The Devil of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney

Brianag,” the woman said.
    “Yes, well . . .” Virginia felt flustered and not a little confused. Was she supposed to address her as Brianag? “Is it a Scottish name?” she asked.
    “Would you be thinking it anything else? Welsh?”
    Brianag did not approve of her.
    “Will you be staying long?”
    She hadn’t expected the question, especially from Brianag.
    “It’s no matter of mine,” the housekeeper said before she could answer. “Ti keep a calm souch.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Ti keep a calm souch,” Brianag repeated.
    Repeating something did not make it understandable.
    She was then given an explanation about the bells for meals and told that a maid would escort her to the dining room. She smiled in response, which had no effect on the woman’s scowl. When she closed the door behind Brianag, she sagged against it in relief.
    At least she was here. She’d done that much. Macrath hadn’t turned her away. The next step was going to be so much more difficult, however.
    Perhaps she’d do as her mother-in-law implied—let Macrath know she was willing, and let him do the rest.
    London
    A year earlier
    W henever she saw Macrath, Virginia felt lighter, somehow. Any worries or cares simply drifted away. With him, she could do anything. Nothing was too great an obstacle to overcome.
    When he left her, it was as if the sun suddenly dimmed and the cloud stayed in place until the next time she saw him again.
    The day following the meeting in the British Museum, Macrath had simply disappeared. An entire week went by in which the days seemed as dark as night. Neither he nor Ceana had been to any of the endless entertainments she’d been forced to attend.
    Had they returned to Scotland?
    When she and Mrs. Haverstock visited the Victoria and Albert Museum and then the Science Museum, she kept hoping Macrath would appear. He hadn’t, but she’d grown heartily tired of education.
    If she never saw another sight in London, she’d be pleased.
    “Miss.”
    Virginia put her finger in her book to mark her place, listening.
    “Miss.”
    No, she hadn’t imagined it. Someone was whispering to her. She peered around the chair and saw Bessie, the undercook, standing in the doorway.
    Why on earth didn’t the girl come toward her?
    Evidently, something was capturing her attention, because she looked to her left, then at Virginia, and to her left again.
    “Quick, miss,” she said. “Before anyone sees I’m gone.”
    “What is the matter?” she asked, standing and approaching the door.
    The girl rarely left the kitchen. To find her in the corridor outside the parlor was odd, but not as odd as what Bessie did next.
    She raced up to Virginia and whispered, “He said I was to give a message to Maud. I told him there was no Maud in our household, but he said there was, and it was you. A pet name, miss?”
    “What did he say, Bessie?” she asked, desperate to know.
    “You’re to come to the garden, Maud,” the girl said, then flew down the corridor to the kitchen.
    Her smile reached her heart before traveling to her lips.
    Macrath.
    He was here. He was here in the garden.
    She straightened her skirt, wishing she’d worn one of her new dresses today, but she didn’t want to take the time to change.
    Skirts swinging, she took the same path Bessie had, avoiding the kitchen for the garden door, stepping down into the long rectangular lawn with heart beating and her breath coming too tight.
    He wasn’t there.
    Had she misunderstood? Had he given Bessie a message that the girl hadn’t understood? Was he waiting for her somewhere else?
    The door to the shed at the end of the garden suddenly creaked open. She grabbed her skirts in both hands and flew down the flagstone path.
    Suddenly, he was there, tall and handsome, his eyes twinkling. By his presence, he forever changed the garden into an enchanted place.
    “You’re here,” she said, feeling foolish and too young.
    “At last,” he said.
    “Were you away?”