Page 2 of Return to Clan Sinclair
Who was this Brianag who was tormenting the poor child?
“Aunt Ceana.”
She looked up at the sound of the composed voice, blinking at her nephew. Alistair was only fourteen but already had the height of his father, not to mention his demeanor.
As she stood on the doorstep, he extended his hand to her.
“How nice to see you again Aunt Ceana,” he said. He glanced down at his sister dismissively. “You must pardon Fiona. She’s a silly little thing.”
“I am not silly. I’ll tell Brianag you broke her jar of spices.”
To Ceana’s great surprise, Alistair paled.
“That wouldn’t be well done of you, Fiona. You know as well as I do it was your carelessness that made the jar fall. Father always says we have to deal with the consequences of our actions.”
“Where are your parents?” Ceana asked. “Where are Macrath and Virginia?”
“They’ve gone to Edinburgh, they have,” a voice said. “Leaving me to deal with their spawn.”
She looked up past Alistair and—God help her!—took a step back toward the steep stairs.
Fiona was more correct than she had assumed.
Drumvagen did have a witch.
The woman who met her eyes was tall and square with a face the same. She was almost masculine in appearance, a warrior like creature whose legs were braced apart and arms folded in front of her. Her nose was a formidable hawkish feature, as were her narrowed eyes and clenched jaw.
Was the woman a watchdog Macrath had put in place to guard his children in his absence? Was she going to have to fight her to advance a foot farther into Drumvagen?
“I’m Ceana Sinclair Mead,” she said.
“She’s my aunt,” Alistair said.
Fiona moved to stand behind her.
“Aye,” Brianag said, nodding. “You’ve got the look of the Sinclairs. It’s the eyes. Devil’s eyes, I call them.”
Since three of the people in the foyer had the deep blue Sinclair eyes, that was hardly a polite or tactful way of describing them, but she doubted Brianag did anything remotely polite or tactful.
“I understand my brother has gone to Edinburgh,” she said.
A sharp nod of the head was the only response she got.
“I’ve come to visit,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She hadn’t traveled from Ireland just to be put in her place by a Scottish terror.
Ceana looked at Alistair, standing with his arms folded, watching the byplay between the two of them. She was determined to have the same sangfroid as her nephew.
“Have you a guest chamber at Drumvagen?” she asked him.
“I’m the housekeeper here,” Brianag said.
Oh, so that was the position the Scottish terror occupied. Macrath evidently thought a great deal of her to both install her in the position and place her in charge of the children.
Where was Carlton?
“Then I suggest you act as a housekeeper,” Ceana said, her voice icy. “I am Macrath Sinclair’s sister and I’ve come a very long way. A proper housekeeper would not keep me standing in the foyer but would have been gracious and inviting. Show me to a guest chamber, direct my driver to the stable, and fetch my baggage. Afterward, you can offer me some refreshments. Some tea, perhaps, and something to eat. You would be better served doing that than terrifying children.”
She took Fiona’s hand, nodded at Brianag and turned to her nephew. “If you’ll show me to a parlor, Alistair,” she said. “I’ll wait there until your the housekeeper has decided to welcome me.”
