The trip to Scotland was proving an eye-opening experience. Edinburgh, with its cobbled streets and imposing castle, had captured her imagination. She made a promise to herself that if she was able to make her work as a tutor a success, she would set aside a little money each week so that at least once a year she could afford to travel outside of Cambridge. She longed to see more of the world.
She looked around the travel coach. Adelaide and Charles were busy with William. Charles softly singing a French lullaby to his son, while his wife held Will in her arms and stared lovingly at her husband. Mary felt her heart swell as she watched the devoted couple and their baby. From the happy gurgles of Will, it was obvious he enjoyed hearing his father’s dulcet tones.
Hugh sat beside Mary on the bench. For once he did not have his nose in a book. He was staring out the window, the hint of a smile on his face.
The coach had turned off the main road not far from Falkirk several hours earlier, and as they made their way along the narrow side road which led to Strathmore Mountain, Mary could see the landscape changing. The wooded Lowlands gave way to sweeping snow-covered meadows framed by towering mountains. The peaks of the mountains were hidden from view by low gray clouds.
Adelaide handed Will to his father and both she and Hugh pressed their faces to the window of the coach. At one point, they exchanged an excited giggle. Mary sat bemused at the sight, while Charles simply smiled.
“Walls!” cried Adelaide.
Hugh snorted. “No! Where?”
His sister held her finger to the glass. “Between the tallest of those trees. There it is again. I win.”
Adelaide sat back in her seat and grinned at Hugh. “When will you ever learn? I know the exact point on the road.”
A less-than-impressed-looking Hugh shook his head. “Alright, you win. Again.”
He turned his gaze from his sister and looked blankly at Mary. He blinked, and the vague expression on his face changed. He had registered her presence.
“Come, look,” he said.
He got up and after Mary had shuffled along the bench and taken a position at the window, Hugh sat down on the other side of her. He pointed to two tall trees which stood in the middle of a nearby wood.
“There. Can you see the gray walls? Keep watching; it will come into full view any moment now,” he said.
Mary peered out and she caught sight of a solid patch of gray between the trees. As the coach turned, the wood was left behind. She then got a clear view of what Adelaide and Hugh had been searching for.
Across the distance of a mile or so, beyond a small village loomed a towering Norman era stronghold. Strathmore Castle, home of the Duke of Strathmore and the Radley family.
Her mouth dropped open.
Hugh chuckled, and Adelaide clapped her hands. “Over five hundred years, never been taken,” they chorused.
She had seen pictures of castles in books, and there were several real ones in the area around Cambridge, but none of them were anything like what Mary now saw. There were no ornate towers or flying buttresses. This was a stone behemoth built to withstand attack from bloodthirsty invaders.
“That is Strathmore village. Most of the castle servants live in the village and walk up the hill each morning to come to work,” explained Hugh, pointing to the small collection of buildings in front of the castle.
Mighty though the imposing structure was, Mary’s gaze was now drawn to the mountain beyond the castle. It dominated all that lay before it. Strathmore Mountain rose high into the sky. Its snow-capped shoulders were visible, but its peak was shrouded in thick, menacing cloud.
Mary shivered, imagining how bitterly cold it would be up on the mountain. She looked back at Hugh. “I now understand why you were so insistent on buying me that fur-lined hat.”
Hugh’s generous gift of winter clothing would be put to good use during her stay at Strathmore Castle.
After passing through the village, where the coach slowed down to make way for the local inhabitants on foot, and where Hugh waved out the window to everyone, they crossed over the castle’s heavy wooden drawbridge and through the gateway.
Adelaide fussed with her hair as the coach entered the courtyard and drew to a halt in front of the main steps of the keep. “How do I look?”
Her husband leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Enchanteur comme toujours,” he murmured.
Mary felt close to tears. Charles thought his wife enchanting. With such sweet endearments, it was little wonder that a minor nobleman from France had managed to capture the heart of a duke’s daughter.
The door of the coach was opened by a heavily set gentleman with a long white and gray beard, who poked his head inside. Mary sat back in alarm; he must have been close to seven feet tall. A giant of a man.
“Wylcome. Well then, who would we be a havin’ here?” he asked.
Hugh leaned forward. “A son and daughter of the house. Family and friend.”
The gentleman looked around the carriage and stood for a moment, scratching his beard. “Hmm. I canna sae I know you. The only other son of the house was lost long ago,” he replied.
Mary cast her gaze from the gentleman to Hugh and back again. She suspected there was some sort of byplay happening, but everyone was keeping a straight face.
Hugh broke first. “One Christmas. I missed one Christmas—am I never to be forgiven?”
He launched himself out of the carriage and into the embrace of the huge man, who wrapped him in a bear hug.
“Lord Hugh? Why, I didn’t recognize ya. The prodigal son has returned!” he cried.
Charles climbed out next and then helped Adelaide down. She held Will in her arms. At the sight
