My Laird's Castle (9 page)

Colin eyed the both of us but said nothing.
 

“Oh, I had a tour of the castle. Colin showed me the sights.”

“Indeed?” Captain Jones said. “And how did you find it?”

“Beautiful,” I said, and I meant it. “Just beautiful. Hard, cold, warm and soft. It’s difficult to describe.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Colin pause as he reached for food. I turned to give him a bright smile, and he beamed.

“Ye like it then?” he asked quietly.

“I do. Very much,” I said. I reached for a small tray of food to dish onto my plate. My cheeks flamed, and I kept my eyes on my plate.

“It is a fine castle,” Captain Jones said. “As fine as any I have seen in England.”

“What is it that you do here, Captain Jones?” I asked.
 

“Do, Mistress Pratt?”

“Well, yes, what do the English soldiers do here?”

Colin choked on some food and coughed. I looked at him. Had I said something wrong?

Captain Jones chuckled.

“Why, we keep the peace, Mistress Pratt. Coming from the colonies, you may be unaware of the turmoils here in the Highlands. We enforce certain policies of the Crown and ensure that the Scots do not kill each other.”

Colin banged his knife down on the table.
 

“Captain Jones, it is enough that I must house and feed ye. Dinna attempt to bamboozle my guest, my cousin. The English are nae here to ensure that Scots dinna kill each other. What nonsense! Ye are here to protect the Crown’s interests, to preserve Scotland for English use, and to make certain that the feudal clan system never rises again.”

Captain Jones sent Colin an amused glance.

“Yes, it is true,” he said, pretending to roll his
r
’s. “That is part of our mission here. It is likely that until Scotland obtains freedom from England, soldiers will always roam these lands.”

“Would that were true,” Colin said. He resumed eating. I picked at my food. I liked both men, but they were on very opposite sides of history.
 

“But enough of that,” Captain Jones said, not at all offended. “Tell me more about yourself, Mistress Pratt. Where is your family? Do not say that you traveled to England alone? Tell me more of Montana, Massachusetts.”

My eyes widened at his words, but I quickly raised a hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. I threw a quick look at Colin, who gave me an innocent look. He had much to answer for in giving Captain Jones that ridiculous description of Montana, but it looked like it was up to me to provide answers.

“My family remained in Montana,” I said. “Yes, I traveled alone. Perhaps that’s a bit unusual, but then so am I. Montana, as Colin said, is a small village south of Boston. About a hundred people or so.” I was definitely winging it.

“How very adventurous of you, madam. And why did you come to Scotland?”

“Why, to visit my cousin, of course,” I said with a straight face.

“To visit Lord Anderson?” Captain Jones’ blond eyebrows lifted. “Is there an understanding between you?”

Colin choked again, and I thought I knew what Captain Jones meant. I laughed, too loud.

“An understanding? Ha! No, of course not! He’s my
cousin
!”

Captain Jones smiled, but he did not join in my laughter.
 

“But surely not such a close cousin that you cannot marry? In England, it would be considered much more proper to marry one’s cousin than to travel without family across the ocean to visit a male cousin. Perhaps I pry, but I cannot understand why you have come so far alone.”

“Ye do pry, Captain Jones,” Colin said. “Why my cousin has come to visit me is our business, no? It canna possibly be of interest to the Crown.”

Captain Jones appeared ready to give up. He nodded. “Yes, of course. I have been rude. Please forgive me, Mistress Pratt. I could not curb my curiosity.”

I smiled, graciously, I thought, and turned my attention to my food.

“What is the agriculture of Montana?” Captain Jones asked. “Surely a discussion of your homeland could not be considered prying?”

Colin said nothing, and for the next half hour I made stuff up about corn, beans, cows and horses. I should have paid better attention during history classes. I thought I had, history being one of my favorite subjects, but at the moment, I could remember nothing, and so I rambled.

Colin rose at the end of the meal and extended his hand to me.
 

“Good afternoon, Captain Jones,” I said. I took Colin’s hand and followed him from the great room.

“That was awful!” I whispered, and then I gave him a playful punch in his rib. “Montana, Massachusetts? He’s not going to let that go!”

“I had nae idea where your Montana was and sought only to help you.” He led me down a hallway, past the library and toward what I thought was the back of the castle.
 

“The rain has lightened. Come into the garden.” He stopped by a heavy oak door and pointed to some wooden shoes and a heavy cloak hanging from a hook. George appeared out of nowhere, but Colin waved him off, and the butler returned to wherever he spent his time.

“Don these shoes and the cloak.” Colin himself wore boots, but he took a heavier overcoat from the hook and put it over himself.
 

I slipped into what essentially were clogs and draped the charcoal-gray hooded cloak around my dress. Colin pushed open the door, and we descended the stone steps to view a beautiful garden spread out over about half an acre. Soft lawns, as in the front of the house, trailed away into the forest, which itself climbed up into the hills. The rain had stopped for a moment, but the sky remained overcast.
 

“Where is yer Montana then?” Colin asked as we strolled through the rain-drenched garden with its rows of brightly colored flowers, herbs and colorful plants I didn’t even recognize.

I told him about Whitefish, Montana, and its proximity to Glacier National Park, the beauty of the Rocky Mountains so different from the Highlands and yet so similar. I told him about my life as a librarian, quiet and until now, fairly serene. I had already told him about trains the night before, and I related Whitefish’s connection as a stop on the former Great Northern Railway.
 

We walked for a couple of hours, until a light rain encouraged us to return to the house.
 

“Have Mrs. Agnew or Sarah draw ye a bath to warm yer bones. I wish to go down to the river to see if it remains flooded.”

“No! Take me with you. I want to go.” I clutched his arm.

“Ye canna, woman!” Colin pulled my hand from his coat and brought it to his lips again. “The weather is frightful, and I canna have ye taking chill. I concern myself wi yer health in our wet Scottish weather.” He shook his head as if he had reconsidered. “Nay. Up ye go. Warm yerself. I will see ye at supper.”

I could do nothing but watch him disappear out the back door again, assuming he was going to make his way around to the front of the house and head for the river.
 

I slipped out of the clogs and cloak and headed toward my room, wondering how to find Mrs. Agnew. But Mrs. Agnew, that worthy woman, seemed to know when she was needed. She appeared at my side as I began to climb the stairs.

“Will ye be needing that bath now, mistress?”
 

Was she psychic? Or just Celtic?

“Yes, Mrs. Agnew. I would like to take a warm bath, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, mistress. Sarah will bring the water up presently. I have laid out a dress for supper this evening. I’ll bring a dish of tea up after ye’ve bathed.”

I stopped on the stairs and turned to look at her.

“Oh, Mrs. Agnew, you are a treasure,” I said with a smile.

The housekeeper’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, awa wi ye!” Her Scots dialect thickened with embarrassment, and my smile widened.
 

“You are,” I repeated, and I turned to climb the stairs, wondering what fabulous costume she had set out for me today.

Chapter Six

Bathing was an interesting adventure, if only climbing in and out of the steep-sided tub, which resembled something between an oversized cream pitcher and a barrel, albeit in a lovely shade of brass.
 

Young Sarah made several trips with buckets of hot water, even after I thought she was done and I had climbed in. I quickly threw a linen cloth over my chest when she came in for what I hoped was the last time.

“Mrs. Agnew says I’m to ask if ye need help washing yer hair,” she said with a small curtsey.

I had thought to dip my hair in the now soapy water and hope for the best in the absence of clear water to rinse it with, but I improvised.

“No, thank you, Sarah, but could you hand me the water pitcher there? I’ll just rinse with that.”

She picked up the pitcher near the washbasin and handed it to me.
 

“It is cold, mistress. Shall I pour it into yer water and put some of this hot water in it?”

“Oh, sure, that would be great.” And so she did. I eyed the steaming water being poured into the pitcher and thought I’d better wait a bit for it to cool down before washing and rinsing my hair.
 

“Do you wash your hair with this soap, or do you have a special shampoo?” I asked, holding up the bar of lavender soap.

“Shampoo, mistress? I dinna ken what ye mean. Her ladyship washed her hair with the lavender soap. The servants have naethin so fine.”

I bit my lip. “Too soon, I guess,” I murmured under my breath.

“That’s okay,” I said to Sarah. “Thank you for everything. I can’t imagine how heavy those buckets of water must be.”

Sarah blinked, and her cheeks, already red from exertion, flamed. She bobbed another curtsey.

“Oh, it is naethin, mistress.” She set the bucket on the floor and left the room. I eyed the closed door for a moment, wondering how I was going to manage without crème rinse. The presence of the empty bucket suggested that Sarah would soon resume running up and down the stairs carrying my soapy water off to wherever it was water went—hopefully not to dishes. Unless she just planned to toss it out of the window.

I sighed, contemplated a long life of adjustments and dunked my head under the water to wet my hair. Rubbing the soap into my hair, I could work up no suds, but it would have to do. I reached for the pitcher, forgetting that the water was still hot. More improvisation.

I dunked my head again and emerged to ferment in the tub while the water cooled. The tub was such that I couldn’t straighten my legs and lay back, but I managed to pull my knees to my chest, and I waited for about ten minutes. It didn’t take long for the water in the pitcher to cool. Although Sarah had stoked the fire on one of her water trips, the castle walls seemed only too willing to share their chill.

After what seemed like the most complicated bath I’d ever taken, I climbed out of the tub, wrapped myself in a lovely white linen cloth and dried off. Unwilling to begin the next round of dressing, I exchanged the wet linen for the warm tartan, and I lowered myself onto the settee in front of the fire to relax for just a bit.

In hindsight, I should have combed my hair, for I fell asleep, and when I awoke, my hair, now dried, looked as wild as Colin’s.

I had no idea what time it was when I awakened, but night had not yet fallen. I’m sure Mrs. Agnew would have alerted me if it was time to dress. How did people tell time here anyway?

Was Colin back? I peeked out the window but could see nothing out of the slit. The castle didn’t seem to have conventional large windows, but only small openings, large enough for a bow and arrow.
 

Someone tapped on my door.

“Come in,” I said, turning away from the window.

Colin opened the door and stepped in.

I gasped, having assumed it was Mrs. Agnew, and I grabbed the slipping tartan and clutched it. I swung around, unsure what was showing, if anything.

“Och! Ye arna dressed. Why ever did ye say to come in?” Colin barked.
 

Fumbling with the tartan, I looked over my shoulder. He had shut the door and swung around so that he faced it.

“Well, I thought it was Mrs. Agnew. You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

I turned, and Colin looked over his shoulder.

“Well, I never thought ye werna decent,” he said, his lips breaking into a smile.

His lips! His wide, generous smile, visible for all the world to see. He had shaved his beard. My knees weakened as he turned to face me. A firm dimpled chin anchored what I had already thought of as a handsome face. He had tied his hair back, revealing long, dark sideburns that framed an angular face notable for wonderfully high cheekbones and snapping dark-blue eyes.
 

“Oh, my word!” I said, staring at him.

“Is my face so homely?” he asked, his smile fading.
 

“Oh, no,” I said, keeping my distance. “Quite the contrary.”

His blush stained his cheeks, and my heart thumped. They just didn’t make men like him in my time. No.