the park that caught Van's attention. It stretched away all around them in vistas of lawn and ponds and waterfalls, all interspersed by groves of trees and wide avenues.
Van was impressed, although she would have died before she admitted it.
"My, my, my," her traveling companion, Mrs. Robertson, said admiringly. "So this is the famous Staple-hurst park. The earl commissioned Capability Brown, a landscape architect, dear Lady Vanessa, to do it two years ago. It has been much talked about, I assure you."
"It's very pretty," Van said politely.
Mrs. Robertson stared at her in surprise and the coach pulled up in front of the house. A magnificently liveried servant came down the front steps and went authoritatively to the door of the coach, only to be virtually pushed out of the way by Alan Ruadh. "I will be opening the door for the daughter of Mac mhic Iain," Alan said haughtily, and proceeded to do so with dignity. Van repressed a smile at the look on the lackey's face.
"Thank you, Alan," she said to the clansmen in Gaelic as she stepped out of the coach.
"Vanessa, my dear," came a charmingly husky feminine voice, "is it really you at last?" And Van looked up to see her mother's cousin coming down the wide stairs.
"Lady Linton?" Van asked reservedly.
"Cousin Katherine, if you please." The countess had reached Van by now and took her hands into a warm, friendly clasp. "I am so delighted to meet you," she said, and smiled directly into Van's eyes.
Katherine Romney's own eyes were so dark a blue they were almost purple. She wore her hair powdered so Van could not tell what color it was, but her skin was very fair. She looked much younger than Van expected. Only the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth gave away her age.
"I am happy to meet you also, Cousin Katherine," Van said composedly. "And may I present my traveling companion, Mrs. Cornelia Robertson." Mrs. Robertson blushed and curtsied and stammered, all of which the countess observed with serene good humor.
Donal Og spoke to his father in Gaelic and Lady Linton's violet eyes widened as they took in the sight of Van's escort.
"We will be leaving you', then, Lady Van," Alan said. "I will be telling Mac mhic Iain that you are safe."
"Are you really wishing to stay here?" Donal said in a rush to Van, speaking in the only language he knew. He looked around with ill-concealed doubt.
"I must," Van replied gravely. "It is the wish of Mac mhic Iain."
The three clansmen stepped back. If it was the wish of Mac mhic lain, it must be done.
"Surely your... er... escort will stay the night?" Lady Linton asked. "They cannot start back north now. It will be dark soon."
"They would not wish to stay here," Van said simply. Then, to her father's loyal trio, "Beannachd Leat."
"Bennachd Leat," they replied with dignity, wheeled their horses, and were gone down the drive.
"Come into the house," Lady Linton said firmly. "I will show you to your room and then we shall have some tea."
The bedroom Lady Linton showed Van to was large and, to Van's eyes, extremely luxurious. Creag an Fhithich was filled with beautiful, priceless things, but her father's style of living had always tended toward the Spartan. About some things he was fussy; he would not drink any but the best claret, nor would he wear any shirts but those her mother exquisitely stitched for him out of the finest French cambric. But he did not believe in spoiling either himself or his children with an excess of creature comforts. The only one he spoiled in that fashion was his wife.
So the warm, comfortable, chintz-filled room, with a fire burning in the fireplace—in March! at this hour! —impressed Van greatly.
"Would you like a bath, Vanessa?" Lady Linton asked. "You have been traveling for so long, surely a nice hot bath would be refreshing."
A nice hot bath. Van looked at her hostess in wonder. They bathed frequently at Creag an Fhithich—her father thought it was good discipline—but only her mother
Marina Dyachenko, Sergey Dyachenko