Sorry it's so short. Just think of it as an introduction. Oh, the joys of typing Scottish accents. (Note the sarcasm.) Note: I' translates to It, if there's any confusion.

"Mum! The goose is at i' again!" I called, placing a fist on my hip. The goose continued terrorizing the chickens, as if my call didn't startle it one bit. According to past trials, nothing seemed to deter the bloodthirsty goose. I sighed and emptied the rest of the chicken feed out of the large basket I was holding. The bird, who I named Arnold, suspiciously sniffed at the feed, not completely trusting the grains. Rightfully so, I had done this before in an attempt to stop him.

"Well why don'chu take care of i' yerself, girl?" My mum's thick Scottish accent cut through the thick morning atmosphere. I smirked, something that ran in my very Scottish blood.

"Because I don't have goose duty t'day," I called again. Mum stomped up to the chicken pen, noting my smirk with a disapproving look. In the distance, my dad shouted for us to be quiet (what a hypocrite), and continued to irrigate the wheat fields.

"An' who is i' tha' let that damned goose in?" she reprimanded, while lifting the goose away from the chickens and out of their pen. Well, my job here is done. Feed the hens: check. Annoy Mum: check! "Now go do yer job an' make lunch," she added. I nodded and made my way back to the house. Now there was one problem: I can't cook for the life of me.

I figured that I really couldn't go wrong with a salad. I slipped on my apron, and smoothed it out before heading out to the garden. Hmmm. Let's see… Lettuce, carrots, the tomatoes died last week… stupid thunderstorms. I sighed. Well, the 'salad' will consist of lettuce and carrots, then. Father would be upset, but he had come to accept my furnace-combusting ways. I wish the potatoes had been harvested already, though…

I sat in front of my cracked mirror and started brushing my hair. My strange reflection stared back at me. Most people think I'm English or French because my facial features could be quite deceiving. I had shoulder-blade length auburn hair, slightly tilted black eyes, very pale skin, and pale lips. Geez, I didn't look Scottish at all! I did have the classic freckles, though.

I looked down at the bureau on which the mirror rested. There sat a faded photograph of my uncle, Daniel McGee. Uncle Dan was sick with a high fever; none of the doctors could figure out what he had, but apparently it was bad. Everyone was making a huge fuss about it in England, because he's a duke.

I love Uncle Dan, but if he dies… I become duchess. I was kind of torn between being a good niece and wanting to be a British noble. Even thinking of being a duchess made me feel guilty, honestly. The only reason I was his heir was because he had no children of his own, and father needed my older brother on the farm.

So Duke Daniel McGee's heir was 'frail little Emmaline McGee,' as people liked to call me. I sighed, and placed my brush on the bureau, stretching as I did so. I turned in my seated position, and looked at my sleeping brother (Jeremiah, but we called him Ariah). I often stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, while Ariah worked like a dog out in the fields with father, and was conked out before he even had dinner. I walked over to my bed, pulled back the covers, and tucked myself in. It took quite a while, but eventually I fell asleep.

As usual, I was the second to wake up. I had trained myself, over the years, to awaken as soon as early morning sunlight danced on my pillow. Not to say I enjoyed waking up, I was just practical about it. I stretched, and slid out of bed after a spine-cracking jerk to the side. After cleaning myself up, I dressed in a worn and stained blouse, along with a pair of my brother's hand-me-down trousers. My brother was still snoring loudly from his small bed (identical to mine), so I slipped out to the yard from our stable door (this room was a converted stable, if the door wasn't a giveaway). Mum's usual cloud of smoke from the chimney signaled that she was making breakfast. As I was feeding the pigs, I saw a figure approaching the gate of the fence surrounding our entire estate (If you can even call it that.). As it came closer, I saw that it was dressed in navy blue, head to toe. It must be Uncle's butler, Zachary.

I ran up to the gate to greet him. "Zach! Hey!" I called. I peered over his shoulder to see one of Uncle Dan's carriages, and tied to it, two lovely bay horses, Uncle's favorite breed. After a glance at Zachary's somber expression, I sobered. "What is i'?" I asked him.

Zachary bowed his head apologetically. His next words were spoken so quietly, I strained to hear them. "Master Daniel passed away in his sleep last night."

What? My eyes widened and I leaned away from him. Close to tears, I said, "No! This is a joke. You're kiddin' with me, right Zach?" I pleaded, narrowing my eyes at him. "This is all a sick joke. I' has to be," I muttered, staring at the ground.

"I'm sorry, Lady Emmaline," he said consolingly, his crisp British accent bringing back memories of when he played with me when I was little. He never, ever called me anything but Emmy- that he called me Lady Emmaline saddened me considerably. He was always my favorite servant, of all the ones Uncle Dan had. You might wonder why my family lived on a farm when my father's brother was a rich noble, and the answer was simple. My father hated Uncle, and Uncle hated Father. Yet, Uncle Dan was very fond of me, his niece. I would come up to his manor during the summers to socialize with the 'right crowd' and to learn proper manners. Even though it was frowned upon for ladies to be educated like men, he paid a load of money to ignore those social boundaries, and had me learn more than most noble boys do at my age. At my insistence, he even taught me how to ride horses (like a man) and hunt (like a man), and even how to do business (like a man, of course.). He basically doted on me and made sure I could steer my own life without having to get married. When we fell into poverty, Father was much too proud to ask Uncle Daniel for a leg up, and sometimes I wonder if we would have been any better off if we had.

Zach straightened his back and checked his pocket watch.

"Emmy- I mean, Miss Emmaline, we must be back to deal with the funeral by tomorrow," he said with a somber face, "So please prepare to leave."

"Heartless ginger."

"Now, Emmy."

"Lady Emmaline now, huh?"

I looked up at him imploringly, and asked with sarcastic arrogance, "As your new master, the first thing on my agenda is to replace the damned butler. You know the one with the re' hair and the horrible attitude?" I gestured towards his head. His lips tightened into an amused smirk. "-And tha' blasted smirk!" I finished, probably waking the goose and my brother.

"Yes, I would love to come in for tea," Zach said with a small smile, pushing past me and heading up the cobblestone walkway. I whipped around and yelled after him, "You know I ha'e tea! This is Scotland for God's sake!"

This guy is the best.

Unfortunately, your favorite human being dying is not.

"Save your English pride, and 'ave some coffee!"

He continued on up the trail, and, without looking back, waved for the footman manning his carriage to follow. Disgruntled, I jogged behind him, and caught up enough to enter the kitchen right after he did.

"Mum, Zachary's 'ere," I said, surveying the empty kitchen. I heard the click of shoes from our small living room. Zach leaned against the wall, and I looked him up and down.

"Yer not gonna ge' any tea," I decided. "Bu' ya can help me wi' the legal issues."

He waved his hand at me dismissively, and said, "Oh, we'll take care of that when we arrive. First, though- you should pack. All your formal clothes are at the manor." I snorted at him, and grabbed a dish rag from the counter, tossing it over my shoulder. When Mum peeked into the kitchen, she first gave the dirty cloth on my shoulder a disapproving look, then she grinned at Zach.

"Why, Mr. Zachary," she said warmly, "Wha' brings ya here?"

He gave me a look that clearly said, 'Shut up and let me do the talking.' He straightened up and tried to look as professional as possible, before bowing slightly to Mother and replying, "Madame, I regret to inform you that Daniel McGee has passed."

Mum gasped, and he continued, "I will have to have Lady Emmaline packed and ready to leave by this afternoon."

Mum mopped at her forehead with the back of her hand, and leaned on the frame of the door. "…Is tha' so. My, we'll have to tell Erin and Ariah," she muttered worriedly. As though as a second thought, she hastily added, "Oh, Emmy, I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine…" I murmured in response. Zach gave me a pained look, and, as if we had communicated silently, we both made our way out of the kitchen, and around the house to the doorway that lead to my and Ariah's room. I pull out a burlap sack that I kept under my bed, and, after a moment of thought, left it on the bed. I walked over to Ariah's bedside, and gently shook him awake. Once he opened his eyes, albeit blearily, I waved my hand in front of his face to get his attention, and walked back over to my bed, speaking as I went.

"Mornin', Ariah."

I was given a grunt in response.

"I'll be leavin' soon, so if ya wan' ta see me off, I would sugges' getting' yer chores done quickly," I told him, speaking loudly and clearly, so his sleep-addled mind could comprehend. He grunted again, but this time it was in agreement, which was proven when he pushed off his quilts and slid off the bed and onto the floor.

"Silly git," I sighed. "Zach, would ya mind getting' me tha' box on the high shelf?" My butler nodded in response, and skirted around my bed to get to the old cherry-wood shelves (which were a present from Uncle Dan), and reached up to get the emerald green box that lay on the very top, out of my reach. On the other side of the room, Ariah was nearly done getting dressed, and was struggling to get his work boots on. Sometimes I wondered who the older sibling was really, but I never voiced those musing, 'cause then he would tackle me and we would wrestle (and he would win, therefore proving he was older).

I dived back underneath my bed, and pulled out some notebooks (presents from Uncle), a set of paint brushes (presents from Uncle, the corresponding paints were accidentally left in my room at the manor the last time I visited), and a few framed pictures (two of me and Uncle, one of Ariah, one family portrait, and one of my best friend, a slightly younger me, and an old fling). When I came back up for air, the box had been placed next to the bag on my bed, along with a opened and resealed envelope, colored a deep blue. I recognized it as a letter that I received from Daniel that I kept and then 'lost.' I glanced at Zach questioningly, who was telling Ariah where he could find Mother. When the stupid Englishman caught my eye, he smiled and winked.

"Found it behind the box, Em. You're welcome," he said, cheerful and a tiny bit teasingly. I huffed, but still smiled tentatively back at him in thanks.

I took the box (which was square and about six by six), and put it carefully at the bottom of the bag. I placed everything else in, and, as an afterthought, grabbed my cotton pajamas (more hand-me-downs from Ariah) and stuffed them in on top. Satisfied that I had everything, I leaned down to snap the bag shut, and the dish rag slid off my shoulder and into the bag. After a moment of thought, I decided to leave it in there, and closed the flap over it. I sometimes used the worn cloth as a stress-reliever, wringing it around in my hands, so I figured it would work nicely for the stress-filled weeks that were to come. I slipped the long strap of the leather pouch around my shoulder, and spun on my heel to face Zach, who, as a butler, seemingly didn't mind standing in rigid silence.

"Well, then- I'm packed, so let's gather the family, shall we?" I told him, swinging my arms at my side. He raised his eyebrow at my sparse belongings, but followed me out when I left without him. I had only packed things of sentimental value, because when I would become a noble, my clothing and bedsheets would be frowned upon. Besides, all of my books and chess sets were at the manor, so I didn't have to worry about those. Zach and I made yet another journey around the house (my room wasn't connected to the rest, so every morning and eve, rain or shine, Ariah and I had to trek through the mud to access the rest of the house.

I handed my bag to Zach, directing him to put it in the carriage, before straightening my posture and going the rest of the way to the kitchen door. I paused with my hand on the doorknob, took a steeling breath, and opened it to gain the last view of my home I would see in a while. Ariah, Mum, Father, and even the dog, Jasper, were gathered in the living room that stemmed right off of the kitchen. Mum looked morose and upset, Father seemed indifferent (go figure, he hated his brother), and Ariah seemed half-awake and worried, if his bitten-down fingernails were any way to tell. I was about to mutter a meek hello, when Zach burst in loudly, saying-

"Lady Emmaline! We must be off soon, if we want to catch a boat across the Minch in time," he stopped in his tracks when Father gave him a murderous look.

"A stόr… I'm so sorry this happened so soon…" Mum started, and stepped forward to hug me. In my ear, she whispered, "Please wri'. And visi'. And don' go off with any boys ya jus' met-"

"Mum!" I exclaimed indignantly, but giggling at the same time. "Tha' won' happen. But…" I paused, held her shoulders and pushed her back gently so we were face-to-face. I searched her eyes, only finding unshed tears, and no clues. "Won' ya come live there wi' me?"

Father coughed uncomfortably and shifted from one foot to the other, while Mum just smiled sadly. "I'm afraid no', A stόr. We couldn't live up in London. Much too busy for our tastes. I wish Ariah coul' go, but we need 'im here, on the farm," she murmured lovingly, and tucked a chunk of hair behind my ear. Tears of my own threatened to breach my defenses, but I blinked them away roughly. I hugged her again quickly, and turned to my boys.

"Ariah, Father," I addressed curtly. "I'll miss you, but I'll send lots of presents." Ariah cracked a small smile at that, and Father just nodded. Ever the stoic one, he is. I reached out to Jasper, and he rubbed his head on my hand (strange, cat-like dog). I scritched his ears a bit, but then straightened up and wished them all my last goodbyes for a good long while.

Note: A stόr means 'treasure' in Scottish-Gaelic.

… While my name means kitchen party in the same language. You go Ceile, you go.

Aaaannyyywhhoooo, the next chapter will be their arrival at the manor in London. Guess who's gonna show up?