Page 8 of The Curse of McMillan Castle
She got the point really quickly.
By the next morning, she had apologized to me, and the cook, twice, and poor Cooper had done so at least a half dozen times.
In the week that followed Rosie’s birthday, I saw little of her. She spent every spare moment in her new bedroom. Most days she was still asleep when I left to make my home check-ins with the handful of villagers I’d now added to my little ‘stay-busy-so-you-don’t-cry-yourself-to-sleep’ home care practice.
Eventually though, I began to miss the time that I’d grown accustomed to each day with my daughter when we were sharing a room. So one morning I decided I simply couldn’t do without a few hours with my ginger-headed teenager.
When my knock on her bedroom door was met without answer, I slowly cracked it open to see her sleeping with her arms high above her head, a book spread open on her chest. If I were to wager on it, I’d bet she’d only been asleep for a couple of hours at best.
Smiling, I walked over, picked up the book, and marked its place before bending down to kiss her on the forehead.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Will you come with me to Henry’s this morning? He’s been wanting to give you your birthday gift for a while now.”
Rosie groaned and stretched before slowly fluttering her eyes open. “He has a gift for me?”
Of course that had gotten her attention.
“Yes. Can you get dressed quickly? It looks like it’s going to rain soon. I’d like to get there before the sky opens up.”
She nodded sleepily, and sat up in the bed. “Give me five. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
* * *
Duncan
After days of keeping the portrait safe during his travels to McMillan territory, Duncan wasn’t about to allow the sudden rainstorm to destroy the painting now that he was within sight of McMillan Castle. Upon arriving at his destination, however, he was entirely unsure how to proceed.
While it stood to reason that if the lassie’s last name was McMillan, the portrait most likely belonged at McMillan Castle itself, he didn’t know whether it was wise to ride straight up to the castle. He knew nothing of the McMillans. More than a few lairds he knew of wouldn’t take kindly to a stranger arriving on the castle steps unannounced and requesting entry. Mayhap it was wisest to knock on the door of one of the villagers and inquire into the temperament of the territory’s laird.
Blinking through the rain, Duncan closely observed the village as he looked for a dry place to seek refuge from the rain.
“If I can find ye a stable for a while, will ye enjoy a nice rest?”
In Tabitha’s stead, Duncan found that he’d taken to speaking to his horse much like he’d done to the strange wild beastie that visited him at home each night.
The horse said nothing but pulled in the direction of the stables in the distance.
“There ye go, lad. Ye wish to be out of this weather just as much as I do.”
With the stable empty, and the cottage next to it quiet in response to his knocking, Duncan secured his horse within the stables and left payment outside the door of the empty home before leaving in search of another home that might be amiable to his questions.
Not far from the stables, he could see a cottage alight with candles and could make out the figures of at least three people within. It would do well enough.
It took only a moment for the door to swing open.
The smile disappeared from the face of the lass before him as she looked him over. Without a word, she turned back to address someone else inside the home.
“Henry, were you expecting anyone today? Do you know this man?”
By God, the lass spoke strangely. She wasn’t from Scotland, to be sure, but where then? He’d never heard such plain speech in his life.
“Nae, lass. I’m expecting no one, but let him in all the same. He is drenched from head to toe.”
Duncan watched as the strange woman stepped aside to permit him entry. He nodded in thanks as he stepped inside and spoke for the first time.
“My apologies for the intrusion. Ye doona ken me, sir. I am no’ from these parts. I merely wish to ask ye a question or two then I shall continue on my way.”
The lass next to him spoke up again. “Henry doesn’t have any money to give you, sir. If you are a beggar, you will have to look elsewhere.”
