The Laird and I: A Kilts and Quilts of Whussendale novella

The Laird and I

Patience Griffin

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Table of Contents

Copyright

For Kate

Thank you, cousin, for being my traveling companion and friend.

Let’s always remember the Wallace and the Bruce and…sheep!

Aye, it was grand!

Pronunciations:

Braw:
brave, but also implies fine, splendid, or excellent

Caber:
a roughly trimmed tree trunk used in the caber toss in the Scottish Highland games

Céilidh:
(KAY-lee)—a party/dance

Kirk:
church

Munro:
a mountain in Scotland over 3,000 feet tall

Nansaidh:
(nan-say)

nighean
: (nee-in) means daughter

shite:
derogatory term

Chapter One

“T
his can’t be!” Sophie wiped the condensation away and pressed closer to the Land Rover’s window.

She’d figured Hugh McGillivray’s wool mill would be a shed and his house a lean-to. But at the gate entrance, she could see he had a castle! Kilheath Castle—if she was reading the sign correctly. On either side of the entrance stood two snow-dusted watchtowers with the wrought-iron gates hinged open. Quite a sight for a small town lass who was used to stone cottages and clapboard.

“Sophie? Are ye listening, lass?” her mama said from the front seat of the vehicle.

Her mama wasn’t the only one in the car with her. Deydie, the village’s matriarch and head quilter, had been lecturing Sophie, too, all the way from Gandiegow, her home on the northeast coast of Scotland.

“Aye, Mama, I’m listening.”

Her mother, Annie, turned the car down the long lane leading up to Hugh’s home. Conifers, tall and thick, hid the castle, which could be seen only at the bends in the road. Sophie cranked her head this way and that to make out the complete structure.

Apparently, neither her mother nor Deydie were impressed with the grounds or the view around them—they didn’t gasp the way Sophie had—but the closer they maneuvered toward Hugh’s house—correction, Hugh’s
castle
—the more the lecture intensified.

“Make sure to do your bright-light therapy
every day
, nighean,” Mama reminded her for the umpteenth time. “None of us want a relapse.”

For God’s sake, Sophie was twenty-five and able to care for herself. True, she’d suffered from SAD, seasonal affective disorder, her whole life. But now that she’d been diagnosed and treated, she felt so much better. Emma, Gandiegow’s therapist, had agreed that Sophie was well enough to venture out and do something on her own…even though it was still January and the days were short. The winter months were no longer painful and full of despair for Sophie, now that she was using her bright-light lamp, which simulated sunshine. She felt fine. Wonderful actually. More like
summer Sophie
than the depressed mess she usually was this time of year.

“I’ll be all right, Mama. I promise.”

“But at any time, if you need me, just ring me up. I’ll come straightaway and cart ye home,” Annie said.

“Aye,” Deydie chimed in. “Ye’ll probably turn tail, but make sure ye have the woollens picked out first. We’ll need those for the next quilt retreat.”

Deydie made it sound like Sophie wouldn’t last the night, but she held her tongue. Deydie was a force to be reckoned with, especially if she had her broom nearby to take a swing at you.

“Ye don’t have to do this,” Annie said. From this angle Sophie could tell her mama was chewing her lower lip again.

“But I do.” Sophie had promised. She’d told Hugh McGillivray by email that she’d housesit for him. She’d also promised Deydie that she’d apprentice with the kiltmaker at Hugh’s woollen factory for the next week. “It’s all set. The plans are made.”

“But…if—” her mother started again.

“Dammit, Annie, stop hovering,” Deydie barked. She had a way of knocking you off guard and keeping ye on edge. “The lass needs to put her talents to good use. She’s a hell of a stitcher. Ye know why we need her to expand her skills. When I almost didn’t get Dominic’s kilt in time for Christmas, I made a decision. And when I make a decision, by goodness, it’s going to get done—Sophie here, will become Gandiegow’s new kiltmaker.” The old woman wrenched her head around to bark at Sophie, too. “Kiltmaking would be one hell of a skill to bring to the table. Maybe run workshops where you can teach the craft to others.”

“We’ll see.” Sophie concentrated on the view instead of the lecture.

“There’s no
we’ll see
about it, girl.” Deydie faced forward and nodded her head with finality. “Ye’ll do it.”

Sure, Sophie wanted to learn the art of kiltmaking—she was just sick to death of being told what to do.

A second structure came into view, opposite the castle, high on a hill—a ruin. A fence had been placed around the stone fortress, but some of the walls still stood proudly, stretching to the sky. First chance she had, winter or not, Sophie would explore every inch of it. The stones had withstood centuries of dark seasons and needed no bright lights to shore them up.

Deydie harrumphed, her signature sound, a cross between an angry walrus and a beached whale. “Aye, ye’ll apprentice with the kiltmaker while ye’re housesitting. But just as importantly, we’re all counting on ye to use that good eye of yours to find us some nice wool oddments. The wool quilt retreat is in six weeks, and we’ll need every remnant you can lay your hands on.”

“Fine. I’ll pick out some top-quality remnants.”

Gandiegow had been building up its reputation as
the
quilting destination in the Highlands. Everyone in the village contributed. Up until now, Sophie had been unable to do much, especially in the winter months, but now that she was better, she was eager to do her part and give back to the community.

She didn’t say any more to her mother and Deydie, only stared out the window as Hugh’s castle grew and the snow-covered gardens came into view.

She’d met Hugh last summer when he came to Gandiegow’s midsummer céilidh and dance. Amy, Sophie’s good friend and Hugh’s cousin, had insisted that she and Hugh were perfect for each other and that dancing at the céilidh would be the ideal time to bring them together. Amy and Hugh may have been raised together by their aunt—as close as any brother and sister—but apparently, Amy didn’t know squat about Hugh now that he was grown. He wasn’t the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky lad that Amy had described. He’d been an irritatingly handsome brute, who couldn’t be bothered to dance with Sophie, even though Amy had insisted.

Sophie had shown him. It had been July, when the days were long with her seasonal depression in remission. She’d exacted revenge by flirting with every eligible man in the room, danced with as many of the fishermen that she could coax out onto the floor, and had finally persuaded Colin Spalding, a local farmer, to walk her home…making sure that Hugh saw that she’d left with another man. But Sophie and Colin were only friends. Besides, it didn’t matter; Sophie had never seen Hugh again. Although, she’d thought many times about his handsome face and that look of confusion and pain that had been painted there as she’d sashayed out the door.

Sophie twisted the Munro tartan scarf in her lap.
Thank goodness, I won’t have to see him now.

Actually, she’d been shocked when Amy had mentioned this housesitting gig. She’d been even more shocked when she’d received an email from Hugh himself. He’d been surprisingly pleasant over the Internet, explaining that he’d be in America for the next week, and
would she mind watching his house for him
? Perfect timing, as far as Sophie was concerned. She was more than ready for an adventure, to do something on her own. A lass of twenty-five needed breathing room from her parents. And her village!

Annie pulled the car to the front of Hugh’s home and turned off the engine. She let out a low whistle. “’Tis beautiful.”

“It’s too big for any one person,” Deydie said. “A lass could lose herself in a place like this.”

Sophie was counting on it. She was here on a mission to reinvent herself—ready to prove to everyone that she was capable…now that she was doing better.

She pulled out the email with the instructions on it, though she knew every word by heart. “The key is under the small bird statue on the porch.”

As she got out, the cold January breeze blew her in the direction of the castle and the many steps that led up to the massive oak double doors. Beside the entry was a stone table, and on top of the table was a small stone bird. But she didn’t immediately run up the salted stairs and retrieve the key. Instead, she permitted herself a quick spin to take in the panoramic of the castle, the gardens, the loch, and the hills, before trekking to the back of the vehicle to unload her luggage.

Annie stood beside the SUV, chewing her lip. Deydie, though, gazed up at the castle. Was the old woman itching to get inside and take a look around? But Sophie wanted this place to herself. Queen of the castle, as it were.

She shivered a little, standing at the bottom of the steps with her luggage around her. “Well, ye better hurry to Inverness, you two, if ye’re going to get those supplies before the shops close.” And before they all froze to death! Sophie made sure that her voice sounded as chipper and firm as the columns she stood by. “Here, Mama, let me give you a hug goodbye.”

Annie’s face twisted in conflict.

Separation anxiety.
Emma had warned Sophie about it, but encouraged her to not be deterred.

Sophie wrapped her mother in her arms, feeling it, too. That pull to still be the little girl, and at the same time, a woman on her own. “I’ll be fine, Mama. I promise.”

Deydie tugged on her mother’s arm. “We best be getting on the road. We’ll have the devil of a time making it, especially if there are cattle in the road.
Hairy beasts
.”

Annie let go, but the tears swimming in her eyes had Sophie close to inviting them in for a cuppa. Then the strangest thing happened. Deydie reached out and touched Sophie’s cheek, something the tough Scottish woman had never done before. But if Sophie had expected kind words to come from the matriarch’s mouth, she was mistaken.

“Pick out some damned good woollens, or else ye’ll be meeting with the business end of me broom when ye get home.”

Sophie secured her tartan scarf more firmly around her neck. Deydie’s hard words had only made it easier to see them go. As the Land Rover made its way down the driveway, Sophie didn’t budge. As soon as the car was out of sight, she ran up the front steps and pulled the key from under the stone bird.

The email had listed a few chores that were to be done daily, but to a woman who hailed from Gandiegow, the list felt more like a vacation. The first thing was to introduce herself to Hugh’s dogs, Scottish deerhounds, who were penned up in the back. However, when she unlocked the door, she was met by the two gentle giants.

“Hey, boys,” she said. Hugh had told her they weren’t aggressive, which was a blessing since they were almost three feet tall and close to her in weight.

“What are ye doing inside if the master isn’t home?”

A sinking feeling came over her. What if she’d gotten the days mixed up? What if Hugh was here? She glanced at the empty driveway. Her mother was gone, and she had no way of getting home. She checked the dates on the email.

“It all looks good.” She scratched one of the boys behind the ears. “So which one of you is the Wallace and which one of you is the Bruce?” As she read the tags on their collars, she gave them each a hug. “I guess the master decided to leave you inside. Come on. Help me get settled.”

The dogs followed her as she carried her things into the castle, but she stopped abruptly at the ornately carved woodwork in the entryway. She took it all in—the dark crown molding, the wainscoting, the bannisters of the dual staircase. She reached out to touch the stag carved into the baluster, feeling the wood comfort her as much as any natural light. Expensive-looking vases lined tables down the hallway, and massive painted portraits hung on the walls. The castle was part museum and part home. It was ostentatious, and Sophie loved it.

Hugh had left instructions for her to stay in his room. When she’d responded that she couldn’t possibly, he’d insisted.
The view from my room mustn’t be missed.