Page 27 of A Stranger’s Promise

Charlotte smiled and watched the little girl skip alongside Meg as the two of them disappeared through the door before returning her attention to Oliver.

“Will he beat me?” Oliver asked in a soft voice.

Charlotte noticed his white knuckled grip on the quill.

“I fear you might deserve it,” she replied. “Someone might have been killed.”

He blanched. “I…didn’t think…”

Her heart tugged and she smoothed his dark hair away from his forehead. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” She opened the Latin grammar to the first page. “Your father only wishes you to become a fine, upstanding gentleman. Now, concentrate on your task.” She patted the paper. “Come, let’s start.”

Oliver took a deep, quavering breath and nodded.

By the end of the hour, over a dozen broken quills littered the table’s surface, but Charlotte was pleased with the boy’s perseverance. He licked his lips as he stubbornly scratched the unknown shapes. Very little was legible, but she didn’t think Alistair would mind.

A smile played over her lips for a good five minutes before she realized she was behaving like a fool. Really, Charlotte! Alistair? Alistair? Since when had he become Alistair and not Lord Cassilis?

She rose and busied herself with reorganizing the supplies in the cupboard. After a time, Meg and Charlotte returned with an early dinner of stewed fowl, barley-broth, and a cranberry-tart with a rich cream sauce. By the time they’d finished the meal, darkness had fallen and Oliver’s mood—as well as Charlotte’s—had lightened. The maid had just left with the dishes when a sudden keening wail in the castle below caused them all—with the exception of Meg—to jump.

“Whatever is that sound?” Charlotte looked at Meg, who sat in her chair near the fire.

“Och, it’s just the piper, lass,” the red-haired maid laughed. When they all looked confused, she rose from her chair near the fire and went to the door. “It’s Foster. He used to play the pipes every night afore the evening meal, but he’s been a wee tired of late. But tonight, with the guests…” She opened the door. “Come, come.” She waved them out of the nursery. “I’ll show you.”

Fascinated, Charlotte took each child by the hand and followed her into the hall. Night had fallen and the dim light of the candles added mystery to the mournful lilt filtering up the stairs as they walked toward the grand staircase.

“Losh, you should see his kilt,” Meg whispered when they reached the staircase. “‘Tis a sight to see. He is just down the next level. We can be down and back in a flash, before anyone knows. They are all in the dining room by now.”

“Can we?” Oliver tugged Charlotte’s hand.

Charlotte chimed in and Meg waggled pleading brows. Charlotte gave in. After all, it was their heritage. “Only for a minute,” she whispered back.

She led the way, tiptoeing down the red-carpeted steps. They reached the second floor, which, thankfully, was empty, and Charlotte waved everyone forward. The pipe played on as they knelt and peered between the columns at Foster. He paced before the bottommost step, playing the pipes, magnificent in his green pleated kilt, broad leather belt and wool doublet jacket.

As the children watched, mesmerized, Charlotte closed her eyes and let the lament, wild and plaintive, wash over her in gentle reminder that she no longer lived in England. The last notes of the song faded, she rose to her feet, and reached for the children’s hands.

“What are you doing here?” Lady Cassilis’s voice broke the spell.

Charlotte whirled. The woman stood two feet away, wearing a light green-striped evening dress with a wide, square neckline adorned with blue velvet ribbon. A beautiful young, honey-haired woman hovered by her side, her dress an elegant ivory color trimmed in pearls that perfectly complemented the silver and pearl tiara woven into her thick, lustrous hair. They both looked so elegant, so refined that Charlotte suddenly felt like a dowdy hen in the presence of two majestic swans.

“I repeat, what are you doing here?” Lady Cassilis’s eyes flicked over her disdainfully. “Servants are not to be seen near the grand staircase. You have your own stairs.”

“Pardon me, my lady,” Charlotte dropped a curtsey. “The children merely wished to hear the piper.”

“Do we indulge a child’s every whim?” She snapped opened her fan. “Especially, the children of a beggar woman?”

“My ma was a fine lady,” Oliver said in a fierce voice. “Not a shrew, like you.” Everyone, including Charlotte, gasped, and he quickly tacked on a “my lady” to lessen his sin.

Recovering first, Charlotte rounded on him. “Oliver! Apologize at once.”

“Let me have a look at you.” Lady Cassilis stepped forward, then put a finger under his chin and tilted his head from side to side. “Cassilis eyes, but nothing else.”

Oliver jerked his head out of her grasp and clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll not apologize. No one insults my mum.”

Lady Cassilis reeled back in shock. “The uncouth urchin! Dare he speak to me so?” She whirled on Charlotte. “Is not a governess to teach manners? Or is that something—”

“Manners?” a deep baritone voice cut in.

Charlotte looked up. Alistair stood at the top of the stairs.