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Authors: Nancy Atherton
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floor. My head swam, my vision blurred, and my knees wobbled, but I gripped the parapet firmly and eventually got a grip on myself as well.
I refused to swoon. If Damian Hunter was testing my mettle, I intended to pass with flying colors. Instead of drawing back, I leaned farther out over the parapet to examine the tower’s smooth stonework.
“Abaddon would have to be a fly to scale the wall,” I observed, with a nod of approval. “And I’m in no position to play Rapunzel.” I ran a hand through my short crop of dark curls and gave Damian a playful, sidelong smile. “Even if my hair were blond, there wouldn’t be enough to make a golden stair.”
He glanced briefly at my hair, then looked back out to sea. “I’d like to think that you wouldn’t help Abaddon climb the wall, no matter what the circumstances.”
“Right,” I said, and lapsed into silence. If Sir Percy was paying Damian to be solemn, he was getting his money’s worth. The man seemed incapable of banter. I gave a tiny, exasperated sigh, lifted my gaze, and caught sight of a small islet protruding from the waves a half mile beyond the sandy shore. “What’s that little island out there? Does it have a name?”
“It’s known as Cieran’s Chapel,” Damian told me. “It’s a well-known landmark in these parts. According to local legend, an eighth-century monk named Brother Cieran used to row out there from Erinskil’s monastery in order to meditate in solitude.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Yes, I can see how the hurly-burly of eighth-century monastic life could get a man down. All those loudmouthed monks rattling their rosaries and chanting at all hours . . .”
“I imagine it could be very distracting.” Damian looked at his watch. “We should be going, Lori. Lunch will be served soon, and we still have to visit the nursery.”
“Lead on,” I said, and as I followed Damian into the sitting room, I wondered if reclusive Brother Cieran had been as impervious to humor as my bodyguard seemed to be.
By the time Will and Rob finished showing me the nursery, I was convinced that they’d never want to leave Dundrillin Castle. The fourth-floor suite was, under normal circumstances, known as the Rose Suite, and pale rose-petal pink was the dominating color. Its floor plan was exactly the same as the Cornflower Suite’s, but safety bars had been affixed to the windows, the balcony door had been bolted shut, and a fender had been placed around the huge fireplace.The sleeping area held twin beds as well as Andrew’s folding cot, and the sitting room had been transformed into a child’s wonderland.
Brightly painted cupboards spilled over with games, puzzles, building blocks, sticks of modeling clay, stuffed animals, and a mad assortment of toys. Bookcases groaned under the weight of storybooks, easels held sketch pads of varying sizes, and an entire table was devoted to watercolor paints, finger paints, colored pencils, and crayons. My favorite feature in the room was a pair of rocking horses that bore a striking resemblance to the boys’ gray ponies, Thunder and Storm. I had no idea how Sir Percy had produced such plenty on such short notice, but my gratitude to him rose to new heights.
While Will and Rob introduced Damian to a collection of small knights in armor, Andrew Ross pulled me to one side.
“Your sons have offered to read bedtime stories to me,” he said. “Are they having me on?”
“No,” I said. “They can read.We’re not sure when they learned, but we first noticed it last June.” I lowered my voice. “There was an embarrassing incident at the general store in our village, involving the twins, a tabloid headline, and a visiting bishop. They’re keeping the newspapers under the counter now.”
Andrew roared with laughter. He was a much easier audience than Damian.
“I see you’re bunking in together,” I said, nodding toward the sleeping area.
“We’ll take most of our meals up here, too,” he
I refused to swoon. If Damian Hunter was testing my mettle, I intended to pass with flying colors. Instead of drawing back, I leaned farther out over the parapet to examine the tower’s smooth stonework.
“Abaddon would have to be a fly to scale the wall,” I observed, with a nod of approval. “And I’m in no position to play Rapunzel.” I ran a hand through my short crop of dark curls and gave Damian a playful, sidelong smile. “Even if my hair were blond, there wouldn’t be enough to make a golden stair.”
He glanced briefly at my hair, then looked back out to sea. “I’d like to think that you wouldn’t help Abaddon climb the wall, no matter what the circumstances.”
“Right,” I said, and lapsed into silence. If Sir Percy was paying Damian to be solemn, he was getting his money’s worth. The man seemed incapable of banter. I gave a tiny, exasperated sigh, lifted my gaze, and caught sight of a small islet protruding from the waves a half mile beyond the sandy shore. “What’s that little island out there? Does it have a name?”
“It’s known as Cieran’s Chapel,” Damian told me. “It’s a well-known landmark in these parts. According to local legend, an eighth-century monk named Brother Cieran used to row out there from Erinskil’s monastery in order to meditate in solitude.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Yes, I can see how the hurly-burly of eighth-century monastic life could get a man down. All those loudmouthed monks rattling their rosaries and chanting at all hours . . .”
“I imagine it could be very distracting.” Damian looked at his watch. “We should be going, Lori. Lunch will be served soon, and we still have to visit the nursery.”
“Lead on,” I said, and as I followed Damian into the sitting room, I wondered if reclusive Brother Cieran had been as impervious to humor as my bodyguard seemed to be.
By the time Will and Rob finished showing me the nursery, I was convinced that they’d never want to leave Dundrillin Castle. The fourth-floor suite was, under normal circumstances, known as the Rose Suite, and pale rose-petal pink was the dominating color. Its floor plan was exactly the same as the Cornflower Suite’s, but safety bars had been affixed to the windows, the balcony door had been bolted shut, and a fender had been placed around the huge fireplace.The sleeping area held twin beds as well as Andrew’s folding cot, and the sitting room had been transformed into a child’s wonderland.
Brightly painted cupboards spilled over with games, puzzles, building blocks, sticks of modeling clay, stuffed animals, and a mad assortment of toys. Bookcases groaned under the weight of storybooks, easels held sketch pads of varying sizes, and an entire table was devoted to watercolor paints, finger paints, colored pencils, and crayons. My favorite feature in the room was a pair of rocking horses that bore a striking resemblance to the boys’ gray ponies, Thunder and Storm. I had no idea how Sir Percy had produced such plenty on such short notice, but my gratitude to him rose to new heights.
While Will and Rob introduced Damian to a collection of small knights in armor, Andrew Ross pulled me to one side.
“Your sons have offered to read bedtime stories to me,” he said. “Are they having me on?”
“No,” I said. “They can read.We’re not sure when they learned, but we first noticed it last June.” I lowered my voice. “There was an embarrassing incident at the general store in our village, involving the twins, a tabloid headline, and a visiting bishop. They’re keeping the newspapers under the counter now.”
Andrew roared with laughter. He was a much easier audience than Damian.
“I see you’re bunking in together,” I said, nodding toward the sleeping area.
“We’ll take most of our meals up here, too,” he
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