dedicated to seeing her wed and settled before he did anything else.
“Montgomery is a dunderhead. Ridiculous. Disrespectful of the traditions we value in Belware!”
“Whatever has he done?” Her heart skipped a beat, fearful their betrothal might be canceled.
Her uncle raised the fist gripping the missive and shook it with anger. “He has chosen the eve of Summer’s End as your wedding night.”
“Oh dear.”
He stared at her, his blue eyes wide as an owl’s, unblinking and speculative. “That is all ye have to say?”
“He is obviously unaware of how seriously we take the eve—”
“You must go to him and explain his grave mistake. Immediately. You are the only one he will listen to.”
“Uncle,” she said. “The baron has made it abundantly clear that he wishes to wait until our wedding day to meet in person.”
