A Dhé, beannaich an taigh, Bho stéidh gu stàidh, Bho chrann gu fraigh, Bho cheann gu saidh, Bho dhronn gu traigh, Bho sgonn gu sgaith, Eadar bhonn agus bhràigh, Bhonn agus bhràigh, she said to herself, reciting the Beannachd Taighe House Blessing.
God, bless this house, from foundation to stairs, from beam to side wall, from roof to upright beam, from ridge to basement, from floor-joist to roof-truss, between foundation and attic, Foundation and attic.
Chapter Four
“This is the new Duchess of Ealdwick,” the Duke announced to the staff, his voice carrying an undeniable authority. “You will treat her with the respect befitting her station and help her in acclimating to life at the Manor.”
Ealdwick Manor was an imposing sight, its grey stone façade rising grandly against the blue afternoon sky. There were large windows that gleamed in the sunlight, and ornate gargoyles on the top. Her eyes were drawn down to the line of servants who stood assembled at the entrance, their faces a mixture of curiosity and stoicism.
The Duke, his hand still linked with hers, led her up the steps dutifully, and a chorus of respectful curtsies and bows followed.
But as they neared the large, gold front door, Isla caught a few lingering stares directed at her face. One of the maids quickly averted her gaze, a fleeting look of pity in her eyes, while a footman’s brow furrowed in confusion.
A hot wave of self-consciousness washed over her, and she instinctively raised her hand to cover her face, pretending to wipe away a stray hair.
Suddenly, a small, bright figure burst from the grand front doors. It was a handsome boy, no older than six. His dark hair was a mess of tight curls, and his blue eyes shone with excitement. There was no mistaking, the eyes were the same hue as the Duke’s. Isla’s gaze immediately fell to his legs, and she noticed a subtle but distinct limp as he ran.
“Papa!” he squealed, launching himself into the Duke’s arms.
The Duke released Isla’s hand, and his posture, which had been so stiff, softened only a fraction. He looked down at his son, his hands hovering over the boy’s back as if unsure what to do.
The child, undeterred, simply hugged him tighter around his legs and looked up with a wide smile. Isla noticed the sweet freckles under his bright blue eyes and the way he teetered from side to side, so excited to see his father.
When he finally pulled away, the Duke cleared his throat and gestured to Isla. “Oliver, this is my new wife. Duchess, this is my son, Oliver.”
Oliver’s excitement faded as he took in Isla’s face. He tilted his head this way and that, his gaze frank but innocent. Isla knew the curiosity of a child, and Oliver’s attention was not unkind.
“What happened to your face?” he asked finally, his voice soft as a whisper.
The Duke’s posture stiffened instantly, his jaw tightening. His hands clenched into a rigid clasp. “That is utterly disrespectful, and I will not tolerate it,” he said, his voice sharp and uncompromising. “How dare you speak of another’s appearance in such a manner? Apologize to the Duchess immediately.”
“Nay, nay. It is refreshin’ to have someone ask and nae just stare like I am some elephant in the room. It is quite all right, Yer Grace,” Isla said, her heart melting at the boy’s honesty. She knelt, bringing herself to his level, ignoring the disapproving look of his father. “I was out huntin’ with me faither, a long, long time ago, when I was a wee lass. We were chasin’ a wild boar, ye see.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “A wild boar? Was it a scary one?”
“It was very scary, aye,” she said, a gentle smile on her face. “It wanted to hurt me brother and sister, but I didnae let that happen.”
“Did you fight it with a sword?” he asked, his voice full of wonder. “Or maybe a bow and arrow?”
She chuckled softly. “No, no sword, no bow and arrow. I just got in its way, and it got a bit upset with me.”
“You mean, you used yourself as a shield?”
“I suppose I did.”
“That is very brave. Say, where are you from, Duchess? Your accent is most exotic. Is it of Edinburgh? This all sounds terribly exciting!”
“Oliver!” the Duke’s voice cut sharply through the air. He stepped forward and gently but firmly lifted Isla from her kneeling position to meet his gaze. “That is enough questions for the Duchess.”
Oliver blinked, the eagerness in his eyes faltering slightly at his father’s tone. The boy opened his mouth as if to argue, but a shadow of caution crossed his face.
A tall, severe-looking woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun stepped forward. “Her Grace has had a long journey and needs rest. Come along, Lord Oliver,” she said, sidling close. Her voice was firm but not unkind. “There will be time to get acquainted at a more proper hour.”
The Duke’s eyes gleamed sharply as he nodded. “You heard your governess. Now, go on.” His tone left no room for discussion.
Oliver’s shoulders slumped, the bright curiosity in his azure eyes dimming. He hesitated, glancing between Isla and his father, as if trying to gauge the right course of action. The governess bent slightly and whispered something in his ear. He sighed, cheeks flushing, and gave a small, hesitant bow to Isla.
“It was really… nice to meet you, Duchess,” he murmured, voice almost lost in the quiet.
