We follow Douglas to the parlor, walking to the right of the grand staircase that starts wide from the marble floor of the foyer, then branches in either direction from the landing that is big enough to accommodate two enormous floor vases that stand on either side of a beautiful tapestry depicting the forest where it meets the craggy coast. The walls of the hallway reach high to the tall ceiling and are lined with portraits of the Stewart family, each one framed with ornate moldings of dark wood.
The parlor is no less beautiful. As always, I am drawn to the oversized picture windows. They overlook a vast expanse of green that is completely unblemished in its consistency. To the right, I see a pond a fair distance away, and next to it is a weeping willow that may be even larger than the one I frequently visited at home. I am suddenly anxious to go for a walk and visit that majestic tree.
“’Tis quite peaceful, is it no’?” Callen asks as Alasdair brings him close to the window.
“Yes, that is a perfect description,” I agree.
“I sit here often. ’Tis a great place to contemplate.” He pauses to clear his throat. “With so few obstructions, it’s easy to see the wildlife that pass by to graze across the moor. Red deer are very common, as are pheasants. I have seen several badgers over the years and a wildcat once or twice. Those are the two ye need to look out for; they can be a bit ornery. Especially if they’re nursing.”
“I am quite the lover of nature, so don’t be surprised if you find me sitting right here on a regular basis.”
Callen laughs. “’Tis good to hear.”
My first several days were busy while getting settled into Galloway Castle. Alasdair proudly showed me around. Callen was right, it is quite an effort to get from one side to the other. Fortunately, it is designed for more than one family to live here with a fair amount of privacy. Alasdair and I have our own wing that is larger than his London townhouse. There is also a full staff, each going out of their way to make me feel welcome and at home.
We have separate bedchambers that share a common sitting room that overlooks the Firth of Clyde and the rocky cliff that outlines the shore. It is a perfect place for us to enjoy tea in the morning, to read a book or correspondence, or to converse over a glass of claret after a long day. Although, for me, there is nothing quite like the view of the sunsets as they paint the sky pink, then orange, and eventually a slate blue-gray as the day transitions to night. I find the comfortable ease of our time together in that room to be reassuring and pleasantly domestic, as if we’d been doing it for years, not less than a fortnight.
Though our sitting room is my favorite, Alasdair’s office and library is a close second. It is his domain, and it speaks of his character and personality—stately, refined, worldly, educated, curious, masculine. The ceilings are high, painted emerald green with carved moldings that match the rich, dark wood of the paneled walls. One side of the room is lined with oversized arched windows that mimic the framed arches of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that take up most of the other walls.
I felt the urge to cry when I first saw his collection. The crowded shelves create their own elaborate decoration in the room, one of color and texture, but more importantly, one of knowledge, influence, and an understanding of time long past.
I lightly tap on the door, hoping Alasdair is working at his desk. I haven’t seen him for the past two hours.
“Come in,” he says in a distracted tone.
Upon entering, I find him standing by the window, focusing on the book in his hand. He turns the page, brows drawn, before looking up, almost startled to find me walking toward him.
“Ella, dear, I did’na know it was you. Ye do’na have to knock before entering.” He closes the book and places it down on his desk with a loud thump, then leans down to give me a soft kiss.
“I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt in case you were doing something important. Though, from the look on your face, whatever you were reading was of significant interest.”
He offers that charming smile that tickles my insides. “Aye, that it was. But what is of more interest is how beautiful ye look standing here in the sunshine. Did ye know when the light shines on yer eyes, they sparkle like a faerie pool at midday?” His hand glides along my cheek.
“No, I’m afraid I have no way of knowing that since I don’t know what a faerie pool is. But I thank you for the compliment, nonetheless,” I reply with coy flirtation. The way he looks at me wakes up the butterflies in my stomach. It’s different than what I’ve become familiar with these past several weeks. There is a yearning that goes beyond physical desire, like he has something to say but can’t find the words.
“The faerie pools on the Isle of Skye.” He pauses again, leaving me curious as to what is going on in his mind. Something is there. “They are truly something to behold. Little waterfalls that make the gentlest, almost delicate sound. Like a lullaby sung by the sweetest angel. And the color…’tis something that can’na be replicated by man. ’Tis only a thing that is created by the magic that is nature.”
My heart beats faster with every word. A dam is forming in my throat as his words evoke emotions that are foreign, yet familiar.
“I see it in yer eyes, Ella.”
“What? You see what?”
“Magic.”
My eyes burn as I fight off tears. He is so sincere, and I know there is still something he hasn’t said.
“What is it, Alasdair?” I brush my thumb across his full bottom lip.
“I want to show ye something. Let’s go fer a walk? I know ye’ve been anxious to see the forest.”
“Oh, Alasdair! That would be wonderful!” The burst of excitement makes me giddy. “Are we going right now?”
“Aye,” he replies with a laugh. “Come here, faerie maiden.” He pulls me to him and kisses me hard with unfeigned hunger. When the momentum slows, he says against my mouth, “Yer genuine enthusiasm fer the outdoors has become quite the aphrodisiac.”
“What is an aphrodisiac?”
“Never mind. Let’s go fer that walk.”