Just Beyond Tomorrow by Bertrice Small Page A

had. “My half brother, Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, has never been thought of in that light, Flanna. While we teasingly call him our not-so-royal Stuart, he was always considered just one of mother’s bairns. Old King James and Queen Anne loved him dearly. He was their first grandchild. Sadly his father, the prince, died shortly after his birth. His uncle, our late King Charles, for whom Charlie was named, was very fond of him. One reason mother retired to England is to make certain Charlie doesna endanger himself by involving himself in this factional fighting over religion and Divine Right. Charlie is deeply loyal to his father’s family.”
    â€œBut he was born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Flanna persisted. “How can he be anything other than a bastard?”
    â€œLass,” the duke explained patiently, “the royal Stuarts hae always recognized their bairns nae matter the mother. ’Twas that way when they ruled here in Scotland, and ’tis that way now in England as well. They are a most loving family. My own blood is also mixed wi’ theirs, as are many families here in Scotland.”
    Flanna shook her head. “I dinna understand,” she said, “but if ye say ’tis all right, I will accept yer word.”
    Patrick laughed again. “Are ye hungry?” he asked her.
    â€œI am, and I canna help but wonder why there is nae meal on the table, and the master in the house almost an hour now,” she replied. She stood up. “Who did ye leave in charge, my lord?”
    â€œNae one has been in charge since my mother left,” he said.
    Flanna sighed. “Angus, to me,” she called, and the giant man who was her servant stepped from the deep shadows of the hall. In his arms he carried Sultan, purring noisily as Angus stroked him rhythmically.
    Patrick Leslie chuckled. “’Tis rare he takes to strangers, but I trust his judgment in men.”
    â€œHe’s a grand beastie, my lord,” Angus replied. He was a man of indeterminate age, but he stood straight like a great oak, seven feet tall. His hair was dark brown with streaks of silver. He wore it pulled back and tied with a leather thong. His matching beard was full, but it was a small vanity of Angus’s that he kept it well trimmed and neat. All who knew him knew he took great pride in his beard, as he did in his dress. Angus always wore his Gordon kilt.
    â€œPut the creature down,” Flanna said, “and see why there is nae supper on the table. Are the men supposed to starve after that long ride through the wet today? Tomorrow ye and I must see to putting the management of this house back properly.” She turned to her husband. “Is the castle mine?”
    He knew exactly what she meant. “Aye, madame,” he replied.
    Flanna turned back to her servant. “Ye’re now the majordomo of Glenkirk Castle, Angus,” she said. “Aggie, where is my chamber? I want a hot bath. I’m yet frozen through despite whiskey and the fire.”
    â€œThere are so many rooms, mistress, I dinna know where to look first,” Aggie said, coming forward in the company of an older woman. “She knows,” she continued accusingly, “but she will nae tell me.”
    â€œHae ye taken to bringing yer wantons into the castle now that yer mam is nae here, my lord?” the woman demanded. She was small and plump, with white hair, but a youngish face.
    â€œThis is my wife, Mary,” the duke said. “I wed wi’ her yesterday in her father’s house at Killiecairn. She is yer new mistress. Ye will render her yer respect. Flanna, this is Mary More-Leslie.”
    â€œCan ye housekeep?” Flanna demanded fiercely of the woman.
    â€œAye,” came the reply, and Mary More-Leslie looked Flanna over critically, recognizing a Highland wench when she saw one.
    â€œThen, ye’ll be the housekeeper here unless Angus says