Page 14 of Wed to the Highlander
She nodded, spine straightening, and faced the small crowd. The few murmured phrases, “Hoo’s yersel the nicht?” and “Fàilte, mistress. Lang may yer lum reek,” were greetings, she assumed, from the nods and bobs.
An older man stepped forward and bowed formally. “Guid e’en tae ye, Lady MacPherson.”
She glanced at Duncan, uncertain. “I don’t know much Gaelic. Do any of them speak English?”
He chuckled. “That was English, Maggie.”
“Lang may yer lum reekis English?”
“Long may your chimney smoke,” he translated.
She looked at him to see if he was jesting.
“It’s a wish for prosperity. As good as saying,may your home always be warm and full of life.”
“That’s lovely, but are you sure I haven’t wandered into a Waverly novel by Sir Walter Scott?”
“Dinna fash, lass. Ye’ll ken the way o’ it soon enou’,mo leannan.”
“Don’t you start, too, Duncan MacPherson,” she hissed just for him through a plastered-on smile.
He grinned while patting her hand. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
Most of the clan watched her—not with hostility but with the cautious detachment reserved for someone who might pass through their halls but not stay.
Among them was a tall, willowy woman wrapped in a green tartan with navy and dark red stripes. Her face held no warmth. Her eyes didn’t blink. The greeting she offered Maggie was a nod so slight, it might have been a twitch.
Maggie leaned toward Duncan. “Who is that?”
His gaze went directly to her, which was telling. “Isla Cameron,” he said, adding no further details. “Should you like to see your new home and rest before supper?”
Something in his tone made Maggie tuck that name away, but she was eager to see the castle, gripping his arm tighter as he escorted her up the wide stone steps.
The massive iron-bound doors creaked open, revealing a vaulted entryway lit by glass-paned sconces that cast a golden glow on the polished flagstones beneath their feet. The scent that met her was not of mildew and age—but something far more inviting: roasted meat, baked bread, and a hint of rosemary. Dinner was being prepared, and the warmth drifting in the corridors from the kitchens was an unexpected welcome.
It was still a castle—ancient, thick-walled, and drafty—but the signs of modernization were visible: clean floors, brass fixtures, fresh paint here and there, and rugs laid down to soften footfalls and ward off the Highland chill.
Duncan kept her close, nodding to the handful of figures that emerged from shadowed hallways and side doors. He offered names as they passed—Mrs. Duff the housekeeper, a kitchen maid called Brigid, the steward, MacLeish—but there were too many, and her nerves too frayed, to hold them all.
“They don’t expect you to remember just yet,” Duncan assured her. “You’ll meet them again—when you’re not hungry and tired after a long journey.”
She nodded mutely, welcoming the reassurance of his steady hand on her back. The space wasn’t ample; it was vast. She predicted the times she’d get lost before learning her way would number in the twenties, if not thirties. The eyes that followed her—though respectful—were wary, not warm.
At the foot of the main staircase, two auburn-haired children crouched near the bottom step, tossing pebbles and snatching them in midair.
“Is that a game?” Maggie asked.
“Aye. We called it knucklebones when I was a lad, but then we played it with sheep bones instead of stones.”
“Gads,” she exclaimed under her breath.
A woman appeared, speaking rapid Gaelic as she corralled the children and dipped a curtsey to Duncan. He nodded in return before leading Maggie upstairs.
The smooth oak banister was another nod to the 19thcentury. Above, an iron chandelier flickered with oil flames rather than gas, however. They did the job, though, illuminating the entry, the stairs, and the upper landing. The second-floor hallway was long and tall, with homey touches—a vase of winter holly, a ticking longcase clock, and a plush runner from end to end. She was relieved, half expecting herb-scented rushes to line the floors.
Duncan paused before a heavy door of oiled wood.
“Our chambers,” he said, opening it without ceremony. “We’ll share them.”
