White Regency 03 - White Knight (19 page)

“Won’t you sit, my lady?”

Alastair motioned Grace to one of the two
chairs, its fabric worn through in places with bits of horsehair sticking out
from the cushioning.

“Please accept my apologies for the
meager furnishings, Lady… uh, Lady…? Dear heavens, I’m afraid I did not
read far enough in the letter to know your name.”

“She is Lady Grace, Marchioness
Knighton,” Deirdre answered as she stooped before the hearth to stir up
the fire beneath the fresh peat she’d tossed there.

“Please, Lady Grace will serve
adequately.”

“Lady Grace it is and please do call
me Alastair. Whenever I heard ‘Mr. Ogilvy’ I tend to think it a designation
meant for my father even though he’s been in his grave for nearly ten years
now.”

Grace smiled and leaned back against the
cushion of the chair, suddenly aware of how very tired she was. Already her
legs were growing stiff beneath her and she could very easily just close her
eyes and fall asleep in this chair with its horsehair poking her bottom till
morning.

“Alastair it is, then.” She
motioned across from her to the opposite chair. “This is Liza Stone, my
maid,” then to the others, “and Misters McFee and McGee and sister
Flora. They’ve come to assist us in provisioning the castle.”

Alastair’s eyes again went wide and he
nodded slowly. “Provision the castle? So you’ll be staying at Skynegal?
You’ll be making it your home for a while, will you?”

Home.
Grace
looked at Alastair and said quite without hesitation, “Yes, Alastair. I
plan to stay on at Skynegal indefinitely.”

Alastair nodded on a smile. “And Lord
Knighton? I take it he will be joining you here as well?”

Grace blinked once at the question, a
gesture only Liza would have noticed. It wasn’t something she’d been prepared
for so soon after her arrival and it brought with it thoughts of Christian and
London and the life she had left behind. Grace wondered for what must surely
have been the hundredth time what Christian had done when he found her missing.
Had he rejoiced at her leaving? Had he made any attempt to find her? Grace knew
it would only be out of a sense of obligation and not because he held any
affection for her. He had made that quite clear that last night in his study.

Still he wouldn’t have found her had he
tried. With Mr. Jenner’s assistance, she had traveled under her grandmother’s
family name of MacRath so as to avoid the unwanted attention that would
certainly come about if it had been discovered that the Marchioness Knighton,
kin to the wealthy Westovers, was traveling about the countryside.

But now that she was here, Grace was
determined that she should never again look back on what her life had been. She
was making a new start and from this day, she would seek her own future, make
her own happiness—at Skynegal.

She looked at Alastair, “Lord
Knighton shall remain in London. He is not expected to travel to Skynegal
anytime soon.”

In fact, Grace continued on a thought, it
would be a blessed miracle if he came there at all.

Alastair did not query Grace any further
about Christian’s absence. If he found it odd that Grace had traveled across
country alone with only a maid, he said nothing, nor did he give any indication
that he may have suspected something was amiss in her marriage. Whatever his
thoughts, Alastair kept them to himself, and instead began to tell her of just
how he’d come to his position as steward at Skynegal fifteen years before. He’d
spent most of his childhood on a crofting farm on the estate and his subsequent
years of schooling in Edinburgh. Grace listened politely, all the while
fighting to keep her eyes from closing.

“And after returning to the
Highlands, I—”

“Excuse me, Alastair,” Grace
interrupted finally. “I would love to hear everything you can tell me
about the estate and your life here, but I fear our journey has taxed me more
than I had thought. I can barely keep my eyes open. If it wouldn’t be too much
trouble, might we review all this in the morning?”

“Oh! Will you have no supper then, my
lady? Deirdre’s got us a flavorful stew simmering in the kitchen. And her
oatcakes are the finest to be had in Wester Ross. She bakes them with a touch
o’ honey that is really quite good. Surely you must be famished after your long
journey here.”

Grace smiled obligingly. “It all
sounds wonderful.” She turned to Deirdre. “But I fear I am even too
tired to eat. If I could trouble you for an oatcake and a pot of tea and
direction to the nearest bed, I would be most grateful.”

“Beds!” Alastair wrung his hands
together before him.
“Oh
my lady, I am ashamed to say I haven’t had any beds prepared since I didn’t
know you were—”

“There’s fresh bedsheets and
coverings on the bed in the laird’s chamber a’ready and a truckle set aside it
for the maid,” Deirdre said. “The others can bed doon here on box
beds in the rooms aff the kitchen. I thought Lady Grace would have others with
her, so I made ready several of the beds here, too.”

Alastair looked at Deirdre, clearly
astonished to hear that she had completed all the preparations for Grace’s
arrival herself and without him taking any notice of it. “But Deirdre, why
did you not—”

Deirdre just shook her head. “If I’d
have tol’ you they were coming, you widna ha’ given me a moment’s peace a’day.
Ever’ting that needs doing is done. Now you take about Lady Grace and show her
to the laird’s chamber and I’ll be bringin’ her up her tae and cake of breid.”

Alastair stared at Deirdre a long moment
before he remembered his duty to Grace. He took up one of the candlesticks from
the table, motioning for her to follow him. “Of course, my lady. I will
show you abovestairs. If you’ll follow me, please.”

Grace held up a hand when she saw Liza
stand to follow. “Liza, please, don’t worry over me. You stay with the
others and eat your supper and come up when you are finished. I can manage well
enough on my own tonight.”

“But, my lady, you’ve not eaten since
midday.”

Grace shook her head. “I suspect the
rough waters we had just shortly before landing caused my stomach a bit of an
upset. Either that or I am simply too tired to have an appetite. The tea and
cake will be enough, really.”

Liza shrugged and Grace gave her a weary
smile before turning to follow Alastair across the great hall toward a far
opening in the wall that in her fatigue looked more like a yawning mouth than a
doorway. He led her down a darkened corridor that felt a bit chilly away from
the fire. The light of his candle threw odd shadows about the walls while their
footsteps echoed softly on the bare stone floor. At the end of the corridor,
Alastair opened a small arched door and started up a very narrow spiral-turned
stairwell leading to the upper floors of the tower.

Alastair chatted while they climbed.
“As I’m sure you saw at your arrival, a bit of the castle has fallen into
disrepair in years past. We did as best we could to keep it up and we’ve
managed to preserve most of the furnishings, moving the pieces to various other
chambers for storage whenever it becomes necessary. I have a full inventory in
the estate papers…”

Grace yawned on a nod.

“…But we can go over that in the
morning, of course.”

He opened a door at the top of the stairs
and stepped out into a wide hallway lined on each side with a number of closed
doors similar in design to the one below. The walls and the floors were bare,
slight discoloration showing where tapestries and rugs had once been. Alastair
came to the first door on the hall, lifted its latch, and pushed it open.

A fire was already burning in the stone
hearth inside, filling the room with a cozy warmth that enveloped them the
moment they entered. Several candles were set in tall holders about the room,
lighting a tall oaken bed hung with decorative crewel-work. The bed stood at
the very center of the far wall, the coverings upon it already folded down. A
small truckle had been set up at the foot of the bed just as Deirdre had said.

Grace walked slowly across the room to a
small window that peeked out onto the loch view. Standing ready beside it in
the corner was a wash basin and pitcher of fresh water. She dropped her cloak
onto a chair and poured a bit of the water into the basin, cupping it into her
hands and dousing her weary face. It was ice cold, but even the shock of it
against her skin failed to rouse her. She was so very tired, she wondered how
she had remained standing this long. She patted her cheeks with a drying cloth,
smoothed a hand over her hair, and turned back to face Alastair.

“This is a lovely room,” she
said, crossing to the fire. The hearth was ridiculously large, nearly as tall
as she
with
no overmantel, merely a break in the wall. Black smudges from fires centuries
past marked its rough stone surface.

“I cannot take the credit for the
room or the fire, my lady. As you well know, ‘twas Deirdre’s doing, although I
cannot for the life of me think why she would not have told me of your
coming.”

“She likely didn’t wish to worry
you.”

Alastair shrugged. “I suppose you are
right. You probably haven’t yet noticed, but there are times when I have a
tendency toward excitability.”

Grace simply smiled.

“Is there anything I can get for you,
my lady? Have you any trunks that you’ll need brought up to you tonight?”

“There is other baggage, but you can
ask Mr. McFee and Mr. McGee to see to them after they have their supper. All I
would like is the tea right now and if you wouldn’t mind, I’d dearly love
nothing more than to just climb into bed while I wait for Deirdre to bring it.”

“Of course, of course.” But
Alastair made no move to leave, until he realized that Grace meant to get
undressed. Then he went wide eyed again. “Oh! Of course, my lady. I beg
your pardon. You wish to retire. I will go. I will go see to what is keeping
Deirdre with the tea.” He bowed his head. Twice. “Good evening to
you, my lady.” He backed out of the room.

When he had gone, Grace pressed a hand
against the small of her back where the ache that had settled there hours
earlier had begun to throb. It had been a long and exhausting day. They had
risen with the dawn in order to make the last part of their journey up the
coast to Skynegal by nightfall. And now that she was here, standing in the
midst of her grandmother’s childhood home, she was so tired that she could
scarcely even consider the significance of it.

Grace dropped her head to the side,
rolling it back from one shoulder to the other to ease the tight muscles at the
back of her neck. She glanced to the bed that looked so warm and so inviting.
She sat in the chair and removed her half boots and then her stockings, flexing
her toes before her. She
stood and reached behind herself, struggling to unhook the fastenings at the
back of her gown, wishing she had worn something easier to get out of. She
worked for several moments at the buttons to no avail, and was nearly ready to
give it up and retire in what she wore when a soft voice sounded behind her,
taking her hands and lowering them to her sides.

“Let me put to a hand, my
leddy.”

Deirdre set to loosening Grace’s gown so
that she could easily step out of it. Wearing her chemise, Grace pulled the
pins from her hair, giving it a shake and loosening it about her shoulders and
back. She turned toward Deirdre. She saw a kindness about the woman’s eyes that
set her immediately at ease. “Thank you, Deirdre.”

“Aye. I’ll just be settin’ the tae
here at the table by the bed so you can take it afore you gae to sleep.”

Grace smiled, nodding. She was reminded
how, as a little girl, there had been a good many nights when she had taken a
cup of warm milk at bedtime while her grandmother had read some fascinating
adventure tale to her. She remembered how she had fallen asleep to the soft,
comforting sound of her grandmother’s voice, and how safe she had always felt
there in her bed, tucked against the soft pillows as she had drifted off to
sleep. It seemed as if it was a time forever ago, those days of childhood, of
security.

Grace stooped to retrieve her gown from
the floor. When she looked up again, she found Deirdre standing before her,
holding out a white folded garment.

“I thought you might be needin’
something to wear this night, so I took this from an auld chest up in the
castle garret and washed it for you this morn. ‘Twas once your grannam’s afore
she left from here to wed your grandie.”

Grace took the nightgown, holding it as if
it had been sewn with threads of gold. Any thoughts of fear or isolation she
might have had vanished the moment she slipped the soft linen over her head.
The simple shift enveloped her from chin to toe, immediately filling her senses
with the scent her grandmother had always worn, a scent she now recognized as
touched by the heather
of
the Highlands. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine herself safely
tucked away in Nonny’s embrace.

“Oh, Deirdre, thank you,” Grace
whispered, watching as she poured a cup of the tea for her. There was something
about the small woman that reminded Grace of Nonny somehow. She couldn’t decide
exactly what it was, especially since there was nothing at all similar about
the two women in either age or stature. Still, the likening between them,
whatever it was, gave Grace a small sense of the same comfort she had felt as a
child.

Grace slid beneath the bedclothes, tugging
the coverings up to her waist. She reached for the teacup Deirdre offered and
took a sip from it. It was an unfamiliar brew—herbal, floral, immediately
soothing.

“The tea smells so nice. What is it
made with?”

” ‘Tis valerian with a bit o’
sobrach
and
brog na cubhaig.”

Grace stared at her, uncomprehending of
the Gaelic.

“Primrose and cowslip,” Deirdre
repeated in English as she handed Grace a small pewter dish with a round flat
biscuit on it. “It will sure you hae a peaceful sleep, my leddy.”

“I remember that my grandmother was
fond of cowslip wine sometimes at night.”

Deirdre nodded and Grace took a bite from
the cake, chewing it lazily. It was tasty, not rich,
just
right for her travel-weary, unsettled stomach. She took another nibble and then
set the plate aside to finish drinking her tea.

Deirdre had stoked the fire and had
snuffed all but one of the candles about the room, leaving the one sitting on
the table beside the bed before heading toward the door.

“A guid nicht to you, my leddy. If
you hae need of anything, just call for me.”

“Thank you, Deirdre.” Grace set
the tea cup aside and eased back against the pillows. They were soft as
eiderdown, touched by a pleasant herbal scent. She closed her eyes, so very
tired she could barely keep awake. “Deirdre?”

“Aye, my leddy?”

“Thank you for making our arrival so
welcoming and pleasant. I know that it must ha—”

Grace was asleep before she could finish
her sentence, finally giving over to her exhaustion.

Deirdre smiled and snuffed the candle
beside the bed, tucking the coverings up around her before she quietly stepped
from the room.