Davina went to church that Sunday armed with Nanny’s advice and wearing her best clothes. She had donned a fur cloak and stole over a red linen shift dress with gold earrings gleaming in her ears and she thought that she looked quite passably pretty, even if she would never be gorgeous. All through Mass, she prayed for a helping hand from God, but while she was outwardly calm, inwardly she was a nervous wreck. Her heart was hammering so hard she was afraid that the woman kneeling next to her could hear it.

Afterward, the congregation gathered outside for some gossip. For some, church was the social highlight of the week and everyone made the most of it. She joined a group of girls she knew and managed to steer the conversation around to a mare she was hoping to acquire from one of her father’s friends whose estate had a number of broodmares and stud stallions. It was the truth; she did want to acquire another mare, but when she tapped the shoulder of Michael Galbraith, a young gentleman farmer, to ask his advice, she already knew the answer to all her own questions.

“Ah! Mistress Anderson!” he said, smiling happily at her. He was not the most handsome of men, but he had a pleasant open face with gray eyes that were nearly always smiling. Davina had always liked him because he had no airs and graces. Now she looked at him appealingly.

"I would like your advice, Mr. Galbraith,” she said earnestly. “I have heard that you are a good judge of horseflesh.”

He frowned. "No more than most men, but I will help if I can."

“Good!” She stepped in closer to him. “How long does a mare carry a foal from conception to birth? I have always wondered.”

“Goodness!” He laughed. “What a strange question! It is between eleven and twelve months. A bit longer than human beings.”

“Thank goodness!” Davina put her hand on her heart and feigned relief. "It is to settle a bet. I said eleven months, so I’m happy I won. Now, I have another question for you. Do you mind?”

By this time Michael was preening a little. “Not at all, not at all,” he said, smiling a little smugly. “What would you like to know?”

She frowned, then pretended to look a little embarrassed. “How do they know if the mare is in foal?” she asked, trying to sound silly.

Michael’s cheeks flamed. “Another bet?” he asked desperately.

Davina nodded.

“Well, they erm…” he beckoned her closer and whispered in her ear.

Her eyes grew round and her mouth became an ‘o’ of shock. “Really?” She was outwardly embarrassed, but inwardly she was trying not to laugh. “Well! I am very glad I am not a horse doctor!”

He looked at her for a moment then they both burst out laughing.

“I need to know a bit more about horses, you see,” she went on, “Because I am buying quite a valuable mare in the next few weeks. As I am paying so much for her I want to give her the very best care.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

“After all,” Davina said coyly, “she will be like a child to me until I have one of my own. Oh, look, there is Daisy.” She waved to the stable lad from the castle who was bringing the horse around. “I must be going.”

“I will see you next week then.” He bowed.

“I will look forward to it!” she replied, smiling.

Davina felt like singing. She had taken Nanny’s advice and it had worked. She had not thought of reminding herself that Nanny was a figment of her imagination and that the source of it was in her own mind. She felt wonderful, for the first time not fat and ugly, but an attractive and intelligent woman able to hold a conversation with an attractive and intelligent man.

It is astonishing how men respond to flattery, she thought. She laughed. Soon she might be able to twist one or two around her little finger, but that was in the future. First, she needed a little more practice. She decided to throw a party.

“Do I have to go?” Athol asked, with obvious reluctance.

“Athol, they are our nearest neighbors,” his mother pointed out, sighing. “I would like to stay friends with them. They are a lovely family and Davina is a wonderful girl. I wish—”

Athol held up a hand, palm facing her. “May I stop you there, Mother?” he asked politely, looking up at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I have no intention of becoming betrothed to Davina Anderson. She is a pleasant girl with large estates, I grant you, but I am not greedy. I will have one large estate of my own and that is enough. Even if I do marry a laird’s daughter I shall put in a manager on her estate. Besides, I am not attracted to her.”

“She may not be attracted to you either!” his father snapped. “What does that have to do with anything? Your mother was not attracted to me when we got married, but we fell in love soon after. And you do not need love to make a marriage! Liking will do. Friendship. In fact, friendship outlasts love.”

“Then I will go to the ceilidh if it pleases you both,” Athol said grimly. “Never let it be said that I let the family down!” He got up and strode out of the dining room, quickly penned a letter of acceptance, and had one of the grooms ride to Craiglochan, the Anderson estate, to deliver his reply.

The ceilidh was on the Sunday after the next one, so Athol had plenty of time to mentally prepare for it. He was sure that Davina had set her cap at him, but, in fact, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Davina had decided to chat to every young man she saw. She would forget about being an heiress and be available to everyone. She had almost forgotten about her encounter with Athol. She had not seen Michael at Mass that week and although she had sent him an invitation to her party he had not replied. She promptly forgot all about it.

The evening was wet and windy but every guest was greeted with a goblet of hot mulled wine on entering and soon there was a happy convivial atmosphere in the great hall. As hostess, Davina was obliged to welcome everyone and start the dancing, which she did with an Eightsome Reel, a ring dance for eight members. When she and her seven partners had arranged themselves on the dance floor everyone else began to join in and soon the hall was filled with her guests pirouetting, dancing in rings, straight lines, singly, in couples, and in quartets.

They were accompanied by a bagpiper and a whistle player. After a few whiskeys, a great many pints of ale, and a few glasses of mulled wine, the guests were all slightly inebriated and very tired, so they sat down and the singing began. There were old Celtic melodies full of sadness and nostalgia. There were haunting love stories and lively sea shanties, and stirring patriotic songs about how proud everyone was to be a Scot and how ready they were to vanquish the English. These were saved until last when the guests were very emotional, and tears were running down everyone’s cheeks. After one last ‘Slàinte Mhath!’ everyone was ready for bed.

It had been a total success by anyone’s standards. Davina was thrilled. She had been asked to dance so many times that she had been obliged to refuse quite a few invitations. This was a novel experience since she was usually left standing by the wall at least half of the time. Even Athol had asked her to dance, but she had to refuse him, having already promised it to someone else. Athol was a little put out. He knew he had no right to be since she was the hostess and everyone wanted to dance with her, but he was unaccustomed to being refused and it hurt his pride a little.

Many of the guests were staying the night, so Davina and her parents went to their beds after they had almost everyone else had retired. Athol and Lyle were among the last to go to their rooms.

“It was a wonderful evening, Davina!” Athol said warmly, kissing her hand. “Except that you turned down my offer of a dance!”

“Indeed, it was,” Lyle agreed, doing likewise. "I confess I have never seen so many pretty maids all in one place before! I apologize for not bringing my Mary, but she is in Aberdeen visiting her family.”

“Then we had better hope she shows up in time for the wedding!” Davina laughed. "Anyway, I am so glad you enjoyed the evening.” She smiled at both of them. “Athol, I will save a dance for you next time. Now, your room is ready for you. The fire is lit, the bed is warm, and I trust you will both have the best night’s sleep ever. By the way, if there are any headaches in the morning, I have had gallons of willow bark tea prepared!”

They laughed and went upstairs, following the maidservant to a beautifully appointed bedroom which contained an enormous feather bed.

“Lovely!” Lyle said in tones of deep appreciation.

“Indeed.” Athol yawned. “Davina looked very well tonight, did you not think so?”

“She always does,” Lyle replied, “you seem to be the only one who has any doubts about it!” He took off his kilt and boots then scrambled into bed in his shirt. It was not unusual for them to share a bed on occasions like this, and it gave them an opportunity to talk and relive the evening together. Usually, they spoke about all the lovely ladies they had seen, but that night they could only talk about one of them.

“I told Davina she was pretty the first time I met her again!” Athol said indignantly.

“I would love to have heard the way you said it.” Lyle’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Athol got into bed and punched him on the shoulder. “I am not looking for a wife yet,” he reminded Lyle, "but when I do I will give you a list so that you can see which ones you approve of. I doubt Davina will be on it, worthy though she is.”

“I am not looking anymore,” Lyle said, “but if I were, she would definitely be on mine! She is a lovely girl and you could do much worse.”

Athol frowned at him. “Is that a challenge?” he asked suspiciously.

“Take it any way you like,” Lyle answered, yawning. “Goodnight!”