Chapter Six
They breasted a hill and stopped to take in the view. A rocky promontory jutted deep into the sea where a castle loomed, gloomy and forbidding. A village nestled at its foot, a scattering of neat cottages—or largely neat. Quite a few had damaged roofs.
Jeannie eyed them eagerly. One of those cottages would be hers. She couldn't wait. "Which house is yours?"
"The big one." He pointed.
Two cottages were larger than the others. One was on the outskirts of the village and the other was in the centre, facing the village square. Both had intact roofs, she was glad to see. "Is it the one in the town or the one next to the wee burn," she asked. She didn't mind which.
"Neither of those. The big one," he repeated.
"But—" She broke off. Did he mean. . .? "You don't mean . . . the castle?" Her voice came out in a squeak.
"Aye."
She twisted in the saddle to look him in the eye. "Are you some kind of servant?"
He grinned and shook his head.
Jeannie swallowed. "You mean to say you live in the—" She could see the answer in his eyes. He did. "But you said I'd be the woman of the house."
"You will."
"What job do you do in the castle?"
He just grinned. His cousins who, once out of sight of the minister, had recovered their high spirits, guffawed. "He's the laird, lassie," Donald told her. "And you're the laird's wife."
"From the moment you married him," Jimmy added helpfully.
"The laird's wife?" she echoed faintly. A hollow opened up in her. "You mean to say I'll be in charge of that, that enormous place?"
Her husband smiled down at her, pleased at her amazement. "Aye."
They all beamed at her, as if it was some huge treat to be put in charge of a castle with no warning. Or training. Or even any clothes.
She thumped him on the shoulder, hard. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He gave her a bemused look and rubbed his shoulder. "Would it have made any difference?"
"Yes! No—I don't know. You should have warned me." Oh Lord, the laird's wife.
"What good would it have done?"
She thumped him again. "I could have prepared myself."
"Clothes, ye mean?" he asked cautiously.
"No, ye great thick-head! Where would I get clothes?" She tapped her forehead. "I mean up here. You told me I'd be mistress in my own home—"
"Well you will be—"
"Not the laird's wife!"
"It's the same thing."
She went to thump him again and he caught her fist, laughing.
"It's not the same thing," she said crossly.
"A woman in her own cottage answers to nobody.
A laird's wife answers to everyone. Everyone will have an opinion, from your uncle to the lowest scullery-maid.
And if they don't think I'm up to the job—and they'll see at once that I'm no fine high-born lady—they won't respect me, and they won't obey me.
Oh, they'll pretend to and be sweet as pie to the mistress's face but they'll resent me and the work will be done shoddily and—"
"For a shepherdess, you seem to know a lot about how a big house runs."
"I've only been a shepherdess for six years," she told him impatiently. "Before that my mother was the housekeeper of a great house. She took the position after my father died and left us with no money. So believe me when I say—"
"Housekeeper?" he interrupted. "Of a great house?"
"Aye, and she—"
"Then you'll know fine how to run a castle, won't ye?" he said, leaving her dumbfounded. He gave a pleased nod and, still holding her fist in one large hand, he urged his horse down the slope toward the castle.
Jeannie swallowed. She wanted to hit him again for being so unreasonably blithe about the problems she faced, but somehow his confidence seeped slowly into her. She did know a little about running a grand house. From the wrong end of things, but still . . .
Besides, she had no choice. She was wedded.
She could do this, she could. As long as nobody found out he'd fished his bride from a bog, she just might be able to pull it off.
Her confidence seeped away as the castle loomed closer. And larger. They trotted over a bridge and through an archway and came to a halt in a courtyard.
Grooms ran out to take the reins of the horses.
Cameron Fraser—she had to stop thinking of him by his full name; he was her husband now, not a stranger—Cameron dismounted and lifted Jeannie down.
She stretched her cramped limbs in relief, shook her crumpled skirts out and tidied her hair as best she could.
"Ready?" Cameron asked her.
She wasn't, she wanted to run in the opposite direction, but she nodded, and without warning he swept her into his arms and carried her up the steps to the great iron-studded oak door.
"What—?"
"Stop struggling. It's tradition. Carry the bride over the threshold," he said. His cousins ran ahead and banged loudly on the door, shouting that the laird had brought home a bride. As they reached it the door swung open. Cameron strode through it.
Jeannie clung to his neck, gazing around her, trying to look graceful and composed. Her stomach was a battlefield of demented butterflies.
People came from everywhere, popping out of doorways and flowing down stairs, staring at her, crowding in after Cameron, flocking to see the laird's bride, laughing and clapping and buzzing with surprised speculation.
"He married the first woman he found," Jimmy shouted exuberantly to the crowd. "Fished her out of a muddy bog and married her!"
Jeannie's fingers curled into fists. "I'm going to kill your cousin," she muttered into Cameron's neck.
He laughed. "Best it's out from the beginning. You're my wife, nothing can change that."
"I'm still going to kill him."
Cameron carried her into a room he said was called the Great Hall. It was a big, barren-looking room, all gray stone and dark wooden beams and paneling, with an ancient fireplace as big as a horse stall.
Cameron set her carefully on her feet, took her hand and raised it. "Meet your new mistress, formerly Jeannie McLeay of the Isle of Lewis, now Jeannie McLeay Fraser, the Lady of Roskirk."
Jeannie blinked. The Lady of Roskirk?
Cameron continued, "And I am now officially laird of this estate."
There was a roar of approval and clapping. Jeannie was under no illusion that the approval was for her. It was Cameron they were cheering, and that he was, at last, their laird.
They came forward to be introduced, one by one, first relatives, of whom there were a surprising number, then members of the household. Jeannie tried to remember the names but they soon became a blur.
Of her husband's newly deposed trustee uncle, there was no sign.
"And this is the housekeeper, Mrs. Findlay," Cameron said.
Mrs. Findlay was a tall, dour-looking, middle-aged woman. Dressed entirely in pristine grey, with her steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, she looked crisp, efficient and unfriendly.
Facing her, Jeannie felt tired and crumpled and inadequate, but everyone was watching and she would not be intimidated. She inclined her head pleasantly. "Mrs. Findlay."
The housekeeper curtseyed and handed her a large bunch of keys on a round metal circlet, saying stiffly, "The keys to the household, my lady. As the Lady of Roskirk, they are yours by right."
The ring of keys weighed heavily in Jeannie's hand.
Her mother had carried just such a collection on her belt.
She took a deep breath, praying it was the right thing to do, and handed them back to the housekeeper, saying in a clear voice, "Thank you Mrs. Findlay, but I'm sure you know what to do with these, much better than I do at the moment.
I learned something of the running of a great house from my mother, of course, but I'm a new bride and still have much to learn.
" She smiled and added, "I can see for myself the castle is well run. I hope we'll work well together."
There was an almost audible sigh in the room as the housekeeper took the keys back, saying, "I'm sure we will, my lady. If it's convenient, I could show you the house and its workings tomorrow."
Jeannie nodded. "That would be very convenient, thank you."
As the housekeeper turned away, Cameron slipped Jeannie's hand in his and squeezed it briefly. "Well done."
She felt a small glow of satisfaction, and as the rest of the household came up to be introduced, she addressed them with growing confidence.
Suddenly a hush fell. The crowd parted and a tall, white haired gentleman came slowly forward.
It wasn't his hair, but a white-powdered wig, she saw as he came closer.
Wearing silk knee breeches, high heeled shoes with glittering ruby buckles and a lavishly embroidered coat and waistcoat, the man still affected the fashions of a bygone era.
"Uncle Charles," Cameron murmured, though she'd already guessed that from everyone's reactions.
Cameron introduced them stiffly, poised, Jeannie saw, to defend her from any insult his uncle might direct at her. The realization warmed her.
Uncle Charles, however, behaved like the perfect courtier, in manner as well as in dress. Bowing gracefully over Jeannie's hand he murmured, "Welcome to Roskirk, my lady. Congratulations on your marriage."
He turned to his nephew, and held out a hand, saying mildly, "I should have known better than to doubt you, my boy.
Frasers always were stubborn and determined.
I hope you don't regret your hasty marriage.
" He glanced at Jeannie and added, "She's a pretty little thing. I hope she's up to her position."
He'd clearly heard how Cameron had met her, but other than his doubts—which were understandable; she had more than a few herself—Jeannie could detect disappointment but little rancor in his tone.
She glanced at Cameron, to see if she could tell from his reaction whether his uncle was being hypocritical or not, but she couldn't tell.
All he said was, "I'll be able to mend the tenants' roofs now."
His uncle sighed. "And I suppose you'll cancel my beautiful hangings from France." He pronounced it 'Fronce' with a pronounced French accent.
"I will indeed. This very night."
His uncle sighed again, then turned and walked slowly back up the stairs.
The watching household waited, but it soon became clear there would be no dramatic scene and, disappointed, people slowly drifted back to their duties.