Page 16 of Falling for His Cousin’s Betrothed

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“Haven’t seen such a storm brew in ages,” said Alastair as the three rode swiftly through the marshy bog that led to the Highlands. “In fact, I’d be pressed to tell you when I’ve last seen such ominous-looking clouds.” He looked to the sky and gave Dulcimer a hard squeeze on his barrel. “Time to make haste.” With that, a loud crack of lightning zipped through the alcove of Sitka spruce on their right. “I can smell the rain,” he added.

“I think if we can get to the first stream by Gulley Bend, we should have covered about a third of the most arduous section.” Robert coaxed his mare along the path, looking straight ahead. “I agree it is quite the concoction of cloud and rain we have coming our way. I’m no soothsayer, but I’d say this feels like a good smur coming along.”

Laila looked at Robert, her mind filled with questions. Did he even have a remote inkling that Alastair was going to be on this exact path back to the Highlands? Had it truly been just a strange, unspoken coincidence? Before she could wonder any further, another crack erupted from the sky.

“Look out!” Robert ducked instinctively as a large oak tree’s limb was severed. “Mighty storm!” His mare neighed and bucked, uneasy with the noise.

“I think it’s only another three miles to the gates of the moat,” said Alastair as rain droplets the size of marbles fell upon the valley.

The three pressed on in the lightning and precipitation until they reached the stream encircling the Highlands Moat. The water gurgled along, rushing in sections because of the storm, and three large, pointed spires stood in different sections of the blue loch. Laila felt at once a surge of nostalgia for her home, yet it was coupled with a pang of regret. How had she been so naïve as to let Alastair into the lodge? She hadn’t really put up much of a fight. In fact, it had been quite the contrary, and she felt a bit of remorse for not standing her ground with more conviction.

“We’ve made it.” Alastair directed Dulcimer to the left of the loch, and they rode with determination into the courtyard, where Laila thought she could vaguely make out Lyall’s silhouette. The rain, still coming down in heavy sheets, had left a chill down Laila’s back, and she shuddered with hopes they would soon be warm inside. At the same time, she had no desire to see Lyall or to be anywhere near her inherited castle of the Nelson Clan.

“I’ve not imagined this sort of reunion,” Laila murmured under her breath, not in the least bit pleased. She sighed, fumbled with her patchwork cap, then straightened up in the saddle. Might as well make the best of it, though, she mused as they entered through the wrought iron gates and wound toward the back of the stable yard. “I was thinking,” she whispered in Alastair’s ear, “why don’t we head to your grounds instead? Lyall can see I’m safe and sound, and she won’t mind that you take the time to show me your land.”

“Well…” Alastair steered Dulcimer to the left of the stalls. “I suppose it would be acceptable, especially since Castle Balmoral is only a mere five miles east.”

Laila hoped the three could gallop off and away from Nelson Castle as quickly as they’d arrived. She imagined a warm fire, hot biscuits, and perhaps a mug of port, anything that would warm her chilled body.

“I like the thought of that, Cousin.” Robert shielded his face from the rain with the tip of his hat. “Let us proceed.” With that, they turned away from the castle and headed east, above one riverbank, through three forested alcoves, and around two tiny outcroppings of boulders until, at last, the steel gates of Castle Balmoral beckoned. Laila was impressed with the entrance, even obscured as it was from the sideways falling rain.

“We’ve made it,” said Alastair, dismounting from Dulcimer. He flung the reins over Dulcimer’s sloping neck and led him toward the red, wooden barn that flanked the northern side of the property. The rain had calmed slightly, and Laila rubbed her cheeks with relief. She dismounted next then walked alongside Alastair until they reached the end of the stable yard.

“Beautiful grounds,” said Laila. She glanced over at Robert, who had dismounted as well, and stopped at a wooden bucket so his mare could sip water.

“Agreed.” Robert nodded and watched as Alastair took out a large, steel key shaped like a sword and used it to unlock the paddock gates.

“We’ve been blessed with a lull in the weather. Post up your horse and let’s enter from the west wing,” he added, gesturing them forward.

Robert walked his mare to the nearest post, looped her reins through the copper ring, then followed Alastair and Laila through a section of manicured shrubbery. They walked together, huddled from the rain until they reached the brick courtyard that led to the castle doors. Once there, Laila and Robert watched as Alastair unlocked the front door. It was flanked in golden trim and accentuated with a fine silver engraving.

“Come, come.” Alastair ushered his guests inside. “Let us warm ourselves first, and I’ll request my Shelley prepare us food second.” Alastair clapped his hands and threw off his sopping wet coat. He handed Laila a wool blanket from the chaise and offered Robert a wool shirt. “The third floor is prepared for guests, so please make yourself at home. Shelley!” he called.

A short, portly woman with a long, blond braid appeared in the foyer.

“Good evening. I see the cold rain has brought you forward this evening. What can I prepare for your guests, Sir Alastair?” she asked.

“Bring us the finest port from the cellar, a loaf of the artisan sourdough from Becky’s Bake Shoppe, and perhaps a plate of Swiss with Kalamata olives. We’ll gather in the study.” Alastair took Laila’s hand. She drew it back.

“I see you’ve taken a liking for the gilded artwork from last year’s show near Dory Way,” commented Robert as he looked around. Laila moved like a dancer, with soft and sweeping motions, to his side.

“My favorite is that acrylic with the red rose,” she said, gazing at a large piece in a blue frame.

“Yes. One of my favorites, as well.” Alastair moved toward Laila, and she tensed. Standing between the two men gave her pause.

“I think I might go shower before eating. That’s okay?” she asked, deciding to excuse her from the two momentarily.

“Shelley, please show Laila to the toilet and prepare her a bath with rose.”

“As you desire, sir.” Shelley, who had only moments earlier started toward the kitchen, now backpedaled and took Laila’s arm.

“This way,” she said with a warm smile.

The two women made their way up the long spiral staircase where Laila noted each of the black, gray, and swirled gold marble steps. Shelley led her to the bathroom, where a white clawfoot tub awaited. She handed her a white towel, monogrammed with the letter M, then drew her a warm bath and dusted the top of the water with dried rose petals.

“Thank you,” said Laila, eager to strip out of her wet clothes. As soon as Shelley had walked into the hall, Laila took off her linen shirt coat, then her long, woolen dress. She stretched her left leg over the edge of the tub and eased her body into the warm, flower-covered water. What a relief it is to be submerged, she thought, leaning her head back on the white water pillow. For all she cared, the men could go on about their business downstairs while she imagined sunny days filled with honeysuckle, bluebells, and heather. She was, in fact, just about to doze off into a dreamy sleep when she heard a rapping at the door.