Read Online Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle by Deborah MacGillivray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah MacGillivray
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from hell, want crunchies? See, Dudley, time for us men to stick together. The Viking Prince has black hair and green eyes. Got to be Irish blood in there somewhere; the lilt is in his voice. Dunna think we’ll get a better chance to break The Curse. You need to do your part.”
Kitty scarfed down the treats, then meowed.
“Quick, give him more”—Willie nudged Michael—“before he starts caterwauling, or worse, bites me again.”
“See anything?” Robbie passed the ancient binoculars to Callum.
The cat suddenly dashed along the walk, up the stairs and into the kitchen through the cocked-open door.
B.A. vetted the tray to see if anything was missing. The Panther Desmond had expressed wanting a meal before the chaos erupted last night, but when she’d asked during the night, he hadn’t wanted food. His eyes spoke that he hungered for something else.
She put her hands to her cheeks as images of his beautiful body flooded her memory.
Stop acting like a love-struck teenager, BarbaraAnne, Angel B.A. carped from her right shoulder.
Placing silverware by the plate, B.A. addressed the tiny gremlin of her conscience,” ‘tis just breakfast.”
Angel B.A. scoffed, On Belleck china, with Waterford crystal and a mint-green Irish linen napkin?
Aye, she’s lying to herself. Devil B.A. giggled from the perch on her left shoulder.
That gave B.A. pause, not recalling the Angel and Devil B.A.s agreeing on anything before. “Note to self: Whilst you’ve a guest, refrain from talking to teeny beings on your shoulders.”
B.A. grimaced at the track of her mind. As a child, she’d seen an old Looney Toons episode where an angel and devil version of the character kept popping in and whispered chidings. Being imaginative, she’d begun talking to her angel and devil selves and never grew out of it.
Rocking to Tone Loc’s “Wild Thang,” she dismissed that she’d spent thirty-seven minutes fussing over the tray. Her mouth pursed. It looked like something a lover would carry in on a morning-after.
She glanced to the middle of the room, watching Dudley. His nose was high in the air and his metronome tail swished in contentment, a Harley Davidson purr almost matching the beat of the song.
“Yeah, Wild Thang—that’s you, Dudley.”
Nibbling at her lower lip, B.A. debated if she should forget the whole thing lest the warlock infer she was interested in him. Nonsense. She shrugged. She couldn’t care less what The Panther Desmond thought. She would take him breakfast.
Impulsively, she scooped up her pruning shears and darted out the back door.
Michael adjusted the field glasses, then checked if he had the right end. “That wall of mirrored tiles she installed on the closet doors is reflecting the sun.” As he lowered them, he spotted B.A. come out the back door and scurry up the walkway to Castle Falgannon’s garden.
“Dive! Dive! Dive! B.A. alert!” he warned.
All heads vanished behind the rock wall.
Kitty jumped up on the fence and stared over at them as if wondering what new game they’d thought up to entertain him.
“Shoo, Dudley,” Michael pleaded. “Go see what B.A. wants.”
The glorious morn embraced B.A. with a warm island breeze, a day so perfect, so rare. There’d be few more like it as winter approached. She inhaled the heady mix of sea spray and peaty earth. Something Yanks in LA. could never understand. It was damn near intoxicating.
She looked across her island at its breathtaking splendor. Though the view from the castle farther up the hill beyond Rose Cottage was better, this vantage still inspired awe. When growing up, she went to school in the States part of each year. Upon her return, the sheer grandeur never failed to give her pause.
The intense colors of Falgannon left her speechless. Never the same two days in a row, she loved how one could be dark, moody and foreboding, the next sunshine-filled and exhilarating. The low horizons afforded a view over miles of vibrant
Kitty scarfed down the treats, then meowed.
“Quick, give him more”—Willie nudged Michael—“before he starts caterwauling, or worse, bites me again.”
“See anything?” Robbie passed the ancient binoculars to Callum.
The cat suddenly dashed along the walk, up the stairs and into the kitchen through the cocked-open door.
B.A. vetted the tray to see if anything was missing. The Panther Desmond had expressed wanting a meal before the chaos erupted last night, but when she’d asked during the night, he hadn’t wanted food. His eyes spoke that he hungered for something else.
She put her hands to her cheeks as images of his beautiful body flooded her memory.
Stop acting like a love-struck teenager, BarbaraAnne, Angel B.A. carped from her right shoulder.
Placing silverware by the plate, B.A. addressed the tiny gremlin of her conscience,” ‘tis just breakfast.”
Angel B.A. scoffed, On Belleck china, with Waterford crystal and a mint-green Irish linen napkin?
Aye, she’s lying to herself. Devil B.A. giggled from the perch on her left shoulder.
That gave B.A. pause, not recalling the Angel and Devil B.A.s agreeing on anything before. “Note to self: Whilst you’ve a guest, refrain from talking to teeny beings on your shoulders.”
B.A. grimaced at the track of her mind. As a child, she’d seen an old Looney Toons episode where an angel and devil version of the character kept popping in and whispered chidings. Being imaginative, she’d begun talking to her angel and devil selves and never grew out of it.
Rocking to Tone Loc’s “Wild Thang,” she dismissed that she’d spent thirty-seven minutes fussing over the tray. Her mouth pursed. It looked like something a lover would carry in on a morning-after.
She glanced to the middle of the room, watching Dudley. His nose was high in the air and his metronome tail swished in contentment, a Harley Davidson purr almost matching the beat of the song.
“Yeah, Wild Thang—that’s you, Dudley.”
Nibbling at her lower lip, B.A. debated if she should forget the whole thing lest the warlock infer she was interested in him. Nonsense. She shrugged. She couldn’t care less what The Panther Desmond thought. She would take him breakfast.
Impulsively, she scooped up her pruning shears and darted out the back door.
Michael adjusted the field glasses, then checked if he had the right end. “That wall of mirrored tiles she installed on the closet doors is reflecting the sun.” As he lowered them, he spotted B.A. come out the back door and scurry up the walkway to Castle Falgannon’s garden.
“Dive! Dive! Dive! B.A. alert!” he warned.
All heads vanished behind the rock wall.
Kitty jumped up on the fence and stared over at them as if wondering what new game they’d thought up to entertain him.
“Shoo, Dudley,” Michael pleaded. “Go see what B.A. wants.”
The glorious morn embraced B.A. with a warm island breeze, a day so perfect, so rare. There’d be few more like it as winter approached. She inhaled the heady mix of sea spray and peaty earth. Something Yanks in LA. could never understand. It was damn near intoxicating.
She looked across her island at its breathtaking splendor. Though the view from the castle farther up the hill beyond Rose Cottage was better, this vantage still inspired awe. When growing up, she went to school in the States part of each year. Upon her return, the sheer grandeur never failed to give her pause.
The intense colors of Falgannon left her speechless. Never the same two days in a row, she loved how one could be dark, moody and foreboding, the next sunshine-filled and exhilarating. The low horizons afforded a view over miles of vibrant
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