Page 182 of Claimed Highland Brides

ANTICLIMACTIC

In the end, it was agreed that Aileen would stay at Braenaird Castle to prepare for the wedding with the help of her sisters while Barclay and his cousin would remove to Inchcree.

“D’ye need to borrow my men to help ye?” Daividh asked as Barclay made preparations to leave.

Barclay smiled at him appreciatively. “Ye have gone further than any brother-in-law might expect with yer help. But allow me to call upon ye if I do indeed need help. I expect that I will need yer women more than yer men to help me clean up the castle but let me make do with the staff on-site for now. I need to ken wha’ they can do.”

Daividh nodded. “Aye. In any case, I shall send Maisie and Fenella doon to help ye wi’ the wedding preparations in a few days.” He lifted his hands to stop Barclay’s anticipated protest. “They have insisted.”

“Actually, I was going to say that seeing as yer dear wife has been confined to her bed, and our other sister-in-law is also quite advanced in her pregnancy, I thought perhaps to have the ceremony here, to save them the need to travel.”

“That’s kind.”

Barclay nodded. “But, I thank the lassies for their help.” He clapped Daividh on the back. “I’ll be going now.”

“We’ll be seeing ye.”

* * *

Barclay stood outside the doors of Inchcree, buried in memories. He remembered waiting in the doorway as his father carried his mother home. He felt the despair wash over him once again and tried his best to push it away.

“Sir?”

He came back to the present to find a rotund woman standing anxiously in front of him, twisting her hands.

“Aye?”

“W-we’ve prepared a room for ye an’ ye want to see it.” Her voice was low and tentative.

He nodded. “Thank ‘e.”

With that, he took the step that would bring him into the castle. The first thing he noted was that it was less dusty than he’d left it. In fact, if he was not mistaken, a thorough cleaning seemed to have been done.

“Well, I see ye’ve cleaned. That was nice o’ ye,” he told the housekeeper.

“We thought ye might like to come back to a clean hoose.” She fidgeted anxiously. He reached out and squeezed her hand.

“What are ye so fashit aboot?” he asked curiously.

“N-Nothing, sir.”

“Oh, aye? Because ye seem fashit.”

He could see her bosom heaving as her face drained of color. “Sir, I’ve served in this hoose for years, doing for the old laird. I’m a hard worker, sir, and I can cook vera weel. I looked after the old laird’s son too.”

“From what my wife told me of his condition, not vera weel.” He narrowed his eyes at her for added effect.

She shook her head so hard that she dislodged her cape. “We didnae have much t’eat, and what there was, the laird and his guests ate first. We made do.”

A bolt of anger flashed through Barclay at this further evidence of neglect. “Weel that is done the noo. Everybody gets enough to eat, y’hear me?” he growled.

Mrs. Woodward nodded. “Aye, sir. C-Can I show ye to yer chambers the noo?”

Barclay nodded, looking around as he walked, noting how everything had been cleaned and shined.

There may not be as much to do as I thought.

Mrs. Woodward showed him to what had been the master bedroom during his parents’ time. The ornate red velvet canopy was still the same as was the large four-poster bed. Even the bed covers looked familiar.