Chapter Twenty-Seven
The great hall was filled with people. Every MacNabb for miles around had come to the ceilidh to welcome the new laird home.
They wore their plaids proudly, and the pipes to played him to his seat at the head of the table, and everyone declared that such a grand celebration had not been seen since before the Battle of Culloden, or after, when the wearing of tartan and the playing of pipes and even the speaking of Gaelic was prohibited by the English victors.
Alec was the first new laird since that law had been repealed.
If the English hoped the old ways would die out in the years between, they would be sadly disappointed to see that the spirit of the Highland clans was alive and well in Glenlorne tonight.
Lady Sophie, newly betrothed to the laird, sat by his side, and received the felicitations of the clan on her upcoming nuptials.
Since she understood little of what the Scots said, even in English, Alec had to act as her translator.
“We shall start a school and teach them to speak properly, in English,” she said loudly, which drew many frowns and grumbled comments in Gaelic.
Caroline sat among the servants, ignoring Sophie’s plea that she take a place at the head table.
Caroline pasted a bright smile on her face and held it there, despite the fact that her stomach was tight and her heart dead in her breast. She’d been through this all before, and one would think she’d be an old hand at it by now—watching a man she admired celebrate his betrothal to someone else.
It was hard enough to sit at the back of the room and smile without having to watch the happy couple bill and coo up close.
She ate little, and drank less, remembering all too well what had happened the last time she drank ale at a celebration.
She tried not to watch the happy couple, but couldn’t help herself.
Alec regarded Sophie politely, smiled at her comments, whispered in his ear, held her hand.
Sophie was as nervous as a bird, breathless, fluttering and twittering.
She wore a king’s ransom in jewels, and an evening gown that would be better suited to a grand Carlton House ball than a Highland ceilidh.
“Damned fool. He’s making a grave mistake, if you ask me,” someone said beside her muttered. “She’s the wrong wife for him. He’ll spend eternity regretting this.”
Caroline turned to regard the elderly gentleman beside her, his eyes intent on Alec. He wore the MacNabb plaid from head to foot, and a deep scowl of disapproval.
“Sophie’s a lovely person,” she said. “She’ll make a wonderful countess, and I’m sure they will be very happy together.”
He looked startled, as if he hadn’t known she was there. “Can ye see me, lass?” She raised her eyebrows when he waved his hand before her eyes, following it. Was he drunk? There wasn’t a cup before him, full or empty.
“Don’t you want to raise a toast to wish them happy?” she asked, looking around for a tray of ale.
“Happy? ’Tis a mistake! She’ll be the death of him, or Devorguilla will, and there’s not a thing I can do but watch it all happen. Ach, it’s my own fault.”
The old gentleman kept his eyes on the happy couple, and his fist clenched on the tabletop. She wondered who he might be. There were plenty of clansmen here from other MacNabb holdings, distant parts of MacNabb lands. “Are you one of the earl’s kinsmen?” she asked. “Have you had a long journey?”
“A long journey?” he chuckled. “Aye, I suppose you could say so.” He was staring at her, and she felt her face heat. “Forgive me. You are very much like your grandmother.”
Caroline tilted her head. “My grandmother was the Countess of Somerson, sir, in England.”
He frowned. “Aye, but she wasn’t always. She lived here in the Highlands once, at Lullach Grange, with her aunt and uncle. He was a soldier at Fort William.”
“I think you must be mistaken, sir,” Caroline said.
“Did ye not know, lass? Did she never speak of Scotland, or of me?”
“She died when I was only seven. I do recall her saying she had visited Scotland once, in the summer.”
He looked pointedly at the corner of the room. “You never told her?” he murmured. “Did I mean so little to you, gràdhach?” Caroline followed his gaze, but saw only shadows. Her companion looked so profoundly unhappy that her heart went out to him.
“You should eat something. Can I get you some food? Muira has made so much.”
He looked around at the folk nearby, watched them happily eating, drinking, and chattering, their cheeks flushed with drink and the pleasure of the evening.
He smiled. The smile looked familiar. “ ’Tis a joy just to see the clan happy again.
They’ve known little enough joy for a very long time.
In my father’s day, there were gatherings and ceilidhs regularly.
The seannachie would tell stories of our ancestors, of Scottish history.
There wasn’t a man, woman, or child who didn’t know where they came from, and took pride in it.
But not after Culloden. It all ended with Culloden.
And now . . .” He shook his head sadly. “ ’Tis a broken clan. I had such hope that Alec might—”
He looked at the corner again, and tilted his head as if he were listening.
Caroline studied his profile. He looked like Alec—the same strong chin, gray eyes, and broad shoulders.
She could imagine that in years to come, Alec would resemble this kinsman, and be handsome well into his old age.
She felt a pang of regret and cast a glance at the head table.
Sophie had gone to speak to the girls. By the way her delicate hand was cupped to her mouth, she was no doubt gossiping.
Alec sat alone, his expression set. She drew a sharp breath as she realized he was staring at her, his eyes in shadow in the candlelit hall, the laird’s cup in his hand.
His jaw softened when he met her eyes, and he smiled faintly, and nodded.
She couldn’t look away, couldn’t unlock her gaze from his.
She felt a wave of desire, and loss, and a sense of drowning in the depths of his eyes, as if she’d plunged into the icy depths of the loch.
She watched as he swallowed, saw the light playing on the muscles of his throat, his high cheekbones, glinting in his eyes.
“Are ye all right?” Muira asked her, leaning over her shoulder. “Ye’re sitting here all alone.”
“Alone? I was just speaking to—” She looked beside her at the old gentleman, but the bench was empty.
When she looked back at Alec, his eyes were on Sophie.