Page 32 of Highlander’s Wrath

Feasting and Family

The snow was falling thick and fast, but it was not enough to stop Laird Barclay from pacing on top of the castle ramparts at every opportunity he had over the next two weeks, restlessly looking south as though he were expecting someone. His long watch was not to go unrewarded; at daybreak on Christmas Eve, a horn blast sounded from the gatehouse, signaling the approach of a horseman. The messenger dismounted hastily the minute he reached the courtyard and ran into the great hall. Inside, the footman showed the man to where his lairdship was seated in the library. Not long after, the messenger left the library clutching yet another letter to his chest, and after running back to his horse, departed for the southern road again.

It was all most mysterious.

The day passed quickly, as midwinter Highland days were apt to do. To Coira, it seemed as though she had eaten dinner only moments before when the bell sounded for supper. She was sitting with Father Abercromby in the withdrawing room, and the two of them watched as Colban lay on the carpet, playing with his toy soldiers.

“Will you stay for some supper, Father?” Coira inquired. “But I must warn you that Cook has been run off her feet for the last few days preparing for the Yuletide feast tomorrow, so it’s not likely to be much more than a bowl of soup.”

Father Abercromby lifted his eyes from watching Colban and smiled. “No, I thank ye, Coira. I have a cook of me own back at the chapel and must be getting back there to prepare me sermon for later on the morrow. ‘Twas very kind of Hamish to invite everyone to have the service here in the great hall. That huge log fire warms the room most excellently.” Father Abercromby looked all around the withdrawing room and remarked, “As a matter of fact, I have been wanting to compliment ye on all the little improvements that ye’ve made to the castle since yer arrival. I hardly recognize it as the same bleak and dreary place it was not so long ago. The castle has not known a woman’s touch since Lady Barclay left.”

Coira demurred, “It is naught but a few velvet drapes and instructing the maids where to polish. Oh, and the carpets also make things much cozier. Hamish—I mean, his lairdship—had them brought up from Inverness. It’s so that Colban can play on the floor without freezing to death. Those flagstones might be lovely and cool in summer, but there’s nothing to beat a nice, thick carpet at the end of the day.”

Father Abercromby gave a small smile but did not say anything back. He let the words hang in the air in between them for a few moments.

“Is Hamish good to ye, Coira?” he asked after a pause. “Do ye find him a changed man?”

Coira nodded her head vigorously. “I hardly recognize him as the same man, sir, and yes, he is everything that is good and kind.”

But this no longer satisfied Coira. As wonderful as she found his lairdship’s newfound goodness and kindness, neither of these virtues had led him to take her in his arms and tell her the one thing she most wanted to hear.

She decided to amend her statement.

“That is to say, Laird Barclay has always been good and kind to me, barring a few unfortunate incidents here and there. And now that his temper has been tamed, I would have no hesitation in calling him the finest man in all of Scotland!”

Father Abercromby stood up from the armchair, saying, “Aye, the wild beast that once raged inside his chest has been tamed.”

And on those words, he bid Coira a very good evening, saying he would see her at the feast on the morrow.

After waiting for his lairdship to make an appearance at the super table, Coira gave up hope of seeing her master at all that day and, taking her bowl in her hand, went up to drink her soup with Colban.

Agnes must have come into her bedchamber earlier in the morning because when Coira awoke the next day, the fire had been lit and was burning with a fierce glow, producing enough light for her not to have to light the lantern or the candlestick beside her bed.

Hearing her stirring awake, Agnes came into the room.

“The castle tradition, madam, is for the household to forego eating until the feast begins at three bells past sunrise. But I can fetch some hot milk up to ye if that is what ye like.”

Coira told the girl to lay out some clothes for her before heading down to the kitchens, but Agnes shook her head. “Nay, madam, no’ today. I will help ye dress in all yer finery. ‘Tis Christmas Day, after all.”

Coira shrugged her shoulders. “Very well, Agnes. But first, bring up that hot milk and stir some honey through it if that is all I am to eat ‘til dinner.”

If she was to be honest with herself, Coira felt listless and fretful, a very strange combination of emotions. In less than seven days, it would be the new year; when the snow melted enough for the roads to become passable, it would see her traveling back to London. But she was in no mood to examine her heart. Coira knew enough about the mechanisms of courtship to understand she had done everything in her power to encourage Hamish back into their previously good understanding. But he had remained enticingly aloof to her overtures, spending most of the day outdoors, visiting with the Farquharson clan, or inside the castle behind his library doors.

I brought this on myself, I suppose. This being new to me, I did not understand the fine line between showing him how much I love him but not enough for me to compromise my virtue. ‘Tis most perplexing and frustrating.

Agnes interrupted these gloomy thoughts by breezing back into the bedchamber, holding a lantern in one hand and a mug of milk in the other.

“I have ordered the kitchens to send up some hot water for yer ablutions anon, madam,” she told Coira. “Now, let’s go take a keek at yer dresses.”

The morning flew by as Coira dressed. She insisted on wearing a plaid kirtle and short coat but was firmly overruled by her maid.

“The blue velvet, madam, the one that is the same color as yer eyes. And we’ll fix some blue satin ribbons in yer hair to match.”

When Coira objected to the low-cut neckline and tight stays, Agnes tutted and said, “We’ll cover yer shoulders with a light lace scarf. Ye dinnae ken this, but the master gave orders for every fireplace downstairs to be kindled this morning, so it will be as hot as Hades in there. Believe me, madam, the scarf will be more than enough to keep ye warm.”

Coira looked like a vision in blue and white lace when she descended into the great hall for the feast. Her stays had been cinched so tightly, it might have been possible for a man to wrap both his hands around her waist. Her pale shoulders sloped above the plunging neckline, and her slender collarbone contrasted delightfully with the soft curves of her breasts and plunging cleavage.

All the servants had been assembled in the great hall. Every groom, soldier, sentry, maid, and footman were there. All the senior staff members too. They all turned to look at Coira as she came down the stairs. Father Abercromby walked toward her as she reached the bottom step; he held out his hand to her.