Kissing the Countess (41 page)

"So this is your groom," Flora said. Hand at her hips, she peered up at Evan, tipping her head back so that she could see him more easily. She stood in the doorway of her little house, while Evan and Catriona stood outside in a cold wind and drizzling rain.

"English, if you please," Catriona said.

Flora nodded, still gazing at Evan. "He's a tall one. Tall enough for you, girl."

Evan suppressed a chuckle. The old woman was an elfin creature, wizened yet childlike. He liked her bluntness, and he liked her keen, direct gaze. He inclined his head toward her and smiled a little, waiting in silence.

Catriona smiled and tucked her hand into Evan's arm. "He suits me well, I think," she said, laughing up at him. "My dear, this is Flora MacLeod."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. MacLeod," Evan said, extending his hand. "I am Mr. Mackenzie."

"Huh," Flora said. Reluctantly, she extended her small, gnarly hand and allowed him to take it. He bowed slightly. "We all know you are more than Mr. Mackenzie, but we will not speak of it here," she grumbled.

"We need never speak of it, if you like," Evan said. "Think of me as your landlord—or as the husband of this fine lass." He covered Catriona's fingers, still tucked over his arm, with his own. "But I would be most pleased if you would think of me as another Highlander, happy to be here in Glen Shee again."

Flora tilted her head. "And who brought my great-grandson William and his wife Helen and their little ones back to me? Was it you, Mr. Mackenzie?"

"Not I, madam," Evan said. "That credit goes to Finlay MacConn and his father and sister."

"But they are here because you did not send them away."

"I did not," Evan agreed. "I will not. And I think we can manage to bring a few more MacLeods back to Glen Shee, once we find them."

Flora nodded once, curtly, though Evan saw her lower lip quiver for a moment. "Well," she said. "Well, then."

"May we come in, Mother Flora?" Catriona asked softly.

"Huh. I suppose." She stepped back to allow them to step over the threshold. "Watch your heads, both of you. Tall people," she muttered. "My husband knocked his head on that lintel more times than I could count, but he built the inside of the house tall enough to make him happy. Well, sit down."

As they entered the dim little house, Evan found the place roomy and neat, though it smelled suspiciously of goat. Escorting Flora and then Catriona to small wooden chairs, he took a seat on a bench beside the fire.

"What have you brought for me?" Flora asked, leaning forward to poke at the basket that Catriona had insisted they carry with them. "Not more stockings, I hope. I have enough of those. I still need a scarf, though."

"And I have one here," Catriona said, reaching into the basket to draw out the soft, knitted folds of a dark blue scarf.

Flora took it with a low cry of delight and wrapped it around her neck so that the ends dangled down into her lap. She perched her hands on her knees. "What else?"

"Some fruit," Catriona said, showing her a sack of apples.

"Bah," Flora said. "I have some just as nice as those. Morag and Helen brought them the other day." She leaned forward curiously.

Catriona glanced at Evan and smiled, her secret dancing in her blue eyes. More than one secret glowed there, he was sure, but she had not spoken of it to him yet. He wondered if she knew herself. The blush upon her cheek and the vivid sparkle in her eyes of late had given it away to him. He smiled in silence.

"Well, there is one small thing I brought for you," Catriona said, still smiling as she drew out a piece of folded linen.

Looking at Catriona in silence, Flora took the cloth and unfolded it gently. There, gleaming on the pale fabric, the little fairy crystal sat in her palm, its rosy heart glowing. Delicate rainbows of light and color dazzled along the smooth facets of the outer crystal wand.

"Ach,"
Flora breathed. "You found it!"

"I found it," Catriona said. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled, watching as the old woman turned the stone so that it winked and sparkled in the light of the hearth fire.

After a moment, Flora lowered her hand, the stone still clasped in it. "You climbed Beinn Sitheach for me, and for the sake of the fairy songs?"

"I did," Catriona said. "But it was Evan who found the stone. He risked his life to fetch it from the rock."

Flora looked at him. "I heard the story of what happened up there," she said. "Morag told me how the doctor died. Well, it is sad and tragic. He did not know as much doctoring as I know, but he had his place here in the glen. I thought he was a bit crazy, that man. You should have asked me."

"I wish I had, Mother Flora," Evan murmured. "You seem like a very wise woman."

"I am," she agreed. She peered at him for a moment, nodded to herself, and then looked at Catriona. "Well, then, I suppose you want me to teach you my fairy songs now."

"I would like it very much if you would," Catriona said.

"I could do that, I suppose," Flora said. "But we will have to work quickly. In a few months, you will not want to come up here to see me."

Catriona looked surprised. "Of course I will want to come up here to see you. Why would I not?"

"Ask him," Flora said, glancing at Evan. "He knows why."

Catriona turned to him. "You do?"

"Well," he said. "I think so. You have a secret, my dear."

She laughed softly, and the sparkle danced again in her eyes. "And what is that, sir?"

He took her hand, lifting it to kiss her knuckles softly. "Mother Flora," he said, still watching Catriona. "I would ask you one favor, if I could."

"Ask me, Mr. Mackenzie," Flora said. She sounded pleased, and she grinned, watching him. "Ask."

"I want you to teach me one of your fairy songs," he said. "I want you to teach me a lullaby." Catriona gasped, and he saw tears glisten in her eyes as she smiled up at him.

"Ah," Flora said, nodding. "And why should I do that?"

Evan leaned forward and kissed Catriona gently and slowly. Then he drew back. "Because I would like to sing to my son."

Catriona caught back a sob, smiling up at him through her tears. "And what if the babe proves to be a daughter?"

"I'll sing to her, too," Evan whispered, leaning forward again to rest his brow against hers. He rested his hand on her back, and felt the slight, beautiful thump of her heartbeat. A sense of deep gratitude filled him, for her, for the love she brought to him, for the child she protected inside of her. "And when our daughter is older, she can sing the songs to her brothers and sisters, and to her own little ones someday."

Catriona came into his arms then, and he wrapped her in his embrace, smiling to himself. Glancing at Mother Flora, he saw the old woman wipe away a tear.

"Now," Flora said. "Enough of that, you two. We have some work to do. Now listen." She began to sing, her voice earthy and low, filled with quiet power.

Evan held Catriona in his arms, and closed his eyes as he listened. He felt the peaceful grace of the old music pour through him, and he felt the healing of love.

Then, as Catriona began to sing softly, Evan began to hum the lyrical, lovely melody in harmony with her.

The End

Page forward for more.

.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing
Kissing the Countess
by bestselling author Susan King. We hope you enjoyed the story and will leave a review at the eRetailer where you purchased the book.

If you enjoy getting free and discounted ebooks, we announce our book sales and new arrivals through eBook Discovery. You can get eBook Discovery's latest announcements and alerts to new, limited-time free and discounted ebook deals by
signing up here
.

Happy Reading,

ePublishing Works!

Want more from Susan King?

Page forward for a Special Authors Note,

followed by excerpts.

Author's Note

Victorians were simply mad for mountaineering. Exuberant explorers, they scrambled and hiked and clambered up the slopes of Britain and the Continent with a little basic equipment, a lot of enthusiasm, and a huge appetite for adventure. Not only that, they delighted in writing about their escapades.

In researching mountain climbing for
Kissing the Countess,
I enjoyed reading Victorian accounts of mountaineering by men, and women, too. They described in fascinating detail their experiences and expressed a poetic appreciation for the beauty of the landscapes they encountered. Nineteenth-century photographs show Victorians picking their way over ice fields or across Alpine meadows on slopes thousands of feet high—all the while dressed in their prim Sunday best, with walking sticks and Manila rope, a knapsack or two, and the inevitable picnic basket. Scottish accounts were especially interesting to me, and some were recorded by Queen Victoria herself in her Highland journals. She enjoyed more than one jaunt among Scottish mountains, happily picnicking or admiring the glorious views, and stopping to pluck the occasional Cairngorm stone before trotting back down the mountainside.

Besides their appetite for mountain climbing adventures, Victorians were also mad for folklore collecting. In Scotland in particular, the gathering and preservation of Gaelic songs and folktales was of genuine service to a waning Gaelic culture endangered by the Clearances and the efforts of modern improvements. The better-known song and story collectors were Alexander Carmichael and John Campbell, but the lesser-known Miss Frances Tolmie provided real inspiration for the character of Catriona MacConn. Fanny Tolmie's dedication to collecting Gaelic songs preserved music that would otherwise be lost to us, and her tall, red-haired, big-boned Celtic appearance matched that of my already-imagined heroine with wonderful synchronicity. When that happens, an author knows that a book is on the right track.