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“I do believe there is cheddar cheese for you,” Emily assured him. “We can thank Muriel for her cook’s good services.”

“Mrs. Platt is a jewel,” said Muriel.

As the footmen served the roast beef, Ailie’s grandfather turned to the countess. “Ye brought yer cook?”

“Of course, my good man. If we’re to have a fine Christmas dinner it was necessary.”

Ailie’s grandfather shot a look of incredulity at Will. “Ye’re celebratin’ the Sassenach Yule?”

Will leaned toward him. “Grandfather, we have English guests who have come to celebrate Christmastide. We’re not telling the Parish Kirk minister. I learned to love Christmas when I was in England and I promised Emily we could celebrate the holiday as she always did before she married me.”

“Aye, weel if ’tis Emily’s wish, I willna object,” he said sheepishly.

Ailie had always known a lady could turn her grandfather from his intended course. Her own grandmother had managed to wrap him about her pinkie.

“William,” said Angus, “I fergot tae tell ye, I brought some o’ today’s smoked haddies and left them with yer man at the door.” Ailie smiled to herself. “Yer man at the door” was their grandfather’s name for their new butler.

“Very generous, Grandfather,” said Will.

Ailie darted a look at Nash. “Just think, smoked haddies for breakfast.”

“Eggs and scones for me,” he muttered under his breath.

Ailie jabbed him in the ribs. As close as they were, it was easily done.

“I look forward to the haddies, myself,” said Robbie, loud enough for Angus to hear. “How good of you to bring them.”

“Aye, ’tis me business, ye ken.”

A conversation then ensued among their guests about the business of smoking fish, her grandfather explaining he followed the Norse tradition of smoking the fish over an open fire.

“The Norse left their imprint on this part of Scotland,” she said. “We keep many of their traditions.”

Loving her grandfather as she did, the smell of the smoked fish brought back wonderful memories of Ailie’s summers spent in Stonehaven as a young girl, when she’d spent hours talking to her grandfather as he carefully tended his smoking fish.

Their guests were probably being kind not to remark on the faint odor of fish and smoke that lingered about her grandfather, as much a part of him as the pungent shag tobacco he smoked in his pipe. She had never stopped to consider him from someone else’s viewpoint—from that of London aristocrats and gentry, who were more accustomed to a drawing room than a fishing boat. But as she looked around the table at their guests, she saw only attentive interest and approval as he described his work. Inside, she relaxed. They like him for himself, she realized, just as I do. And she liked their guests all the better for it.

“I dinna suppose ye have any neeps an’ tatties?” her grandfather asked Emily, as he slipped a bite of beef into his mouth.

Nash raised his brows. “Neeps and tatties?”

“Turnips and potatoes,” said Will. Then to their grandfather, “Tatties aye, neeps no. But there are carrots.” Angus accepted some carrots and potatoes onto his plate as he pulled a rolled newspaper from inside his jacket and thrust it at Will. “The weekly. Thot ye might like tae see it.”

Ailie recognized their weekly newspaper the Montrose, Arbroath and Brechin Review. Robbie and Nash leaned forward, trying, she supposed, to get a look at it. Perhaps, being so far from London, they were starved for news. “Would you like to see the paper when Will’s done with it?”

“I would,” said Nash.

“Here,” Will handed him the newspaper, “just leave it in the library when you’re finished. It’s mostly local news, but occasionally there might be something that would be of interest to you and the others.”

From across the table, Martin said, “Shipping news?”

“Often,” said Will, “in the back of each issue, especially now that we have three shipbuilders in Arbroath and more than twenty ships operating from the harbor.”

“Weel,” began Ailie’s grandfather, “there’s talk o’ the clearances in the West, such as ye’d niver see here. No MacTavish ever put a puir man off his land.” He paused as if trying to recall more from what he had read. “An’ the laird from Dundee is still missin’, bless ’im.”

Mary addressed her husband. “Is that the one Captain Anderson told us about?”

“I believe so, sweetheart,” said Hugh. “The captain was unhappy about a man from Dundee charged with sedition for some speech he gave.”