She cast him a knowing glance and only realized when her father’s face creased into a beaming smile that her hand lingered in Ewan’s. “By God, that’s what I call a fine beginning,” her smug papa declared.
“I couldn’t agree more, Sir John.” Ewan smiled down at her with unqualified approval. And love. Such love that surely her father must wonder if love at first sight was a Macrae specialty, too. And Charlotte had a sneaking suspicion she looked just as dazzled.
All was well that ended well, indeed.
Epilogue
* * *
Silvaig, Easter 1848
It was stormy, the night of the annual Easter play. From his place in the wings, Ewan Macrae, Earl of Lyle, looked around the huge barn on his island estate and whispered a prayer of gratitude that everyone was safe. Although the audience would be sparse this year, with the seas so high and the wind blowing straight from the North Pole.
His two sons, Angus and Hamish, stood at the door directing tenants and friends to places on the long benches set up for the crowd. Both were fine young men; Angus, his heir, dark like him, and Hamish as fair as his mother. In the wings opposite, he saw his father-in-law fussing with his costume. He played Cinderella’s father. Beside Sir John stood the lassie Lyle had adored since he’d first held her as a baby twenty-two years ago, his beloved daughter Alice. Alice was dark, too, with her mother’s sparkling amber eyes. And headstrong temperament.
“She’ll make a very fetching Cinderella,” his wife said, coming up beside him and linking her fingers with his.
“Aye, she will, but nothing to match her mother, mo chridhe,” he murmured, turning to place a kiss on her lips. “This is the first time you’ve put Cinderella on since I met you. If she’d seen you in the part, wee Alice might quail from the competition. She’s got big shoes to fill.”
“Are you commenting on the size of my feet?” Charlotte asked.
He laughed softly. “It would be a braw laddie who taunted a lass as fearsome as you look right now.”
She glanced down at her outlandish garb, a garish mixture of green and orange. “I must say I enjoy playing a character part. I’m too old for the romantic lead.”
His hand tightened. “Not in my eyes. You make a very pretty Ugly Stepmother.”
“Flatterer.”
Except it was true. Lady Lyle was as lovely as the day he’d married her. The glow of happiness lent her eternal youth.
Unwillingly he shifted his attention from his beautiful wife to a disturbance at the doors. “What the devil’s going on over there?”
He was halfway down the center aisle before he realized that his youngest son Michael had rushed into the barn
accompanied by a party of bedraggled strangers. Bill’s granddaughter Bridget barked in excitement until Angus picked her up. Bridget’s sister Bess cowered behind Hamish.
“Michael, what’s happening?” Charlotte asked just behind Lyle.
“These gentlemen seek shelter against the weather, Mamma,” he said. He was only twenty, but he stood as tall as his brothers, and his black hair and blue eyes proclaimed his inheritance from his sire. Angus and Hamish left their places at the door to listen, and the rest of the cast emerged from behind the scenery to see what caused the commotion.
The crowd of incomers quickly sorted itself into four roughly dressed sailors and two young men in fine, if drenched, clothes. One stepped forward and offered his hand. “Lord Lyle, I’m Julian Black. I believe you know my father.”
Lyle automatically took the man’s hand. “Henry Black’s boy?”
“Aye.”
Henry Black had vast holdings on the Borders and a fleet of ships that quartered the globe trading in luxuries. This lad had a look of his father. Handsome, golden as the sun, self-assured.
The young man went on, gesturing to his companion. “This is George Plum, my oldest friend. We were sailing to Skye, but were blown completely off course. Luckily the crew is unharmed and the ship undamaged, but it’s not the night to be out on the sea. We beg your kindness until the storm passes, and we can continue on our way.”
“Papa, what is it?” Alice in her humble Cinderella costume—a costume close enough to her mother’s all those years ago to revive fond memories in Lyle—ran lightly down the stairs at the side of the stage.
“Travelers in need, chicken,” he said, smiling at her. “Mr. Black, Mr. Plum, this is my family. My wife, Lady Lyle. You’ve met Michael. These are my older sons Angus and Hamish. And this ragamuffin is my daughter Alice.”
“You’ve caught us in the middle of putting on a play, Mr. Black,” Charlotte said. “I apologize for our odd appearance.”
Lyle waited for some response, then caught the dazed expression on young Black’s face as he stared at Alice. “Mr. Black?” he prompted.