rudiments of housekeeping; but Flanna had never been very interested, and besides, Killiecairn wasn’t an impressive establishment. His niece preferred the out-of-doors, riding and hunting from dawn to dusk. Meg had taught her daughter to sign her name; but other than that, Flanna could not write, nor could she read. The only language she knew was her own. Angus shook his head wearily. His niece was very badly prepared for her new high station. He wondered what the duke would think when he learned it. He shook his great head a third time. There was so much to do. The household, he could manage, but Flanna had to be educated enough so that she didn’t shame her husband. Had he not heard Patrick Leslie tell his wife that his own mother was a princess? Certainly a princess knew how to read, and to write, and to converse in foreign tongues. Flanna spoke a brand of Highland English, and Scots Gaelic only a Highland Scot could understand.
He heard the servants begin entering the hall to set the high board and bring the food. He turned quickly and began directing them in an authoritative voice. The duke and Flanna entered the hall, and he escorted them to the high board, seating his niece at her husband’s right hand. Then, with a flick of an eyebrow, he signaled the servants to bring the meal to the table. “ ’Tis a simple meal, my lord, for the cook was ill-prepared, I fear. It will be better tomorrow.”
“I prefer a simple meal,” Patrick Leslie replied, his eye taking in the broiled trout, the roast of beef, the game pie, the steamed artichokes, the bread, the butter, and the cheese. “ ’Tis an amazing repast for one so ill-prepared,” he noted dryly.
“If ye are pleased, my lord, then I shall certainly tell Cook,” Angus said, pouring the wine with a deft hand and then stepping back. “I regret, however, we hae only pear tartlet for a sweet. Wine or ale, my lady?” He bent by Flanna’s side.
“Oh, wine!” she told him, turning to her husband. “We only had wine on special occasions at Killiecairn. Will we hae it at every meal, my lord?” She sipped at her cup greedily.
“If it pleases ye, madame,” he replied.
She nodded vigorously. “I hae never tasted a wine so good,” she enthused. “Where does it come from?”
“France,” he said, half amused. “My mother hae family there.”
“Is yer mam French?” Flanna asked him.
“Nay. My grandmother, who is the Countess of BrocCairn, and whom ye will meet, was English born. My mother’s father was the ruler of a great empire in the East. The English call it India.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
