Page 88 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“Do they still say that?” he asked.
“Oh, you fit in well enough now,” she said, smiling.
“Even with the name of Devil?”
“The name didn’t matter once I came to work for you.”
He wasn’t certain what to say. Brianag’s arrogance was occasionally grating, and this was one of those times.
“So it was you and nothing I did?”
None of his contributions toward village events mattered? His paying for the new altar at the church counted for nothing?
She shrugged, which annoyed him further.
“If I hadn’t come, no one from the village would work here. Drumvagen was getting a reputation for being haunted.”
He folded his arms and regarded her. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Her smile broadened. “There are people who do,” she said. “They need to be humored. I figure the dead have better things to do than bother with the living. But we living like to think we’re important enough to be visited from time to time.”
“So you let people think you’ve deghosted Drumvagen?”
She frowned at him. “I’m not a witch. It was enough I was here. No ghost would dare haunt me.”
How had they gotten on the subject of ghosts?
“Will you see to her?”
Her nod was a jerk of the chin. “I’ll see to your countess,” she said. “And to your child.”
He wanted to explain, then realized she probably understood the whole of it. Turning, he left the garden before she could annoy him further.
The cottage they’d been directed to was longer than it was wide, furnished with a square table and two chairs, a small area she took to be a sleeping alcove separated from the rest of the space by a half wall, and a kitchen that held a small stove. There was no bathing chamber, but a small lean-to had been built along the back wall and could be used for their intimate needs.
Within a quarter hour four men arrived, two carrying bedding, another a large chest. The fourth man carried a steaming kettle he set by the door.
Virginia sat in one of the chairs at the table, noting that none of the four came close to her. She couldn’t blame them. For all they knew, she carried pestilence.
“Our cook sent this for you,” one of the men said.
Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. Her stomach grumbled at the scent of onions and chicken broth. The man reached forward and put a loaf of bread on the table before quickly retracting his hand.
“Where is my son?” she asked, the words coming with difficulty. She was so weak she could have slept for days. First, however, she had to make sure Elliot was well and being cared for properly.
Two of the men left the cottage, probably reasoning if they left, they couldn’t be commanded to answer.
The man who’d carried the food looked back, but when he spoke, it was to Hannah.
“You’ve not had the disease?” he asked.
Hannah shook her head.
“The Sinclair says you can come, then, and see the boy is provided for.”
Hannah turned to look at her. Virginia nodded, and her maid left the cottage.
Before the last man left, she glanced at Hosking standing at the door.
