Jeannie nodded. "That would be very convenient, thank you."
As the housekeeper turned away, Cameron slipped Jeannie's hand in his and squeezed it briefly. "Well done."
She felt a small glow of satisfaction, and as the rest of the household came up to be introduced, she addressed them with growing confidence.
Suddenly a hush fell. The crowd parted and a tall, white haired gentleman came slowly forward. It wasn't his hair, but a white-powdered wig, she saw as he came closer. Wearing silk knee breeches, high heeled shoes with glittering ruby buckles and a lavishly embroidered coat and waistcoat, the man still affected the fashions of a bygone era.
"Uncle Charles," Cameron murmured, though she'd already guessed that from everyone's reactions.
Cameron introduced them stiffly, poised, Jeannie saw, to defend her from any insult his uncle might direct at her. The realization warmed her.
Uncle Charles, however, behaved like the perfect courtier, in manner as well as in dress. Bowing gracefully over Jeannie's hand he murmured, "Welcome to Roskirk, my lady. Congratulations on your marriage."
He turned to his nephew, and held out a hand, saying mildly, "I should have known better than to doubt you, my boy. Frasers always were stubborn and determined. I hope you don't regret your hasty marriage." He glanced at Jeannie and added, "She's a pretty little thing. I hope she's up to her position."
He'd clearly heard how Cameron had met her, but other than his doubts—which were understandable; she had more than a few herself—Jeannie could detect disappointment but little rancor in his tone. She glanced at Cameron, to see if she could tell from his reaction whether his uncle was being hypocritical or not, but she couldn't tell.
All he said was, "I'll be able to mend the tenants' roofs now."
His uncle sighed. "And I suppose you'll cancel my beautiful hangings from France." He pronounced it 'Fronce' with a pronounced French accent.
"I will indeed. This very night."
His uncle sighed again, then turned and walked slowly back up the stairs.
The watching household waited, but it soon became clear there would be no dramatic scene and, disappointed, people slowly drifted back to their duties.
Chapter Seven
They'd arrived not long before the dinner hour, and Jeannie had been taken upstairs to wash and tidy herself. She'd just removed her dress, when a knock sounded, and a young woman appeared breathlessly.
"I'm Mairie, m'lady." She bobbed a swift curtsey. "The laird said I'm to be your own personal maidservant. What would you like me to do?" She was young, a year or two younger than Jeannie from the look of her, with curly brown hair and a sweet expression.
Jeannie wasn't sure what to do with a maidservant—she'd never had anyone wait on her in her life, but at least this girl seemed friendly, and nowhere near as intimidating as the grim-faced housekeeper.
She indicated her dress. "Can you do anything with that? I'll have to wear it to dinner. It's my only dress."
The girl's eyes widened. "Your only—" She broke off, embarrassed. She picked up the dress and shook it out. "Of course, m'lady."
While the maid did her best to neaten the travel-stained dress, Jeannie washed her face and hands and brushed her hair and wound it into a neat coronet, but with no fresh gown to change into, she felt very self-conscious when Cameron came to escort her down to dinner.
When her husband arrived, Mairie slipped discreetly out, leaving them alone. He was dressed formally in the kilt again, though this time without the lace jabot. He still took her breath away.
"I'll need more clothes," she told him. "I have only this one dress to my name."
He nodded. "Wear these tonight." He dug into his sporran and pulled out a worn, flat box. She opened it to find a rope of lustrous, shimmering pearls. "My mother had a lot of jewels, but I'm told pearls are the most suitable for a bride."
He helped her twine them about her neck. They felt cool and heavy and magnificent against her skin, armor against the feelings of inadequacy that only intensified as he led her down the staircase to the great hall, where they were to dine.
A piper sounded, piping the laird and his new bride in to dinner. The sound shivered down Jeannie's spine as she walked on her husband's arm down the stairs. She was now part of an ancient tradition.
Cameron's uncle was to sit at Jeannie's left hand and from the moment she was seated, began to engage her in light, polite conversation.
Bemused, Jeannie responded to his questions as best she could, but far from the personal interrogation she dreaded about her background and upbringing, she soon found he was entirely uninterested in herself and passionate about his plans for silk hangings for the great hall. He'd designed the hangings himself, was sorely disappointed with the cancellation of the order and clearly aimed to enlist her support in changing Cameron's mind.
"Such a barren and gloomy room, is it not? My nephew lacks the refinement to appreciate such things and has, no doubt, already cancelled the order—"
On the other side of her, she felt Cameron stiffen.
