Page 60 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“Even if I’m not.”

“Especially if yer are nae feart. I have my pride, aye?”

“You are the silliest creature that ever lived, Muir Anderson,” Delia said helplessly. She set her chicken aside and moved closer to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “And I adore you.”

He paused, glancing up at her. “Do ye, aye?”

“Aye, I love and adore ye, my daft Scottish laddie,” she said, trying her best to mimic his accent and failing miserably.

He grinned at her all the same. “I love ye too, Delia, something fierce, but do me a favour, lassie: never say it that way ever again.”

She snorted and shoved at him, so Muir retaliated, hauling her into his lap and feeding himself and her in turn until the tray was empty, and the other appetites he had mentioned were in sore need of sustenance.

In the early hours of the morning, they were still talking, wrapped in each other’s arms, both dreaming of the days and weeks and years to come, of the plans they had made, and the life they would share together.

“I dinnae want to close my eyes. It seems a dreadful waste to miss a moment, and I cannae wait for it all to begin,” Muir whispered, his voice heavy with sleep, pulling Delia closer to him.

Delia sighed, already drifting into dreams of him, murmuring contentedly as she closed her eyes, “It already has.”

Epilogue

To The Reverend Halliday,

In response to your last letter, I am happy to confirm that all is in order and ready for your arrival at the beginning of May. The vicarage is expertly tended by Mrs Macready, and she will be delighted to welcome both you and your daughter. If you would care to correspond with her directly at the address below to keep her informed of any details you feel relevant and, of course, upon which date you intend to arrive. I know she is very keen to meet your lovely daughter for the last incumbent was an old man who preferred his own company and was not given to entertaining. I believe Mrs Macready is hoping Miss Halliday will bring her a little more society.

I will take this opportunity to wish you luck with your endeavours, for I fear the inhabitants of Wick will be a sore trial to you. I am afraid I have recently discovered that the large warehouse that stands on the opposite corner to the vicarage has recently been bought by a Mr Hamilton Anderson. Mr Anderson also owns the largest distillery in the town. Of course, you know the demon drink is at the root of much of the evil you will find among the residents here. The herring fishing has increased wealth, but also wickedness. There is a great consumption of spirits, there being 22 public houses in Wick and 23 in Pulteney Town. Seminaries of Satan and Belial! Sadly, Mr Anderson is a popular figure and much admired in the town, he’s also a powerful man, his father being the Earl of Morven. This man is your enemy, sir, I trust you will treat him as such.

―Excerpt of a letter from Rev Charles Thomson to the Rev Robert Halliday.

Two years later…

15thApril 1852, Brabster Farm, The Highlands of Scotland.

“Oh, but you are beautiful. Quite, quite perfect and I am so proud of you. You’re going to be splendid, you know that, don’t you?”

Muir smiled to himself as he heard Delia’s crooning voice coming from inside the dairy. He walked inside, finding the place immaculate, as always, with gleaming white walls and not a speck of dirt or a cobweb in sight. Following Delia’s voice, he realised she was in the cheese store, a kind of specially created cellar for maturing the cheese.

“So, so pretty. You’ll be the talk of the town…” Delia carried on, making Muir frown.

He’d assumed Delia was talking to their baby daughter, whom they’d christened Una, meaning ‘lamb.’ Una, however, was sleeping peacefully in a wicker basket, tucked up in blankets in the corner of the dairy, out of any draughts. Muir went over and crouched down, stroking the baby’s silky hair and placing the blanket up around her chin. His heart swelled with love as he looked down upon her, the desire to keep her safe a fierce sensation that sometimes seemed a little overwhelming. But Delia kept everything in perspective, for his wife took everything in her stride and had brought a calm, unshakable stability into his life that made everything seem possible.

Una stirred, pursing her lips and then sighing before she fell back into dreams. Muir shook his head in amusement, then stood and went into the cheese cellar to find his wife talking to the cheese again.

“Oh, Muir!” she said, starting slightly as she belatedly saw him leaning against the doorjamb. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Nae, I dinnae doubt it, ye were too busy making up to yer cheese. Should I be jealous?”

Delia blushed and then laughed. “I know it’s silly,” she admitted. “Only I’m so very proud of them, you see.”

“Aye, they look grand, and I ken they taste even better. Ye’ve done a marvellous thing,” he said, looking about the cellar at the hundreds of rounds of mature sheep’s cheese.

It had been Delia’s idea from start to finish. She’d found books on the subject and read all she could about the proper method for making cheese. Muir had been even more impressed when he discovered several of the books had been in French. Delia had designed the dairy building, hired the staff, and overseen the entire process, and the results were delicious. The only problem Muir had now was what to do with a hundred weight of cheese. They needed a buyer for the stuff, and he’d not had the time to find one yet. The local market was more than willing to take some, but it was hardly a return for all that hard work and in the meantime, the cheese was just sitting here.

“Well, the only thing left to do is to sell it,” he said, sliding an arm about her waist.

“Oh, but I have,” she said, glancing up at him and smiling coyly.

“Ye what?” he exclaimed in surprise. “I mean, I ken ye sold some to that shop in Wick but—”