you, Mr. Nevin, the honor is mine,” Duncan said. He touched Fiona’s hand. “Lady Fiona Haines, allow me to present Mr. Nevin. He is my tenant.”
She could hardly make herself sit upright. But she did. She stared at Mr. Nevin, her heart and mind in a nauseating whirl of wretched thoughts.
“A pleasure to make yer acquaintance, mu’um,” Mr. Nevin said anxiously. “Ours is but a humble home, just round the bend here, but ye are most welcome. Ceud mile fàilte ,” he added in Gaelic, welcoming her.
“ Tapadh leat, ” she responded, thanking him.
“May I also present Mrs. Nevin, Master Tavin Nevin, his brother, Collin Nevin, and the lovely Miss Robena Nevin,” Duncan stoically continued as the entire family made their way to the wagon.
The lads bowed their heads; Miss Robena curtsied without taking her eyes from Fiona.
Fiona nodded. She could not speak. If she uttered anything, it would be a scream or a curse.
“Climb on,” Duncan said. “We’ll see you home.”
Mrs. Nevin ushered the family into the wagon, while Mr. Nevin gestured to Duncan’s hand. “I could ride up top with ye, milord, and handle the reins.”
“It’s no’ necessary.”
“Please, milord. It would be my honor,” Mr. Nevin insisted.
Duncan nodded, and Fiona numbly watched him unwind the reins from his deformed hand and pass them to Mr. Nevin. With Mr. Nevin up top, the wagon lurched forward.
She could feel Duncan beside her, could feel all of him, pressing against her. But she could not look at him. She was mortified to her very core.
After only a few minutes, they reached a thatch-roofed cottage from which a tail of smoke curled up out of the chimney. With Mrs. Nevin at her side, Fiona was ushered into the cottage. She made the obligatory remarks, but she hardly saw the place, her mind was rushing so. A table was laid with dinnerware and wine. The scent of roasted goose and bannock cakes wafted through the air, and Fiona’s stomach responded with a hungry growl. Boughs of evergreens were scattered on the floor before the hearth, a few of which Miss Robena picked up to show Fiona. Candles had been lit and placed in the windows, symbolically lighting the way for the holy family.
“Tavin, set two more places at the table. Robena, mind you have a care with those boughs!” Mrs. Nevin instructed her children, then smiled at Fiona. “We’ve no’ had a lady to dine with us,” she said anxiously. “And from England, no less!”
“England?” Fiona said, startled. “I beg your pardon, but I’m no’ English.”
“No?” Mrs. Nevin said, blinking clear blue eyes at her. “Forgive me—I thought, given your accent . . .”
“Scottish,” Fiona said adamantly, and removed her bonnet. She sheepishly put a hand to her hair, certain it looked a fright. “I am as Scottish as you, Mrs. Nevin, reared no’ very far from here at all.” She smiled at Robena, who was looking at her bonnet as if it were a fine work of art. She handed it to the lass, who took it carefully and held it away from her with awe. “Scotland is home,” she added, and realized for the first time since returning how deeply Scotland was imbedded in her blood.
Just when she’d begun to realize it, the shock of seeing Duncan Buchanan after all these years had put her to sea all over again.
Chapter Nine
M r. Nevin could not have been more accommodating when Duncan explained their predicament and how they’d been caught in the snow. There was not the slightest bit of censure in his tenant’s expression. In fact, Mr. Nevin seemed more than pleased to be able to offer lodging for the night.
That had always been Duncan’s experience with the Nevins. They were good, honest Christian people, full of charity. The very sort of tenants he’d once ridiculed as too rustic in the company of his friends.
Now he wished for all the world he had an ounce of Mr. Nevin’s integrity. If he’d possessed it, he might have told Fiona who he was in Edinburgh
She could hardly make herself sit upright. But she did. She stared at Mr. Nevin, her heart and mind in a nauseating whirl of wretched thoughts.
“A pleasure to make yer acquaintance, mu’um,” Mr. Nevin said anxiously. “Ours is but a humble home, just round the bend here, but ye are most welcome. Ceud mile fàilte ,” he added in Gaelic, welcoming her.
“ Tapadh leat, ” she responded, thanking him.
“May I also present Mrs. Nevin, Master Tavin Nevin, his brother, Collin Nevin, and the lovely Miss Robena Nevin,” Duncan stoically continued as the entire family made their way to the wagon.
The lads bowed their heads; Miss Robena curtsied without taking her eyes from Fiona.
Fiona nodded. She could not speak. If she uttered anything, it would be a scream or a curse.
“Climb on,” Duncan said. “We’ll see you home.”
Mrs. Nevin ushered the family into the wagon, while Mr. Nevin gestured to Duncan’s hand. “I could ride up top with ye, milord, and handle the reins.”
“It’s no’ necessary.”
“Please, milord. It would be my honor,” Mr. Nevin insisted.
Duncan nodded, and Fiona numbly watched him unwind the reins from his deformed hand and pass them to Mr. Nevin. With Mr. Nevin up top, the wagon lurched forward.
She could feel Duncan beside her, could feel all of him, pressing against her. But she could not look at him. She was mortified to her very core.
After only a few minutes, they reached a thatch-roofed cottage from which a tail of smoke curled up out of the chimney. With Mrs. Nevin at her side, Fiona was ushered into the cottage. She made the obligatory remarks, but she hardly saw the place, her mind was rushing so. A table was laid with dinnerware and wine. The scent of roasted goose and bannock cakes wafted through the air, and Fiona’s stomach responded with a hungry growl. Boughs of evergreens were scattered on the floor before the hearth, a few of which Miss Robena picked up to show Fiona. Candles had been lit and placed in the windows, symbolically lighting the way for the holy family.
“Tavin, set two more places at the table. Robena, mind you have a care with those boughs!” Mrs. Nevin instructed her children, then smiled at Fiona. “We’ve no’ had a lady to dine with us,” she said anxiously. “And from England, no less!”
“England?” Fiona said, startled. “I beg your pardon, but I’m no’ English.”
“No?” Mrs. Nevin said, blinking clear blue eyes at her. “Forgive me—I thought, given your accent . . .”
“Scottish,” Fiona said adamantly, and removed her bonnet. She sheepishly put a hand to her hair, certain it looked a fright. “I am as Scottish as you, Mrs. Nevin, reared no’ very far from here at all.” She smiled at Robena, who was looking at her bonnet as if it were a fine work of art. She handed it to the lass, who took it carefully and held it away from her with awe. “Scotland is home,” she added, and realized for the first time since returning how deeply Scotland was imbedded in her blood.
Just when she’d begun to realize it, the shock of seeing Duncan Buchanan after all these years had put her to sea all over again.
Chapter Nine
M r. Nevin could not have been more accommodating when Duncan explained their predicament and how they’d been caught in the snow. There was not the slightest bit of censure in his tenant’s expression. In fact, Mr. Nevin seemed more than pleased to be able to offer lodging for the night.
That had always been Duncan’s experience with the Nevins. They were good, honest Christian people, full of charity. The very sort of tenants he’d once ridiculed as too rustic in the company of his friends.
Now he wished for all the world he had an ounce of Mr. Nevin’s integrity. If he’d possessed it, he might have told Fiona who he was in Edinburgh
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