His arms tightened around her. “You were very brave today, Gillian.”
The pride in his soft-spoken compliment washed away the last of her melancholy, and Gillian smiled into the darkness.
11
Gillian got her first sight of her new home before noon the next day. Kincreag Castle was visible from miles away, an enormous, sprawling stronghold, perched atop a craggy mountain. The thick outer walls wound around it for miles it seemed, as big as a city.
“Sakes me,” she murmured. And Kincreag was just one of his castles. She had married well. Her gaze turned to her husband, riding beside her, tall and straight, his subdued plaid mantle flapping out behind him. This place fit him, she thought: harsh, uncompromising, unforgiving—and impossibly beautiful. She remembered how he’d loomed out of the fog to rescue her, then held her in the dark until her shaking stopped, and later, shown her passion she’d never imagined. Shehadmarried well.
The road to the castle was narrow and treacherous, winding steeply up the mountainside. Nicholas rein ed in, placing a hand on Morfran’s bridle. The horsejerked his gray head, then submitted and stood docilely. Gillian had barely spoken to Nicholas since the night before. She’d woken alone, too shy to approach him. He’d been busy, anyway. The prisoner had escaped in the night. She’d watched from the safety of the tent as he’d paced up and down the ranks of men-at-arms, Sir Evan standing off to the side, glowering menacingly at the men. He’d sent a handful of men to pursue the outlaw and had been in a foul mood all morning.
“I’ll ride before you,” he instructed. “Keep a firm hold on the reins. In some places the rocks are loose. Stay close to the side.”
He spurred ahead of her, his enormous horse picking its way up the sloping path. He did not jest—the road was treacherous, at times dropping off a sheer cliff that ended in nothing but sharp boulders and dry scrub. Gillian peered down, remembering the rumors of the late countess’s death. She’d plunged from these cliffs. Gillian’s stomach plummeted at the thought, and for the remainder of the climb she kept her eyes fastened on Nicholas’s back.
The pace was slow, and it took them several hours to reach the great gatehouse. The metal teeth of the raised portcullis framed the open gate like the yawning mouth of a dragon. Sun glinted off the helms of the guards lining the walls. They stared down stoically. When Kincreag and his entourage entered the courtyard, the servants were lined up in clean livery, waiting.
Gillian scanned the household, modest for a castle of this size. Two dozen men, women, and boys—the boysunnaturally clean. Gillian smiled, imagining the baths forced on them for the occasion.
Nicholas helped her down from her horse and led her past the line of servants. She’d taken his arm and now held it tightly, intimidated by the demeanor of her new charges. She supposed living atop a windswept mountain might make anyone a bit dour.
The thick doors opened directly into the great hall, which was three times as long and twice as high as Lochlaire’s. Deep fireplaces lined the walls. Gillian counted eight of them. Enormous wooden candelabras hung from the ceiling by chains, their candles not yet lit.
Nicholas made no comment to Gillian’s gasps of astonishment, leading her across the hall and out, and through a bewildering series of corridors and rooms before finally coming to a stop before an open door.
“Your chambers,” he said, gently pulling his arm away from her grasping fingers.
She dropped her hands self-consciously. “My chambers?” She frowned up at him. “Where are your chambers?”
He waved his hand vaguely to the left. “They adjoin yours.” He stepped over the threshold and indicated a door. “I’m through there if you need me. Wash up, rest, have a bite, and I’ll show you around. Aye?”
The door closed behind her, and she was alone. Her chamber was enormous, far finer than anywhere she’d ever lived. A huge canopied bed perched upon a dais. Heavy crimson velvet curtains draped it, secured to the carved posts by silk ropes. She wandered through theroom, inspecting the fine tapestries, opening doors and peering inside. An engraved silver tray set on a cabinet bearing an enameled decanter and matching goblets. She found the ewer and basin in a cupboard and poured out the scented water, washing off road dust and travel.
A fire roared in the fireplace near the bed, so Gillian sat beside it, waiting. She poured herself some wine but was too nervous to drink, so she set the goblet on the floor beside her. It would be some time before her chests were brought up, or she would have changed into clean clothes. The weight of her new role as countess already chafed more than she’d anticipated. Separate chambers. Lillian and Alan MacDonell had shared a bedchamber, though her mother’d had other rooms for her personal use. The family had eaten together, there’d been no question of it, though things had changed now that Uncle Roderick was in charge. But then her father was only a Highland laird, not an earl. Gillian had learned much about running a household from her foster mother, but nothing of this size. She shrank smaller in her chair, gazing about the vast, immaculate room.
There was a knock on her door, too soft to be the earl, but she still stood anxiously and called, “Come in?”
A woman entered bearing a tray laden with cheese, oatcakes, and small bowls of dried fruit. She placed it on a sideboard and curtsied. She started to leave, but Gillian called after her, “Wait!”
“My lady?”
“What is your name?”
“Aileen.” The woman was in her mid-twenties, herskin sun darkened, and her pale blond hair pulled back at her nape.
“Are you my maid?”
“Aye, my lady. What be ye needing?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Verra good, then.”
She was gone before Gillian could respond, leaving her impatient with herself. She should have interviewed the maid, asked questions about the running of the castle.
The next knock on her door was strong and solid, and Gillian nearly tripped in her haste to answer it.
Nicholas stood outside the door, his black doublet partially unfastened and the neck of his crisp white shirt untied.
