"The big one." He pointed.
Two cottages were larger than the others. One was on the outskirts of the village and the other was in the centre, facing the village square. Both had intact roofs, she was glad to see. "Is it the one in the town or the one next to the wee burn," she asked. She didn't mind which.
"Neither of those. The big one," he repeated.
"But—" She broke off. Did he mean. . .? "You don't mean . . . the castle?" Her voice came out in a squeak.
"Aye."
She twisted in the saddle to look him in the eye. "Are you some kind of servant?"
He grinned and shook his head.
Jeannie swallowed. "You mean to say you live in the—" She could see the answer in his eyes. He did. "But you said I'd be the woman of the house."
"You will."
"What job do you do in the castle?"
He just grinned. His cousins who, once out of sight of the minister, had recovered their high spirits, guffawed. "He's the laird, lassie," Donald told her. "And you're the laird's wife."
"From the moment you married him," Jimmy added helpfully.
"The laird's wife?" she echoed faintly. A hollow opened up in her. "You mean to say I'll be in charge of that, that enormous place?"
Her husband smiled down at her, pleased at her amazement. "Aye."
They all beamed at her, as if it was some huge treat to be put in charge of a castle with no warning. Or training. Or even any clothes.
She thumped him on the shoulder, hard. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He gave her a bemused look and rubbed his shoulder. "Would it have made any difference?"
"Yes! No—I don't know. You should have warned me." Oh Lord, the laird's wife.
"What good would it have done?"
She thumped him again. "I could have prepared myself."
"Clothes, ye mean?" he asked cautiously.
"No, ye great thick-head! Where would I get clothes?" She tapped her forehead. "I mean up here. You told me I'd be mistress in my own home—"
"Well you will be—"
"Not the laird's wife!"
"It's the same thing."
She went to thump him again and he caught her fist, laughing.
"It's not the same thing," she said crossly. "A woman in her own cottage answers to nobody. A laird's wife answers to everyone. Everyone will have an opinion, from your uncle to the lowest scullery-maid. And if they don't think I'm up to the job—and they'll see at once that I'm no fine high-born lady—they won't respect me, and they won't obey me. Oh, they'll pretend to and be sweet as pie to the mistress's face but they'll resent me and the work will be done shoddily and—"
"For a shepherdess, you seem to know a lot about how a big house runs."
"I've only been a shepherdess for six years," she told him impatiently. "Before that my mother was the housekeeper of a great house. She took the position after my father died and left us with no money. So believe me when I say—"
"Housekeeper?" he interrupted. "Of a great house?"
