“A living hell?” She forced a laugh. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
The look he gave her made her wonder. “Old Mag has the heart of a lioness and the claws to match. Take care with her and you’ll do well.”
“You make it sound like I’ll need a whip and a chair,” Sam muttered.
His laughter surprised her. “No whip or chair,” he said. “Just keep your wits and you’ll be fine.”
Sam felt an unexpected pang of disappointment as she crossed the threshold and stepped inside. Not that she’d been expecting anything in particular, but you’d have to have been raised on another planet to miss the significance of a brand-new bride, a brand-new groom and a threshold. Duncan, however, seemed oblivious to it all. He dropped their bags in the hall and bellowed, “Robby!” at the top of his lungs.
Sam winced and clapped her hands over her ears. “You’ll wake the dead.”
“Good,” he said, “then maybe the man will hear me.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a tall white-haired man strolled down the hallway toward them. Sam had seen scarecrows with more meat on them. She almost swore she could hear his bones clacking together as he walked. The scarecrow looked at Sam, and his smile was so big and bright she found herself smiling back at him.
“Aye, a bonnie lass you are,” the man said, with a nod toward Duncan. “As if he’d be bringin’ home anything less.”
In Texas a comment like that would have prompted her to start World War Three, but somehow, in this place, she found herself charmed. Even if the comment did make her feel like a prize trout. “Thank you,” she said, extending her right hand. “I’m Sam.”
The man took her hand in his as if it were made of the most delicate, translucent porcelain. “Robby Graham, and if ever you need something done, I’m the man to call.” He said it with the rapt expression of a man declaring his undying love.
Sam was so touched she almost wept. “I’ll remember that, Robby,” she said, gently extricating her hand from his. “I’m very glad to meet you.”
Robby’s smile stretched so wide, she wondered it didn’t split his face in two. “You’re what we’ve needed,” he said. “Not like the other one—”
Duncan stepped between the two of them. “The library,” he said. “We need a fire.”
Robby nodded, but his attentions were still focused on Sam. “A nasty one she was. Never time for so much as a—”
“Are you going to lay the fire, old man, or do I have to do it myself?”
“In a mood, he is,” Robby said, not cowed in the least by Duncan’s temper. “Been this way all his life if you ask me.”
Sam did her best to hold back her laughter, but failed. Robby started to laugh, too, and she knew their friendship was sealed in mirth. Duncan, however, found no humor in the situation.
“You’re a worthless man,” he bellowed, picking up the suitcases and starting for the stairs. “It’s a wonder I don’t turn you out.”
“You’d be lost without the likes of me,” Robby said, with a wink for Sam. “I’ll lay the fire for you, missus.”
“He’s wonderful,” Sam said as Robby disappeared down the hallway.
“Ye think so because he’s cow-eyed for you.”
“I think so because he’s delightful and has a sense of humor,” she said, still grinning. “Which is more than I can say for you right now.”
He didn’t exactly smile, but Sam knew it was only a matter of time.
“Come with me,” he said, “and I’ll show you the living quarters.”
She grabbed her tote bag and followed him down the corridor to a surprisingly elaborate staircase that led upstairs. The steps were wide and shallow, and it took her a second to find her rhythm. One day these steps would be as familiar to her as the elegantly carpeted steps of her town house. Right now, however, that seemed impossible to believe. Sights, sounds, smells—everything was strange to her. Her country’s history would be nothing more than a footnote compared to the richness found in Duncan’s lineage.
Dozens of portraits in ornate gold frames stared at her as she climbed the stairs. Women in Elizabethan dress. Men in ruffles and velvet. A parade of handsome young men in kilts with swords slung diagonally across their chests. She paused before a small oval portrait of a woman with hauntingly beautiful eyes, and a wave of the familiar dizziness washed over her.
“Lassie?” He was by her side in an instant. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m simply overwhelmed.”
“You’ve gone pale.”
His expression shifted for an instant, but before she could identify the emotion in his eyes, he put down the bags and swept her into his arms.
“I had no intention of fainting,” she said.
“You had no intention of fainting the last two times, either.”
He climbed the rest of the stairs with Sam cradled against his chest. “Do you plan on carrying me around until the baby is born?”
He pretended to stagger under her weight, and she laughed. It was these unexpected moments of connection between them that kept her so off balance.
They reached the landing, and instead of setting her on her feet, he carried her down the second floor hall, all the way to the last door on the left. The door was closed. She wondered if he just might carry her over this particular threshold, but he put her down then reached for the doorknob.
Wrong again, Sam. He’s not going to carry you over this threshold or any other one. Get over it!
He swung open the door and motioned for her to step inside the room. She did and was instantly struck by the flood of light pouring in through the mullioned windows that lined two walls. The room was austere but no less beautiful for its simplicity, with lots of dark wood paneling, a chair and table near the far window, a bed the size of
