Welcome To The Highlands

A s far as Makenna was concerned, the only good thing about the two days spent traveling to Glengeárr was that the rain stopped after the first three hours. That proved long enough for Lord Ash's top hat to become sodden. He tossed it away in a fit of pique.

That was typical of the nobility. The hat would never regain its original shape, but it could be salvaged. For what reason she wasn't sure. No Highlander would wear such an impractical thing. Halstead thought nothing of throwing it away. "Easy come, easy go," she remarked to Jock.

"Aye," he replied. "He'll learn."

"I ha'e my doubts," she retorted. "Took him half an hour to decide which trunk to leave behind."

"We could have made room, ye ken," he said with a wink.

She might have told him she was aware of that, but…

She'd brought along a bell tent large enough to accommodate them all when they made camp near Dunkeld the first night. Halstead refused to believe there was no inn where they could stay and stalked off in search of one. By the time he crept back into camp, she and Jock had the tent up, a fire lit and rabbits roasting on the spit.

He spent the night huddled in his cape by the fire while everyone else slept on beds of dried heather.

By the time they pulled into the courtyard of Lockie House the next afternoon, he'd lapsed into a sullen trance, confirming her opinion he was his own worst enemy and not worth the time and effort Tavish and Payton would be obliged to spend on him.

Ash hadn't slept well on the ship and not at all the previous night in the woods. When the wagon ground to a halt late in the afternoon, he stirred from his stupor and gazed in disbelief at Aunty Maureen's house.

He'd assumed the Dowager Duchess would live in a mansion similar to Rochevaux Abbey. Instead, he was apparently expected to lodge in what could only be described as an ancient country cottage.

"Here we are, home at last," she proclaimed as her husband lifted her down.

"Aye," he replied with equal enthusiasm. "Welcome, my lord," he said, extending a hand to Ash when his wife hurried to embrace servants who appeared at the door. At least, Ash assumed the shabbily dressed man and woman were servants. Did Scots not provide menials with a decent livery?

" This is Lockie House?" Ash asked, offended when the Guthrie woman snorted.

At least he'd soon be rid of the tiresome wench, although he acknowledged she'd controlled the horses well in some difficult parts of the journey. Few women of his acquaintance could set up a camp in short order. In fact, he couldn't think of a single noblewoman who wouldn't faint at the mere suggestion she undertake to transport passengers and luggage across miles of rugged terrain. Even the redoubtable Hatty would balk.

Strange he hadn't given Hatty a thought until now. Compared to the robust and resourceful Makenna, Hatty was a…

A loud crash jolted him from his reverie. The Guthrie woman was heaving his chests off the wagon. Furious as he was that she apparently didn't care if his possessions were damaged, he realized she was stronger than she looked. In fact, once the rain stopped on the first day, he'd been surprised when the sodden tresses dried to a tempting burnished red. Who'd have suspected a beautifully formed woman lurked neath the oilskin shroud or that the harridan would stir the interest of his cock?

One day, perhaps?

He shook himself out of that absurd notion when the last chest crashed to the ground and the infuriating redhead chivvied the team into motion.

"'Tis a huge mistake," Makenna told Tavish when he appeared in the stables behind the distillery.

"When I saw ye returning with the wagon, I came to see how ye fared on the journey, but…"

"He's impossible," she declared. "Willna last a week here."

"So, how is my auntie, and Jock?" he asked, evidently not wishing to hear about her experiences with Ash Halstead.

"They're well. 'Twas grand to see them again, but…"

"Good, good, weel, thanks again for going to pick them up. We're making good progress wi' the harvest."

"And ye're nay doubt grateful I took a shipment of barrels to the Dundee docks," she reminded him.

"Aye. Thanks for that too."

"'Tis obvious ye dinna want to hear about the lordling."

He shrugged. "I'll meet him soon enough," he replied. "We hafta make allowances for the first while. He didna want to come here and I dinna blame him. I'd be angry if I was forced to suddenly leave the highlands and move to London."

"I suppose," she agreed, suddenly feeling remorseful. She hadn't done anything to make Halstead feel welcome. "But I intend to stay as far away from him as possible."

"Bollocks," Ash swore for the umpteenth time as he struggled with his cravat without benefit of a mirror. Carting his chests up to the attic bedchamber had sapped the last of his energy. He'd ruined his fingernails trying to open the lids of two chests that had seized thanks to being tossed off the wagon by a certain Guthrie person. He'd finally located the appropriate attire for the late evening dinner Lady Maureen insisted he attend. Used to being assisted by a valet, he'd finally lost what little patience he had left and very nearly burst into tears.

That was the last straw. He'd be damned if he'd give these Scots the satisfaction of knowing he'd whimpered like a child.

Hoping the cravat was reasonably tied, he looked longingly at the cot that took up most of the so-called bedchamber. Except during the war, he'd never slept on such a poor excuse for a bed, but sleep beckoned. Squaring his shoulders, he set off to search for the dining room, hoping Jock kept a decent cellar. He hadn't had a drink since the shot of blue ruin tossed back in the squalid inn he'd located in Dunkeld.

He stopped halfway down the creaky stairs when he saw Jock waiting for him in the hallway. The Scot had changed out of his traveling clothes but his tweed garb looked more suitable for a ramble in the countryside. His host's face fell when he saw Ash's formal attire. "I should ha'e mentioned we dinna dress for dinner. Ye'll find life more informal here in the highlands."

Ash almost laughed out loud, but his ill humor returned when Jock led him into a spacious kitchen and invited him to take his place at the ancient table that took up most of the room. Lady Maureen gestured to an old codger who looked like he might keel over any minute. "My brother, Gregor," she said.

"Sir," Ash replied with a polite nod, receiving only a grunted response.

After smirking at him, the two servants he'd seen earlier plonked several tureens of food on the table. The aromas were tantalizing, but Ash clenched his fists when the servants sat in the two empty chairs. Jock's request they all bow their heads in prayer cut off the objection he was about to voice. Jock uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for their safe return home. Ash prayed for deliverance from the hellhole into which he'd been thrust.