Page 59 of Lyon of Scotland
Hannah hesitated, not wanting to risk seeing Dove or the others. But she did not want to be parted from Dare so soon. “That would be lovely.”
“I will ask Sir Walter to make an appointment to introduce us. I believe he is still in London for a few weeks.”
“Mr. MacGregor, do you have much trouble with smugglers?” Hannah asked.
“There are always smugglers about in the Highlands, Lady Strathburn, some in my glen too. Highlanders learn to look the other way. My brother and cousin run much of the distillery and I lend a hand there. But I am usually busy defending Highlanders in court against some harsh laws. I’m in Edinburgh to appear in the Session Court on behalf of a jailed client.”
As the men talked, Hannah realized they were not just good friends sharing dinner, but they were working together to ensure that the whisky cargo was protected, legally and physically. They’d obviously been told of Frederic Dove’s threats and wanted to be prepared. Ronan MacGregor did not care if the king liked his whisky; he just wanted to help Strathburn. The others felt the same.
She listened quietly, prouder with each passing moment that she was Lord Strathburn’s wife, and grateful to gain good friends and new family through him. What had been such a disaster in London was turning to a blessing and a privilege. Yet the reminder of Frederic Dove unnerved her.
Riding home in a hired carriage, though the distance was not far, she leaned against Dare’s shoulder. He tipped back her bonnet to kiss her brow and set his arm around her.
“You have not asked to see the drawings for the king’s armorials,” she said.
“I’m waiting for you to offer.” He smiled. “Tomorrow I will go to the heraldry office. Will you come along?”
“If you need me there.”
He drew her into his arms. “Just now, I am thinking of other needs, dear lass. We can talk about your drawings later.” He bent to kiss her in the dark of the carriage, the rocking motion bringing her closer as his lips found hers again, making her anxious to be home. Home, with Dare of Strathburn, in the dark.
Chapter Eleven
Hannah felt caughtin a bubble of safety, like a pretty globe of soapy water blown through a straw and set free to float—beautiful, prismatic, all innocent happiness. But fragile hopes burst easily and often; Hannah knew that well, for her ideals had shattered before. Yet her precious dream of a life with Lord Strathburn had come to be. Life was full and joyful now, and she wanted that bliss to last forever.
“Almost there,” Dare said beside her. “We would have walked, as it is not far to the General Register House on Princes Street, but the lad was eager to drive us.”
On that early hour, they rode in Strathburn’s carriage driven by Dare’s groom, a young man with a bright smile and a dark cap pulled low. His mother was Mary MacGowan, Dare’s housekeeper, who had returned to her duties in Strathburn’s home, delighted that he had brought home a bride. With her came two housemaids and a cook, with others promised if required.
The servants had moved about the house dusting, polishing, replacing, and repairing in a whirlwind. As butchers and grocers came and went, the cook’s efforts in the kitchen produced tantalizing smells and delicious meals.
Before the servants returned, the townhouse had been quiet, dusty, peaceful, and theirs alone. Now it was bustling, with rooms smelling of lemon oil and clean linens or bacon and fruit tarts. Hannah, respected and welcomed as the new Lady Strathburn, felt a bit unsure of her duties as yet. Not ready to direct household activities, feeling at loose ends, she often retreated to the small library and study on the second floor, where she read and sketched when Dare was out of the house.
October became November, and on the days that Dare went down Princes Street to Register House and the Lyon offices, Hannah read or went for walks around Edinburgh. She visited her father’s house to visit the Pringles and the art students. There, she learned that her father and sisters had not sent word of where they were, although their itinerary slated their return for mid-November.
She wished she could tell them about her marriage, but the time would come soon enough. With each passing day, a burgeoning happiness lessened her worries, and she looked forward to the welcome that Papa, Maisie, and Catriona would give Dare. He was no stranger to them, and was worthy and wonderful.
Life could only get better and better, she told herself.
This morning, Dare had invited her to accompany him to Register House now that he had cleared through some pressing matters. He had asked her to bring her armorial drawings that morning, so she had tucked the sketches into the tapestry bag.
“I can look at them officially there, aye?” he had said.
She appreciated his patience and understood that he wanted to nurture their relationship and marriage in a cocoon, and later review the drawings as Lord Lyon. Her secret fear that Dare might have wanted her as an artist first, a wife second, had proven unfounded, and her sense of trust in him was unshakable now.
As the daughter of a stern, caring, widowed father, she and her sisters had been insulated and overprotected. Hannah had craved independence, hoping to escape a cloistered life where she was expected to be an artist among artists and marry within a circle of acquaintances, without much chance to explore beyond that. She had been eager but mistaken in choosing Jonathan Whitworth, who thankfully was becoming a faded memory now.
With Dare, she had learned that a true sense of safety and protection did not smother or confine, but fostered more confidence. He offered her the partnership of two people who could face both difficulty and happiness together, each growing stronger. He freed her rather than hovered over her.
And she realized now that he needed to protect her. That urge was innate to his character, as was his sense of compassion. He carried that protective instinct into his work, watching over the ancient and continuing symbols and tradition of Scotland and the Scots. She felt so proud of him for that work, and she wanted to help.
Though she was not entirely sure what she gave him in return for all he gave her. Yet she saw now that she was becoming essential to him in her growing role as his intimate, trusted, beloved helpmate, his equal and opposite. And perhaps now, she could work as an artist beside him as Lord Lyon as well.
“Here we are, the General Register House,” Dare said as the carriage stopped at the end of Princes Street. “It contains the archives of Scotland and some government offices, including the Lyon Court.”
“It sounds regal and rather stuffy!”
He laughed. “It’s just the heraldry offices and a minor judiciary court where I am judge and authority over disputes regarding coats of arms, genealogies, tartan registration, and so on. I wear ceremonial robes. Quite fancy. You’ll see.” He winked.
