Maggie distrusted the gleam in
his eyes. "I mean it Perry, you need to rest and recoup. Tomorrow."
She glanced at the timepiece on the mantle. "Later today even, will be
early enough to start worrying in earnest. Promise me you'll stay there?"
He sighed and then dipped his head. "As long as
you promise to join me. We may have broken my drought, but I'm still very thirsty."
The wink he gave her was so Perry, Maggie choked back a sob. So many people
thought of him as stuffy, but then who else ever saw this carefree, playful side
of him?
"Very thirsty," he said again in a
plaintive voice, which was spoiled by the wicked grin he sent her.
So was Maggie. She almost ran down the stairs, thankful
the house possessed one of the newfangled closed stoves, which allowed her to
heat the thick potato and barley broth quickly. As she stirred the food, her
mind wandered back to what Nash told her. That someone seemed to have taken the
bait, and had been followed on the road to Monksseat. So far no move had been
made on him, and men from Perry's department were keeping a watching brief. All
they could do was wait.
Maggie owned she was not the most patient of people,
although over the previous months, her attempts at patience improved through
necessity. However she was getting tired of the subterfuge, and to be honest, of
the ever present fear in their lives. Why people wanted to harm their homeland
she could not comprehend, and it was imperative to stop any plans in that
direction. However, why did it sometimes
feel as if all the stopping was up to those close to her?
The night outside the window of the kitchen was
dark, as cloud scudded across the moon, and generated shadows that danced across
the garden. There was enough of a breeze to make the trees that surrounded the
house shake their branches and create eerie shapes that reflected on the
ground. Maggie glanced outside as she cut thick chunks of the bread Nash
brought with him, and waited for the broth to be ready. If she was of a
fanciful nature she'd have said at least one of those shadows appeared human.
It stretched across the tiny strip of lawn, long and menacing, and moved toward
the house.
Maggie put the loaf down, and grabbed the knife firmly
in her hands. With her heart in her mouth and her skin damp, and she bit her
lip to stop her teeth chattering.
It was the worst feeling ever, not knowing whether
to investigate whether the back door was locked, or keep checking the shadow
through the uncovered window.
The screech was so sudden and so un-human that she
screamed, and dropped the knife, which clattered harmlessly onto the flags
under her feet. Her pulse jumped and for one awful second Maggie couldn't
breathe.
Outside an owl flew past the window, the moon came
out from behind the clouds, and the garden looked peaceful and tranquil. Maggie
reached for the back of a sturdy kitchen hair and held on until her heart rate
slowed, and her head stopped spinning.
Just an owl, no bogeymen,
nothing untoward. How
then didn't she believe it?
She shook her head, and then did check the door was
locked and the heavy bolt pulled across. A sizzle and the smell of burning hit
her, and she turned to see the broth bubbling over the edge of the pan and
dripping onto the hot metal of the stove. Maggie yelped and dashed to the
stove, grabbed a thick woolen cloth and lifted the heavy pan up and away from
the heat. The aroma of singed potatoes and metal was stifling. Nevertheless,
under no circumstances could Maggie bring herself to open the door or the
window and let the stench out. She blew across the top of the pan and waited
until the broth stopped boiling and once more simmered and then put it down on
a thick wooden block.
Idiot, stupid, imagining
menace at every turn. She bent to pick up the breadknife from the
floor and wash it before she poured some broth into a bowl.
"Maggie?" She whirled round and the knife
missed Perry by inches. He held onto the doorjamb and blinked, before
his eyes. "I mean it Perry, you need to rest and recoup. Tomorrow."
She glanced at the timepiece on the mantle. "Later today even, will be
early enough to start worrying in earnest. Promise me you'll stay there?"
He sighed and then dipped his head. "As long as
you promise to join me. We may have broken my drought, but I'm still very thirsty."
The wink he gave her was so Perry, Maggie choked back a sob. So many people
thought of him as stuffy, but then who else ever saw this carefree, playful side
of him?
"Very thirsty," he said again in a
plaintive voice, which was spoiled by the wicked grin he sent her.
So was Maggie. She almost ran down the stairs, thankful
the house possessed one of the newfangled closed stoves, which allowed her to
heat the thick potato and barley broth quickly. As she stirred the food, her
mind wandered back to what Nash told her. That someone seemed to have taken the
bait, and had been followed on the road to Monksseat. So far no move had been
made on him, and men from Perry's department were keeping a watching brief. All
they could do was wait.
Maggie owned she was not the most patient of people,
although over the previous months, her attempts at patience improved through
necessity. However she was getting tired of the subterfuge, and to be honest, of
the ever present fear in their lives. Why people wanted to harm their homeland
she could not comprehend, and it was imperative to stop any plans in that
direction. However, why did it sometimes
feel as if all the stopping was up to those close to her?
The night outside the window of the kitchen was
dark, as cloud scudded across the moon, and generated shadows that danced across
the garden. There was enough of a breeze to make the trees that surrounded the
house shake their branches and create eerie shapes that reflected on the
ground. Maggie glanced outside as she cut thick chunks of the bread Nash
brought with him, and waited for the broth to be ready. If she was of a
fanciful nature she'd have said at least one of those shadows appeared human.
It stretched across the tiny strip of lawn, long and menacing, and moved toward
the house.
Maggie put the loaf down, and grabbed the knife firmly
in her hands. With her heart in her mouth and her skin damp, and she bit her
lip to stop her teeth chattering.
It was the worst feeling ever, not knowing whether
to investigate whether the back door was locked, or keep checking the shadow
through the uncovered window.
The screech was so sudden and so un-human that she
screamed, and dropped the knife, which clattered harmlessly onto the flags
under her feet. Her pulse jumped and for one awful second Maggie couldn't
breathe.
Outside an owl flew past the window, the moon came
out from behind the clouds, and the garden looked peaceful and tranquil. Maggie
reached for the back of a sturdy kitchen hair and held on until her heart rate
slowed, and her head stopped spinning.
Just an owl, no bogeymen,
nothing untoward. How
then didn't she believe it?
She shook her head, and then did check the door was
locked and the heavy bolt pulled across. A sizzle and the smell of burning hit
her, and she turned to see the broth bubbling over the edge of the pan and
dripping onto the hot metal of the stove. Maggie yelped and dashed to the
stove, grabbed a thick woolen cloth and lifted the heavy pan up and away from
the heat. The aroma of singed potatoes and metal was stifling. Nevertheless,
under no circumstances could Maggie bring herself to open the door or the
window and let the stench out. She blew across the top of the pan and waited
until the broth stopped boiling and once more simmered and then put it down on
a thick wooden block.
Idiot, stupid, imagining
menace at every turn. She bent to pick up the breadknife from the
floor and wash it before she poured some broth into a bowl.
"Maggie?" She whirled round and the knife
missed Perry by inches. He held onto the doorjamb and blinked, before
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