And how could she get to know him when that wasn’t part of the deal?
Chapter 8
Castle Glenraven was set prominently at the top of a jagged hill, looking out toward the sea. Heavy white clouds swirled about the turrets, softening the hard stone edges and making the castle seem like something out of a fairy tale. One thousand years of Frasers and Stewarts had looked out upon that sea and gazed toward those mountains. One thousand years of Frasers and Stewarts had trod the stone walkway and picked berries from the low-hanging branches of blaeberry and ling.
Sam was stunned into silence as they approached the long, steep drive.
“My God,” she said after a moment. “You live in a castle.”
“You dinna know that, lass?” he asked, as he downshifted.
“There’s knowing it and then there’s knowing it,” she said, shaking her head in utter disbelief. “I mean, I’m going to be living in a real castle.” Her baby would not only grow up within the castle walls but one day all of this would belong to him or her. Houston seemed very far away. “How on earth do you heat it?”
“We don’t.”
“You’re joking.”
“We don’t heat it in the American sense.” They had fireplaces and room heaters and wood stoves but no central system. “Most of the rooms are closed off.”
“Oh.” She had a sudden vision of the two of them huddled around the kitchen table, warming their hands at the stove. “Do we—I mean, how many rooms are livable?”
“Not that many,” he said, turning left onto the rutted uphill path. “Thirty or thirty-five at last count.”
“Duncan, I’ve stayed in hotels with fewer rooms.”
His smile was so quick she might have imagined it, but she didn’t imagine the way it made her feel. When it came to her new husband, her emotions were all over the place and they were always intense.
“Your father’s home is large,” he pointed out.
“I thought it was until now. Fifteen rooms sound downright puny.”
He told her something about this place, his heart’s home, and she found herself listening with her own heart, as well. How could she not when he spoke with such passion and love. In the tenth century, the castle had been almost a city in itself. High stone walls had separated it from the rest of the countryside to the east. The deep wide sea formed a barrier to the west. He made her see the lives that had been lived behind those vanished walls. The coopers and the crofters, the wet nurses and warriors, the people who were his ancestors—they were all there, standing in front of her with their arms outstretched in welcome.
And now their child would take his or her place in line. This child would know he was loved. This child would have both parents by her side. This child would know a sense of security that neither Sam nor Duncan had ever enjoyed.
All Sam had to do was hang on to that thought and she’d be able to handle anything that came along.
Minutes later Duncan brought the car to a stop at what apparently served as the front door to the castle. Before he had a chance to walk around to her side of the car to open the door, a little berry of a woman flew out, her huge white apron billowing around her like a bridal gown.
If fury had a form, it was that fierce little woman as she stared at Duncan with blood in her eye. “It’s a fine thing when I hear about it from the Widow Campbell before I hear it from the likes of you. I told the daft one she’d gone away with the fairies and yet here you be.” She turned her fiery-eyed glare in Sam’s direction.
Old Mag? Sam felt her stomach clench with apprehension. This was hardly the kind and loving housekeeper she’d envisioned.
“Come in, come in,” Old Mag ordered, bustling around to Sam’s side of the car. “The wind’s high, ‘twill be rainin’ before long.” Duncan moved toward Sam, but Mag would have none of it. “Out with you,” she said to Sam. “You can’t be doin’ harm to the baby.”
Sam froze in her seat. Duncan’s face faded three shades to a ghostly white.
“It’s finally happened,” he said after he recovered his poise. “You’re the one who’s away with the fairies.”
“Ach,” Old Mag spat, holding out her hand to Sam. “I know what I know.” She had the grip of a strong young man as she helped Sam from the car. “I see what’s there before it comes to be.”
“Rubbish,” Duncan said. He’d regained some of his color, Sam noted. “If you have the gift, why didn’t you know we were coming?”
“I know what’s important,” Old Mag said, studying Sam from head to foot. “You’ll have a boy.”
Sam’s hands went to her belly instinctively, although she admitted nothing. “A boy?”
“Aye, there is no doubt. The look is in your eye.”
“Well,” said Sam, “that’s quite a statement to make.”
Old Mag’s fiery gaze met her eyes. “You’re a bonnie lass, as well, and that comes as no surprise.”
“Th-thank you,” Sam managed. “I’m Samantha.”
“Old Mag to you.” She motioned for Sam to bend down close. “Be good to him, lass,” she whispered, “or you’ll know the back of my hand. I’ll not see him suffer like—”
“Enough, old woman,” Duncan roared as he took their bags from the trunk. “Is the supper ready? Tell Robby to start a fire in the library.”
Old Mag muttered something Sam couldn’t even pretend to understand, then flew into the house in a swirl of white apron and long black skirt.
“Weren’t you a little rough on her?” Sam asked as they started up the flower-lined pathway to the door.
“’Tis our way,” he said.
“You can’t blame her for being surprised, Duncan. I mean, I’m still surprised we’re married, so you can imagine how she must be feeling.”
“Tell me that
