Page 13 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Lissie turned, startled. For the first time, she saw the steaming bath in front of the fireplace.

"Och!" she said, in surprise. This was very kind, and of course, very welcome. The girl hesitated still, leading Lissie to wonder suddenly if she expected payment. Of course, this was not something she was accustomed to doing back home, but maybe it was different here?

Everything else she had seen in England had been strange.

That must be it, Lissie decided, immediately delving into her pocket bag for some coin. It took a while for her hand to trick out a farthing, which she clumsily placed in the wench's palm.

The stunned look on the lass's face could not have been more if she had slapped her across it. Seeing her surprise, Lissie smiled and nudged her.

"Many a mickle makes a muckle!"

The girl's face blanked completely. "What?"

It was then that Lissie realized, once again, that she did not understand her accent.

"Nothing," she said wearily. "Dinnae fash, lassie. Off ye gae!"

Finally, the serving woman seemed to understand this. And she understood the farthing too, even if it did bear the head of James II and not Henry VI.

Or was it Edward now? Feeling dizzy, Lissie could not say for sure. There was so much to get used to in this strange country. Sighing, Lissie sank into the beautiful bed. Cousin Annice was clearly not coy about showcasing her massive wealth. A quick glance at the silver candelabra confirmed that.

Lissie's tiredness dissolved into the damask sheeting. Beside the bed were a hearty dram and some bread and cheese. And then, there was the bath. Lissie could not have asked for more. And yet, a strange hurt tugged at her heart.

The noise, the crowds, and the teeming streets played again in her head. Pulling the sheets over her, Lissie felt her head spin. It was all too much. She was tired and alone. Now more than ever, she wished to be back home with her horses and sisters around her.

And while she could certainly not fault the hospitality of her cousin, Lissie had found her distant and aloof. Or was that just being English?

Emotions overwhelming her, Lissie rocked herself by her knees as hot tears spilled down. She wanted to go home. Her accent marked her as an outcast, and her clothes were so worn and strange that even the servants laughed.

What had she done, coming to such a cold country? She would be lucky to find a husband at all.

Nearly everyone she had met was rude, deranged, or just plain mad. The only exception had been the kind man on the bridge.

Vaguely, Lissie recalled him. Closing her eyes, a picture misted in her mind. He was tall, mysterious, and handsome. But other than that, Lissie couldn't remember much at all.

Just his eyes; they had shone like stars.

CHAPTER 3

"William?"

His mother's saber-toothed rattle stopped him dead. It took a moment for Will to compose himself. Slowly, he turned to his mother.

"Mother, what delight!" he said, a rictus of a smile on his lips, "Alack, I must hurry. The men await me in the training grounds!"

Hurriedly, he scraped back his chair and headed for the door. But before he got there, his mother's piercing blue gaze hit him.

"William!" cried the dowager duchess of Iverst, in a voice like a paint-stripper.

Will stopped dead in his tracks.

"William, I need to speak with you. Where do you think you're going?"

Will faced his mother.

"Training," he said calmly. "I do it each morning, Mother. The men are waiting for me."

He cocked a glance pointedly at his mother, who stood implacable as ever, from toe to tip in riding furs.