The castle itself was like something out of a dream, its huge stone walls and massive rooms as intimidating as they were uncomfortable—something she would sooner die than admit. Not only did she have no desire to insult her husband’s ancestral home, but she could only imagine how such a comment would be received by the castle’s sullen staff. They were efficient enough, she supposed, but she was always aware of their disapproval; a disapproval she noted they were careful to hide whenever Hugh was about. The villagers seemed to share the staff’s animosity. At first she put down their behavior to shyness, or a villager’s natural wariness with outsiders. But after a fortnight passed with no warming on their part, she came to realize they truly disliked her, and she could find only one explanation for such dislike. She was English, and in the Highlands the English were not wanted. Such prejudice was becoming more blatantly obvious, and Caroline was finding it harder to hold her tongue.
