We were ushered into the grand hall by a tall handsome man who directed us to our table setting. I picked nervously at a small thread that had come loose from my dress, making it all the more evident that I was out of place. Social gatherings, especially those of such grandeur, were not my forte. I loathed the forced conversations and the way men eyed me as though I were some prize to be won. I would have much rather been sitting by the fire reading or writing a book of my own.
My mother often remarked that my pretty looks and fine figure granted me the choice of any man within my social standing. Yet here within the walls of the castle, these men were well above those standings, and I questioned whether this held true. Perhaps, in this setting, I would seem an easy target—a woman of lower class, eager for the attention of a man from a higher rank.
Despite these thoughts, I had no aspirations to be anyone’s wife. Nevertheless, the responsibility to marry well had fallen upon me after my father’s passing, to help sustain the family, and thus, I found myself in the duke’s home.
“Where is the duchess and her son?”I whispered to Gran, curious to lay eyes upon the boy she had saved. There were whispers he was obstinate yet known for his kindness.
“I do not see them,”Gran said as she scanned the room, her eyes searching from one person to the next.
We were seated toward the end of the grand table and presented with mugs of mead as servants brought out trays laden with roasted meats and fowl adorned by colorful root vegetables. White bread was served, its delicate richness contrasting with the coarse brown bread I was accustomed to. A sizable meat pie was placed before me, and a slice was served onto my plate. The tender venison, potatoes, and carrots infused with a medley of spices were quite a treat, and I quietly savored each bite as I listened to the men’s lively conversations.
My ears caught fragments of conversations drifting from one end of the table to the other. They spoke of a hunt to be hosted by the duke within the coming days. Soon the discussions shifted to politics and the delicate dance of power between our beloved Scotland and the ever-watchful eye of England. While the men continued their talks, my thoughts meandered, weaving through the fabric of their words like threads in a tapestry. I wondered what it would be like to be a wife who must endure talks of these matters regularly.
Thedreadful thought made me yearn to leave, to escape. The tightness of my corset, combined with a full belly and the shallow breaths I had been taking all night, left me faint. Unable to endure the constriction any longer, I excused myself, feeling that I might be ill, much to my grandmother’s disappointment.
As I walked toward the door that would free me from the grand hall and the uneasy evening, a large set of brass bells, accompanied by a giant string of garland, suddenly came crashing down, landing at my feet.
Nora stopped reading, her blood running cold as she read the last sentence over again. Hadn’t that been nearly the same thing that had happened to her at the bakery this afternoon?What are the chances?she thought as she turned the page and began to read again.
Gasps of surprise filled the room as men rushed to my aid. I reassured the men I was fine when the duke stepped up and looked me over. I tried to reassure him, but he was visibly upset and demanded to know who had hung the decorations as he scanned the edges of the room where his servants stood. No one stepped forward except my grandmother, who quickly escorted me out of the hall, thanking the duke on our way out before returning to the cottage.
“That was surely a sign,”she remarked when we entered the cottage, her superstitious tendencies coming to the forefront.
“Yes, a sign they need better help. Now, if you would please help me out of this so that I can properly breathe again,”I quipped, prompting her to scoff as she untied my corset. Exhausted from the long day, I changed out of my formal attire and dressed for bed, but Gran remained awake. Even in my deep slumber, she woke me several times as she moved about the cottage’s kitchen late into the night.
The next morning greeted me with soft golden rays of light filteringthrough the window, accompanied by the inviting aroma of freshly baked bread drifting from the tiny kitchen of the cottage. I followed my nose to discover a beautiful loaf of bread that my grandmother had baked, alongside a steaming pot of tea. It must have been what she was doing in the kitchen so late last night, I thought.
“Good morning,”she greeted me, seated in a rocking chair near the crackling fireplace, embroidering as she rocked. She looked spry for someone who had gotten very little sleep the night before.
“The sun has finally made an appearance, I see,”I remarked, glancing out the window toward the castle. The world outside had been blanketed with a fresh layer of white snow overnight, sparkling under the morning sun.
“I think I might go explore the grounds,”I told her as I poured myself a cup of tea.
“I think that is a wonderful idea. Just make sure you’re dressed for the weather. It’s quite cold despite the sun,”she advised as she set her embroidery aside and walked over to refill her own teacup.
After eating my fill of bread with butter, I bundled up to combat the cold and fetched my overcoat. As I put it on, I accidentally popped one of the top buttons. Unwilling to stay indoors while my grandmother mended it, I tucked the button into my pocket and ventured into the wintry wonderland with only half of my coat properly secured.
It turned out to be a regrettable decision, as misfortune struck as soon as I stepped outside. A large clump of snow tumbled from the roof, landing squarely down the back of my neck. At that very moment, I should have known it was destined to be an unpleasant day.
Nora’s eyes were growing weary as she neared the end of the page, and she set the book down. Almost nodding off, she decided it was time for bed. She needed a decent night’s sleep. Rising from the chair, she stretched and glanced back at the book, its crimsoncover standing out in stark contrast against the dimly lit room. There was something peculiar about the book beyond its lack of title or author—it felt strangely familiar, as if it echoed a story she remembered from her childhood.
Walking down the narrow hallway, Nora opened the door to the bedroom. An unexpected gust of cold air greeted her, sending a shiver down her spine. Puzzled, she scanned the room for the source, checking each of the large windows to ensure they were firmly shut. Looking down at the street below, she saw it was quiet, the snow still falling softly. The buildings appeared sleepy under the blanket of night, their façades illuminated by the gentle glow of the old ornate metal lamp posts lining the street. It reminded her of a scene from Dickens’sA Christmas Carol.
Turning back around, Nora felt another shiver chase through her as the chill began to work its way into her clothes. Maybe there was no heat in the room, and with the door left closed all day, it grew cold. This seemed like the most likely case as she couldn’t find a radiator or any heat vents. Grabbing her bag, she stripped off her clothes, quickly replacing them with a cozy pair of red flannel pajamas before diving under the covers.
Despite the warmth and comfort of the inviting bed, sleep would not come. Wide awake and staring into the darkness, she lay there for what felt like an eternity. Her mind wandered to the little red book. She couldn’t help but think about how odd it was that she had narrowly avoided being struck by a set of Christmas bells, much like the character in the book. It wasn’t just the strange coincidence that unsettled her; the story within the book felt oddly familiar, as if she had heard the tale before, even though she knew she hadn’t. Her grandmother had mentioned that her grandfather’s ancestors were from Oban; maybe that connection was thesource of this weird feeling. Whatever it was, the story tugged at something deep within her, filling her with a mix of unease and eagerness to continue reading. However, that would have to wait; she needed to sleep.
Just as she was on the verge of surrendering to restlessness, sleep’s gentle embrace finally claimed her, and she drifted off into the realm of dreams.
Chapter Twelve
The Christmas Market
Nora stirred, awakened by the morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting its warm glow over the bed where she lay cocooned in blankets. At first, she was hesitant to expose herself to the chill in the room, but she eventually mustered the courage to emerge from beneath the covers. To her surprise, the cold had dissipated entirely. Instead, the room felt almost too warm with the sun’s rays beating through the curtains with some intensity. Blinking against the brightness, Nora stole a glance out the window, noticing the sun’s high position in the sky. Alarmed, she looked at her watch: 11:05 a.m.—the day had slipped away unnoticed as she slept.
“Damn it. I missed the cutlery and spirits tour,” she announced to the empty room as she got out of bed. This had been the onlyother tour she had booked for the trip—a walking tour exploring the best bars and restaurants in the city. Her stomach turned, fueled by the awareness that she was now off schedule, with no clear idea of how to salvage the day.
Chiding herself for not setting an alarm, Nora sighed and made her way into the kitchen. The idea of not having a set plan for the day made her a little anxious. It was her last full day in the city before she ventured out into the Highlands to the village of Letterfearn tomorrow, and now her plans were completely up in smoke.
