Chapter 5
Dragging her luggage to the door, she left it for Reardon to fetch later and opened the heavy door to the hall. Her feet took her immediately to the arched window. As she gazed down, her dark blue eyes followed the gentle swooping of the hills... not mountains, but hills. The blue-green of the lush countryside bid her to investigate. Unfortunately, time would not permit. Sadly, she turned from the window.
Thirty minutes later, she still could not bring herself to stop studying each huge framed picture that hung along the long, wide corridor. It was like walking through an art gallery. She stopped at each oil painting and busied her mind. Who was he? The Scot’s father? Grandfather? Reardon had said the family occupied this castle since... what was it... 1702? The paintings of the women fascinated her. What would it have been like to live three hundred years ago? Walking these very halls. How many times had the castle been attacked? What babies had been born in these rooms? Her mind wandered until she felt a chill. What was it about this castle that pulled her deeper into its history? Inhaling deeply, she slowly descended the stairs. Each step was at least twice the width and length of the stairs at her apartment.
Elegance reeked from every column standing sentinel along the staircase that guided her downward. At the bottom, she let her hand rest on the newel post. Others had rested their hand here. But she was an intruder, not a family member, which prompted her to wander toward the open doorway of a room that looked very much like a Victorian parlor. She stepped into it, awed at its size. The tall ceilings were a huge artist’s canvas painted with golden cherubs, chestnut horses, and pink roses intertwined with small green leaves. There were voices. Edwina turned. Walking toward her was the most exquisite woman she had ever laid eyes on. She wanted more than anything to rub her eyes. Was she dreaming? Perhaps she was still in her apartment at home and this was just a figment of her very tired imagination. But her gaze could not leave the confection that moved toward her.
The woman was much like the one she pictured moving across the hills. Silly. This woman was real. Her dress was of turquoise silk, and it shimmered on the slender figure as she moved through the sun-dappled room. Ebony eyes appeared from her flawless dark skin. Hair as black as her Chinese vase at home fell around the woman’s elegant face in perfect symmetry. Suddenly a voice came from her mouth.
“Are you the American from the hotel?”
“Yes,” Edwina whispered, trying to distinguish the accent.
“Ah, then you . . .” The woman stopped and smiled slightly, wiping away any disdain Edwina might have had for her intense beauty.
“I... I’m sorry for the mix-up,” Edwina blurted. “I don’t mean to be a problem.”
“Tis not a problem... as you say.” The woman skimmed across the floor and pulled a long satin rope.
“I am Ilana Mamara from Madrid.”
That was it! Spanish.
Bertilda appeared in the doorway with folded hands answering the call. “Miss?”
“Would you mind bringing us tea? And biscuits.”
She must be starving, for she’s as thin as a pencil, Edwina thought. “My name is Edwina Blair.” Did Scottish etiquette require her to offer her hand?
The woman nodded politely. “Please sit. We await Laird Dunnegin. He is out for his morning ride, and we shall not be able to start without him.”
That slight smile again. The woman lowered herself into the elegant, tall-backed cream colored chair and smoothed her dress then straightened her back. Edwina stepped lightly to the sofa and sat down slowly, placing her own hands in her lap.
Edwina straightened her back too and couldn’t help but feel as though they were on a stage set for a Victorian play. So the handsome Scot was a Laird.
Bertilda appeared with a silver tray and tea. Little biscuits were offered and Edwina, careful not to rattle her cup in the saucer, took two and laid them alongside the cup. Sipping quietly, she fished for something to say.
“It’s beautiful here,” she ventured.
“It is beautiful in Scotland. I am from Spain where it is more beautiful.”
“So it is beautiful there too?” Edwina found herself leaning forward.
“Most beautiful. But different from Scotland. Our people are much more, what do you say?, animated than those here. They are stuffy in Scotland.” She laughed lightly and lifted the cup to her lips.
Edwina nodded and sipped her tea, munched on her biscuit, and realized she was very hungry.
“Where do you live in America?”
“In Michigan, a small town called Niles. Just two hours from Chicago.” Edwina added that to show she was close to a wonderful large city.
“Ah, I know Michigan well. I was once in Chicago and traveled to a beautiful home on... Is it Lake Michigan? I think.”
“Yes, Lake Michigan. Many people live in Chicago and build their summer homes—more like castles—on the Lake. There are many ports for yachts and such,” Edwina said proudly.
“It is as you say, beautiful. But Spain . . .” She sighed and looked away.
“Well, I must be going.” Edwina suddenly found she needed to be gone when the Scot came back. She had over- stayed as it was. “Please tell Mr. um... Laird Dunnegin that I am grateful for his help last evening.” Standing she looked down at her plain shoes. Much too inelegant for this place.
“Ye may tell him yerself,” a booming voice echoed from behind her sending her teacup slithering off her saucer. She caught the cup with one hand, but a small amount of tea slung itself across her white blouse.
“Ah, you are back early,” Ilana said as she rose from her chair, disposed of her cup and glided toward the Scot.
Ignoring her wet blouse, Edwina set the offending contraption on the table and backed away since the other two people in the room had eyes only for each other. Now was her time to square things up and get out before she caused another ruckus.
“Thank you so much for your kindness.” She bowed slightly, hoping it was customary and turned on her heel.
“Ah, but you must stay,” he called. But sure that he was speaking only to his beloved, she kept walking.
“Then ye do not wish to attend my birthday celebration?” He had caught up with her, the beautiful Ilana the perfect distance behind him, so as not to appear too eager.
“Me? Your birthday? You want me to stay?” Edwina, now turned, asked.
“Yes. Ye must stay for another day and celebrate with us. An American is always sought after at a party here in Scotland. There are many questions my guests would like to ask of ye.”
“They want to ask me questions?” Startled at his words, she could not think fast enough to form a response. But a look behind the tall man’s wide shoulders told her the beautiful Miss Ilana was not thrilled with that proposition. What could he want with an American from a little town in Michigan? And what answers could she possibly form to questions from Scots? It all seemed silly.
“Really, I must go, but I thank you sincerely for allowing me to stay in your... your castle.” She waved her hand. “It is very beautiful, but I must insist on leaving. I have an itin- erary. And I will need to make my plans sure so that I can go along on the bus with the tour group.”
“Ah, but you do not know that Monday is the best day to start your tour. That gives you today and tomorrow.” He spoke stubbornly, as if in charge of her life.
A quick glance at Miss Ilana told a different story. She was a woman scorned.
Edwina’s eyes narrowed. What was this Scot up to anyway? Didn’t he want to be alone with his fiancée? After all, it was the reason he had helped her at the hotel... to get home to his beloved, right?
Edwina excused herself and slipped up the stairs to change her stained blouse. Something seemed awkward, but she wasn’t exactly aware of what it was. Yet.