“I shall be down directly,” she said, trembling but praying that she’d kept dignity in her voice. “You can go, Mary Jane. No, wait!”
“Aye, can I help you dress?—”
“No, I can manage on my own, but…”
She looked around the room.
“There are a few changes I must make here quickly, if you will give me just a second and lend me a hand…”
CHAPTER 9
“Shawna!”
Andrew Douglas had been seated before the fire in the great hall along with Alistair, Gawain, and two women she didn’t know. He’d risen upon seeing her, setting a brandy snifter down upon a table to greet her. He strode to the base of the stairway and caught both of her hands, holding her at arm’s length while his eyes swept over her. Then he pulled her into a gentle, encompassing hug. She pulled away, praying that she didn’t start to shake with the weakness she was feeling. He was a striking man. In height and build, in his expressions and movements, he bore an ungodly resemblance to his brother. The sharp planes of his face and the copper tone of his skin gave evidence of his Sioux heritage, while his forest green eyes were all Douglas.
His gaze upon her was very tender, like that of a brother greeting a sister after many years.
She was quite certain Andrew Douglas had not seen his brother as yet. Andrew knew that she’d been caught in the fire that had killed his brother. She’d told him as much herself at the funeral. Had she wanted to do so, she couldn’t have lied about having been at the stables the night his brother had died—too many of the villagers had seen her prone form next to the charred remains of the man they had assumed to be David Douglas. Andrew, she knew, had been well aware that she had cared for David, even if she’d most usually and carefully pretended to disdain the heir to the great laird.
Apparently, he’d believed that his brother had felt something for her in return. Even if it had been nothing more than a growing intrigue and desire.
Surely, Andrew Douglas had no idea now, though, that his brother believed that she had been partly to blame for his “death.” He would not be greeting her so warmly if he did.
“Hawk,” she managed to murmur, and then it was easy to smile, because if it hadn’t been for the current strange circumstances, she would have been glad to see him. He had grown up in America, but he’d come here often enough. He was older than she by several years, yet still closer to her in age than David. He’d been her friend, and she’d been honest with him, caring for him deeply, all her life.
Until the night of the Fire.
After which, she had never really been able to face him again.
“Hawk, I’m so glad to see you,” she said. She looked around him. “And meet your wife.”
The two women who had been seated by the fire beside him with Gawain and Alistair were standing now as well. They bore a resemblance to one another in their slender physiques and facial features, but one was a golden honey-blonde with striking silver eyes while the other possessed rich, dark auburn hair and eyes that seemed to range from turquoise to cobalt with each flicker of the firelight. They were both young, elegant, and very beautiful. Only one could be Hawk’s wife—unless he had truly embraced Sioux ways—and she was started to find herself wondering how David would respond to the unwed American beauty who had just entered his household.
Annoyed at herself, she swallowed down the surprising pang of jealousy. “Hello, welcome to the Highlands,” she said to the two women, walking toward them and offering her hand.
Hawk followed her, his hands set gently upon her shoulders as he directed her first toward the blonde. “Shawna, my wife, Skylar, and my sister-in-law, Sabrina.”
“How do you do?” Shawna murmured. “Welcome to your Scottish holdings.”
Sabrina smiled and murmured a thank you. She seemed pleasant enough, yet somehow distracted. Skylar Douglas, however, was enthusiastic. “I’ve just been telling your uncle and my husband how incredibly impressed I am with the way your family manages to handle so very much and do it all so well. Thank you for all that you do for us here.”
“It’s…so little,” Shawna said. She saw that Gawain was staring at her sternly over the top of Skylar Douglas’s head. She tried to focus on what she was saying. “The estates have been entwined for so long, managing them as one is quite an easy feat actually.”
“Perhaps,” Hawk said, “but these castles are ancient. And it is surely a feat in itself to keep both in such a sound state of repair.”
“Indeed, the buildings are very old,” Gawain said, coming around to address Skylar. “The Vikings came to the Hebrides and the Isles and taught us to erect sound defenses against them. Then the Norman conqueror seized Hastings and began to build defensive castles out of stone throughout England so that he could be sure to rule a people who continued to rebel against him. He battled the Lowlander Scots often enough, as did his heirs. In the Highlands, we’ve always been a breed apart, living in so northern and rugged a land, our own great cliffs and rocks and hills help to shield us from our enemies. But we learned from those enemies who ever sought ways to attack us that we needed strongholds as well. Your home was officially built asGrayfriar Castle, Lady Douglas, yet has been known since the twelfth century, when it was completed, as Castle Rock, for few structures have ever been built more solidly.”
“It’s quite fantastic,” Sabrina commented.
Alistair joined them as Gawain had done. “But small,” he said somewhat apologetically, “when compared with such structures as those found in London, Edinburgh, and the like. I’m afraid neither Castle Rock nor our own Castle MacGinnis compares to the truly grand castles and palaces that were built later.”
“Ah but there’s more to the place than the size of the castle,” Hawk said, smiling at his wife. “Highlanders are unique, as is the countryside.”
“There is no country like this anywhere in the world,” Shawna said. “You’ll see tomorrow. The hills sweep out in endless shades of green with mauves cast in where you come upon the fields of wildflowers. The sky ranges from bright blue to silver to gray and is streaked with pastels at dawn and dusk. The rock by the loch gives a cast of gray to various areas, and the water itself shimmers and dances beneath the sun.” Shawna flushed, aware that her passion for her homeland had grown with her speech. “Well, you shall see,” she murmured lightly.
Myer, as tall and straight and dignified as any butler might be for one of the grander castles to which Gawain had referred, appeared, clearing his throat. By habit, he glanced toward Shawna and Gawain, then remembered that the true laird of Castle Rock was home.
“M’laird. Supper is prepared. May we serve?”