Free The Highlander's Yuletide Love by Alicia Quigley Page A

sardonically. “He is doubtless the finest fisherman in all of
Scotland. He has no need of a rod, as the fish leap into his arms at the mere
sight of him.”
    “You’re a sight
too pert for your own good,” said Douglas. “I like Ranulf.”
    “As do we all,”
said Harriet brightly. “Sophy is merely funning. I’m sure that Isobel will be
very happy if you keep Francis and Colonel Stirling occupied so that she may
pay full attention to her excavations. And, Sophy dear, she will surely be so
pleased if you spend some time sketching the ruins again, to document the
progress of her digging.”
    “Of course I
will. In addition to helping her, I enjoy the opportunity to sketch the men at
their work. It is a chance to practice my figure drawing,” Sophia responded.
     “Pooh,” said
Douglas. “Digging up old buildings and sketching workmen. I’m going to visit
the stables.” He pushed himself away from the table and headed out of the room.
Harriet, having also finished her meal, rose, murmuring something about
speaking to cook about dinner. She paused as she passed Sophy and looked out
the window at the dreary day.
    “Not a day for
painting, I fear,” she said.
    “No, not at all.
But I will amuse myself reading, and perhaps I will write to Lady Eynsford and
see if she intends to visit Isobel at Dargenwater Cottage again this summer.”
    “Practice the
pianoforte a bit as well, my love,” her stepmother replied. “You play
beautifully, and a rainy day is well suited to such endeavors.”
    “Am I so lazy
that I require reminding?” Sophy asked.
    “Oh, I suppose
not, but I know that you have so many other activities to pursue,” Harriet
said.
    Sophy finished
her chocolate, and stood up. “Very well,” she said with a dramatic air. “I will
go up to the Long Gallery and practice my music immediately.” A little smile
accompanied her long-suffering expression, and it was so comical that Harriet
had to laugh.
    “You will be
glad when you are pressed to play for the neighbors some evening. Besides, I
know very well how much you enjoy the Long Gallery. How many rainy mornings
have I found you there, examining a portrait to see how the painter captured
the glint in someone’s eyes, or the lace on a gown? Now run along.”
    Sophy drifted
out of the breakfast room, and through the Great Hall, pausing to enjoy the
sight of the hammerbeam ceiling that arched far over her head and the vast
chimney that rose above the cavernous fireplace, with its carving of the hart’s
head erased, chained and collared, the main symbol of her family’s coat of
arms. Her eye slid over the ancient weapons of her forefathers adorning the
walls as a tapestry woven in brilliant colors caught her attention, and then
she paused to contemplate of a painting of a stag at bay, before she shook her
head and dashed up the stairs to the Long Gallery.

Chapter 10
    Harriet
had been correct in saying that Sophia loved the Long Gallery. It contained not
only a collection of paintings of Learmouth ancestors stretching back
centuries, but also the acquisitions her forefathers had made while on the
Grand Tour in more recent decades. The pianoforte was located near the
middle of the room, and she walked slowly towards it, stopping to
gaze at a Canaletto that a long gone Learmouth had brought from
Venice, as well as a portrait of her grandfather painted by Reynolds. Eventually
she seated herself at the pianoforte, and flipped desultorily through the
music open on it, without feeling inspired by either Bach’s etudes or Handel’s
sonatas.
    She eventually
decided on the Bach, but could not settle to her practice. After jangling the
keys as well as her nerves for a quarter of an hour, Sophy gave
up, jumping up from the bench and striding away down the long
room, seeking she knew not what. Eventually she found herself coming to a
halt in front of Sir William Beechey’s portrait of her
mother. 
    A winsome blonde
beauty looked down from