ARRIVING AT THE CASTLE
“Uncle?” Ettie hissed as they stood on the threshold of the solar. “Are you sure about this?”
Uncle Heath turned to her, gave her a look. It wasn't an angry look, merely neutral and a bit ironic. Ettie nodded and stepped in behind him.
“I don't know.”
Standing in the sudden warmth of the doorway, Ettie wished he'd been more reassuring. She ran her hands down her blue skirts and wished herself elsewhere. Uncle Heath thinks this will be best for me. I don't know.
She looked across at him as he stood beside her, noting how agitated he seemed. Keeping his outward calm, she knew from experience how he was roiling inside. His posture was tense and his hands wrung briefly before he let them hang at his sides.
Why is Uncle so ill-at-ease?
Coming to Dunkeld had been his idea, after all. The moment the invitation had arrived at Grenleigh – his home – he had been different. Charged with new life somehow, like a man given a restorative draft. Ettie, used to his morose moods after a month in his household, was amazed.
Now, she saw him clear his throat. “Lord Broderick?”
Ettie looked past him into the room, to see a tall man with dark hair, streaked with gray, stand and cross to them. He had a lean, clever-looking face and dark eyes, a measured step.
“My lord,” Uncle Heath greeted him. “It is good to see you. It's been many years.”
“It has, Heath, it has.” The man – Lord Broderick – chuckled. “Far too long. A surprise to see you, Sir Heath.”
Ettie, standing in the doorway, shrank back into the shadow. If he doesn't see me, I'll be pleased. An only child, used to her own company, the thought of meeting so many strangers frightened Ettie.
Uncle chuckled softly. “You surprise me, standing on ceremony.”
“And you, with me?” Broderick laughed. “I shall call you ‘sir’ until you decide not to use my title anymore.”
Heath nodded. He licked dry lips. Ettie saw him move his hand, beckoning her still closer. “Is...” he paused. “Is everyone here?”
Broderick laughed aloud. “Yes! Come in! Excuse us – we were at luncheon. Come! Welcome, sir.”
Ettie watched as her uncle winced and stepped into the room beside the man. She had a momentary uncertainty – should she follow, or stay still? She drew in a sharp breath and followed.
I'll be too cold out here in the hallway.
“Duncan! Blaine! My lady! Alina...and Chrissie. Look who's arrived.”
As the tall, lean man introduced Uncle Heath to everyone at the table, Ettie found herself looking around, interested. She leaned back, hands clasped, feeling shy. All the same, she couldn't resist studying the people.
A tall woman with reddish hair, a few white strands woven in, stood and went to Heath, gripping his shoulders and smiling. “Heath! You dear man!” She smiled wonderingly at his slim, inscrutable face. “'Tis too long.”
“Indeed, Lady Amabel.”
Ettie stayed where she was, willing herself invisible. The woman – Lady Amabel – moved away without noting her.
“Heath.” A tall woman with a river of black hair stood, supporting herself on the table, and came over slowly. “Welcome to Dunkeld.” She glanced straight at Ettie, black eyes level.
Ettie blanched. There was something about her eyes, even with their neutral, mildly-questioning gaze, that troubled her. She felt as if the woman – elegant and beautiful – was reading her thoughts, probing her mind.
Ettie swallowed. It seems like she knows me, somehow. That inscrutable gaze seemed to acknowledge everything about her, from her deepest secrets to her hidden desires, and then abruptly let go.
Ettie realized she hadn't said anything. “Thank you,” she said. Uncle Heath touched her shoulder gently.
“I apologize, my lady. This fair lady is my niece. Henriette Fraser.”
“Your niece?” the auburn-haired lady turned to face them, frowning. “You mean Ewan's daughter?”
“The same,” Heath acknowledged. “Now my ward.”
“Ewan isn't...” She looked dismayed.
“He's in France,” Heath affirmed curtly.
“Oh.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which Ettie found herself under scrutiny. Eight people faced her now: The two ladies and their husbands, two young men and a couple of her uncle's age.
Ettie licked her lips nervously. She focused on the red-haired young man; a pointy face with clever eyes and broad shoulders. He looks friendly.
Her eyes drifted across the table from him. Her heart stopped.
The young man, who sat there with a still, calm face, level brown eyes and a jaw that could have been carved by a court sculptor, was stunning.
I could have imagined him out of thin air. She realized she was staring and hastily looked away. She heard someone clearing their throat.
“My lady.” She closed her eyes, the voice tickling over her skin like goose down. She had never heard such a lovely voice. Grave, but musical, enunciation perfect, it could have been a prince from a story.
Except it isn't. He's here before me.
Ettie clasped her hands, knowing she blushed. She cleared her throat. “My lord.”
The tall man with the dark hair looked from one to the other a moment. “Apologies, my lady. Sir Heath. I have forgotten the introductions.” He cleared his throat. “Lady Henriette, Sir Heath, may I introduce my nephew, Alf MacNeil, and my son, Brodgar.”
Brodgar. Ettie swallowed, letting the name settle on her mind like a leaf, falling. He was a solid, strong-looking man, and the name suited him. Brodgar MacConnoway.
“Pleased to meet you,” Heath said carefully. Ettie – used to his moods and voice by now – glanced sideways worriedly. Something was bothering Uncle Heath. What was it? He licked his lips. Clasped his hands. Glanced at the end of the table, where sat a small, slight blond woman Ettie hadn't seen.
“Chrissie?” her uncle whispered.
The woman turned. Cornflower eyes widened and a slow smile bloomed. “Heath Fraser,” she said gently. “Welcome.”
She stood and took his hands and Uncle Heath stared at her. He squeezed her fingers and Ettie was surprised to see his throat working as he swallowed tears.
“My lady Chrissie,” he said, words stiff. His eyes shone. “I'm honored.”
The woman giggled. “Oh, Heath,” she said, flapping a hand at him. “Don't be. It's so, so good...” she trailed off, sighing. “It's wonderful to see you. Come. Sit down!” she pulled him forward, and then turned to Ettie.
“As stubborn as ever.” She winked. Ettie gave a surprised laugh.
Not sure whether to agree or not – yes, her uncle was stubborn, for certes, though she wouldn't tell him – she simply smoothed her hand down her dress and followed the woman and her uncle to the table.
Uncle took a seat beside Lady Chrissie, which left her on the other side, opposite a blunt-featured man with a sweet, crooked grin.
“My lady. I'm Blaine MacNeil,” he said. “Father of Alf. Honored.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Ettie managed in a small voice. She noticed Uncle Heath glancing at him.
“Blaine,” her uncle said, a strange smile on his face. Half-rueful and half-pleased, it spoke of admiration and regret. “You look well.”
“I'm well, Heath,” Blaine said, rolling his shoulders experimentally. “Better than I deserve.”
“Yes.”
The two men looked at one another stiffly. They both laughed.
“It's good to see you,” Heath said, clasping the blunt-faced man's hand fondly.
“And you, Heath. You old devil. You too!”
Ettie looked at the blond woman, who was smiling. She seemed deeply moved. Ettie looked at the way her uncle sat beside her, his whole posture softening, face relaxed.
Uncle loved this woman once, she decided.
She looked down the table, her heart thudding. She caught sight of Brodgar. He looked back.
His eyes – brown and level – held her gaze. Ettie bit her lip. Looked at her hands. Shifted.
He makes me feel uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable, yes. And wonderful. She swallowed again, a strange warmth throbbing within. She had met many young men over the years – her parents were very fair, wanting her to know all the eligible gentry so she could assist in the choice of groom herself – but she hadn't felt...as this. This man makes me feel strange things. Butterflies in my stomach. She caught his eye and her cheek lifted, an involuntary smile. He smiled back.
Why is he so perfect?
Ettie felt almost annoyed. His smile was handsome too. He was as near a flesh-and-blood creation of her wildest imagination as anyone could be. Why is he here? What was she supposed to do? And how would she feel if the heir to the thane was married?
“Uncle?” she asked, realizing her uncle had said something and she hadn't responded.
“Sorry, niece. I was just saying that Lady Chrissie asked if we'd eaten anything today. Would you like a repast?”
Ettie swallowed, feeling her saliva start to flow at the merest thought. “Yes,” she said, nodding vigorously. She heard a chuckle. Brodgar was smiling. She blushed and looked down immediately.
“You rode far today?” he commented. “It is good to see someone else who builds up their appetite on the road.”
Ettie laughed, despite how shy she felt. “I'm famished, sir.”
“Brodgar,” he corrected. “Please, my lady.”
She swallowed. “Ettie,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“I said, please call me Ettie.”
He nodded. “Ettie,” he said gently. “A delightful name.”
“Short for...” Ettie began, about to explain that it was short for Henriette. The tall man – Broderick – stood, clearing his throat and interrupting her.
“A toast! To our guests.” He raised his tankard and Ettie swallowed as everyone toasted them silently. “Now. Evan. For the love of manners, please – fetch our guests some trenchers and tankards. At once.”
A servant bowed and rushed out. A moment later, Ettie found herself supplied with a trencher and a tankard, and Lord Broderick waved a hand.
“Please. Eat your fill. You must be starving.”
She was. The scent of food was wafting under her nose, and she glanced, mouth working, at the roast fish on a platter. It was opposite Lord Brodgar. She swallowed hard.
“Can you...would you pass me...” she managed to say.
“Oh! I certainly will.” He lifted the tray and passed it to her. She grasped it and slid a fish onto the trencher. When she passed it back, their fingers touched.
It was just the briefest contact, but it coursed through her like flame. Ettie swallowed, feeling her face heat up suddenly. She closed her eyes as the heat consumed her.
“Niece?” Uncle said, turning to her.
“Oh! Um...sorry, Uncle?” she said, frightened she'd not heard.
“Nothing,” Uncle Heath said softly. “Just wanted to ask if you'd seen the salt anywhere.”
“Oh...”
“Here,” Brodgar said, passing it to her with an ingenuous smile. “I have it.”
“Oh,” she murmured, taking it. His fingers touched hers. It could have been deliberate, or an accident. As she passed it back, she saw him smile.
It was deliberate. He had touched her fingers on purpose. He liked it too?
She swallowed as the heat caught deep within and flared brighter yet.
Reaching for her knife and a small horn spoon, she settled down to the fish, trying to focus more on that than on the young man opposite. Her eyes went to him several times during the meal. And he stared too.
What is going on?
Ettie knew she liked the way she felt about Brodgar. However, she was confused. In addition, she still didn't know anything, really, about these people.
She looked to Uncle, but he was involved with eating. When he looked up, which wasn't often, he was glancing at Lady Chrissie with a tenderness that melted Ettie.
They were in love.
She didn't know how she knew that, she just did.
Now, she thought, feeling slow warmth fill her limbs that had little to do with the seasoned fish and everything else with Brodgar, I at least know a little about that.
The thought made her blush, and, blushing, she glanced up to note his gaze on her yet again. It made her smile. She looked down at her plate, hoping no one would notice.
She heard Alf chuckle and, as he recounted an anecdote about walking through the snow that made them all laugh, Ettie found herself glad they had undertaken this long journey now.
I feel as if the future is exciting.
Strange, yes. Different, certainly. But also exciting.