Chapter 7
The meal ended soon enough, but the magic remained. Edwina could sense among the help that hearts were lighter. There were whisperings behind hands and smiles that seemed to be pinned on her. Waiting for Laird Dunnegin to release them from the table, she folded her hands and sat quietly.
“Dismissed.” He waved a hand.
Ilana, stone-faced, stood and retreated from the room like she was walking on water. She disappeared up the steps.
The Laird turned to her, bowed slightly in her direction, said, “We shall meet this evening up in the ballroom. Bertilda will dress you.” and stalked from the room, his booted feet echoing across the black and white marbled floors.
Dress me?
Well, now what do I do? Edwina, still happy from her recent success, was left to her own devices.
“The library,” she whispered. Seeing no one about, she began to wander the corridors seeking her favorite pastime— reading. Once found, she knew she would not leave the blessed array of reading material at her disposal for many hours.
After several peeks into open doors, she spotted books. Stepping into the corner room, she went straight for the windows. They were at ground level and she watched as a small cart, being pulled by a miniature horse, meandered down a long pathway. Up the slopes and down again.
Finally turning from the view, with a reverence borne out of respect, she ran her fingers along the fine array of books. The top shelf was far above her head, a small ladder rolled along for reaching volumes. After a few minutes she spotted a favorite. In light of the fact she wanted to write her own sixteenth century novel she might as well create the ambience in her mind.
“Ah, Emma by Jane Austen,” Edwina whispered. “Truly a work of beauty and truth.” She sighed and held the book as if it were made of gold, turned the heavy ancient volume in her hand, and lifted it to her nose. Her eyes roamed the room for the coziest corner and stopped. Next to three very tall windows with heavy burgundy drapes now open to the sun, she found two brown leather chairs. She chose the sunniest spot. The chair was big enough for the tall Scot and consumed her entire body, all fifteen extra pounds.
“Heavenly.” She sighed, all comedic thoughts gone from her head. She would never need to take a drink or a drug to feel this high. Books and their stories were enough.
Hours must have passed. Once she looked up to stretch and think about finding a bathroom, she saw the sunlight had moved across the floor and now rested high on the rows of books. Finding no clock, then deciding she didn’t need one, she rose from her seat, rubbed the muscles in her neck, shook the feeling back into her legs, and set out to find the ladies room.
The click of her flats on the marble floors signaled her presence. Everything about the castle was quiet, so she removed her shoes and swung her arm, shoes dangling precariously from her fingertips. She had not known such
peace and fulfillment in many months. She wandered back to the library and walked the hallowed floor in her stocking feet, reading book titles and hefting huge volumes.
Had she, Edwina Emily Blair, lived such a boring life that a few moments of quiet solitude in a handsome Scot’s castle could find her so exhilarated? Suddenly a thought flew into her mind and landed like a robin settling on the highest branch of a tree. This was the story she was seeking, the one she wanted to write. She was living the material right this minute.
Slapping her temple, she began to allow her mind to wander. What if... what if an American met a Scot in a castle? A beautiful woman, with all the right attributes? What would the result be? And it was born. The story of her dreams.
Could she perhaps become a published author someday? She knew books well enough, enjoyed reading voraciously, and met various authors and editors at book signings. Perhaps this was why God had interrupted her life. To bring her to this place, for this reason, just like Esther of the Old Testament.
Stranger things have happened, she mused.
“Lass, I have been searching for ye.” Bertilda bustled into the library, arms filled with linens. “They are waiting dinner for ye.”
“Me? Why did they wait?” Edwina pulled her thoughts out of her magic writing world and into the present.
“Ye are a guest.” Bertilda’s head turned to give her a look. “Be aboot your way.” She waved her off like a fly.
“Thank you, Bertie... I mean Bertilda.” Edwina picked up her pace, stopped, put on her flats, and began the long walk toward the dining hall. At least they would know she was on her way since the tapping could be heard echoing against the stone walls. She must hurry. Being late was not something she admired in anyone.
She entered the dining room through the large, arched doorway to find the Scot and Ilana standing to the side of the table talking. Not exactly friendly-like, if she had her guess.
“Ah, our guest has been found.” Mr. Dunnegin nearly galloped up to her, so long were his legs and his stride.
“Where have you been?” came the annoying voice of Ilana, her Spanish dialect more pronounced. Her face was not as beautiful at the moment. There was a definite scowl upon it, Edwina noted.
“Please, I am sorry. I was reading in the library.” She started to scurry to her chair, but was beaten by the Scot. Apparently he insisted upon seating his guests at every meal. She shrugged and allowed him. Perhaps it was Scottish manners. What did she know about Scottish nobility?
He seated Ilana next, much to his fiancée’s dismay, for she sent a rather menacing look toward Edwina across the very large table. Edwina caught it like a softball to the stomach.
Dinner was boiled corned beef, potatoes, cabbage, and pumpernickel bread.
“Fit for a queen,” Edwina said with a sigh as she ate heartily.
“You being the queen?” Ilana suggested.
“Me? Oh no... that’s not what I meant . . .” Edwina stumbled over her words. She wasn’t a fighter, especially in the game of confrontation. Never quick enough with a retort, she was always the one who needed to think an entire evening before coming up with the right response.
“Ye will join us at the celebration this eve, will ye not?” the Scot said, effectively saving her from further embarrassment.
“Thank you. But I have work to do tonight.” There was no way she was going to have the wicked Ilana chomping at her heels all evening. Edwina came up with the excuse, and even to her it sounded true. Lord, forgive me for lying.
“Work? What could be so important to reject your knight in shining armor on the one day of the year he turns thirty?”
“Oh... well . . .” Edwina snuck a look at Ilana whose barely veiled gaze was clearly pushing her to decline the invitation. “I can’t.” She turned to Dunnegin, sorry to fib so outrageously, but then again she could read a book. That was work. Now that she had a story line in mind, she was in fact telling the truth. She would begin her novel this very evening. “Truly, I must begin my writing tonight,” she said and sounded convincing even to herself.
“Ah, the writer.”
“Yes, sir. I will begin my work tonight,” Edwina repeated, hoping she might have sounded a little like Jane Austen when she knew she would write Emma.
“And what writing shall you do while you’re on the bus touring all of Scotland’s best castles? Will you write your book then?”
“I... well... I will... I will tour, then write... in the evenings, of course.” Edwina knew her voice faltered. Besides, she thought, I’ll be out of here by tomorrow, if the hotel clerk cooperates.
“As ye wish, lass.... But I can tell you now, you will not be worthy of a single line of writing after you have walked the sacred halls of so many castles.”
Ilana placed her white linen napkin across her plate, which signaled she was through with the small talk.
True to his nature, Laird Dunnegin rose and pulled out the chair for his fiancée. Edwina knew she would expect the same of her beloved. When he stood behind her chair, setting her free, she made for the door.
It was none of her business. She
may be a guest, but she did not have to be an unwanted entity in the room when the Scot had obviously hurried home to meet his fine lady friend... and here she was interrupting who knows what.
There were some customs women knew about other women, that no amount of protocol would change. And this one Edwina was sure about. She made it her mission to disap- pear for the evening, birthday celebration or no.
Edwina Page 7