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They were different in appearance from their other brothers. All the Powell men had dark hair, but the twins’ hair was curlier and more streaked by the sun. Their eyes were hazel, rimmed with green and pierced with shards of gold.

Each the identical image of the other.

Which one had appeared to her? And why? The second sight the Ramsay women possessed could often be vague, but the elusive images were always significant, portenders of the future, harbingers of danger, or both.

It had been a dream that warned her of Will’s capture by the French and another that gave her hope for his release. The dream she treasured most had given her the design of a schooner she hoped one day to see built in Arbroath.

“Come with me, Ailie,” Emily urged as she hurried toward the countess’ cook, who had been patiently waiting to one side. “I’m about to introduce Mrs. Platt to Martha. Since Mrs. Banks is occupied with our guests and the new maids, I may need your help to smooth ruffled feathers.”

“I am happy to help if I can.” She followed her sister-in-law and the English cook to the large kitchen at the back of the house. Beyond the kitchen garden was the orangery William had added.

With a trembling voice, Mrs. Platt said to Emily, “I understand my presence in your cook’s kitchen may be unwelcome, my lady, but Lady Claremont thought I could assist with the Christmas dinner.”

“And you shall,” Emily assured her, linking the cook’s arm with her own. “It just might take a bit of persuading.” Glancing at Ailie, she added, “I’ve asked my sister-in-law to come with us. Our cook likes her.”

Ailie mentally prepared herself for the encounter with Martha McBride. In her late thirties, Martha was a good cook but cantankerous as the day was long. In the kitchen, she reigned supreme, supervising assistants and scullery maids. Martha had no love for the English, much less an English cook who might ken more than she did about cooking for the Stephen household.

It had taken years for Ailie to gain the woman’s trust. Emily, on the other hand, had been accorded the respect due the master’s wife when she arrived. Even so, when Emily had suggested a few English dishes be served, Martha had been reluctant to agree. She only acceded to her new mistress’ requests when Emily enlarged the kitchen garden and later began growing herbs and vegetables in the orangery.

Emily let go of Mrs. Platt’s arm to enter the kitchen first. “Martha,” she addressed the cook, who was facing away from them, stirring the contents of a pot over the hearth fire.

Two kitchen maids, busy chopping vegetables, looked up from their work.

Save for the orangery, on a cold winter’s day the kitchen was the warmest room in the house, the fire kept going at all times and the stove nearly so. Ailie could often be found there in afternoons pinching a freshly baked tart.

The cook turned, tucking stray dark hairs into her mobcap as she faced her mistress. “Aye, Mistress?”

“Martha, I want you to meet someone.” Emily stepped cautiously toward the cook, as one might approach a dog known to bite. “Do you remember me telling you that, along with our friends from London, Lady Claremont would be bringing her cook?”

“Aye.” Martha slowly nodded as if trying to postpone the inevitable. Turning to one of her assistants, she gestured to the pot she’d been stirring and, wiping her hands on her apron, walked toward them.

“Well, she is here,” said Emily. “Ailie and I want you to meet Mrs. Platt, who has sailed from London at Lady Claremont’s request to help with the Christmas feast. I asked that she bring her recipes and all she would need. The crew should bring the crate in soon.”

Ailie held her breath, waiting to see if Martha would object. The scrutinizing gaze Martha gave Mrs. Platt did not bespeak a welcome.

Emily made the introductions. To support her, Ailie chimed in, “Everyone is looking forward to the traditional English feast.”

Martha’s face took on a surprised expression. She knew Ailie didn’t give a whit about the English observance of Christmas, but Ailie paid her no mind. She remembered William’s reminder that the English were their invited guests. In Scotland, hospitality was everything.

Undaunted, Emily faced the cook. “Mr. Stephen and I enjoyed our Christmas with some of these same friends last year and he quite liked the roast goose and Christmas pudding.”

Hands on her ample hips, Martha frowned. “What about the dishes the master likes at the holidays?”

Emily smiled sweetly. “Oh, we shall have those, too. William tells me there will be cock-a-leekie soup, haggis with tatties, steak pie, roast game and salmon. And the Scottish desserts, too.”

“The master’s favorite treat is cranachan,” put in Martha.

“Yes, well, I look forward to that myself,” said Emily. “You shall preside over the menus as always, Martha, but for the Christmas dinner, I ask you to consult with Mrs. Platt.”

Tension hung in the room like a schoolteacher’s rebuke.

Casting her gaze about the kitchen, Mrs. Platt offered a compliment Ailie thought quite diplomatic. “I can see you run an efficient kitchen, Miss McBride.”

That was certainly true, thought Ailie. On the side of the kitchen opposite the windows looking out on the garden, William had one of the carpenters build cabinets painted a light gray. Open shelves held plates, pans and copperware, everything neatly in its place.

Martha smiled despite herself. She did manage well her kingdom.

The smile must have encouraged Mrs. Platt. “It will be my pleasure to assist you in any way I can.” The compliment from an experienced cook years older than Martha could only be termed gracious.

Feathers smoothed, Martha inquired as to whether Mrs. Platt would like to have a chat and stay for tea. Ailie and Emily shared a look of relief.

The kitchen was large enough to accommodate Martha’s invitation. In the center of the room, a long oak worktable with bench seats provided ample room for the servants to dine.

Martha glanced at Emily. “With your permission, Mistress, after our tea, I can show Mrs. Platt to her room.”

“That would be lovely, Martha,” said Emily, pleased. “And would you also have one of the servants take tea and shortbread up to Lady Claremont? She is in the chamber across from Ailie’s.”

“Aye, Mistress. Immediately.”

“Wonderful,” said Emily turning toward Ailie, “Now, I must consult Mrs. Banks about our guests.”

“And I must see to the dogs.”