Chapter 8
Thankfully, Mr. Dunnegin did not stop her. Climbing up the stairs on tiptoe, she hurried away to her room. The beautiful Ilana was nowhere to be seen.
It was already half past six. They had just finished dinner. What time was the party anyway? Did they always start parties so late? And where were all the decorations? She hadn’t seen any. Of course, she had only been to her own room, the parlor, dining room, and library. What fun it would be to have the castle all to herself. To wander around, feeling the carved wood beneath her hand, dreaming of ancient days and bygone eras.
Surrounded by so much beauty, it was difficult not to ensconce herself in the writing of her story. But why shouldn’t she? The entire evening was ahead of her, and she had already declined the birthday celebration. Why not get started?
Edwina grabbed a yellow-lined pad and two pencils, then ran down the stairs, hoping no one was lurking about. Walking the halls of so great a castle, she began to make notes. Descriptions of carvings, busts, portraits on the wall.
Ornate desks, and wood and stone floors. Oh, and the decorative fireplaces. Cecilia would have been in heaven.
Hating the clip-clop of her shoes, she left them on the first stair. She could muse without being discovered.
After a walk-through of the first floor, she tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor where her room was. Careful not to open any closed doors, she slipped down the corridor making notes. Door handles made of ivory, wood trimming measuring ten inches high, along the floor and at ceiling, windows of unusual sizes and shapes. Suddenly, in the middle of a note she heard voices. From somewhere up above. The parapets. Wow. That was something she needed to do. Get outdoors in the morning light tomorrow and make notes of the decorative towers, the courtyards, the gardens... oh, there was so much to do before leaving.
Then, smashing right into her dream world, came several servants all carrying trays covered with huge domes. “Pardon me, miss,” each said as they scurried by and through a small door.
Once alone she peeked inside the door and saw servant’s stairs curling upward. Not hearing anything, she tiptoed up the stairs, each step announcing her position, and looked down the hallway. She hid in an alcove at the sound of footsteps.
Edwina watched as they opened a door and hurried inside. The feeling of excitement followed them.
This is none of my affair. Her conscience pricked, yet her heart beat faster.
She made her way down the stairs to the first floor, slipped on her shoes, and found an exit at the back. Large glass doors opened to her touch. The handle was a beautiful black iron piece shaped like a question mark without the dot. Her feet stepped onto a large gray stone patio surrounded by riotous red and white flowers and greenery hanging from white lattice screens. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Like the book The Secret Garden. She was a child again.
Pad and pencil in hand she found a stone path and followed it, the party above stairs forgotten. It would be dark soon, so she hurried along gazing at the succulent plants, fingering the tender new ivy. Walking this way and that, she forgot to remember the way back, but surely one could not get lost? She had a good sense of direction. It would be no problem. Right now she had only this eve and tomorrow to see it all... and see it all she would.
Sometime later she began to trip over the stones as the darkness fell over the quiet garden, and with all the hanging vines and flowers, it was difficult to see the pathway. After several turns, she could see lights from the windows on the third floor that helped to guide her through the head-high labryinth. Then as she sensed she was nearing the castle, lights along the pathway lit. Of course the property and grounds would have lighting. She smiled. Everything was so perfect.
As she rounded a huge tree, several dogs began barking. Oh no... she hated being cornered by dogs. And no doubt these were guard dogs—they wouldn’t know her.
She rushed to put her back to the tree for protection and held her pad in front of her face.
Three large dogs came running toward her. The bark dug into her back. What should she do? No one would hear her... they were all inside at Mr. Dunnegin’s birthday party.
“Nice doggies. Nice doggies,” she repeated over and over, to no avail. The barking only became louder as she spoke. It seemed like an hour had passed. She was in the soup now.
“Ah, my dogs have found my guest.” She heard the Scot’s booming voice before he appeared out of the darkness.
“Fife, Bailey, Duke, hush!”
At the owner’s command, the dogs stopped barking and sat down by their master, doe-eyed.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” Edwina sighed. “I was beginning to think I might be sleeping against this tree tonight.”
“You seem to always be in need of rescuing.” He laughed, but she could see he was not exactly happy to be outdoors looking for a wayward guest. An unwanted guest at that.
“I am so very sorry... again it seems. I try to stay out of your way and only make things worse.” She eyed the dogs.
“Come.” He offered his hand.
Edwina gladly accepted. Her knees were shaky and the uneven ground could be treacherous at this late hour.
As soon as her footing was sure, she released herself from his warm grasp. That in itself was a dream. The hand- some Scot holding her hand. She must make note of that on her pad.
As they entered the castle through the glass door, Bertilda came around the corner. “Lass, ye have been trouble.”
The Scot smiled and released his guest to his maid. Edwina heard the echo of his boots.
“Have ye Americans no sense? This day is verra important to the household. Tis the laird’s day of birth, and ye are keeping him from his celebration.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed. Come now, move yer feet. We must find suitable clothing for ye. And a bath... yer hair... yer hair has sticks in it.”
Edwina’s hand went to her hair.
“Pick up yer pace, we have much work to do.”
“But I don’t want... I shouldn’t be at the party.... I’m just a guest, not a friend of the family. Besides, he already knows I have work to do.”
Her sentence was cut off with spit and vinegar. “If the laird says ye are to attend, ye are to attend. I’ll hear no more aboot it.”
And Edwina knew she wouldn’t.
Again in her room, the bath water gushing at high speed, the woman was running from room to room seeking a dress that would please her. Most of them she threw on the bed were too small. Edwina knew she did not possess a tiny waist and stick-like arms.
“Ah, this will do. Tis the dress . . .” A sad look came across the matron’s face. “We have no other choice—put it on. I will add some decorations to make it look not so . . . so familiar,” she whispered and hurried away.
Edwina allowed herself to be dressed wondering what was so special about this dress.
“Now, there.”
Bertilda turned, but there was a tear in her eye. Edwina was sure of it.
“Have I... have I ruined the dress somehow?” she asked quietly, looking down.
“What? What makes you say that?” came the tart reply.
“Oh nothing . . .”
“Well, sit. We have to swirl that thick hair upward. And it’s barely dry from your bath.” Edwina sat and when she rose again was decently attired.
The dark emerald color of the dress displayed her simple beauty. The cut was empire, rather old fashioned, yet unpretentious. It was not satin, like the turquoise worn by Ilana, but it was nicer than anything she’d ever owned. She slipped her feet into the black flats. Bertie could find no other shoes in such a short time. “They’ll have to do,” she said, her nose wrinkled.
Edwina ran her hand along the sleeve. It was soft. “Rather nice,” Bertilda stated. Had that been a compliment?
“Yes, ye will do. Now follow me... and try to stay aboot the place. Laird Dunnegin has spent enough time fishing you out of your troubles.”
Edwin
a’s eyebrows went up. Yet what Bertie said was true.
“Don’t fidget,” came the call over the woman’s shoulder.
How did Bertie know she was fidgeting? She certainly must have eyes in the back of her very stiff-necked head. Edwina suppressed a nervous gasp. She was headed to her doom. She could feel it. Cecelia should have been here, not her.
Her nerves were beginning to tingle, and from experience Edwina knew that was not a good sign.
She lifted the dress which swirled around her ankles, grateful the soft fabric covered her legs because they were not long and fashionable. Besides that, her black flats were rather worn. How did she get into a situation like this?
Before she could answer her own question, Bertie came to a set of double doors and pushed them open with both hands. Edwina felt like the dirty cinder girl following the wicked stepmother to the dungeon.
Suddenly she was shoved into a whirlwind. Instruments played from a corner and servants hustled about with trays while the well dressed guests stood in small groups talking and gesturing grandly. What had she to do with all this?
“Oh no ye don’t.” Bertie grabbed her arm as Edwina turned back to exit the door they’d just entered. “Ye are the Laird’s guest.”
Edwina was left to her own devices when Bertie was called away.
Her hands, already sweating in the elbow-length gloves she wore, didn’t seem to know what to do. Down at her side they went, then up again at her waist, then crossed over her chest... but that was not good body language. That she knew from a book she’d read only recently.
“Ah, my American guest,” came the deep voice of the Scot from somewhere in the crowd.
Edwina could not stop the flush of red that crept to her face. How disgusting. Why hadn’t she read anything about how to keep her face from turning apple red when she was embarrassed?
Before long the small crowd had separated revealing the very handsome, very tall Scot. Her knight in shining armor to be sure, for there he was dressed in a kilt, a sword actually dangling from his side.
Edwina’s eyes widened. She knew what Scots wore beneath such attire. Read that in a book too. Further embarrassing herself for the thought, her face turned a deeper red, if it were possible, and for some odd reason she couldn’t catch her breath.
She forced her eyes away from him to gather her wits while he made his way toward her, then her gaze fell on the beautiful and angry Ilana. Oh dear.
“Miss Edwina Blair, my guest from America.” He stood a full eight inches above her head. She had not noted the vast difference in their height. She was five feet and six inches, not short by any means.
Had he actually remembered her name? Fundamentally, it seemed important right at the moment. She wanted to knock herself in the head... he had seen her papers. Duh! So what now? Was she supposed to curtsy to the birthday boy? It was all too much. Hopefully when she opened her mouth something elegant would come out.
But it didn’t.
“Sir... I wish you a happy fortieth birthday,” she said and smiled until she heard the gasp of the crowd.
Her eyes darted around the room before they fell on Miss Ilana’s. The beautiful black eyes were surely pleased.
Somehow she had made a huge blunder. The people were now whispering behind their hands.
So much for protocol and pretense. And thank the heavens above she would be gone tomorrow. That thought alone kept her knees straight. She would not fall to the floor in a faint to cover her obvious error... which was what?
Suddenly Mr. Dunnegin laughed aloud again. Booming laughter. “Ye have added ten years on me life,” he said, his brogue strong.
Edwina’s heart fell to her stomach in one fell swoop. So that was it. He had said he was thirty, not forty?
“I shall hope to be the father of many heirs by then.” He laughed and took her arm, leading her through the crowd like a ship crashing through the icy seas.
“Don’t tremble, lass. Tis all right,” he leaned his head down and whispered.
“Aye, for you maybe,” she whispered back, which only caused him to laugh again at her attempt at the Scottish language.
Ilana must be ready to dump her body in the North Sea, which wasn’t very far from where they stood. Edwina again wiggled out of his gentle grasp and said, “Where is the ladies room?”
“There.” He pointed, then took her hand and put it back on his arm. “Not so quickly. I have guests who wish to meet you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“They wish to visit Chicago or New York. They have not decided, and since they’ve not been to your country, they would like to inquire of you which would be most suitable.”
Edwina slipped in a full breath. “Is that all? I can handle that,” she said proudly. “I live near Chicago and have been to New York. Twice.”
“Then you shall find no harm in discussing your American cities?”
“I shall not.” she returned his amused gaze.
He had the greenest eyes. They matched the blue and green plaid he wore, making his weathered, tan face even more handsome, if that were possible. Oh that Cecelia were here now to see her plain little sister walking on the arm of a Scottish laird.
Before long she had been introduced to an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie, who were well-to-do by the looks of their fine clothing. Mr. Dunnegin, having bowed politely, left them to their conversation.
“Shall we find a seat?” the gentleman asked, his brogue much more pronounced than Mr. Dunnegin’s.
“Of course.” Edwina tried to sound elegant.
The older man seated his wife with great gentleness and then her. “Now, it seems we are aboot to travel to your country to see our son, and we wish more than anything to visit New York or Chicago. Our son, Sean Patrick Gillespie, lives in Boston. He attends the university there. We will have precisely two weeks to see the sites.”
That seemed to be the only introduction because the two waited for her response.
“Wonderful. Boston University is a good school.” She removed her gloves and set them across her lap. She couldn’t think straight in such a formal setting.
They smiled.
And for the next half hour, Edwina told them all she knew. The evening had been saved after all. The elderly couple apparently enjoyed her every word; Edwina noticed their gentle smiles and affirmation.
When, finally, they had been called away to dance, Edwina found herself alone in the corner, lurking behind the palm leaf foliage and enjoying the scene before her. Violins played, couples danced, others talked, some picked up small plates and filled them with all sorts of unfamiliar little sandwiches and treats.
Alex Dunnegin and his fiancée were not in her view. Edwina was glad. Miss Ilana had not liked being upstaged by the American guest.
“Here ye are, lass,” came the booming voice, just when Edwina had begun to relax. Suddenly he stopped in midstride just two feet from her and stared.
What was wrong? Her mind flew in all directions. Had she done something wrong—again? Should she stand or stay seated? Her legs had no strength so she sat beneath his intense gaze, her face turning crimson.
“What is it? Have I . . .” She looked down in the direction where he was staring.
“The dress. Where did ye get that dress?” He sounded not angry, but sad.
“Bertie put it on me.” She knew her voice sounded weak. “Did I... is there something wrong?”
“Never mind,” he said and gave her his back.
Edwina stared down at the dress. He hadn’t said anything about it when she walked in. It was certainly more elegant than anything she’d ever worn; had it been someone else’s? His sister’s perhaps, dead even now in the graveyard, and the dress reminding him of the loss? Oh her mind was flying.
It was time to flee. She lifted herself from the seat in the corner, keeping her back against the wall, and looked for an exit. Was the only way out the double doors they had entered? Apparently so. She would head there, smiling and talki
ng to this one and that one on the way and disappear down the hall, pack her things, and ask Reardon if he might drive her back to Edinburgh this very evening while the Scot was still at his party.
As she slid by, a wood panel suddenly opened and a servant appeared. “How’d you do that?” she asked, shocked. There was no knob—at least not one she could see.
“It is the servant’s passageway,” the girl announced and went on her way.
Well if it opened again, she was going to escape. Sure enough, a few minutes passed and it slipped open. This time Edwina caught her finger in the door, almost crying out because the very heavy door pinched her quite nicely.
The passageway stairs were steep, very narrow, and it was dark. After several turns she opened a tiny butler’s door and stepped into the kitchen. A room she had not seen until now.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She slid along the kitchen wall. “I must have made an error. Which way out?” She smiled sweetly, hoping they would not tell their employer of yet another faux pas by the American.
“There.” One pointed, and she was almost to her destination when the voice of Bertie sounded in her ear.
“What ye be aboot now, lass?” Her hands were on her ample hips.
“Oh, nothing. I was just... hungry... that’s all . . .”
“Hungry? After the dinner ye ate and all the food above stairs?”
She looked up at the woman. “It’s the dress,” she said quickly, glad for a reprieve.
“What’s wrong? Have ye injured it?” Bertie seemed very upset.
“Oh no... that’s... what I’m worried about.” Edwina picked up the thread of conversation. I’m becoming quite quick in my responses to trouble, she thought proudly.
“It’s... just that I don’t want to harm it and feel I must change into my own clothes. I am very tired.” Then she added for good measure, “I do have the beginnings of a headache.”
Bertie did not believe her, but she allowed her to go. “Be aboot your business then. At least ye’ve made ye’re appearance at the laird’s party. And lay the dress across the bed – carefully.” she replied.
“Who’s dress is this?” The words came out of her mouth before she had time to put them back in.
Bertie’s face turned sad for a moment, “A lady whom the Laird loved.”
“Oh.” Edwina wanted out of that dress. “I’ll be very careful...”
“See that ye do, lass.”
“I will,” Edwina called out, but Bertie was already gone.
Escaping from people is difficult around this big place, Edwina mused as she tiptoed up the stairs, the dress lifted in both hands.