Page 47 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
He fixed her with his flinted grey eyes. “And what about you, Miss Abernathy? What ya doin’ in this neck of the woods?”
She’d been waiting for him to ask. Of course, she had to tell him. Once the visibility improved, she’d need him to show her the way. He must know of the castle, even having been on the moor a short time, and there was nowhere else. She could hardly stay in this bothy.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if whichever relatives he was staying with would mind having her as a house guest for a few weeks, but she pushed the idea away immediately. Foisting herself on his family would be ridiculous. At least those at the castle were expecting her—or Miss Abernathy, rather. She’d muddle through.
“I’m headed to Castle Dunrannoch,” she announced.
“Well now. Ain’t that somethin’.” Rye’s face split in the widest grin.
“I’ve a post—that is, a position.” She supposed there was no harm in telling him. “To teach a little boy at the castle. Table manners—that sort of thing.”
“Is that right?” Rye leaned forward. “Don’cha know how old he is?”
“He’s just some horror who doesn’t know how to behave. It’s bound to be awful, but there we are. I’ll sort him out.”
“I’ve no doubt you shall, but he mightn’t be as bad as you’re thinkin’. You might even like the lil fella.” His eyes flashed in amusement again.
Really, it was becoming most annoying—as if everything she said was a joke. “Unlikely!” Ursula was reluctant to dwell on what awaited her in her role as Urania Abernathy.
The stove was heating up nicely, the water simmering, making Ursula’s mouth water for a cup of tea.
Urania had seemed the sort of woman who might carry a tin of her preferred blend. And there had been the chocolate; Ursula wondered if there were any left.
It seemed rather awful, now, that she’d taken Miss Abernathy’s handbag—although she doubted Urania would have minded. Fetching it over, she vowed to send thanks heavenwards if it contained anything edible.
“Y’ might have some chicory even?” Rye eyed the bag speculatively. “Water’s near boiling.”
Ursula popped open the metal clasp and peered in. On top was a ball of wool and a half-knitted bed sock, still attached to the needle. Those, Ursula lifted out and placed to one side. Underneath, everything was a jumble.
There was the flask Urania had produced in the dining car. Screwing off the top, Ursula took a tentative sip. Hot and gingery, it burnt her throat, making her splutter.
“Easy there.” Rye was behind her in a flash, rubbing through the blanket as she coughed.
When she’d calmed sufficiently, he dipped one of their cups in the hot water and made her drink.
“What is it?” Ursula wiped at her mouth. Her lips still tingled.
He sniffed, then tipped it back.
“Not as good as the bourbon back home, but pretty damn fine.” He made a clucking of approval. “Brandy. And not the cheap sort.” He looked at her incredulously. “You forgot this was in there?”
“It’s not mine!” Ursula pressed her fingers to her temple. “I mean…it’s for emergencies.”
“If you say so, lil lady.” He gave her another of his winks.
Ignoring the provocation, she returned to the task and alighted on a bottle—too small for alcohol, though the contents were dark. Tentatively, she held it to the light.
“Syrup of figs.” Rye squinted, reading the label. “Isn’t that good for—”
Ursula shoved it back again. “My last charge. A spoonful every morning.” She returned to rummaging. There was bound to be something useful.
Her fingers found something metallic. A small tin! Opening it, Ursula smiled. She’d been right. Definitely tea. She gave it a sniff. An unusual blend—rather smoky. Lapsang Souchong?
She held it out to him. “It’s an acquired taste. Very relaxing in the evening.”
Rye lowered his nose and sniffed cautiously. “But it’s—” He rubbed a pinch between his fingers, looking bemused.
Before she could stop him, he’d reached into the bag himself and drawn out something made of wood. It had a long stem with a bulb at the end.
