Page 13 of Madly Deeply

Bronagh nodded. "Even when I painted Wyndham's portrait, I was working mostly from memory and imagination. The actual glimpses were rare and so brief I thought I’d imagined him."

"Something else is at play here," Duncan said. "And I think we need to figure out what it is before ye leave Scotland."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Without consulting the weatherman, there was no way of predicting what would happen in the skies over Inverness that morning. But despite little patches of blue and a tease of sunshine, Alexandra felt only foreboding.

She sat on the comfy, plaid-covered cushion in the window seat in Bronagh’s kitchen, nursing her cup of hot coffee and watching Shug pull in and park in the side drive. Wren was with him again, and she wondered what they’d done with the children. Apparently, Alexandra’s predicament warranted a babysitter.

After a mostly sleepless night on the guest room sofa, even the rich aroma of coffee in the air and in her veins couldn't fully wake her.

"Spreag?" she whispered.

"Aye, love. I’m here." His voice came softly from a few feet in front of her, but he hid from view. Maybe he thought she had a hangover and couldn’t handle much. Maybe he was right.

She'd felt his presence all night, though he'd remained invisible. She’d filled him in on Duncan’s concerns. And she had a feeling it had unsettled him.

Bronagh refused all help in the kitchen and now she glided smoothly from station to station, burning nothing. Alex wasn’t sure if the smells were making her hungry or nauseating her, but she’d soon find out.

Wren came through the doorway and Alex warned her. “Don’t bother offering the help. She has a system.”

Wren smiled and shrugged, not insulted in the least. “It will probably taste better that way.” She hung her coat on a peg and tucked her gloves into her hat before taking a seat at the far end of the table. She looked a little hung over herself.

The low murmur of men's voices floated in from the living room. Duncan had called Wickham's sisters the night before and invited them up from Edinburgh for breakfast, hoping their magical insight might help unravel the mystery of Spreag's unusual manifestation.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me why you're nervous about the sisters?" she asked Spreag under her breath.

"What makes ye think I'm nervous?"

"You've been pretty quiet since I told you they were coming."

"Have I?" His voice held a forced lightness that confirmed her suspicions.

Footsteps approached and Bronagh refreshed Alexandra's coffee. "Talking to our invisible friend?"

"He's being cagey about something."

"Wyndham’s like that too this mornin’.” Bronagh winked. "The sisters should be here soon. They didn't even seem surprised when we called."

"Of course not," Wren laughed. "They probably knew we'd call before we did."

A knock at the door brought an abrupt end to the men’s conversation. A moment later, cheerful greetings and a gust of cool air preceded the sisters down the hallway. They burst into the kitchen in their usual matching outfits with blue-sleeved arms flung wide to embrace each of them. When their gazes rested on Alex, their knowing smiles made her skin prickle.

She sensed Spreag escape.

“Coward,” she whispered.

He wasn’t there to answer back.

Less than an hour later,they were all seated around the long mahogany table in the dining room passing platters counter-clockwise. Background music was provided by rain peppering tall windows with the green and blue tartan drapes pulled back to let in short glimpses of sunlight and compensate for the weaker light from the French chandelier.

Old paintings and antique weapons lined the burnt umber walls, and a long, frumpy couch of green velvet sat against one wall in case someone overate and needed a nap so badly they couldn’t make it out the doors. Above it hung a painting of someone’s portly ancestor who might have spent a lot of time doing just that.

Spreag had returned and had that couch all to himself while the rest of them sat elbow to elbow. Alex watched him from the far side of the table.

Bronagh passed a dish of black pudding to Duncan, who enthusiastically added some to his plate alongside tattie scones and eggs. Meg opted for porridge with whisky and cream while Wren constructed what looked like a full English breakfast complete with beans. The sight of greasy sausage madeAlexandra's stomach turn, so she stuck to rashers, scrambled eggs and scones.

Wyndham sat at the head of the table feeding his face and watching up and down the rows of guests, making sure everyone was happy.

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