Adam's Call (The Victorian Highlanders Book 3) Page 3

  “Good evening ladies, gentlemen,” he said, reaching out a hand to help the women out of the carriages that had pulled up in front of him. “Welcome to Darfield Keep, my home, and yours for the next several days. I’m pleased to meet you. Rory MacTavish, at your service.” He gave an extravagant bow.

  Her father blustered by the man, looking around him. “You are the only one to welcome us?” he asked.

  “I do have several servants to help you with your belongings,” answered the man. “They will be out momentarily. Now come, follow me and I shall see you settled in your rooms.”

  He led them into a great hall where, as promised, a few servants awaited them, including a plump, older woman who Rachel assumed to be a housekeeper of sorts. As Rachel was the only single woman, she was led to a decidedly feminine room, complete with beautiful white curtains over the window and around the bed, which was bordered by a warm fur rug.

  “This room was Kyla’s,” the woman told her. “She’d be Rory’s sister, now married to one of the McDougall lads from the next property over. Though I s’pose I shoudna call him a lad anymore.” The woman laughed. “Anyway, ye shall be quite comfortable here. Should you need anything at all, just holler for me. My name’s Agnes. We’ll be havin’ a meal set out shortly, or if you’d prefer a tray, ye just tell me.”

  Rachel nodded and lay her traveling bags down on the floor next to the bed, having decided to carry them herself when no one else had offered. She was tired, though she wouldn’t mind some company for the meal. She told Agnes she would come down to eat, to which the woman told her to join them at any time.

  “Then tomorrow, I’m told there’s a hike planned ye’re welcome to join, should you like,” the woman added.

  “I would so love to hike,” said Rachel with a smile. “Thank you, Agnes.”

  “Ye’re very welcome, child,” she said as she left, shutting the door behind her.

  “Child,” the woman had called her. Of course, she was young in comparison to the woman, but the description did somewhat bother Rachel. She had always looked rather young for her age, which meant she was often not taken seriously. No matter, she resolved. She was here in Scotland, and meant to enjoy herself and all that this land had to offer for the reprieve of time she had been afforded, even if it came with the caveat of having to deal with Vincent.

  When the sun shone in through the slit of the heavy curtains covering his bedroom window the next morning, Adam turned over with a groan. There were many activities he would have found enjoyable today, and not one of them included leading a group of Englishmen on a hike through the hills — his hills. He looked over to the solid oak saddle seat chair next to his bed, upon which his kilt was laid out. Finlay and Kyla had told him he must be prepared to look the strong Scottish Highlander the English were anticipating. The men had paid good money for their expectations, and the family wanted continued referrals for more English tourists to return.

  Adam understood, but he wasn’t particularly pleased.

  He donned his garb, which, he had to admit, was not overly different from what he wore on a typical day. He simply added his jacket over his white shirt. He descended the stairs to the great hall for breakfast, where his mother and father sat at the table awaiting him.

  “Good morning, son,” his father said from his place at the head of the table. Duncan McDougall was a big man, who expected much from his sons. He was gruff and feared by others, and yet his children knew the warm side of him. His mother was loved by all, and she gave him a warm smile as he sat down.

  “I know you do not enjoy this, Adam,” she said, looking at him with somewhat worried eyes. “But we love you for it. We can always rely on you, and that means so much to all of us.”

  He nodded and began shoveling in his breakfast. When he was finished, he asked the cook to prepare a lunch to take with him. It would be a long day ahead.

  Rachel dressed in her favorite walking gown, one without a bustle or a train and made of fairly light fabric for the midday walk. She looked through the armoire where she had hung her clothes the previous night and decided to take her parasol as well as a bonnet to keep the sun off her face. It was a pretty bonnet, one she had bought the day before leaving London, when it had caught her eye in one of her favorite shops.

  When she descended the stairs for breakfast, she felt her cheeks warm as many eyes turned toward her — the twenty or so from her own party, as well as the Scots who were serving breakfast. She sat next to two of the women she had befriended on the train. Neither were planning on attending the hike, though women were invited to join in this particular outing.

  “Is something amiss with my appearance?” she asked, looking around self-consciously.

  “You look lovely, dear,” said the first woman, Mrs. Taylor. “Though certainly different than the other woman of these parts.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked as she poured herself a cup of tea.

  “She means that women of the Highlands do not have the same access, nor interest, in fashion as those of us from London,” said the second woman, Lady Chadwick. Her husband was a baron, who adored hunting. It was now Lady Chadwick’s third visit to the Highlands. Mrs. Taylor had told Rachel in a private conversation that she felt it was not so much that Lady Chadwick wished to see Scotland, but that she traveled with her husband due to the fact she did not want him to be alone anywhere there were other women.

  Rachel did not respond to Lady Chadwick’s words regarding the Highland women. She found her rather snobbish, and instead concentrated on the bowl of oats that had been placed in front of her. For as terrible as they looked, they were actually rather tasty, and she surprised herself by finishing her bowl before the Scot — Rory, she believed his name was — called for all who would be joining in the hike to meet him in the yard of the keep.

  Her father caught her arm as she made for the door.

  “You cannot think to be joining us, Rachel,” he said as he released his tight grip.

  “Of course I am,” she replied. “Why ever not? I have come all this way. I should like to actually see this place I am visiting.”

  He looked her up and down, as if assessing her physical readiness for such an adventure. “Fine,” he said through tight lips. “But stay with Thompson. He will ensure your safety.”

  “Vincent? No, thank you. I would prefer not go at all,” she said, looking away from him.

  “Fine then, let that be your choice,” he said with a shrug, turning his thick back away from her so that all she could see was his jowled cheek.

  She let out a very unladylike snort before following him outside, attempting to stay far out of his sight, though she could see him speaking to Vincent from where she stood. Why her father was pushing Vincent on her so heavily, she could not understand. Yes, she knew he wanted the man to succeed him in the business one day, and it would make sense to keep him in the family. But surely he could see the man cared for nothing but himself.

  Well, she would worry about that later. For now, though—

  Before she could finish the thought, another man stepped in front of the group. One who took her thoughts – and her breath – away for a moment.

  He looked like a fierce Scottish Highland warrior of days long past, she thought as her eyes ran over him. She had never seen a man so… so… undeniably attractive. He held himself tall and proud, his jacket tight over his chest above the kilt that swirled around his legs. Rachel never realized a man wearing a skirt could be so utterly masculine. It was actually quite puzzling.

  He had apparently just dismounted his horse and was now tying the beautiful chestnut to the fence post beside him as his dark eyes scanned the lot of them, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked suitably unimpressed, and Rachel could see why. The sun, which had begun climbing in the sky, silhouetted him from behind, and while he was not quite as broad as the blond Highlander standing next to him, she knew he would be, at the very least, a foot taller than her own small frame, and certainly more o
f a man than any of her father’s acquaintances that surrounded him. His face had a serious countenance as he said something quietly to Rory, who then began speaking, but for the life of her she couldn’t listen to a word Rory said as she continued to stare at the new arrival.

  “I’d like to introduce you all to Adam McDougall,” Rory called out to them. “As many of you have heard, he is an excellent guide and knows this area well. Adam is well versed in all of the wildlife ye will find before you throughout your journey. Listen well to him, and he will not steer you astray. Enjoy the exploration today, before the real game begins tomorrow!”

  Rory stepped away to find his own mount, leaving the group to Adam. He nodded at them all. “Thank ye for coming and for having me to be your guide. I heard I was requested, and feel very…” his cheek twitched, “fortunate.”

  Rachel didn’t think he looked particularly pleased with the situation, but no matter.

  “Rory and I will lead our horses in case we should require them, but please, follow with us, and do not touch anything you are unsure of.”

  His eyes scanned the crowd, as if searching them out to see if there would be any issues. Rachel swallowed as they landed on her. She waited for them to move on, but they did not. He had captured her in his gaze, and it seemed he was not letting go.

  4

  Adam stood in front of the unlikely group. Today a hike, tomorrow a hunt. His eyes raked over the crowd of Englishmen. Some were lean, some were rather paunchy, but none looked particularly prepared for this hike. Then suddenly his gaze stopped on another figure. One that wouldn’t fit into any crowd here on the Highlands.

  He scanned the woman from the toes of her clean, black leather boots up the beautiful, delicate gown to the top of the silly white bonnet that sat on the top of her head. Forgetting the rest of the assembled group, he strode over, and looked down at the woman, who, he now realized, was a tiny thing, shorter than most women and quite slight.

  “You are not coming with us.” He spoke affirmatively, providing her no room with which to argue, and yet she spoke back to him.

  “Of course I am,” she said, her nose in the air. “And you have no right to tell me not to.”

  “I do have a right,” he responded. “The safety of all of these people lies with me, and if I have to spend my time addressing the numerous tiny concerns ye cook up, they will not have their guide.”

  “How dare you?” Her deep blue eyes, the color of Loch Ness, flashed at him. “I will not trouble you in the least with my concerns, I assure you, no more than any man here.”

  “No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “What happens when you become too hot? Too hungry? Too thirsty? Too tired? What will you do?”

  “I shall do what any person would do, and that is tend to my requirements, or wait until such time that it is appropriate to do so. I assure you, sir, that you will not have to worry about me.”

  “What seems to be the issue?” came a voice from behind him, and Adam turned to find a man near as tall as himself, with dark blond hair and an air of haughtiness as he managed to look at Adam from overtop his nose.

  “’Tis nothing, Vincent,” said the girl with a wave of her hand. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Are you harassing my fiancée?”

  “Fiancée! Vincent, I should hardly think that we are—”

  “You will leave her be,” the Englishman continued, “or you shall have me to answer to. You do continue to enjoy the revenue we bring you, do you not?”

  Adam gritted his teeth. This was why he had not wanted to lead today’s hike, or any event including men like this one.

  “Be careful, lass, that is all,” he said, stepping backward. He was about to turn away, but had one final question. “I must ask you — what in the devil is on your head?”

  “My bonnet!” she replied, indignation flashing in her eyes. “What else would it be?”

  “I certainly have never seen the likes of it,” he said in all honesty. “I’m nae sure what you expect it to do, but it certainly willna keep the insects and the sun away.”

  “I thank you for your concern,” she said in a tone that made it clear she did not appreciate the sentiment. “However, despite your opinion, I will wear this, and would ask you not to cause a scene, sir.”

  “As you wish,” he said, finally stepping away, though he glanced back a few times to see her refuse the help of the Englishman who had called her his betrothed. Adam shook his head as he untied his horse and walked to the front of the pack. The English.

  True to her word, the girl — or young woman, he couldn’t be sure of her age — kept up with the men she accompanied, though it was clear she was unused to such physical activity. Perhaps some Englishwomen would be more physical on a country estate, he thought, but certainly nothing like the women in the Highlands, who spent every moment of their day caring for their home or their family.

  He tried not to turn around and watch her but couldn’t help himself. Her hair had loosened and stuck to the side of her face as she perspired on her way up the grassy hill. The ridiculous piece of fabric she had been wearing on her head was now bouncing around her shoulders, and her cheeks were flushed from the rising sun. Yet she was still faring better than some of the older men of the group, and he begrudgingly admired her resolve to utter no word of complaint.

  He wasn’t taking the group far. He would simply provide them with a view of where they would spend the next few days hunting and show them the lay of the land. As they neared the top of the hill, they came to the one outcropping that was slightly more treacherous than the rest. He called out to the rest of them in a warning, and he watched her begin to pick her way over it. She had nearly scaled it when her foot slipped, the slick sole of her leather boot not providing her with enough traction. Her skirts, though not as voluminous as some he had seen the English wear, became tangled between her legs and she went down with a thud.

  Adam scrambled down the hill back to her, but when he finally reached her and stretched out a hand to help her, she had already righted herself and waved away his help.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I thank you, however.”

  “Nothing to thank me for,” he said gruffly. “I am simply doing my job.”

  He looked up to see the man she called Vincent was far ahead, having left her behind as he made his own way up the hill. Adam nodded to her then left as he resumed his place at the front of the group. They would make one more stop before they returned to Darfield — the village where most of the crofters lived. It was part of the “experience” they provided, although he hated taking the English there. He could see the disdain in their eyes as they looked at the crofters as a species less than themselves. He trained his eyes over the loch — his loch. A few more days, he told himself, then they would all be gone. He could hardly wait.

  Rachel was miserable. The man had been right when he said she should stay behind, though she would not give him the pleasure of knowing such information. It would have been much better had she been truly prepared and dressed for the excursion, although she had enjoyed all that there was to see, particularly now that they had made it to the crest of the hill.

  As the dashing, yet so utterly rude, Scot led them down the hill, he took them onto a path that he said would finish in a village of sorts, and her spirits immediately lifted. She appreciated the opportunity to meet new people, and perhaps those in the village would be much less surly than this man. Mayhap more like Rory MacTavish. He seemed friendly enough, with his wide grin and easygoing manner.

  They neared the small cottages that belonged to the people the McDougall man called “crofters.” She could hardly believe how tiny the homes were, and as they came to the first, she saw sitting out front was a woman with a whole brood of children. Surely they didn’t all live in this tiny home?

  “Molly!” Adam called out, embracing the woman after she rose, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Looking wonderful as always. And how are the children today?�
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  “They are doing well, Adam, thank you.”

  Rachel smiled at the woman, until she started hearing the mutterings of the men around her. “I thought we might see a pretty face or two out here,” said one man, the son of one of her father’s acquaintances. “That certainly is not the case!”

  “No,” chortled another. “Good God, what is this place? These people live like heathens!”

  It did seem they were cooking their dinner on a fire spit out front of the home, but Rachel could see the contentment on the faces of the people. They didn’t live in one of London’s finer homes, no, but did that mean they were any less than she? She lived in a London manor with her father, and that certainly had not led to her own happiness.

  A man rounded the corner then, one who was in a kilt of his own; and though it was considerably more worn than the one Adam had on, it had the same pattern upon it.

  “Adam!” he called out. “How do ye fare?”

  “Just fine, Jack,” he said. “We have visitors from London with us today. They will be hunting tomorrow.”

  The smile left the man’s face as he gave them a nod, then turned back toward the cottage. “Come, Molly,” he said. “Take the children inside.”

  “No manners out here, then?” called out Vincent. “Is this how you welcome visitors, man?”

  The Highlander said nothing as he turned his back to them, ushering his family into the house.

  “Well, I never,” Rachel’s father said. “Heathens, all of them. These would be the sheepherders, then, McDougall? That would make sense then. They cannot properly know how to speak to other humans when they’re with the beasts all day. This has been quite entertaining, McDougall, but I think it’s time we be returning.”