“We can discuss that later. I really would like to see the castle.”
Greer gave her a curious look, then opened a door to the left of the entryway. “This is the great hall.”
They stepped inside, and Juliana looked around. As with Strae Castle, the room was a large rectangle with a raised dais at the far end and a wooden family crest on the wall behind it. Large hearths were centered along both sides, and an array of weapons was displayed on the stone walls. Perpendicular to the dais were long trestle tables with benches that could easily be moved to the sides to clear the room for clan celebrations. Iron chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling, and sconces protruded out from between the various weapons on the walls. In contrast with the fancy ballrooms of Mayfair town houses with their glittering crystal chandeliers, silk-lined walls, and brocaded satin chairs, a Scottish great hall was a simple but very practical room.
Juliana walked toward the dais and looked up at the crest. A black bird sat atop a rock and the Gaelic inscription. “What do the words say?”
“Cragan an Fhithichmeans ‘Rock of the Raven,’” Aileen replied. “’Tis the name of the rock the castle is built on.”
“Interesting. I didn’t get to see much of the outside yesterday, but I did notice we climbed a high hill.” She smiled. “I guess it was this rock.”
“Most castles are built on the highest point of land possible, so the enemy can be seen approaching,” Greer said, “but now ’tis just a beautiful view, especially from the tower.”
“Can we go up there?”
Aileen nodded and pulled a torch out of one of the wall sconces and moved to light it from the fire in the hearth. “Follow me.”
She led the way down another hall, and Juliana realized that this castle was actually laid out in an L shape rather than a simple rectangle like Strae Castle. A heavy wooden door opened into the base of the tower, and as Aileen closed it behind them, she pointed to the stout braces on either side of the frame.
“In the old days, a heavy bolt would ensure raiders couldna access the tower. The women and children could hide in the stairwell while the men fought from the battlement.”
As they climbed the spiraling stairs in the dank darkness of the tower, Juliana wondered how many of those attackers had been English. Her knowledge of history wasn’t the best, but she knew most Highlanders had sided with the Jacobite movement against the present king’s grandfather. She noticed the shot holes along the way as well and wondered if some of those hidden women—and maybe children—had fired arrows from them.
By the time they reached the sixth story, her thoughts had turned somewhat morbid, and she was glad when Aileen opened the door that led out into the open air. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a view since the heavy clouds scudded so low she felt like she could reach out and touch them.
“The snow seems to be falling a lot heavier,” Greer said.
Juliana blinked as she felt large flakes strike her face. “I was hoping the skies would clear.”
Aileen glanced at her. “Our da says we’re likely in for days of this.”
That’s what he’d said at breakfast, although Juliana had held out hope he was wrong. Still, it might be worth getting a second opinion. “How long, do you think?”
She lifted one shoulder. “This time of year, storms start building all the way across the ocean. By the time they reach here, ’tis just one after another that often follows.”
Juliana sighed. Apparently, they were going to be stuck at Invergarry for a while. But, if it was snowing, that should mean that Morag would also be delayed returning. She hoped.
“’Tis cold out here. We didna bring shawls,” Greer said. “Let’s go back.”
Juliana didn’t argue with her. The wind was picking up, and she didn’t want to experience yesterday’s cold conditions again. She reached out and pulled the door latch. The handle loosened unexpectedly, and Juliana nearly lost her balance as she staggered backward. For a moment she stared at the brass knob in her hand, and then she looked at the closed door.
There was no longer a way to open it from their side.
Chapter Fourteen
The breakfast room was empty as Rory left the library, and he supposed she’d gone back to her chamber, or maybe she was off exploring the castle, since he’d heard Aileen and Greer coming down the stairs when he’d been going to meet with the MacDonnells. Either way, it was probably better the room was empty. His blethering on like an eejit about the breakfast selection had only temporarily distracted his thoughts.
The talk with the MacDonnell brothers hadn’t helped. Neither of them would think less of him for moving Juliana into his bedchamber. Handfasting meant they were considered married, at least for a year and a day, until they decided to make the arrangement permanent. And every right of matrimony—including bedding—went along with that.
His lower head stirred eagerly at the thought while the one on his shoulders tried to remain firmly lodged in logic. At the moment, he wasn’t sure it would prevail. Seeing how wretched she had been on the ship yesterday had evoked empathy from him, since as a lad, he’d been a bit greenish on more than one occasion himself. And he’d even added a bit of admiration to that when she hadn’t complained about feeling illorthe weather conditions. Having her seated in front of him with her rounded arse rubbing against his cock had not exactly helped matters, nor had blanketing themselves together for warmth. He had felt the soft weight of her breasts on his forearms as he’d held the reins. And then this morning, she’d appeared in that formfitting gown with her hair like a halo of fire.
He sighed. A Scottish lass would understand the custom of handfasting and, even if they’d used it as a ruse to escape the Camerons,mightallow him the privilege of sharing her bed. But Juliana was English and, in her mind, it was simply a false betrothal that she could easily call off, should rumor of it start circulating. Not that he expected that news to spread. Every Cameron present three days ago when he’d duped them knew of Neal’s pride and temper and would hold their peace. Rory suspected the MacLean would instruct his people to consider it a misunderstanding, since he’d not want to anger either Camerons or MacGregors. He’d asked the MacDonnells not to mention it as well.
Still. Rory knew he’d taken an oath, even if it meant nothing to Juliana and, much as his manhood wanted fulfillment, he would have to refrain. Besides, he wasn’t ready for a real marriage—not with all that needed to be done for his clan—and certainly not to someone as hot-tempered as Juliana.
He moved on to the entryway and grabbed the nondescript plaid from the boat’s captain off a hook by the door. As he wrapped it around himself, he wondered when—if ever—the English king would see fit to allow the clans to wear their colors once more. Although the MacGregors had been banned from using their tartans as well as anything else associated with them, the other clans had only been forbidden the use of their true plaids since Culloden. He grimaced. King George—the second one—had seemed as determined as Edward the Hammer in squelching the Scots for good. As if that would ever be the case. Rory opened the door and went down the steps. Perhaps the current George might be persuaded… He had lifted the proscription, after all. It was a thought to pursue.
Right now, though, he was going to pursue something much more tangible. He was going to find out if Neal Cameron had followed them.
