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As she watched, they spoke for a moment and then looked at her. They were talking about her. Though Gillian had been generally pleased by her reception at Highgate, she knew the people did not trust her yet. Why would they? She was a stranger. And an Englishwoman. But this was her home now. And though she’d been sheltered, Gillian had at least been trained to run a household. She could do this.

So why were they looking at her so—

“Morgan!”

It had to be! Every head in the hall turned toward her. She hadn’t meant to shout, but she was so pleased by the prospect of seeing her lady’s maid, she’d momentarily lost control.

So very unlike her.

Gillian folded the linen napkin she held and placed it on the table. Rising, she made her way to the opposite end of the hall, where she could now see trunks being brought in from the outside. She recognized some of the men. They were from Lyndwood. Yes, Morgan was here!

The petite, brown-haired woman ran toward her. And although Gillian knew she should not embrace her in full view of everyone, she did so anyway. If Graeme could hold her hand and kiss her in front of his people, she could very well show affection to the only familiar face here at Highgate.

“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” she said.

“They were surprised I rode so well.” Morgan motioned to her father’s men, who nodded to her when she glanced their way.

Fiona appeared and introduced herself. “Welcome, Mistress Morgan. My lady has been looking forward to your arrival.”

She smiled at Fiona. “Aye, very much. I’m pleased to introduce you to Mistress Fiona. She is . . .” Gillian stopped, not knowing how to introduce her. A lady’s maid, without a lady to care for, would typically receive another less prominent position.

One look at the older woman’s face and Gillian knew exactly what she had to do. She prayed for Morgan’s understanding. “She was lady’s maid to my husband’s late grandmother.”

Fiona’s face fell. Aidan stopped talking to his companions.

“But I should be quite pleased if she shared your duties, Morgan, and would serve me as well.” She rushed to finish, “Of course, only if Mistress Fiona—”

“I accept,” Fiona said, her uneven smile telling Gillian she had done the right thing.

“As such,” she said to the older woman, “if you could arrange for the remainder of my meal—”

“Done, my lady. I’ll have one of the girls bring it up to you straightaway.”

Gillian moved away from the hall and motioned for Morgan to follow. Greeting the men as she walked by, she excused herself to her brother-in-law and wound her way upstairs and toward the lady’s chamber, ushering Morgan inside.

“This is quite lovely.” Morgan placed the sack she carried at the foot of her bed. “Will a pallet be brought in here?”

She’d shared her bedchamber with Morgan since the girl had been assigned to her when she was but ten and one. Would Morgan stay here? Would Gillian? Or would she sleep in her husband’s chamber every night as he’d alluded to the night before?

“’Tis a good question.” She moved to the bed and motioned for Morgan to do the same. Her maid folded her hands in her lap, and though she’d seen her sit exactly the same way many times, something struck her about the properness of it, especially since Allie had told her it was a habit Morgan had picked up from her.

It had seemed quite normal at Lyndwood.

“Tell me . . . everything.”

Morgan took a deep breath.

“So much to tell, my lady.” Morgan tapped her fingers together.

Her maid was nervous.

“Morgan?”

“I can hardly believe yer married, my lady. And this is our new home. When you didn’t return—”

“Morgan.” She did not mean to sound so stern, but her chest felt tight in anticipation. “Is something amiss?”

Her maid’s nod, so slight, confirmed Gillian’s greatest fear. Her family would lose Lyndwood. If her father could not pay his debt to the Crown . . .