Page 33 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)
But then he thought of his grandson, as fine a strapping lad as he’d ever seen.
The lad brought the promise of new life into the cold stone walls of Dunford, and a liveliness into his creaky old limbs that had not been there since Kate died.
He shook his head. His grandson was a rounder and a hell-raiser and he balked at everything new.
The Mackinnon smiled and leaned back in his soft leather chair. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
A minute later he was fast asleep.
It was an hour later when Ross stood at the window of the great library, twirling the globe of the world and absently watching Annabella make her dainty way down the stone walkway to the coach that was waiting to bear her and several other ladies to town for shopping.
The coachman’s son, a small lad of five or six, came running up to her carrying a peacock feather, which he proudly presented to her.
Annabella leaned over and whispered something to the lad, then gave him a hug.
Ross wondered what she would have done if he had been the one who presented her with that feather.
Already he was feeling his customary impatience to be on with things gnawing at him.
He wanted Annabella, and knew with every breath he drew that she had been promised to him—after a trial, as his grandfather put it.
One part of him said a woman like Annabella would be worth any trial, yet another part of him couldn’t help wondering just how severe this trial would be.
He wanted Annabella, and he wanted her badly, but not badly enough to die from it.
No woman was worth that. Looking at her, he reminded himself that the Mackinnon said no one had as yet died from his trial.
He prayed in earnest that his grandfather was right, or at least that he wouldn’t be the first.
Out of breath and feeling as if she had thrown her clothes into the air and run under them, Annabella wondered why she had agreed last night to accompany some of the duke’s female guests to town when her mother had enough sense to agree to a game of whist in the parlor.
She didn’t need to shop, and now that Huntly had left, she didn’t need to get away from him.
Another hour’s sleep would have served her better, or a game of whist. But then she remembered the duke’s grandson, and found yet another reason for accompanying the ladies to town.
Suddenly eager to shop, she glanced up to see Maura standing beside the carriage.
“Have you seen Caitlin and Kate MacDonald?” Maura asked.
“No,” said Annabella. “They weren’t in the hallway or near the front stairs. Do you know if anyone else is coming to town with us?”
“It’ll just be the four of us as far as I know, unless someone else has decided to come at the last minute.”
Hearing voices behind them, Annabella and Maura turned to see Lady MacDonald and her two daughters, Kate and Caitlin, hurrying toward them.
“Looks as if Lady MacDonald has decided to go,” Annabella said, watching the woman hastily pull on her gloves. Her over-plump bosom heaved with each breath she drew.
The five women settled themselves in the coach for the ride into Broadford.
The coachman cracked the whip and the coach lurched forward just as Annabella looked out and saw Ross Mackinnon standing at the window of his grandfather’s library.
As their eyes met, he dipped his head in recognition.
Annabella quickly turned her head away and began rubbing at a speck on one of her kid gloves.
Lady MacDonald complained heavily all the way to Broadford.
The coach was too crowded, she claimed. Annabella thought there was ample room, considering they had crammed five women inside and one of them took up enough space for two.
But Lady MacDonald wasn’t to be appeased, not even when Annabella pointed out that the squabs were deep and very comfortable and exclaimed that she had “never ridden in a more well-sprung coach”.
About the only thing they did agree on was the state of the road into Broadford—if, indeed, one could call it a road.
A well-rutted trail was a more apt description.
But the way into town was a lovely one, and Annabella thought no painting could have done justice to it; indeed, no words she could think of did either.
Words like magnificent and breathtaking seemed too commonplace and mellow to describe mountains that seemed to rise right out of the sea and shoot straight up into the sky.
The somber grayness of yesterday had given way to a sunny brilliance of such a pristine character that the whole world seemed fresh and whole and newly created.
The coach gave a lurch and sent everyone leaning far to the right as it rounded a curve and passed over a deep gully, then bumped down a little narrow, twisting road that wound down the side of a hill and passed through a thin slice of woods where the sunlight came down in thick, brilliant shafts that looked substantial enough to slide down.
Once they had to pause for at least twenty minutes while a sheep dog moved his herd of black-faced sheep across the road.
“Sheep are such humble little creatures,” said Annabella.
“They’re always shy and huddled together in little bunches, as if they’re afraid to face the world on their own. ”
“They’re filthy beasts that make the most dreadful noise,” said Lady MacDonald. “I can’t stand the sight of them.”
“But you love your haggis and your warm wool shawls,” said Kate.
“Humph!” said Lady MacDonald.
For the rest of the journey, Annabella settled herself back in the seat between Maura and Kate and listened to Lady MacDonald wheeze and complain about the dust while trying to learn something of the countryside, which was so very different from England.
Here there were no odd-shaped pastures, no hedgerow trees.
Everything was well plotted and laid out, the quickset hedges narrow and clipped low, like a garden.
There were no may or blackthorn blossoms, no rambling roses, and not a sign of violets or primrose growing in the shade.
But the skies were clear and the Black Cuillins were hazy in the distance, and everywhere she looked the Isle of Skye was pleasant and tranquil and abundantly green.
Caitlin fell asleep and began to snore lightly.
Lady MacDonald was wheezing so loudly she apparently couldn’t hear, but Maura and Kate did and they began to giggle.
Annabella couldn’t very well ignore two giggling women she was sitting between, and the sight of Caitlin’s head rolling all over the back of the seat and the sound of her snoring were funny—and on top of that, anything seemed funny when one was sitting between two people who were laughing.
It was difficult to keep a straight face, but Annabella managed.
The drowsy little village of Broadford lay scattered around its wide bay, while Beinn na Caillich and the Red Hills seemed to stand guard in the distance.
They passed a few lobster creels stacked along a fence not far from the Broadford River.
Two young boys stood on its bank fishing for trout and salmon, casting curious looks at the coach, but turning away when the girls waved.
Moments later the coach pulled to a stop in front of the Broadford Hotel.
After shopping for two hours, buying bonnets, wool paisley shawls, and an ivory fan or two, the women met back at the hotel for tea before starting back to Dunford.
On the return trip, Annabella sat next to the window and listened to Caitlin, Maura, and Kate recount stories of their childhood, stories of little girls who were given a great deal more freedom than she or her sisters were ever allowed to have.
Annabella closed her eyes, giving way to the rhythmic sway of the coach, the soft caress of warm, penetrating sun upon her face, and slept.
Sometime later she was awakened when the coach jerked to an abrupt halt, throwing her and her two companions on the seat with her forward.
“What happened?” Lady MacDonald asked with a groan, shoving Kate off of her and back into her seat.
The coachman leaned his head down and said something about a broken wheel.
“Fiddle,” said Lady MacDonald. “Whoever suggested this shopping trip ought to be shot. Now what shall we do? Sit here like a gaggle of geese waiting for some nodcock to come along and offer us a ride back to Dunford?”
“Aye,” the coachman said, coming around to open the door, “this is a busy road. I ken another coach will be along soon.” He announced with his next breath that he was setting out for Dunford and would send another coach back for them.
Half an hour later, Annabella sat in an empty coach, watching her companions crowd themselves into a rickety farm cart. Even if there had been room for one more, she would have been skeptical of that contrivance. It didn’t look strong enough to hold itself together, let alone carry a load.
With promises to send someone for her as soon as they arrived at Dunford, and Lady MacDonald’s stringent remarks on the reliability of coaches being built nowadays, her companions waved and were off, one wheel of the tiny cart wobbling under its newly acquired weight, the other creaking ominously.
Soon it crested a hill and rolled out of sight.
Annabella sat back in the coach and waited, but after what she surmised to be over two hours had passed she was uncomfortable, stiff, and blessedly tired of sitting inside a coach that wasn’t going anywhere.
She found the strain of sitting in the coach any longer far worse than the thought of walking.
Without further thought, she climbed out of the coach and started up the road.