“Oh, listen, that always happens to me. I make tea, get involved in something, and the next thing I know the tea’s cool enough for ice and lemon.”
“You’re very kind, but I’m afraid I’m just absentminded.”
“It’s no wonder, is it, when you risked life and limb today for me?”
For just the briefest moment he let himself imagine what it might have been like if he hadn’t completed the rescue. He would have drowned along with her, because, despite his flaws, he wasn’t a man who would have given up searching in order to save himself. The water would have closed over him, and he would have died, the last of his line.
And with him would have died the hopes and fears of centuries.
“This really is some place,” she said.
He tried to shake off his thoughts. “I can’t figure out if that’s a compliment or a critique.”
“Well, neither, as a matter of fact. It’s a statement. I think I’m in a fairy tale. Gargoyles looming from ledges, life-size portraits of dour old men, stone walls as thick as a prison, wind rattling glass older than my great-grandparents. I’ve been listening for the spooky organ music, but so far I’ve been disappointed.” She smiled to let him know she was joking. “Really, it’s breathtaking. It’s just so wonderfully old. And large. There must be fifty rooms. I peeked at a fair number on the way down.”
“What fairy tale?”
She considered, one long finger resting against her cheek. “Well, Sleeping Beauty, I think. Everything is so quiet here, like time’s been suspended. Which reminds me. Are we really alone?”
“Quite.”
“Your…wife isn’t home? Your children? Your servants?”
“No wife or children to be at home, and the staff is off for the day. Which is why I took on the task of warming you myself.”
“I see. Ordinarily you pay someone to strip and heat all the ninnies you rescue from the lake.”
“Ordinarily.”
“Which reminds me, where’s the beast I tried to save? I want to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Hollyhock? I don’t know. Probably throwing himself in front of cars out on the loch road.”
“Hollyhock?” She gave a laugh that bubbled from the very tips of her toes. “Hollyhock! Iain, that’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever had the displeasure to see! You should have named him Stinkweed. Or Skunk Cabbage.”
Despite himself, he smiled, too. “I didn’t name him. A small friend of mine did. She gave him to me, too, which is why he’s still alive.”
“I want to see him dry. Is he really as bad as I think?”
“Worse, I’m sure.”
She got up from the table and went to the door. It was one of nearly a dozen on the ground floor that opened to the outdoors. She gave a piercing whistle that nearly shattered his eardrums. He hadn’t even known that female physiology was capable of producing such a sound.
He was about to warn her that Hollyhock came for no man—or woman—when a rat-brown, moth-eaten ball of fur streaked into the kitchen, nearly knocking her off her feet. Before he could intervene, Hollyhock had leapt up to greet her, puppy paws planted somewhere—Iain refused to notice exactly where—above her waist.
“Now, this just won’t do,” Billie said. She shoved the dog to the ground and firmly held him down before Iain could move. “Hollyhock, sit!” She continued to keep her hands just below his neck. “Now listen, mutt, this is just not the sort of place for that behavior. This place has class, and you’re going to be way too big to get away with these shenanigans. You have to learn some self control.”
Iain could swear that Hollyhock was nodding.
Billie lifted her hands and backed away. The moment Hollyhock stood again, she shoved him back down to the floor. “Sit!”
Hollyhock cocked his head. His long dark ears flopped against his neck as he assessed her.
“That’s right. I mean it. You’d just better toe the line. Or else.” She moved away again, turned her back and went to the table. Hollyhock remained motionless. When Billie was settled back in her chair she snapped her fingers. Then, and only then, did the dog bound over to her.
She ruffled his ears and kissed his nose. Riveted by the impossible, Iain watched in silence. “You know, you’re not really so bad,” she murmured to the dog. “You’re going to be a knockout when you’re grown. Now listen, honey. I know it’s hard to do what you’re told, but you have to, because if you don’t, this man here’s going to make mincemeat out of you. ;iqComprende? Now, sit.” She gave him a playful shove, and he lowered himself to the floor obediently.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“What? Teach him manners? Oh, we always had dogs when I was growing up. I was kind of in charge of them, and there were way too many to let them run wild. So, I learned how to keep them in line.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. I had a trainer work with Hollyhock. Private lessons, at that. And he couldn’t do a thing.”
“Then he doesn’t know dogs.”
“How many dogs did you have?”
“Probably a hundred or so. Over the years, of course.” She looked up from scratching Hollyhock’s ears. “My father runs a junkyard. And people are always dropping off dogs there and at the county dump down the road. My father has a heart the size of Florida. He just can’t watch an animal suffer. So, when I was a little girl, if there was any hope for the dog at all, he’d bring it home, and we’d take it in until he could find it a new home. Of course, half the time or more the dogs stayed on. But we’re way out in the country, so nobody ever complained.”
“A junkyard?”
“Sure. A salvage yard. I like to think Daddy was into recycling before anybody else thought of it. He found and sold all kinds of things. They say one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and my father built his life and business around that.”
Iain tried to imagine.
She leaned back in her chair. “It was a great life for a kid. My brothers and I had every toy, every piece of play equipment a kid could want. You just wouldn’t believe what people throw out.”
“I suppose I wouldn’t.”
“We were never bored. But speaking of boring, I’ll bet I’m boring you.”
“Boring me?” He gave a wry smile. “Never that.”
“So, tell me about yourself. Or is that too personal? I’m still feeling my way. Things that are perfectly appropriate at home may be considered the height of rudeness here.”
“And it’s perfectly all right to ask for a life story back… home?”
“Probably not. But that’s never stopped me. There’s always so much I want to know.”
“What do you want to know right now?”
“Well, who is Iain Ross? How did you come to live in this…this house? What do you do for a living? Why did my family put a curse on yours? That sort of thing.”
Who is Iain Ross? It was a question without an answer, because for years now he’d striven not to be anyone in particular. He gave as noncommittal an answer as he could. “I was born here. And I don’t do anything for a living except manage what I was born to. As far as the curse goes, it’s ancient history and completely forgotten, except that everyone knows one existed. No details available.”
Billie whistled softly. Hollyhock jumped to his feet. After a few friendly but firm commands he sat once more. “Now, how many people can condense their lives that easily? There’s absolutely nothing to you, Iain Ross.”
He couldn’t help himself. He met her eyes and wished he hadn’t. Hers shone with warmth tangible enough to caress him. “I’m certain you wouldn’t be the first to think so.”
“You know what? I think that’s just a prologue. The real story must be much more complex and interesting.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” The kettle had heated, and gratefully he poured boiling water into the newly readied teapot. While he waited for this pot to steep, he leaned against the stove. “What are you doing in Scotland, Miss…Billie?
”
“My dissertation.”
He lifted a brow in question.
“Yes, believe it or not, this ditzy woman sitting at your table asking insensitive questions, this idiot who jumps into polar water just for the fun of it, is working on her doctorate.”
“In what, if I might ask?”
“Folklore. You know, there’s such a crying need for folklorists. I’ve always been such a practical person. And when I get out of school and need a job, I can always train dogs.”
“How did your studies bring you here?”
He watched a cloud pass over her face. He hadn’t been sure such a thing was possible. “It was sort of spur of the moment. I changed subjects at the very end. I’d planned to do something closer to home, but things didn’t…work out.”
She looked up, and he watched her will away her sadness. “Instead, I came here. I’ve always been fascinated by the way ancient folktales and legends weave their way into modern lives, so I’m going to study the most prominent stories in this area and see how—or if—they affect day-to-day living.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Would you like an example?”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, there’s a story where I come from in Florida about a woman named Betty Gray, way back in the early 1800s, who had never been able to have children. One day she was walking in the woods near her home when she met up with a tiny man sitting on a tree stump. The man pointed deep into the grove, and she heard a baby crying. Betty started toward the sound, but when she’d gone a few yards, she turned around, and the little man had disappeared. Fifty yards into the grove she found a baby lying under a tree. She brought the baby home, and she and her husband raised it as their own. But almost more interesting…” She paused. “Is this incredibly dull?”
Her eyes were glowing with enthusiasm. He tried to remember the last time he had felt anything like it. “Not even a wee bit dull.”
“Well, for nearly a century after that, whenever a woman couldn’t conceive, she was told to walk in the woods every day. It was called following Betty Gray. People in the area still talk about ‘following Betty Gray’ whenever something unexpected and wonderful comes into their life.”
“And this is the sort of thing you’ll be studying?”
“It’s second nature to me. I just naturally grew up with an appreciation of old things. Anyway, that’s why I came to Druidheachd. I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Research my own history and work on my dissertation. Life’s way too short to do just one thing at a time.”
He didn’t say anything for the moments that it took to pour their tea. He spoke when he set the cups on the table. “I don’t know what you’ll find here. As I understand it, the MacFarlanes have been gone from Druidheachd for a good long while.”
“You’d be so surprised.” She leaned forward. He couldn’t avoid the warmth or sparkle in her eyes. “Iain, you wouldn’t believe what people remember. It’s all there. All the stories of generations. All I have to do is find people who listened carefully as children and are willing to talk to me.”
“Then you’ll be around for some time?”
“Yes. I’ve taken a room in a wonderful little house just past the village. An old woman named Flora Daniels lives there. I can’t wait to see it in the spring and summer when everything’s in bloom.”
“You’ll be here through summer? You don’t have to go back?”
“No. I’ve got a small grant to help with my expenses.” She cocked her head. “And I bet you’re wondering if you’ll have to rescue me on a regular basis. Well, I’m impulsive, but not stupid. I promise I won’t intrude on your privacy again.”
“Won’t you?”
She bent to fondle Hollyhock’s ears, and her expression was hidden from him. As he watched, she easily persuaded his dog, his ignoramus of a pet, to lie down at her feet. “Unless you count jogging your memory a little from time to time,” she said.
“My memory?”
She sat up and faced him again. “Well, sure. You see, I think you know more about what passed between our families than you’re letting on.”
“And why do you think that?”
Chimes rang through the house before she could answer. Iain knew it would be Dr. Sutherland at the door, but he didn’t stand. He waited. “Why?” he repeated, when the house was quiet again.
“Let’s just say that in the last year or so I’ve learned to tell—and it was about time—” she grimaced “—when someone is coming clean with me or not.”
The chimes sounded again, but Iain didn’t move. “Coming clean?”
“Being one hundred percent honest. And don’t be offended, Iain, that’s very different from telling a lie. I’m certainly not saying that you’re lying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Well, just that you haven’t decided to tell me every little thing you know. That’s the reaction I’m getting from most people in the village, as a matter of fact. As soon as I tell them I’m a MacFarlane, they don’t look at me as an American tourist anymore. Suddenly, I’m something else. And I’d like to know exactly what.”
“There are some things it’s better to leave alone.”
She spread her hands helplessly. “I’m incapable.”
The chimes sounded their third—and final, Iain imagined—appeal. He stood. “Here’s a friendly warning, Billie. Explore our folktales and our legends to your heart’s content. But stay away from your own family history. You might find some things you’d rather not know.”
She looked genuinely sorry, but she shook her head again. “I just can’t do that. You see, I believe that the old stories our ancestors told still affect us. And I have a feeling, Iain, that we’ve both been affected by this one. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how. But I saw the look on your face when you heard who I was. I’m a scholar and more than a bit of a sleuth. And there’s nothing I like better than tracking down answers.”
CHAPTER 3
The man standing at Fearnshader’s entrance was a stranger to Iain. “May I help you?” Iain asked.
“Actually, I believe I’m here to help you.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Alasdair Melville, Dr. Sutherland’s new associate.”
Iain took his hand for a perfunctory shake. “I’m sorry. I was expecting Dr. Sutherland himself. I’m Iain Ross.”
“Yes, I know.”
Iain stepped aside. He had already cataloged his impressions of the new doctor. Several years younger than he was, tall and slight, sandy brown hair, a friendly, respectful smile. There was nothing about Alasdair Melville that wouldn’t blend perfectly into a crowd. There was nothing about the man, but something about the name.
“You dinna remember me, do you?” Alasdair asked.
“I’m sorry, no. Obviously I should?”
“Oh no. It’s been a long time. You would no’ be expected to remember. But I remember you.”
Iain wondered if the man was just being polite, or if this was another teapot filled with cold water. “A long time? Were we at school together, then?”
“No. I’m John Melville’s son. He was your father’s gamekeeper.”
John Melville. A glowering, towering man who was quiet to the point of near silence. Strict, uncompromising, a shadow who stalked the Ross lands with a smaller, slighter shadow edging along beside him. Iain smiled in recognition. “John’s son. Of course. It has been a long time. And now you’re back in the village.”
“Aye. Who’d have thought it, after all these years?”
“And your father, how is he?”
“Dead these ten years.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks, but I was lucky I had him as long as I did.” Alasdair smiled.
There might not be anything particularly striking about Alasdair Melville, but he had a smile that probably put his patients at ease immediately. Iain sensed competence as well as a determination to succeed.
�
�And now, where’s our swimmer?” Alasdair asked.
“She’s in the kitchen, chattering away. I doubt you’ll find anything seriously wrong with her.”
“I’ll need to look at you, too.”
“That won’t be—”
Alasdair held up his hand. “It will be if I want to go back and face Dr. Sutherland. I’ll end up like his last associate if I dinna check you over, too.”
“And how did his last associate end up?”
Alasdair drew a finger across his throat.
Iain laughed and started down the hallway. “How did you find your way back here after all these years, Melville? I’d have thought you’d consider yourself fortunate to be almost anywhere else and working for anyone other than the man who brought you into the world.”
“You’d think so, would you no’? But this suited me. Childhood memories and all that. And I wanted an old-fashioned practice, with people I could get to know well and a variety of ailments to keep me on my medical toes.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get that.” Iain made all the correct turns and stopped outside the kitchen door. “But you won’t see anything of real interest today. Both Billie and I are as well as can be expected.”
“Billie, is it?”
Iain pushed open the door. “Billie, the doctor’s here.” There was no young woman sitting patiently at the table where he’d left her. For a moment Iain was concerned, then he saw her standing beside the stove rearranging the copper pots and saucepans that hung from a cast iron grid. “Just what are you doing?”
“These are all wrong, Iain. A good cook puts her most important tools in easy reach.”
“You’re supposed to be half dead, woman. You’re not supposed to be training my dog or rearranging my kitchen.”
“I’ve never been good at sitting still, even when I’m at death’s door.” She grinned ruefully, then she crossed to greet Alasdair, her hand extended. “I’ve got a feeling I’m not in the presence of old Dr. Sutherland.”
Alasdair introduced himself. Iain thought the young doctor held Billie’s hand a fraction longer than politeness required.
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