Page 31 of Enchanted

Chapter Twelve

The sun was beginning to set when Rosalyn and Keiran walked in silence back into the castle and headed up the stairs towards the great hall. The only sound along the stone hallway was their footsteps—his firm and regulated as he adjusted to her shorter stride. When they approached the doorway, the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses came to them. Only then did Rosalyn’s nerves falter as her steps slowed. Keiran’s hand tightened on her elbow, steering her forward.

“Do not worry,” he said with a soft smile. “We MacLeods are a friendly bunch, and rarely if ever sacrifice our guests at the supper table.”

She knew his humour was an attempt to put her at ease, and she was grateful for it. “That is well. I was worried about the outcome of this meal with your family.” She allowed a small smile to come to her lips. She was not certain why she was so nervous, the MacLeods had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival. Which was very different from the reception she usually received while dining amongst the aristocracy in England.

She and Keiran entered a room full of glittering candlelight and splashes of brightly hued tartan. At their appearance, all conversation ground to a halt and heads swivelled and stared at the two of them in the doorway. Rosalyn felt heat rise to her cheeks, growing warmer as she imagined most eyes were on her, not because she was a visitor but because she was English.

Alastair and Gwendolyn stood and came to the door. “We are so happy that you will join us for supper tonight.” Gwendolyn offered her a welcoming smile, then took Rosalyn’s arm, and led her to the table on the dais at the front of the room. A cheery fire crackled in the hearth along the far wall, adding warmth to the chamber. “Sit here.” She motioned to the chair next to her own.

Keiran appeared beside her and pulled the chair out for her to sit, then took the seat next to her. “If we are both to learn about all things Scottish, then I had best remain close.”

Looking around the chamber, Rosalyn noted that the family sat on the dais while the warriors and their families sat at long tables clustered near them. All the men, including Keiran and his brothers, wore green and blue tartan. The women on the dais were elegantly gowned in silks and brocades that were the height of fashion even in England. She had always assumed that the women here were still stuck in the past when it came to fashion. Obviously, she had been very wrong in that regard.

“We hope we did not keep you waiting,” Keiran said to his brothers, lifting his glass of claret to his lips and taking a sip.

Alastair’s gaze passed between Rosalyn and Keiran. “We sent Graeme and Callum out looking for you about an hour ago, but they could not find you. Where were you two?” Alastair did not wait for an answer as he signalled the maids waiting against the wall to begin serving the meal.

“Rosalyn and I were exploring the estate. Our path must have just been opposite of Graeme and Callum’s.” The falsehood seemed to satisfy Alastair.

The maids carried platters of savoury-smelling meats to each table already laden with crisp potato scones browned in bacon fat, as well as fruit, cheese, and bottles of claret. Tender pink salmon on a bed of leeks was followed by sausages, and crispy pasty stuffed with ground venison. All those dishes were unfamiliar to her, but she enjoyed them greatly. Then came the roasted mutton and onions, scents that reminded Rosalyn of home and should have brought her comfort. Instead, her stomach tightened as the meal progressed.

She looked at those gathered around the table, as the realisation of how much she missed eating with others came upon her. Meals at home were often a solitary affair since her brother was always gone, dining with friends, or at engagements to which she had not been invited.

As the meal progressed, Keiran made certain that her wine glass was always full. And by the time she had sampled everything, she was grateful that Highland dress did not involve wearing a tight corset.

“So, you like our Highland victuals?” Keiran asked as he pushed his own plate away.

Rosalyn took a sip of her wine before answering. “I must admit that Highland food has a lot more flavour than English fare. It seems our cook can make but one sauce and pours it on everything.”

He laughed. “Mrs Honey, our cook, will be pleased to hear that you enjoyed your meal.” He pushed his chair away from the table, stood, then offered her his hand. “Our meals are usually followed by some kind of entertainment. Do you dance, my lady?”

There was a sound of laughter in his voice, and the way the words “my lady” were spoken with his soft brogue sent a shiver of excitement through her. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the centre of the room as the tables were pushed back and spirited strains of music sounded over the conversations and noise.

Keiran grasped Rosalyn’s hand and pulled her into a type of country dance with a forming circle, but the others thought differently and thrust them into the centre of the ring. Rosalyn held onto Keiran’s hands as he twirled her about. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she felt almost too breathless to release it. She could not remember the last time she had felt such unbridled joy.

Tonight might be just any other night to the MacLeods with their delicious food, flowing wine, and dancing, but to Rosalyn it was special. These people were not her family, though that did not seem to matter. She had nothing to offer them, and still they treated her better than her own English relations had over the past few years.

“What are you thinking?” Keiran asked, his steps slowing.

She could not keep a smile from her lips. “That I have had more fun tonight than I have had in a very long time.”

“Are you ready to embrace being a Scot?” he challenged.

“I am not,” she countered.

“Then perhaps you had better come with me for the remainder of this evening’s entertainment. My brothers made certain I knew how to dance when I returned, even though we danced often in Fairyland. But what comes next might be a bit of a surprise as it was to me.” He pulled her with him towards the ring of dancers, and they ducked under Alastair and Gwendolyn’s raised hands. He did not explain what would happen next as he hurried along the hallway and down the stairs, still holding her hand tight.

At the rear door, he released her as he lifted a green and blue tartan shawl off a hook behind the door and set it about her shoulders. “You will need this. Stay here. I will be right back.”

He left her standing there as he disappeared into a chamber on the right. A few seconds later, he emerged with a brown bottle and two glasses. “Come with me,” he said as he moved past her and out the door, heading for the rear courtyard. Instead of heading for the mews as she expected, he led her down a path towards a sea gate. He opened it and let her pass and joined her before closing it again.

Since they had last been outside, the sun had set. Night had descended upon the loch like a velvet shroud punctuated only by the twinkling tapestry of the stars above. A sliver of moon hung high in the sky, bathing the shoreline in a silver glow.

Keiran offered her his arm as they made their way across the ragged rocks, until they reached more even terrain where he led her to a large boulder. He set the bottle and glasses down and before she could object, his hands came about her waist as he lifted her onto the rock. A moment later, he joined her and handed her one of the glasses.

“What is this?” she asked as he poured the liquid into her glass, the sound mimicking the waves as they quietly lapped at the shoreline not far from their feet.