Chapter 2

2

" D on't you remember any of it?" Roselyn asked, as Matilda slammed the lid of the harpsichord shut with an angry exclamation.

"No, I don't. I don't really care to remember it, Roselyn," she said, scowling at Roselyn, who sighed.

"Ask Grace to play. She was always better than me– perhaps she can remember it. I'm going outside. It's far too nice to be stuck indoors all day," Matilda said, and without waiting for a reply, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

The three sisters had been sitting in the upstairs parlor of Abbey Estate. It was an expansive room above the dining hall, where a harpsichord stood in the corner, and a merry fire burned in the hearth. It was spring, but the days could still be cold, and when evening drew in, they would be glad of the fire. Grace was sitting in a chair by the hearth, and she looked up at Roselyn and shrugged her shoulders.

"You won't change her, Roselyn. She never wanted to learn any of it, she's not going to suddenly show interest now," Grace said.

"I think I can remember how to play the piece, but I'm not sure," Grace said, and she rose to her feet and crossed to the harpsichord, opening the lid, and began to play.

The sound was jarring, and Roselyn covered her ears, trying to stifle a laugh, pleading with her sister to stop.

"Well done, Grace. You remember the melody. But you're hammering the keys. You need to be a little bit softer with it. Here, let me remind you," she said, and Grace rose to her feet, allowing Roselyn to sit down at the keys.

As her fingers traced their way across the keys, a beautiful, melodic sound filled the room, and Roselyn smiled, looking up at Grace, who giggled at her own attempt compared to her sister's.

"I hope they'll have a harpsichord for you to play in Scotland. We'll miss you playing it here. Even mother can't play as well as you," Grace said, as Roselyn concluded her piece.

Roselyn smiled – there was a lot about Scotland she was curious about, and the presence of musical instruments was just of those curiosities.

"The ways of the Scottish clans are very different from our own, Roselyn," her father had once told her, and the Duke had expressed some misgivings about Kenna's arrival, even as the laird's daughter had proved herself a diligent student.

Roselyn had taken in several young women like Kenna – the daughters of aristocrats in need of education. But Kenna had been the only one from north of the border, and Roselyn had always been fascinated to learn more about the highlands, imagining the rugged country of mountains and lochs, a romantic landscape of adventure.

"I won't be gone forever, Grace. I'll be back in a few months," Roselyn said, rising to her feet.

"And do you really think you can help the laird?" Grace asked, as she followed Roselyn out of the room.

Roselyn was unsure. She had accepted the invitation as much to get away from Abbey Estate as to help her friend. The time spent in Scotland would surely not count as part of her father's ultimatum, and on her return, a new opportunity might present itself, certainly one more palatable than Baron Wesley. Roselyn needed a change, and teaching the laird would certainly be that.

"I don't know, Grace – but I can try. Besides, it's better than waiting here to be told whom I should marry," she replied, and her sister nodded.

"Absolutely, but I hope… well, you don't think father would make me marry Baron Wesley, do you? I know I come across as naive and romantic, but I won't marry just for the sake of it. I want to fall in love, and I want the man I marry to return that love," she said, looking suddenly fearful.

But Roselyn shook her head.

"You've still got some years to go yet, Grace. Don't worry – I doubt father will forget his threat, and I know the baron won't, either," she replied.

They were descending the stairs to the hallway, and their father now emerged from one of the lower rooms, beckoning Roselyn to follow him.

"You've got a visitor, Roselyn. It must be your guard from the north, come to escort you to the highlands," the Duke said, and Grace clapped her hands together in delight.

"Oh, how exciting. You're really going, Roselyn. Can you believe it?" she exclaimed, and Roselyn's eyes widened.

Kenna had written to tell her she would send someone to escort her, but that letter had only arrived a few days earlier. Roselyn had believed herself to have plenty of time to get ready before the guard's arrival.

"Goodness, I hadn't expected…" she began, and her father raised his eyebrows.

"He's a strange sort. He doesn't speak much – if at all. Maybe our accent is too sophisticated for him to understand – or he's too embarrassed to use his thick Scottish accent here. Perhaps it's better that way," Roselyn's father said, and she followed him from the hallway.

Upon reaching who would be her escort, Roselyn found herself in the company of a tall, muscular, handsome man, who rose to his feet and bowed. His expression was serious and he looked like a warrior, with all the scars she could see on his chest and legs. He was the most fierce man she had ever seen, and his gaze was intense; so intense that she felt weak to the knees.

She had never had trouble meeting a man's gaze, if anything, she loved challenging them, but she found herself tearing her eyes away from his green ones or else she felt she might burst with…something. Why was that?

The man was dressed in a kilt and open shirt, his shoulders covered with a long red cloak. Roselyn recognized the McGraham tartan – the same as Kenna had worn, and the man now held out his hand to her.

"You must be my guard then," Roselyn said, placing her hand in his, and the man nodded seriously, not breaking the eye contact with her as his lips touched the back of her hand.

"You see – he doesn't reply. You'll find your journey north somewhat difficult, I fear," said the Duke, but Roselyn barely noticed anything but the tingles the man left wherever his hand – or lips – touched her.