Rebecca managed to keep to herself for the remainder of the journey by simply not spending much time outside her sleeping car, which was awfully dull. She became rather used to the background chug-chug-chugging of the train’s engine, soothing her as she slept. When the noise dimmed, she woke with a start. They must be reaching the Perth station, she thought. As she emerged from her cabin, she dazedly looked around her, finding that she was, at the very least, mercifully alone, with Vincent nowhere in sight. She made her way off the train, looking for her father. Apparently he hadn’t deemed her important enough to wait for. She sighed.

It was past the breakfast hour, and Rebecca wondered if she had slept through the meal on the train, or if it had not yet been served. Either way, she hoped it was available on the next train, which was to take them to Inverness, nearly all the way to their destination.

She wound her way through the other passengers coming and going from one train to another, finally finding the Highland Railway. Truly, would it have been so difficult for her father to wait for her? She boarded the train, seeing him and Vincent sitting across from one another at a table in the dining car, playing cards. Her father said nothing as she walked by, though Vincent gave her a wink that made her cringe. She found her own sleeping cabin, where she settled herself before finding the other ladies, and determined she would enjoy herself for the rest of the journey.

* * *

That was exactly what she did. She finally did have lunch, settling her grumbling stomach. She took out the embroidery she had brought with her to help pass the time and worked away while chatting with the other women. She wasn’t particularly talented, but enjoyed it as a way to keep her fingers busy. Everything around her was forgotten and her conversation died, however, when the Scottish Highlands began to make their appearance through the window.

She was in awe of the beauty that lay before her. Rolling green land, backdropped by mountains that seemed nearly transparent in the mist that surrounded them, was on full display. Streams of water descending into small lakes appeared as the train rolled by, and white balls of sheep dotted much of the land.

Rebecca had seen the English countryside before, of course, and had heard stories and seen paintings of Scotland, but she had never imagined it would look anything like this.

When they disembarked at Inverness, carriages with horses awaited them, which would take them to Aldourie, close to where they were staying. They were not nearly, of course, as fine as the carriages she may have typically ridden in through the streets of London, but as worn as the seats were in places, they were comfortable.

She pushed aside the window curtain as they rolled over the bumpy cart paths and drove deeper into the Highlands. The acres of green hills rolling down into a shining lake below took her breath away. The lake was long, wide, and the full moon cut a swath through the gathering darkness of night, as if lighting a path across the lake to the castle that rose above it on the other side. It was magic, the showcase of all of God’s blessed work in one place. It made Rebecca’s heart soar, and a wide smile broke out on her face.

They rolled up to a large stone building, not quite a castle but certainly impressive nonetheless. The man who emerged from the front doors to greet them was handsome, dressed in a short kilt and a white shirt. He looked very much the Highland man she had heard of, his long sandy blond hair flowing in the breeze. As he approached with a candle in hand to light the way in front of him, a wide grin of welcome crossed his face.

“Good evening ladies, gentlemen,” he said, reaching out a hand to help the women out of the carriages that had pulled up in front of him. “Welcome to Darfield Keep, my home, and yours for the next several days. I’m pleased to meet you. Rory MacTavish, at your service.” He gave an extravagant bow.

Her father blustered by the man, looking around him. “You are the only one to welcome us?” he asked.

“I do have several servants to help you with your belongings,” answered the man. “They will be out momentarily. Now come, follow me and I shall see you settled in your rooms.”

He led them into a great hall where, as promised, a few servants awaited them, including a plump, older woman who Rebecca assumed to be a housekeeper of sorts. As Rebecca was the only single woman, she was led to a decidedly feminine room, complete with beautiful white curtains over the window and around the bed, which was bordered by a warm fur rug.

“This room was Kyla’s,” the woman told her. “She’d be Rory’s sister, now married to one of the McDougall lads from the next property over. Though I s’pose I shoudna call him a lad anymore.” The woman laughed. “Anyway, ye shall be quite comfortable here. Should you need anything at all, just holler for me. My name’s Agnes. We’ll be havin’ a meal set out shortly, or if you’d prefer a tray, ye just tell me.”

Rebecca nodded and lay her traveling bags down on the floor next to the bed, having decided to carry them herself when no one else had offered. She was tired, though she wouldn’t mind some company for the meal. She told Agnes she would come down to eat, to which the woman told her to join them at any time.

“Then tomorrow, I’m told there’s a hike planned ye’re welcome to join, should you like,” the woman added.

“I would so love to hike,” said Rebecca with a smile. “Thank you, Agnes.”

“Ye’re very welcome, child,” she said as she left, shutting the door behind her.

“Child,” the woman had called her. Of course she was young in comparison to the woman, but the description did somewhat bother Rebecca. She had always looked rather young for her age, which meant she was often not taken seriously. No matter, she thought. She was here in Scotland, and meant to enjoy herself and all that this land had to offer for the reprieve of time she had been afforded, even if it came with the caveat of having to deal with Vincent.

* * *

When the sun shone in through slit of the heavy curtains covering his bedroom window the next morning, Adam turned over with a groan. There were so many activities he would have found enjoyable today, and not one of them included leading a group of Englishmen on a hike through the hills — his hills. He looked over to the solid oak saddle seat chair next to his bed, upon which his kilt was laid out. Finlay and Kyla had told him he must be prepared to look the strong Scottish Highlander the English were anticipating. The men had paid good money for their expectations, and the family wanted continued referrals for more English tourists to return.

Adam understood, but he wasn’t particularly pleased.

He donned his garb, which, he had to admit, was not overly different from what he wore on a typical day. He simply added his jacket over his white shirt. He descended the stairs to the great hall for breakfast, where his mother and father sat at the table awaiting him.

“Good morning, son,” his father said from his place at the head of the table. Duncan McDougall was a big man, who expected much from his sons. He was gruff and feared by others, and yet his children knew the warm side of him. His mother was loved by all, and she gave him a warm smile as he sat down.

“I know you do not enjoy this, Adam,” she said, looking at him with somewhat worried eyes. “But we love you for it. We can always rely on you, and that means so much to all of us.”

He nodded and began shoveling in his breakfast. When he was finished, he asked the cook to prepare a lunch to take with him. It would be a long day ahead.

* * *

Rebecca dressed in her favorite walking gown, one without a bustle or a train and made of fairly light fabric for the midday walk. She looked through the armoire where she had hung her clothes the previous night, and decided to take her parasol as well as a bonnet to keep the sun off her face. It was a pretty bonnet, one she had bought the day before leaving London, when it had caught her eye in one of her favorite shops.

When she descended the stairs for breakfast, she felt her cheeks warm as many eyes turned toward her — the twenty or so from her own party, as well as the Scots who were serving breakfast. She sat next to two of the women she had befriended on the train. Neither were planning on attending the hike, though women were invited to join in this particular outing.

“Is something amiss with my appearance?” she asked, looking around self-consciously.

“You look lovely, dear,” said the first woman, Mrs. Taylor. “Though certainly different than the other woman of these parts.”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she poured herself a cup of tea.

“She means that women of the Highlands do not have the same access, nor interest, in fashion as those of us from London,” said the second woman, Lady Chadwick. Her husband was a baron, who adored hunting. It was now Lady Chadwick’s third visit to the Highlands. Mrs. Taylor had told Rebecca in a private conversation that she felt it was not so much that Lady Chadwick wished to see Scotland, but that she traveled with her husband due to the fact she did not want him to be alone anywhere there were other women.

Rebecca did not respond to Lady Chadwick’s words regarding the Highland women. She found her rather nasty, and instead concentrated on the bowl of oats that had been placed in front of her. For as terrible as they looked, they were actually rather tasty, and she surprised herself by finishing her bowl before the Scot — Rory, she believed his name was — called for all who would be joining in the hike to meet him in the yard of the keep.

Her father caught her arm as she made for the door.

“You cannot think to be joining us, Rebecca,” he said as he released his tight grip.

“Of course I am,” she replied. “Why ever not? I have come all this way. I should like to actually see this place I am visiting.”

He looked her up and down, as if assessing her physical readiness for such an adventure. “Fine,” he said through tight lips. “But stay with Vincent. He will ensure your safety.”

“Vincent? No, thank you. I would prefer not go at all,” she said, looking away from him.

“Fine then, let that be your choice,” he said with a shrug, turning his thick back away from her so that all she could see was his jowled cheek.

She let out a very unladylike snort before following him outside, attempting to stay far out of his sight, though she could see him speaking to Vincent from where she stood. Why her father was pushing Vincent on her so heavily, she could not understand. Yes, she knew he wanted the man to succeed him in the business one day, and it would make sense to want him in the family. But why Vincent? Surely he could see the man cared for nothing but himself.

Well, she would worry about that later. For now, though… her thoughts left her momentarily, as another man stepped in front of the group.