“I do have several servants to help you with your belongings,” answered the man. “They will be out momentarily. Now come, follow me and I shall see you settled in your rooms.”
He led them into a great hall where, as promised, a few servants awaited them, including a plump, older woman who Rachel assumed to be a housekeeper of sorts. As Rachel was the only single woman, she was led to a decidedly feminine room, complete with beautiful white curtains over the window and around the bed, which was bordered by a warm fur rug.
“This room was Kyla’s,” the woman told her. “She’d be Rory’s sister, now married to one of the McDougall lads from the next property over. Though I s’pose I shoudna call him a lad anymore.” The woman laughed. “Anyway, ye shall be quite comfortable here. Should you need anything at all, just holler for me. My name’s Agnes. We’ll be havin’ a meal set out shortly, or if you’d prefer a tray, ye just tell me.”
Rachel nodded and lay her traveling bags down on the floor next to the bed, having decided to carry them herself when no one else had offered. She was tired, though she wouldn’t mind some company for the meal. She told Agnes she would come down to eat, to which the woman told her to join them at any time.
“Then tomorrow, I’m told there’s a hike planned ye’re welcome to join, should you like,” the woman added.
“I would so love to hike,” said Rachel with a smile. “Thank you, Agnes.”
“Ye’re very welcome, child,” she said as she left, shutting the door behind her.
“Child,” the woman had called her. Of course, she was young in comparison to the woman, but the description did somewhat bother Rachel. She had always looked rather young for her age, which meant she was often not taken seriously. No matter, she resolved. She was here in Scotland, and meant to enjoy herself and all that this land had to offer for the reprieve of time she had been afforded, even if it came with the caveat of having to deal with Vincent.
When the sun shone in through the slit of the heavy curtains covering his bedroom window the next morning, Adam turned over with a groan. There were many activities he would have found enjoyable today, and not one of them included leading a group of Englishmen on a hike through the hills — his hills. He looked over to the solid oak saddle seat chair next to his bed, upon which his kilt was laid out. Finlay and Kyla had told him he must be prepared to look the strong Scottish Highlander the English were anticipating. The men had paid good money for their expectations, and the family wanted continued referrals for more English tourists to return.
Adam understood, but he wasn’t particularly pleased.
He donned his garb, which, he had to admit, was not overly different from what he wore on a typical day. He simply added his jacket over his white shirt. He descended the stairs to the great hall for breakfast, where his mother and father sat at the table awaiting him.
“Good morning, son,” his father said from his place at the head of the table. Duncan McDougall was a big man, who expected much from his sons. He was gruff and feared by others, and yet his children knew the warm side of him. His mother was loved by all, and she gave him a warm smile as he sat down.
“I know you do not enjoy this, Adam,” she said, looking at him with somewhat worried eyes. “But we love you for it. We can always rely on you, and that means so much to all of us.”
He nodded and began shoveling in his breakfast. When he was finished, he asked the cook to prepare a lunch to take with him. It would be a long day ahead.
Rachel dressed in her favorite walking gown, one without a bustle or a train and made of fairly light fabric for the midday walk. She looked through the armoire where she had hung her clothes the previous night and decided to take her parasol as well as a bonnet to keep the sun off her face. It was a pretty bonnet, one she had bought the day before leaving London, when it had caught her eye in one of her favorite shops.
When she descended the stairs for breakfast, she felt her cheeks warm as many eyes turned toward her — the twenty or so from her own party, as well as the Scots who were serving breakfast. She sat next to two of the women she had befriended on the train. Neither were planning on attending the hike, though women were invited to join in this particular outing.
“Is something amiss with my appearance?” she asked, looking around self-consciously.
“You look lovely, dear,” said the first woman, Mrs. Taylor. “Though certainly different than the other woman of these parts.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she poured herself a cup of tea.
“She means that women of the Highlands do not have the same access, nor interest, in fashion as those of us from London,” said the second woman, Lady Chadwick. Her husband was a baron, who adored hunting. It was now Lady Chadwick’s third visit to the Highlands. Mrs. Taylor had told Rachel in a private conversation that she felt it was not so much that Lady Chadwick wished to see Scotland, but that she traveled with her husband due to the fact she did not want him to be alone anywhere there were other women.
Rachel did not respond to Lady Chadwick’s words regarding the Highland women. She found her rather snobbish, and instead concentrated on the bowl of oats that had been placed in front of her. For as terrible as they looked, they were actually rather tasty, and she surprised herself by finishing her bowl before the Scot — Rory, she believed his
