Chapter Eight #3
Inside, she discovered that the vehicle remained in good condition. A faint smell of new varnish clung to the interior, and she ran her fingers over thick cushions covered with new upholstery before settling back against the squabs.
It rolled over the busy streets of Aberdeen with scarcely a bounce. In her relief, she resolved not to fall into a foul temper over rough country roads.
As it turned out, she forgot about bumps as they moved out into the countryside.
Outside her window, immense vistas of long narrow valleys stretched into the distance, some with forested sides, some carpeted with grass.
She gazed, fascinated, as they passed small farms and herds of sheep and shaggy red cows.
Each mile brought the peaks of the Grampians closer.
Kieran looked out with as much pleasure as she did. “You’re lucky we have a sunny day. In damp weather you can hardly see beyond the side of the road.”
Shortly before noon they stopped at a small inn bearing a brightly painted sign depicting a trout caught on a fishing line. Only a few other stone houses straggled down the road on either side of it.
Diantha guessed the grooms had made arrangements on the way to Aberdeen, for no sooner did they descend from the coach than the landlady bustled out, double chins quivering, to announce that a private room awaited them upstairs, luncheon would be served directly, and she would show my lady to the best bedroom herself.
Kieran dammed the flow of words with a warm greeting. “Mrs. Teagle! You haven’t aged a day since I last visited the Trout. How many hearts have you broken since then?”
“Flummery, ye wee devil!” She simpered in spite of her protest. “Get inside and wash up before your chicken gets cold.” Davison, standing nearby, winced at her overfamiliarity, and the grooms stared woodenly ahead. Kieran, however, roared with laughter and introduced her to Diantha.
Diverted by anyone who could refer to her six-foot-two-inch husband as “wee,” Diantha controlled her quivering lips and accepted the woman’s curtsey graciously.
She and Florette followed her into the whitewashed hallway and up a dark wooden staircase to a compact bedroom.
Taking advantage of the waiting cans of hot and cold water, she washed her face.
Kieran stood at the window when Mrs. Teagle showed her to the dining room.
Curious to see what interested him, she crossed to his side.
The view did not differ from what she had seen beyond her coach window all morning, but the wild beauty called to a corner of her heart she had never known existed.
He absently placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him.
She rested against him, contented, until the entrance of the bustling landlady interrupted them.
After heaving a sentimental sigh at their loverlike attitude, she briskly directed two maidservants in setting out their lunch.
With a last curtsey she left them, shutting the door behind her.
“The fare is simple enough, but I assure you there’s no better cook between Duncarie and Aberdeen.” His earlier ease lessened as he challenged her to criticize the meal.
“I wouldn’t dream of dismissing someone’s hard work.” She replied with more asperity than she had intended, for she recognized the stout landlady’s efforts to provide a satisfactory meal.
Not one wrinkle marred the immaculate cotton tablecloth, and the cutlery gleamed from recent polishing.
Flowers in a Staffordshire vase decorated the table in a cheery splash of color.
They dined heartily on a tender hen accompanied by vegetables and oaten cakes that she learned were called bannocks.
Rich scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves provided a finish.
Back in the coach, the afternoon passed agreeably, if more slowly than the morning. She and Kieran read and conversed about various points of interest that he pointed out. After a few hours, her eyelids drooped closed and she thought to rest them for a moment.
She opened them some time later with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Stifling a yawn, she hastily sat up. “How long did I sleep?”
“Only about an hour.” He stretched his arm and rotated his shoulder.
“You should have awakened me.” She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. Looking out the window, she noticed the road curved toward a stone bridge spanning a stream that crossed their route. To cover her embarrassment, she asked about it.
“Oh, those.” His face took on an expression of scorn. “They’re new. The English built them after Culloden, along with the road.”
“That was almost a hundred and thirty years ago!” Diantha shook her head in bemusement. “How old does something have to be before you consider it old?”
“There were Rossburns on our land when Robert the Bruce came to the throne in 1306.” His chin lifted. “I suppose that gives us a different perspective.”
Although the vital man sitting beside her seemed a far cry from the chillingly polite aristocrat she had married in New York, she wondered if they would ever overcome the differences in their backgrounds.
That lowering thought occupied her mind for the next few miles, until Kieran touched her wrist.
“We’re nearly there. Look.”
The road dipped into a wide glen and turned to follow the course of a lively stream flowing between two stony banks.
Where the stream widened to form a pool, a terraced garden marched down to meet it.
A graceful Georgian mansion rose at the opposite end of the garden.
It should have looked out of place under the beetling slopes of the hills behind it.
Instead, its gray stone invited the travelers nearer, as though offering an oasis of civilization in the untamed vale.
Kieran proudly pointed out several smaller houses scattered on the floor of the glen. “Crofts. We managed to avoid completely enclosing our land when we were stripped of our power. Some tenant families have been here as long as we have.”
“Good heavens! It sounds like I’ve stepped back into the feudal era.” She clapped her hand over her mouth, but not before he fixed her with an icy stare.
“Hardly, as you’ll find out.”
“Yes, I’m sure I will. I do apologize.” He growled in his throat but said nothing more.
The house grew larger as they drew closer, revealing graceful proportions and tasteful embellishment. Diantha blinked twice as she noticed one more attribute.
“Kieran? Is the house, well, glittering?” Her question seemed to restore his good humor, for he chuckled before replying.
“It’s built of granite from a quarry near Aberdeen. The stone contains a large amount of mica.” Still grinning, he shrugged. “So, it glitters in the sun.”
“How charming!” Relieved to see him smile again, she focused her attention on the house. “I look forward to meeting your family.”
“It’s just my mother and Aunt Iona anymore.” She detected a wistful note in his voice, which disappeared with his next words. “And it looks like you won’t have to wait long. I think Iona must have dragged out every last member of the staff to meet us.”
Diantha gulped. Ahead of what appeared to be at least a regiment, if not a small army of servants, an imposing woman in gray stood waiting on the steps of the courtyard as the coach swept in.
Their two days of traveling fell onto her shoulders like a heavy weight. Surreptitiously, she straightened her hat and moistened her lips as Kieran stepped down from the carriage and turned to assist her. As she placed her hand in his, he squeezed it gently.
“You can do this.” His soft murmur barely reached her ears. She straightened her back and stepped out.
“How lovely!” She forgot her nerves as soon as she looked around her.
They stood in a courtyard bordered by the house on three sides.
The silvery granite rose smoothly from the ground to the roof three stories above, ornamented by pilasters carved of the same stone and pediments above each window.
A carved balustrade interspersed with statuary ran along the roofline, giving the house an elegant finish.
“The other sides of the house have more interesting features.” Despite his deprecation, Kieran looked about with glowing eyes and a tender smile. Giving her his arm, he led her forward.
“Allow me to present my aunt, Lady William Upton. On the death of her husband, she was good enough to return to her childhood home and look after us.” He bowed over the older woman’s hand. “Aunt Iona, my wife.”
“Lady Rossburn.” Kieran’s aunt possessed a strong family resemblance in her nearly black hair and wide-set eyes. She did not have her nephew’s easy smile, though, as she sketched a curtsey. “I am pleased to welcome you to Duncarie.”
Her voice warmed slightly as she turned to him. “I’m sure you’re relieved to be back, Kieran, especially under these circumstances.”
Diantha’s teeth set. The cool tone suggested that he deserved pity for his marriage, as did the contemptuous glance in her direction. It would serve no purpose to start a quarrel with one of Kieran’s close relatives, however. She acknowledged the curtsey with one of her own.
“Thank you, Lady William. You are most kind and it is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to exploring my new home.” She gave a small smile as the dark eyes narrowed slightly. “And please, you must call me Diantha.”
“You should not curtsey to one of lesser rank. And that gown is far too showy for the country.” Turning to her nephew, she took his arm. “I shall see that she understands proper etiquette before we present her to company.”
After an apologetic look over his shoulder, Kieran merely asked his aunt how the estate had fared in his absence. Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to throw her reticule at the back of his head, she trailed along behind them, feeling more out of place than she had since her marriage.