Sarah Gabriel by To Wed a Highland Bride Read Free Book Online Page B

patterns, and labeling her chosen colors.
    Then she looked at the yarns in baskets, on pegs and shelves, to see what was on hand. Hearing the cottage door open, she turned to see her grandfather.
    “Supper, Elspeth,” he said. “Did you not hear Mrs. Graeme calling you?”
    “I did not,” she answered, smiling. “I was thinking about the next weaving, counting threads for the pattern.”
    “Well, come ahead, there’s lamb pie and boiledpotatoes, and Peggy Graeme’s apple tart, which she made just for you.”
    Elspeth untied the full apron she wore, and leaving it on a hook by the door, walked with her grandfather across the yard between the weaving houses—there were several buildings that contained Kilcrennan’s four hand looms, and houses for storing the yarn, preparing wool and yarns, and another separate cottage for storing the completed tartan lengths in rolls before they were transported for sale. The cottage where Elspeth did her own weaving was one of the original weaver’s cottages used by generations of MacArthurs, the weavers of Kilcrennan. She preferred using an old shuttle loom that had belonged to her great-grandfather. The old loom seemed almost to know the work itself, having produced tartan cloth for so long.
    Kilcrennan House itself was a manse, a large field-stone structure with three floors, its symmetrical facade of central entrance and rows of windows simple and elegant. A lower wing housed kitchen and servants’ quarters, with the other buildings clustered on the acres behind it, including laundry house, smithy, and brew house, as well as the weaving cottages.
    “I’m thinking of weaving a lady’s arisaid shawl for my next sett on the loom,” Elspeth told her grandfather. “We have plenty of the cream yarn for the ground color, and I’ll use some of the purple, along with brown and a bit of the indigo. Expensive, that, but there is only a little left, not enough for a longer length.”
    “We’ve ordered several color batches from Margaret,” Donal said. “The orders for red tartans, especially the Stewart patterns, have increased, with customers wanting to show their Highland colors oflate. The dyed yarns are ready. Margaret’s eldest son brought some of it the other day.”
    “I could fetch the rest while you are gone to Edinburgh over the next few days.”
    “Come with me to meet with the Edinburgh tailors,” he said.
    “To meet your friend Mr. MacDowell? I know he wants to court me, but I will not marry him, or any Lowland man, though I know you would like that.”
    “You would be happy there. He’s a good man. You could learn to love him.”
    She glanced up. Donal MacArthur was tall and spare, still a handsome man even approaching eighty, and he looked twenty years younger. His brown eyes still sparkled; his dark hair was scarcely gray. Most did not suspect his true age, and those who knew simply attributed it to good health and good habits. But Elspeth and one other, Mrs. Graeme, knew that his youthfulness included a touch of magic.
    “I will not fall in love with a man because you decide that I should,” she said gently. “I am happy here. And I have a good bit of weaving to do for so many new orders,” she went on briskly. “I’ll work on our tartan orders while you travel.”
    “The king’s visit to Scotland was good to us, as weavers of Scottish tartan.” Donal’s eyes twinkled. “It’s fine luck we’ve had.”
    “You auld rascal,” she said affectionately. “You love having so much work to do, and you love producing it faster and better than any other weaver.”
    “I’m grateful for our luck.” His mood turned sober as they walked on. “Elspeth, do not cross the glen alone if you go to Margaret’s. Take a cart and bring someone for company—one of the serving maids orone of the draw-boys to help you fetch the yarn. It’s nearly time for the fairy riding.”
    “I’ll be fine. Let them ride their cavalcade over the glen. I won’t be stolen