Then the mood was shattered as Father Gordon spoke. “Adam, can you come and see me tomorrow morning at the church?” His voice had a note of desperation in it. “I have something of vital importance to discuss with you.”
Adam frowned, then shrugged. “Discuss it here, Father,” he said reasonably. “After all, we are with my beloved and her mother. We have nothing to fear from them.”
“Nevertheless, I would prefer to discuss it at the church.” Father Gordon was adamant, and his voice hardened.
“Is it about Laird McElwee?” Emilia asked fearfully. She felt Adam’s lips on her forehead and his arms tighten around her.
“I will only speak to Adam,” Father Gordon replied, his tone becoming grim.
“Very well,” Adam replied, mystified. “I will be there if you insist.”
Just then Maisie, a maid, appeared at the door. She could not have been more than twelve years old, and Agnes had fostered her when her entire family had died of smallpox. She was training Maisie to be a housemaid and a cook, and also how to read. Emilia was proud of both of them.
“Maisie!” Agnes smiled at the little dark-haired girl. “What can we do for you?”
Maisie curtsied. “Mistress,” she said in Gaelic, holding out a letter. “A man is waiting for Mister Cameron outside. I think he might be English.”
13
“It must be my cousin’s messenger!” Adam cried, and leapt up from his chair, then rushed outside to where the man was standing gazing down at the valley below. Adam heard him say something to himself, and when he turned around he was smiling.
The messenger proved to be a tall, broad man, almost the same size as Adam himself, which was very unusual, but he looked as though he was descended from Viking stock, since he had fair hair and startling blue eyes. He bowed to Adam, then addressed him in a surprisingly soft voice. “I am Nicholas Rolfe,” he said, smiling. “May I say what a beautiful view this is?”
“This is not my home,” Adam corrected him. He was puzzled. “But you are right. How did you find your way here?”
“I went to the castle and they told me where you might be,” Nicholas answered. “Although it took me a while to find anyone who spoke English!” He looked outraged. “And I must say, they are not very friendly!”
Adam was not the only one who noticed the man’s supercilious manner and his sneering tone as he spoke of the villagers. He led Nicholas Rolfe into the parlor, shuddering to think that he had been like this man at first.
“You are speaking a foreign tongue,” said Emilia, her voice as hard as flint as she came out of the pantry, wiping her hands on a cloth. “And it is the language of the enemy.”
Nicholas’s eyes had widened at the sight of the beautiful woman before him. “We are your enemy no more,” he pointed out. “Mistress, I am Nicholas Rolfe. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He reached for Emilia’s hand to kiss it but she withdrew it sharply and tucked it behind her back. Nicholas’s smile faded.
“The pleasure is all yours, I assure you,” she said coldly, then turned away and went outside.
“Not friendly at all,” the messenger said, frowning. “Are they all like this?”
Adam shook his head. “Not at all,” he replied. “They take a while to get used to you is all. They were the same with me when I arrived but I am learning their language and it helps a great deal. Also, a little humility goes a long way.” He stopped for a moment and looked at the man to see if the point had hit home, but his bland expression did not flicker. He carried on. “In fact, they are wonderful, solid people, not afraid of hard work and proud of themselves and their culture, as well they should be.” He gave the messenger a defiant look and the man appeared to make an effort to soften his tone.
“Perhaps I have been too hasty,” he said, sliding his gaze away from Adam’s.
Father Gordon stepped up at that moment and introduced himself, his eyes scanning the man from head to foot. “Father Emmanuel Gordon,” he said, heavily. Then he blessed the messenger and made a sign of the cross over him, and Nicholas crossed himself too, then Agnes came up to curtsey and he kissed her hand.
Everyone was behaving with studied, self-conscious propriety, and Adam felt extremely awkward. “Let us go to the castle,” he said, smiling. “I saw you admiring the view. It is all like this.”
He swept his arm in a wide arc to indicate the black loch in the foreground, blue-gray mountains in the distance with their peaks shrouded in mist, and the boulder-strewn emerald grass. The heather was beginning to fade, although there were still many meads of gorse. Adam felt as proud of the little Kingdom of Scotland as he did of his own country, and he was delighted to show it off to his scornful compatriot.
They said goodbye to Agnes, but Emilia grabbed Adam by the arm and pulled his head down for a firm kiss. “Do your best for us,” she whispered. “I will pray for you.”
Adam wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. “I would do anything for you,” he murmured. He let her go very reluctantly and joined Nicholas Rolfe and Father Gordon.
As they left, the messenger looked over his shoulder at Emilia, and to her surprise his look was one of admiration.
“Your betrothed?” Nicholas asked Adam.
“My beloved,” Adam said proudly. “And the most beautiful woman God ever made.”
“Indeed,” the messenger agreed. He was quiet for a while, but his look was one of wide-eyed admiration at the beauty of the Highlands. When they got to the place where Adam had helped Dinny with the sheep, Father Gordon told Nicholas the whole story, and Nicholas laughed in a puzzled fashion.
