explaining the characteristics of
the castle. She could recognize the crow-stepped gables, the ornate cornices and the crenellated battlements of the central tower topped with another turret. There was even a flag. And gargoyles.
It was utterly gorgeous, and quite ridiculous. Her shoulder was absolutely killing her, and everything – and everyone – she knew suddenly felt very distant.
‘For goodness’ sake, Roddy. What’s been going on here?’
Jean opened the car door, taking in Kate’s filthy clothes and pain-whitened face.
‘You’ve been in the wars.’ Scooping Willow out of Kate’s hands, Jean passed the puppy to Roderick. Gently she then helped Kate out of the car.
Willow was lying upside down in Roderick’s arms, squirming helplessly as he tickled her tummy.
Flirt
, thought Kate, as she straightened up, gritting her teeth against the pain. ‘I’m fine, really. It was only a tumble.’
Jean looked at her with motherly disapproval.
‘Well, even so we’ll get you inside and cleaned up, and then we’ll decide.’
It was like being back home, with her mother lovingly railroading her. Kate allowed herself to be propelled across the gravel drive and up the stone stairs. Twin stone eagles guarded the steps,
and above the door Kate noticed a crest carved into the stone. We’re not in Kansas any more, Willow, she thought.
The hall of Duntarvie House was vast, with a parquet floor covered with a Turkish rug bigger than anything Kate had ever seen. There weren’t any dead stags’ heads
that she could see, which was a relief, but ancient oil paintings of forbidding men in kilts indicated that the house had a long history. It smelled of wax polish and old oak and log fires. The
staircase in front of her curled upwards, the banister spiralling towards a vaulted ceiling.
‘Come away into the sitting room for a minute.’ Jean propelled her into a chair and disappeared.
‘Drink this. You’re a bit shaken up, and it’ll help.’ Roderick handed her a glass of brandy, taking a step backwards and looking at her expectantly. She obediently drank
the burning liquid, aware of his dark eyes watching. It seared down her throat, filling her with warmth.
‘Where’s Willow? I’m not much good at this dog-owning business, am I? She’s been gone from her mother five minutes and I’ve tried to flatten her. And now
she’s gone AWOL.’
‘She’s in the kitchen.’ Roderick leaned down, taking the glass from her hand. Kate caught a waft of his lemony aftershave. ‘Jean’s giving her some puppy food we had
left over from Hugo – he’s only just turned one. Not sure she’ll eat much – I think she had a fright, too, looking at the state of your shirt.’
His expression was unreadable.
Kate looked down. It was possible to be more embarrassed after all: she was sitting on the posh sofa of a country house in a wee-soaked T-shirt. Time to escape. She tried to pull herself up, but
her arm wouldn’t cooperate and she slumped backwards into the chair.
‘Stay where you are.’
Roderick strode out of the room and, with her good arm, Kate felt in her pocket for the offending phone. Feeling like a schoolgirl in danger of being caught out sending notes in class, she sent
a surreptitious message to Emma:
Have made complete prat of myself. You would laugh. I might later, too, if I don’t throw myself off a cliff first.
Kate stuffed the phone back in her pocket as Jean reappeared, lips pursed, her head cocked sideways. She set down a tray with a pot of tea, and wrapped a blanket around Kate’s
shoulders.
‘I’m running you a hot bath. I don’t want you going home to the cottage tonight and sleeping on your own, when you’ve fallen down and hurt yourself.’
‘That’s lovely of you, but I really am fine.’ Kate tried to shuffle forward out of the deep sofa, but winced at the pain. ‘I need a sleep and a couple of
painkillers.’
‘Aye, and you’ll get those here, and someone to keep an
the castle. She could recognize the crow-stepped gables, the ornate cornices and the crenellated battlements of the central tower topped with another turret. There was even a flag. And gargoyles.
It was utterly gorgeous, and quite ridiculous. Her shoulder was absolutely killing her, and everything – and everyone – she knew suddenly felt very distant.
‘For goodness’ sake, Roddy. What’s been going on here?’
Jean opened the car door, taking in Kate’s filthy clothes and pain-whitened face.
‘You’ve been in the wars.’ Scooping Willow out of Kate’s hands, Jean passed the puppy to Roderick. Gently she then helped Kate out of the car.
Willow was lying upside down in Roderick’s arms, squirming helplessly as he tickled her tummy.
Flirt
, thought Kate, as she straightened up, gritting her teeth against the pain. ‘I’m fine, really. It was only a tumble.’
Jean looked at her with motherly disapproval.
‘Well, even so we’ll get you inside and cleaned up, and then we’ll decide.’
It was like being back home, with her mother lovingly railroading her. Kate allowed herself to be propelled across the gravel drive and up the stone stairs. Twin stone eagles guarded the steps,
and above the door Kate noticed a crest carved into the stone. We’re not in Kansas any more, Willow, she thought.
The hall of Duntarvie House was vast, with a parquet floor covered with a Turkish rug bigger than anything Kate had ever seen. There weren’t any dead stags’ heads
that she could see, which was a relief, but ancient oil paintings of forbidding men in kilts indicated that the house had a long history. It smelled of wax polish and old oak and log fires. The
staircase in front of her curled upwards, the banister spiralling towards a vaulted ceiling.
‘Come away into the sitting room for a minute.’ Jean propelled her into a chair and disappeared.
‘Drink this. You’re a bit shaken up, and it’ll help.’ Roderick handed her a glass of brandy, taking a step backwards and looking at her expectantly. She obediently drank
the burning liquid, aware of his dark eyes watching. It seared down her throat, filling her with warmth.
‘Where’s Willow? I’m not much good at this dog-owning business, am I? She’s been gone from her mother five minutes and I’ve tried to flatten her. And now
she’s gone AWOL.’
‘She’s in the kitchen.’ Roderick leaned down, taking the glass from her hand. Kate caught a waft of his lemony aftershave. ‘Jean’s giving her some puppy food we had
left over from Hugo – he’s only just turned one. Not sure she’ll eat much – I think she had a fright, too, looking at the state of your shirt.’
His expression was unreadable.
Kate looked down. It was possible to be more embarrassed after all: she was sitting on the posh sofa of a country house in a wee-soaked T-shirt. Time to escape. She tried to pull herself up, but
her arm wouldn’t cooperate and she slumped backwards into the chair.
‘Stay where you are.’
Roderick strode out of the room and, with her good arm, Kate felt in her pocket for the offending phone. Feeling like a schoolgirl in danger of being caught out sending notes in class, she sent
a surreptitious message to Emma:
Have made complete prat of myself. You would laugh. I might later, too, if I don’t throw myself off a cliff first.
Kate stuffed the phone back in her pocket as Jean reappeared, lips pursed, her head cocked sideways. She set down a tray with a pot of tea, and wrapped a blanket around Kate’s
shoulders.
‘I’m running you a hot bath. I don’t want you going home to the cottage tonight and sleeping on your own, when you’ve fallen down and hurt yourself.’
‘That’s lovely of you, but I really am fine.’ Kate tried to shuffle forward out of the deep sofa, but winced at the pain. ‘I need a sleep and a couple of
painkillers.’
‘Aye, and you’ll get those here, and someone to keep an
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