Page 53 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
She nodded. It was good of him to think of it.
“I’ll let you ride in while I walk beside.” In a single, fluid motion Rye dismounted, taking the reins to lead Charon from ahead.
They entered under the iron portcullis, its spikes set high above the arching gate. Ursula almost expected it to come rattling down, some force having divined the false pretences under which she was invading these ancient walls, but none barred their way.
Someone had shovelled the snow into great piles, to leave the main courtyard accessible; Charon’s hooves clattered loud upon the cobbles.
Rye guided the stallion towards the stables. “He’s about ready for some hay. I’ll see to him before…”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine from here.”
The fresh air had lifted Ursula’s headache somewhat. She unhooked her feet from the stirrups and accepted his hands upon her waist, helping lift her down. He held onto her slightly longer than was necessary, looking at her mouth all the while. The bizarre thought came that he might kiss her and that, if he did, despite everything, she wouldn’t stop him. But the moment passed and he stepped back.
Embarrassed, Ursula cleared her throat. “It was very nice to meet you.” Without raising her eyes to his, she held out her hand for him to shake.
He gave a nervous laugh, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Likewise, Miss Abernathy—and I hope you’ll forgive me…” His voice trailed off. His teasing demeanour had passed and he looked regretful.
A stable lad was already coming out to them.
It was time to part.
Ursula looked around the courtyard. While the exterior of the castle had arrow slits rather than true windows, the interior walls boasted tall panes of leaded glass. Anyone might be watching. She couldn’t tell.
Already, they might have formed an unfavourable opinion of her, watching her and Rye together.
On the far side, a door opened and someone in staff uniform stood waiting for her.
“Goodbye then.” She took the bags and turned her back.
It was time to become Miss Urania Abernathy.
Chapter Nine
Castle Dunrannoch
Mid-morning, 14th December
Stamping her feet,Ursula shook off the snow.
“This way, Miss Abernathy.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Douglas, did not smile; nor did she offer to help Ursula with her bags.
It was hardly the warmest of welcomes but, of course, she wasn’t a guest in the traditional sense. She was a servant of sorts. Mrs. Douglas, no doubt, considered herself superior.
The corridor was most certainly for servants’ use, being narrow and dark. Ursula followed behind. Mrs. Douglas’ silvered hair had been pinned so tight into its bun, Ursula wondered how the older woman could bare it. It was some people’s way though, she knew, to take pleasure in a little stoic suffering.
It appeared that electricity had yet to come to Castle Dunrannoch, for Mrs. Douglas carried a lantern. They made their way to the end of the passage and up a twisting stair, the lamplight revealing worn-down steps and rough stone walls. It was no easy task to carry her bags and ascend but, at last, they emerged onto an upper passageway.
“This is yours.” Mrs. Douglas pushed open a door half-way along. Light filtered through three slim openings in the outer wall but only dimly, despite the bright sunshine of the day. They looked to be five feet thick, the slits deeply recessed.
No fire had been lit, though there was a basket of peat and some kindling. She’d have to see to that herself.
The chamber smelt damp but the bed looked comfortable—boxed on three sides and with a curtain for the side facing the room. Embroidered prettily with cruet flowers and intertwining vines, it matched the coverlet. The single armchair, though it had seen better days, had been likewise adorned with an embroidered cushion. A wardrobe and table—upon which stood the customary pitcher and jug, were the only other furnishings.
“I’ll wait while you tidy yourself.” Mrs. Douglas gave a disapproving sniff. “The countess is in the morning room and will see you as soon as you’re presentable. Don’t take too long about it.”
“Of course; thank you.” She was aware of how rumpled she must look—her hair especially. Ursula reminded herself to smile. It wouldn’t do to get on Mrs. Douglas’ bad side.
Quickly, she changed into a skirt of plain green wool with matching jacket. With her hair repinned, she hoped she’d do.
