7
Drumvagen, Scotland
July, 1869
F reshly bathed and changed, Macrath sat in what had been designed as the Clan Hall by the architect. Stretching the width of the main section of Drumvagen, the room was supposed to be used as a gathering place. Exposed beams hinted at a history much older than the twenty years since Drumvagen had been started. He wondered, not for the first time, if some of the older features of his house had been taken from the crumbling structures dotting this area of Scotland.
The brick of Drumvagen was new, the gray tint purposely selected to blend in with the landscape. The house was a black pearl nestled in a bed of trees.
Virginia was here.
Virginia was at Drumvagen.
“You wanted to see me?”
His housekeeper stood at the doorway, frowning at him.
Brianag had a reputation as a healer. She was intuitive to a frightening degree, and known for being able to foretell the future, a talent she steadfastly refused to acknowledge.
She was also a termagant, frightened the servants and the inhabitants of Kinloch Village, and had no hesitation in telling him when he’d used ill judgment—according to her opinion.
She was only a few inches shorter than he was, with broad shoulders and a build hinting at masculinity. Her normal stance was to plant her large feet wide, fold her arms in front of her, and scowl down in judgment over the penitent.
God help the man who got on her bad side.
A great many people petitioned Brianag, and it might either be fear or their belief in her abilities. Many mornings he’d come downstairs only to be told his housekeeper had been summoned to the village to treat a broken bone or another injury.
According to Brianag, the villagers had nicknamed him the Devil of Drumvagen. He’d learned that interesting bit of nonsense a few years ago when she pinned him down in this same room.
“Why?” he asked. “I’ve never done anything to earn such an idiotic name.”
“You’ll find you don’t have to, here at Drumvagen,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s enough you look like Old Nick.”
“What do you mean?”
She folded her arms and tilted her head a little, studying him.
“You’ve got the black hair and blue eyes, and a wicked grin when you’re not all somber. I’ve heard tell in the village the girls were warned away from you. Maybe they’re thinking you’d lure them here to have your wicked way with them.”
He frowned. “Where would they get such an idea?”
She shrugged. “Still, it makes for a good tale. And it gives the village mothers something to use with their children.”
Startled, he could only stare at his housekeeper. “You mean as a warning? Be good or the Devil of Drumvagen will get you?”
She smiled. “I think the devil part is because you expect people to jump to your bidding quickly, with no questions asked.”
He regarded her in astonishment. He was unfailingly polite to his staff, including her, even though there were times when he was annoyed or irritated.
“I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous.”
She thrust one imperial finger at him. “That’s the reason,” she said, “right there. You’ve a temper about you.”
“And you, Brianag. I’ve heard you shouting at the maids.”
Her frown was an imposing sight, with her bushy eyebrows coming together in a single line.
He suspected she agreed to work for him because of curiosity. Working here was a way to discover what he was doing at Drumvagen. Over the last five years she’d created a fiefdom, one she ruled with an iron hand.
“Is she settled?” he asked now.
“In the room you made for her,” Brianag said.
How the hell had she known that? He’d given instructions for the rooms to be redecorated shortly after he met Virginia. The furniture was to be French, upholstered in a rose pattern. The curtains and wallpaper were to be the softest pink, her favorite shade. Pots were to be filled with the most priceless rose potpourri. He’d worried about
Drumvagen, Scotland
July, 1869
F reshly bathed and changed, Macrath sat in what had been designed as the Clan Hall by the architect. Stretching the width of the main section of Drumvagen, the room was supposed to be used as a gathering place. Exposed beams hinted at a history much older than the twenty years since Drumvagen had been started. He wondered, not for the first time, if some of the older features of his house had been taken from the crumbling structures dotting this area of Scotland.
The brick of Drumvagen was new, the gray tint purposely selected to blend in with the landscape. The house was a black pearl nestled in a bed of trees.
Virginia was here.
Virginia was at Drumvagen.
“You wanted to see me?”
His housekeeper stood at the doorway, frowning at him.
Brianag had a reputation as a healer. She was intuitive to a frightening degree, and known for being able to foretell the future, a talent she steadfastly refused to acknowledge.
She was also a termagant, frightened the servants and the inhabitants of Kinloch Village, and had no hesitation in telling him when he’d used ill judgment—according to her opinion.
She was only a few inches shorter than he was, with broad shoulders and a build hinting at masculinity. Her normal stance was to plant her large feet wide, fold her arms in front of her, and scowl down in judgment over the penitent.
God help the man who got on her bad side.
A great many people petitioned Brianag, and it might either be fear or their belief in her abilities. Many mornings he’d come downstairs only to be told his housekeeper had been summoned to the village to treat a broken bone or another injury.
According to Brianag, the villagers had nicknamed him the Devil of Drumvagen. He’d learned that interesting bit of nonsense a few years ago when she pinned him down in this same room.
“Why?” he asked. “I’ve never done anything to earn such an idiotic name.”
“You’ll find you don’t have to, here at Drumvagen,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s enough you look like Old Nick.”
“What do you mean?”
She folded her arms and tilted her head a little, studying him.
“You’ve got the black hair and blue eyes, and a wicked grin when you’re not all somber. I’ve heard tell in the village the girls were warned away from you. Maybe they’re thinking you’d lure them here to have your wicked way with them.”
He frowned. “Where would they get such an idea?”
She shrugged. “Still, it makes for a good tale. And it gives the village mothers something to use with their children.”
Startled, he could only stare at his housekeeper. “You mean as a warning? Be good or the Devil of Drumvagen will get you?”
She smiled. “I think the devil part is because you expect people to jump to your bidding quickly, with no questions asked.”
He regarded her in astonishment. He was unfailingly polite to his staff, including her, even though there were times when he was annoyed or irritated.
“I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous.”
She thrust one imperial finger at him. “That’s the reason,” she said, “right there. You’ve a temper about you.”
“And you, Brianag. I’ve heard you shouting at the maids.”
Her frown was an imposing sight, with her bushy eyebrows coming together in a single line.
He suspected she agreed to work for him because of curiosity. Working here was a way to discover what he was doing at Drumvagen. Over the last five years she’d created a fiefdom, one she ruled with an iron hand.
“Is she settled?” he asked now.
“In the room you made for her,” Brianag said.
How the hell had she known that? He’d given instructions for the rooms to be redecorated shortly after he met Virginia. The furniture was to be French, upholstered in a rose pattern. The curtains and wallpaper were to be the softest pink, her favorite shade. Pots were to be filled with the most priceless rose potpourri. He’d worried about
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