Page 1 of Christmas Wore Plaid

Chapter 1

23 December, 1834 Aberfeldy Manor, Scotland

“Hurry! Hurry!” The group of young ladies giggled. A flurry of colorful sashes and bobbing ringlets twirled throughout the parlor.

“He’s coming… He almost got you!” Clara whispered in Emerson’s ear.

Emerson’s arm tingled where Brady MacInnes had almost touched her.

Brady, the son of the party hosts, had put on the blindfold for this silly game of Blind Man’s Bluff with her in his sights. He’d made a show of drawing the short straw, winking at Emerson as he’d done so on a dramatic bow fit for the stages of London. It was no secret that he wished to escape Perthshire to see the world and act beneath the city theatre lamps. He had eagerly auditioned for the Dollar Academy’s production of Romeo and Juliet. Everything to him was a presentation, including this game. Emerson loved his charisma because beneath it, she knew that he hid a more bashful and genuine side.

Guests sipped punch against the wainscoting and chuckled as Brady moved about the chamber, tracking his prey with his keen outland hunting skills, for even though he vied for the city, he regularly rode on his father’s hunts and helped drive their herds to the stockyards during the Michaelmas Tryst. Safely out of reach for a moment, Emerson took in the grandeur of Aberfeldy Manor’s parlor, decorated in evergreen sprays and smelling of cinnamon. A fire roared in the hearth, above which hung a family portrait framed in gilded swirls. Brady looked so proud and handsome in the painting, draped in plaid and standing tall beside his father with his hands upon his lapels—

Clara yanked her sleeve. “Emerson!” she mouthed.

Emerson evaded Brady’s path again and pulled her friend with her, who tripped upon a man’s cane and nearly spilled to the floor. She burst out laughing as the adults chortled heartily at Clara’s folly, then clamped her hand over her mouth as Brady whipped in her direction. She froze. Brady paused, listening to the movements around them.

She took a deep breath to regain her wits, and glanced out the window at the setting sun. It was lovely here in the wilds of Perthshire. Aberfeldy Manor was so rural, Ben Vrackie loomed in the distance behind the MacInnes family’s fields of shaggyHighland cows, sheep, and crops manned by tenant farmers. The mountain was capped in snow, a wonder of nature. A rugged lad, and yet refined, Emerson’s heart fluttered each time she saw Brady smiling at her. But Brady’s life would be adventurous. He’d leave Perthshire—and her—behind. She’d never been as venturesome as he, though that was probably why she liked Brady so. She loved her Aunt Bess’s home in Crieff, content to help Bess with her charities, and truth be told, was jealous of Aberfeldy Manor’s beautiful countryside. Why on earth did Brady wish to leave such heaven behind for the smoke-clogged city air?

Brady neared her again. She slipped past him with Clara in hand, and gazed at his familial plaid draped over his waistcoat and pinned to his shoulders with an ancestral brooch. Normally, she saw him swallowed within the standard frock coat of a school boy. His ceremonial dress did much to accentuate his broadening physique as he careened toward manhood. She loved how he found excuses to speak to her friends when she was present, so he might have reason for talking to her. She loved his teasing when they were alone, and always teased him back. And the way in which he’d gazed at her tonight when he’d drawn straws for this silly game they played now…

“Emerson!” Clara mouthed her name again and nodded toward Brady with a tip of her head and raise of her brows. “Pay attention!”

They cleared his path once more when one of the other lasses playing Blind Man’s Bluff dodged between them, tearing their hands apart. Clara giggled uncontrollably at the frivolity. Clara may as well concede defeat, Emerson thought, for she certainly couldn’t keep quiet enough to evade Brady’s prowess. But Brady didn’t go for the obvious giggling. He listened. Waited.

He’s searching for me. Emerson’s cheeks flushed.

Backing away to safety, she bumped into the sideboard, sloshing a bowl of brandy atop it.

“Goodness,” she murmured, steadying the liquor intended for a devilish game of snapdragon.

There were a series of other novelties to play, too: charades, and a skit brought up from London to be acted out, after which, she and Auntie Bess would collect the old coats each guest brought tonight to pass out to the poor in the churchyard on Christmas morn—

A hand snagged her arm.

“He caught one!”

“Three cheers for Brady!”

“Hip hip, hooray!”

Jovial congratulations erupted, but the game wasn’t yet won. The girls burst into giggles and disappointed utterances, stifling each other from speaking Emerson’s name. Brady needed to guess who he had caught if he hoped to win a boon.

Pink stained Emerson’s cheeks at being caught unawares. Her arm burned where he was holding her so publicly, for she had told Clara she was sweet on Brady, such a mistake! Naturally, everyone now knew. Clara Ellsworth was known for her wagging tongue.

Emerson held her breath, looking at the blindfold over Brady’s eyes. What would be his prize for winning?

He hasn’t won yet.

But Emerson already knew she’d lost the game. That look Brady had cast her as he drew the short straw told her he had hoped it would be her. They weren’t children anymore, and Brady, sharp as he was, who could hunt geese with his father and quote Shakespeare, wouldn’t guess incorrectly.

Aye, Brady and his acting. She had just been cast as Juliet Capulet across from Brady—cast as Romeo Montague. The Dollar Academy was a novel concept of a school: it was one of the first coeducational schools in Scotland, sitting south of Crieff, where Emerson attended during the days and where Brady boarded during the week. Clara had teased her mercilessly when the lead pairing had been announced. She glanced at Clara now, gaping at Brady’s hand upon her arm, and Emerson knew she was in for another bout of ribbing after this. Play rehearsals had just begun. Thankfully they had yet to rehearse the scenes where Romeo professed his love for Juliet. Her hand flew to her cheek.

Goodness! I’m blushing again just thinking about it!

“Is he going to kiss her?” a girl whispered.

Emerson sucked in hard, staring up at the tall and lanky Brady, his dusty blond hair combed and styled neatly with a cravat tufting out beneath his chin. She had never stood so close to him that she could feel his breath upon her brow. No doubt, someone would make a quip about Romeo catching Juliet. She rolled her eyes. She could already sense such an exclamation forming on Clara’s lips. The adults quieted and clustered together with crystal goblets in hand. Emerson could still feel Brady’s fingers imprinted on her arm where he touched it. She was still too young for a kiss. She was only fourteen and he, fifteen, and they would be in trouble if that happened.