presence.” Rory sat forward, his voice and face earnest. “Lass, I maun gae down to the sea for a spell. ’Tis time fer my brother, Keir, tae return frae his fishing. And I waud hae a word wi’ him. Someone’s been attacking seal pups near our home and I maun find out the latest news. Also, my kin need tae know that MacKenzie is gone and his widow is sometimes here in his place.”
“But it is nearly dark,” Hexy protested, feeling sudden dismay. That wasn’t strictly true, as there was still perhaps an hour of light to be had, but she didn’t want Rory to go down to the sea without her. She had a ridiculous premonition that he would climb into his brother’s vessel and never come back. “And the beach is hardly a safe place to try and put in a boat. He’d do better to come by land. He could come for dinner. I’ll make it myself, so you needn’t worry about the salt.”
Rory shook his head. “Keir will be in his fishing garb and in no state tae dine at a table.”
“But—”
“And believe me, there are safe harbors taebe had fer those wha’ ken the coast as we do,” Rory added gently. He rose to his feet. “Dinna be distressing yerself wi’ worry o’er me and my kin. The People will never be hurt by the sea. And I shall be back, lass. I’ll gae nae distance frae here without my fur, be sure of that.”
Unhappily, Hexy nodded, accepting the teacup from Rory’s smooth hand and watching uneasily as he left the room.
She was not left long to anxious musings. The moment Rory left the house a long-faced Robertson presented himself. He was accompanied by a somewhat dusty man who looked to be a silver-whiskered biblical sage but was soon revealed as a more important personage, the local joiner. She had noticed that all the workmen about the castle were elderly and supposed it was because the younger men were all either out fishing or had perished in the war. A more involved landlady would have sent her secretary to check on these things, but Jillian did not care to involve herself with the village.
The aging carpenter was apparently mute, or perhaps simply loath to try to explain himself to a female Sassenach, for it fell to a reluctant Robertson to make an exhaustive explanation of why the men would need to put in more costly beams instead of joists in the lower floor’s bathrooms, where plumbing was finally being installed.
The explanation was a long one and made Hexy stare in disbelief. The butler was not an eloquent man, and contrary to the vogue of some career domestics, Robertson had always practiced the exemplary caution of not being too efficient in his job, and therefore having his employers expect too much of him on a regular basis. The rest of the staff, taking their cues from the butler, had followed suit, the housekeeper and cook adding the refinement of the use of a local dialect that was so far removed from English that their speech was nearly always incomprehensible to their employer. Thus, communication, when it could not be avoided, nearly always fell upon dour Robertson.
Today, the butler’s long face was looking unusually morbid and his tone was one of a man sorely tried by unfair vicissitudes. Hexy withstood the long-winded explanations of privy enhancement bravely until Robertson launched into a second and more detailed clarification of why certain seats were to be preferred in the newfangled commodes that were to replace the old style cesses.
“Fer ye’ll want tae keep visits prompt. But there’s nae reason fer people tae actually suffer. The old privies were a horror, mistress! I tell ye, a Scotsman’s heroism is nae always limited tae the battlefield. The bravest man would sobat the feel of those icy seats frozen ontae his bare backside on a wintry day. I recall occasions when flesh was actually left behind!”
“I see. How unpleasant for you,” was Hexy’s only response.
The joiner nodded in solemn agreement and then let loose with a powerful yawn, which revealed
“But it is nearly dark,” Hexy protested, feeling sudden dismay. That wasn’t strictly true, as there was still perhaps an hour of light to be had, but she didn’t want Rory to go down to the sea without her. She had a ridiculous premonition that he would climb into his brother’s vessel and never come back. “And the beach is hardly a safe place to try and put in a boat. He’d do better to come by land. He could come for dinner. I’ll make it myself, so you needn’t worry about the salt.”
Rory shook his head. “Keir will be in his fishing garb and in no state tae dine at a table.”
“But—”
“And believe me, there are safe harbors taebe had fer those wha’ ken the coast as we do,” Rory added gently. He rose to his feet. “Dinna be distressing yerself wi’ worry o’er me and my kin. The People will never be hurt by the sea. And I shall be back, lass. I’ll gae nae distance frae here without my fur, be sure of that.”
Unhappily, Hexy nodded, accepting the teacup from Rory’s smooth hand and watching uneasily as he left the room.
She was not left long to anxious musings. The moment Rory left the house a long-faced Robertson presented himself. He was accompanied by a somewhat dusty man who looked to be a silver-whiskered biblical sage but was soon revealed as a more important personage, the local joiner. She had noticed that all the workmen about the castle were elderly and supposed it was because the younger men were all either out fishing or had perished in the war. A more involved landlady would have sent her secretary to check on these things, but Jillian did not care to involve herself with the village.
The aging carpenter was apparently mute, or perhaps simply loath to try to explain himself to a female Sassenach, for it fell to a reluctant Robertson to make an exhaustive explanation of why the men would need to put in more costly beams instead of joists in the lower floor’s bathrooms, where plumbing was finally being installed.
The explanation was a long one and made Hexy stare in disbelief. The butler was not an eloquent man, and contrary to the vogue of some career domestics, Robertson had always practiced the exemplary caution of not being too efficient in his job, and therefore having his employers expect too much of him on a regular basis. The rest of the staff, taking their cues from the butler, had followed suit, the housekeeper and cook adding the refinement of the use of a local dialect that was so far removed from English that their speech was nearly always incomprehensible to their employer. Thus, communication, when it could not be avoided, nearly always fell upon dour Robertson.
Today, the butler’s long face was looking unusually morbid and his tone was one of a man sorely tried by unfair vicissitudes. Hexy withstood the long-winded explanations of privy enhancement bravely until Robertson launched into a second and more detailed clarification of why certain seats were to be preferred in the newfangled commodes that were to replace the old style cesses.
“Fer ye’ll want tae keep visits prompt. But there’s nae reason fer people tae actually suffer. The old privies were a horror, mistress! I tell ye, a Scotsman’s heroism is nae always limited tae the battlefield. The bravest man would sobat the feel of those icy seats frozen ontae his bare backside on a wintry day. I recall occasions when flesh was actually left behind!”
“I see. How unpleasant for you,” was Hexy’s only response.
The joiner nodded in solemn agreement and then let loose with a powerful yawn, which revealed
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