Page 83 of Wed to the Highlander
“It’s one of the few things that seems stuck in winter—other than you.”
“I think the winter may linger and meld into the next.”
“I hurt for you, Fiona. What can I do?”
“Unless you can make me stop feeling furious, guilty, alone, and confused at how it came to this, there is nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”
“What about a project to focus your mind on something different?”
She looked up, curious. That was progress.
“Our need for herbs didn’t end with the winter. The courtyard is so dreary. With the crumbling section coming down, let’s make it a place for gathering, for enjoyment, for healing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m envisioning a garden. There were some of the most spectacular ones in Mayfair. You could be surrounded by walls, and a city beyond, and never know it. What do you say?” she said. “Not just for wounds and fevers. For hearts, too.”
“You mean to keep the beds?”
“Yes, and to enhance them, adding a footpath and benches, rose bushes and lilac trees.” Maggie gripped her friend’s hand. “Will you help me?”
A breath caught in Fiona’s throat then released. “Aye, but it sounds expensive.”
“Haven’t you heard. The laird’s birthday is next week. He’ll be thirty, with his wife and heir by his side. We’ll be swimming in Great-grandfather Agnus’ coin. I plan to have a celebration that will leave the old manipulative laird spinning in his grave.”
This time, Fiona actually smiled.
“I’ll need your help with that, too. And Mrs. Craig’s.”
“We haven’t had an actual party at the castle in two years. You’ll get no problems from her.”
“Perfect.” Maggie linked arms with Fiona. “So, give me your thoughts on the garden. Just please… No wood betony, pennyroyal, or lavender.”
They walked the perimeter together, Maggie listening as Fiona named plants like old friends—yarrow for protection, chamomile for calm, thyme for strength. She pointed out a spot for a trellis with climbing roses, and where trees might be best to grant afternoon shade, and benches for quiet reflection.
Later, before dinner, Maggie was called to the laird’s study. The door was open, and Duncan and MacLeish were bent over ledgers.
“Excuse me. I must be early. I’ll come back.” She turned to leave.
Duncan rose and stopped her. “No. You’re right on time. This involves you.”
He took her arm and escorted her to his chair behind the desk. “What’s this about?”
“Your account, my lady,” MacLeish explained.
“My account?”
“Aye. Your dower funds will be fully deposited by the end of the month. The laird advised about your plans for the garden, which is a pittance to the balance, and I wanted to discuss the other improvements you had in mind.”
“A pittance? But the cost estimate for the garden is pounds. That would cover wages for several servants for a year. Or could be reinvested in livestock or land. I was actually reconsidering the fountain, which would be lovely, but unnecessary.”
Duncan reached across her and opened another ledger, pointing to a sum at the bottom of the page. Maggie counted five digits and gasped, “It’s over £20,000!”
“As the man said, a pittance,” he said, amused.
“And remember, that isn’t the final sum,” MacLeish advised. “The bank in Edenborough had a limit to the amount that could be transferred. The remaining third is yet to be deposited.”
“What am I to do with all that money? I truly can’t think of anything I don’t have here.”
