“Try just a bite.”
Mary looked at the ladle and screwed up her face. Hugh tried not to laugh. It had taken more than a little coaxing to get her to consider attempting a mouthful of haggis. But now that it sat before her on the spoon, she hesitated.
“Couldn’t I have another piece of the blackbun instead?” she said.
“No. The rest of the blackbun is for Hogmanay. We only got to try some today because cook had made an extra batch. Come on, you have to try a spot of haggis; it is the law.” He waved the ladle under her nose, laughing when she finally opened her mouth and let him feed her. She didn’t chew for a moment, a look of distaste evident on her face. Offal was not to everyone’s liking.
Then, to his delight, her face changed.
As she chewed, her eyes grew wide. She swallowed. “That was not at all what I expected. It was nutty and peppery.”
“Cook adds a lot of spices to it. Once you get over the idea that it is the heart, liver, and lungs of the sheep, it’s quite a good meat,” he replied.
He offered her a second spoonful and grinned when she accepted it without hesitation. For someone who had lived a sheltered life at the university, he was pleased to see that Mary was open to embracing new experiences.
The family were gathered in the great hall for supper. The great space had been cleaned from top to bottom. A roaring fire burned in the giant stone fireplace.
The room was a sea of Strathmore family tartan. One-year-old David was decked out in a kilt which had once been his father’s, while baby Will was wrapped up warmly in a tartan shawl. Everyone wore the family plaid. Everyone except Mary.
Hugh had broached the subject of giving Mary a Strathmore tartan stole to wear, but Ewan had refused. Only family could wear it. Hugh understood his brother’s message loud and clear. If he wanted Mary to wear the tartan, he had to make her one of the family.
Lady Caroline finally made an appearance in the great hall just before supper. She looked brighter than she had been earlier in the day but was still pale. As she came to her husband’s side, Ewan drew her in close and spoke to her. She smiled and nodded.
“Could I please have your attention for a moment,” announced Ewan.
He bent down and lifted David into his arms. Lady Caroline stood close.
“This time last year, I was fortunate to make Caroline my wife. In doing so, David gained a mother, and the castle its new duchess. Today, I am happy to announce that Caroline and I are to have our first child together in the new year.”
Ewan’s words had the immediate effect of Adelaide squealing with delight, Lady Alison giving a knowing nod of the head, and Aunt Maude searching her pockets for a handkerchief. Mary stood with her hands clasped together, held to her lips.
Before anyone had the chance to step forward and congratulate the expectant mother, her husband gently steered her to the place under the mistletoe. Charles took David from his father.
“You have made this first year of our marriage the happiest year of my life. Thank you for making me your husband.” Ewan placed his hands on Caroline’s cheeks and bent his head. Caroline wrapped her arms around his waist and gave herself up to the kiss.
Hugh discovered there was something in his eye and quickly wiped it away, noting that he was not the only one who had experienced a sudden eye irritation.
“Oh,” Mary softly sighed.
He tore his gaze from the amorous couple and looked at her. The longing he saw in her eyes had him swallowing the lump which had formed in his throat. She too wiped away tears.
“You have such a loving family,” she said, turning to him.
Hugh studied her face for a moment. How many times had he seen that same look on Mary’s countenance as she brought him toast and coffee? It was there every time she had encouraged him to study a little later, to make his university paper better.
And until this moment, he had not understood it. A bolt of sudden awareness hit him.
He was not alone in wishing for love.
He stayed close to Mary for the rest of the evening, ensuring she was included in all the family celebrations. He forced himself to maintain the faint smile on his face, with the result that by the time he retired for the night his cheeks hurt.
Once back in his room, the smile swiftly disappeared. He sent his valet away, unable to maintain his polite manner for a single minute longer.
The past few days had been a slow and uncomfortable revelation of how poorly he had treated Mary. While all the time she had looked at him with love and longing in her eyes, he had been more concerned with his studies and his career. He had kept her at arm’s length.
She deserved better than the mere thanks he had given her every time she had shown him kindness. And she should have received far more from him than the occasional “sorry” after her father’s death. Little wonder she had kept such an important issue as the loss of her home from him when he had shown so little regard for her feelings. He had made a mockery of the word love.
He looked down at his kilt, running his fingers along the lines of the tartan. The blue and black had been proudly taken back up by the family as soon as the ban on wearing tartan had been lifted. His hand dropped to his side; he was unworthy to wear the plaid.
Mary had a whole new winter wardrobe thanks to his need to assuage his guilt, but it was
