Page 46 of Her Highland Prophecy
They were taking a short break from preparing the fruit. The cook had given them each a glass of ale that they were sipping as they talked. Diana smiled at Isobeail’s question and gave her the story she and Gordain had established.
“He saved me in Ballachulish. I was supposed to meet with some friends at the fair, but I must have misjudged the date and I arrived much earlier. We ran into some highwaymen and me manservant was killed. That is when Gordain arrived.”
“And he saved ye?” a short redhead, Fiona, asked.
Diana nearly snorted at the dreamy look on her face but held herself back. It seemed that there would always be young women who believed in fairy tales. Gordain did not exactly remind her of the princes in the fairy tale books she had read as a child.
“He did,” she answered. “And then he offered to bring me to the Castle until the fair began. I was alone you see and I didn’t know what to do or where to stay—”
“Ye were alone with him all the way from Ballachulish?” Isobeail asked in a scandalized tone.
“I did not have much of a choice,” Diana pointed out, upset at the implication. She internally scolded herself. Their sense of propriety was much different from hers and there was no reason to provoke them. “He was a gentleman,” she assured them.
“But yer reputation—” Fiona began.
“We are betrothed and will be married in a few weeks,” she reminded them gently, picking up another berry. “Even if something had happened it would not matter.”
She did not like lying to them when they had shown her nothing but kindness, but it had to be done. There was no way to tell them that she would be going back to the future in two weeks’ time, making any discussion regarding her virtue moot.
“I am sure that me brother didnae do anything,” Mabel said, her chin stubbornly stuck up in the air.
After spending two days sleeping pressed up against his warm body she was not so certain she could agree, but Diana nodded, nonetheless.
It doesn’t matter.
What did it matter what these women thought of her? She would be back home before they even knew her well enough to miss her.
And yet…Mabel and Joan’s sweet faces already looked at her in a way she recognized. It was a look she had seen on Grace’s face many times. It was that half-worshipful look of a younger sibling, full of certainty that she would not harm them in any way.
Grace. Spending time with the twins made her ache with sadness for her sister. Where was she now? Guilt overcame her at the thought of poor Grace having to speak with the police after she disappeared to answer questions to which that no one would ever have the answer.
“Are ye hurt?” Joan asked her, looking at her hands closely. Diana realized that her distress must have shown on her face and quickly arranged into something more resembling a smile.
“I’m not hurt. I was just thinking of my sister.”
“Ye have a sister?” Mabel asked from her other side. Diana had not noticed that she was paying attention to their conversation, but she nodded anyway.
“Yes. Her name is Grace and she is a little older than you. She is supposed to be at the fair in Ballachulish.”
“Ye will get to see her soon then. Will she come to visit ye at Sutherford Castle if they are already coming to Scotland?”
“Maybe,” Diana hedged. Grace would not be coming to visit her at the Castle but, maybe, once she was in the future again, they could come to the Castle to see what had become of it.
For a while, the women focused on the mountain of berries in front of them. Every time Diana thought they were closed to being finished, another basket full of the colorful fruits would be produced. Her lower back was starting to ache from standing in one spot for so long.
They were not separating them in any way. There were berries, both red and black currants, gooseberries and a couple of others that she couldn’t name, but they all went into the same pile.
“Will we split these after we wash them or all they all being mixed together?” she asked eventually.
“Together,” Fiona responded. “We will mix them with honey and then it willnae matter much if they are different kinds.”
“Wouldn’t it taste better if they were separated though?” she asked curiously.
“Nay, they are similar enough that it doesnae matter,” Fiona replied. “The Laird is fond of the mix too, ye ken, so we make it like that.”
“I understand,” Diana said as she continued to work. It would make sense for them to continue making it like that is it was a preference of the Laird.
By the time the last of the baskets was brought in, Diana was ready to weep. Her hands and wrists were sore and her feet felt like they were on fire. The shoes that she had bought did not provide any protection from the stone floors and she knew that walking would be hell for the next few days.
