realized he must be wanting to sell her on the attractions of the glen before she met Archibald Cunningham to discuss its fate. “Tomorrow morning would be fine,” she told him.
She turned back to the window for one last look at thepanoramic view.
When she tore her gaze away from the glen, Finlay was gone and she was alone with the four-poster bed. All at once everything caught up with her—the long journey, the uncertainty of what lay at the end of it, and the excitement of seeing Glen Cranoch and Greystane. She kicked off her shoes, lay on top of the quilt, and was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
Kate woke up just before 5 p.m. after something longer than a nap but shorter than a slumber. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the frilly fringe around the top of the four-poster, and for a moment she felt like she was in a doll’s house. She blinked and looked around. The unfamiliar surroundings added to the notion that she must be dreaming. Even after she remembered about the transatlantic flight and Finlay McRae, the climb up the staircase cut into the crag, and her first sight of the tower house that topped it, she still had to get up and look out of the window to convince herself it was all real.
The sun was setting beyond the hills at the far end of the glen, and Kate bathed in the light and gloried in the view. Before her eyes the craggy summits changed color and seemed to soften, as if granite was being transformed to amber. Bewitched, she watched as the green of hillside forest was swallowed up by shadow, and the lochan turnedfrom a shimmering pool of liquid gold to a bottomless well that plumbed the depths of night. It was all so enchanting that at one point she actually pinched her arm in a bid to convince herself it wasn’t just a dream.
After a soak in the old enamel en-suite bath she put on jeans and a white cotton sweater—happy to dress casually now that she’d met Finlay and Miss Weir and knew they had no airs or graces—before going downstairs for something to eat.
Kate wanted to take her evening meal in the kitchen but Finlay led her to the banquet hall instead, where a place was set for her.
Sitting alone at the head of a table that would have seated thirty—and faced by a mountainous helping of stew and dumplings that would have fed half a dozen of them—Kate got the feeling that, while she’d been sleeping, Finlay and Miss Weir had formed a little conspiracy with the intention of doing all they could to impress her with Greystane’s grandeur.
She smiled at the idea. The smile didn’t last long, however, for as she unfolded her napkin and looked around the empty hall her gaze was drawn instinctively to the picture of Lady Carolyn, and again she was unsettled by that strange, unaccountable sense of recognition. For a moment she actually considered turning the painting around to face the wall, like Jamie’s picture. All that stopped her was the knowledge that she couldn’t comfortably explain away such an action to Finlay and Miss Weir.
She tried shifting herself rather than the painting so that the wall of portraits was at her back. However that only made things worse because it wasn’t a case of “out of sight, out of mind,” but rather “IT’S BEHIND YOU!”
Moving back to the head of the table, Kate did her best to concentrate on her food and forget about the painting. It took all her willpower but, with the help of a healthy appetite and the perfectly cooked meal, she managed.
She was more unsettled than she’d realized, however, because when the polished brass handle of the door that led to the lean-to began to turn fifteen minutes later, it gave her such a fright that the fork fell out of her fingers and clattered on the plate. Powerless to move, Kate made no attempt to pick it up. She just sat there as the door swung open and the clash of silver on china echoed from the old walls.
Finlay appeared and said, “Sorry, Lady Kate, did I
She turned back to the window for one last look at thepanoramic view.
When she tore her gaze away from the glen, Finlay was gone and she was alone with the four-poster bed. All at once everything caught up with her—the long journey, the uncertainty of what lay at the end of it, and the excitement of seeing Glen Cranoch and Greystane. She kicked off her shoes, lay on top of the quilt, and was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
Kate woke up just before 5 p.m. after something longer than a nap but shorter than a slumber. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the frilly fringe around the top of the four-poster, and for a moment she felt like she was in a doll’s house. She blinked and looked around. The unfamiliar surroundings added to the notion that she must be dreaming. Even after she remembered about the transatlantic flight and Finlay McRae, the climb up the staircase cut into the crag, and her first sight of the tower house that topped it, she still had to get up and look out of the window to convince herself it was all real.
The sun was setting beyond the hills at the far end of the glen, and Kate bathed in the light and gloried in the view. Before her eyes the craggy summits changed color and seemed to soften, as if granite was being transformed to amber. Bewitched, she watched as the green of hillside forest was swallowed up by shadow, and the lochan turnedfrom a shimmering pool of liquid gold to a bottomless well that plumbed the depths of night. It was all so enchanting that at one point she actually pinched her arm in a bid to convince herself it wasn’t just a dream.
After a soak in the old enamel en-suite bath she put on jeans and a white cotton sweater—happy to dress casually now that she’d met Finlay and Miss Weir and knew they had no airs or graces—before going downstairs for something to eat.
Kate wanted to take her evening meal in the kitchen but Finlay led her to the banquet hall instead, where a place was set for her.
Sitting alone at the head of a table that would have seated thirty—and faced by a mountainous helping of stew and dumplings that would have fed half a dozen of them—Kate got the feeling that, while she’d been sleeping, Finlay and Miss Weir had formed a little conspiracy with the intention of doing all they could to impress her with Greystane’s grandeur.
She smiled at the idea. The smile didn’t last long, however, for as she unfolded her napkin and looked around the empty hall her gaze was drawn instinctively to the picture of Lady Carolyn, and again she was unsettled by that strange, unaccountable sense of recognition. For a moment she actually considered turning the painting around to face the wall, like Jamie’s picture. All that stopped her was the knowledge that she couldn’t comfortably explain away such an action to Finlay and Miss Weir.
She tried shifting herself rather than the painting so that the wall of portraits was at her back. However that only made things worse because it wasn’t a case of “out of sight, out of mind,” but rather “IT’S BEHIND YOU!”
Moving back to the head of the table, Kate did her best to concentrate on her food and forget about the painting. It took all her willpower but, with the help of a healthy appetite and the perfectly cooked meal, she managed.
She was more unsettled than she’d realized, however, because when the polished brass handle of the door that led to the lean-to began to turn fifteen minutes later, it gave her such a fright that the fork fell out of her fingers and clattered on the plate. Powerless to move, Kate made no attempt to pick it up. She just sat there as the door swung open and the clash of silver on china echoed from the old walls.
Finlay appeared and said, “Sorry, Lady Kate, did I
Similar Books
