Throughout dinner, Ursula had ample opportunity to admire Rye further, and to observe the fluttering lashes of Fiona and Bonnie, placed either side. A stream of inanities floated across the table, the girls exclaiming at tales of lassoing steers and cooking rattlesnakes over a campfire.
“Did you really converse with Indian savages?” Lady Bonnie gasped. They seemed surprised that Lord Balmore hadn’t been scalped on the spot.
With the dowager countess on her left and Lady Iona on her right, Ursula was drawn into a conversation on the most effective remedies for chilblains.
They slurped their way through Cullen skink, followed by some rather grey-looking mutton. Ursula pushed it round her plate but it continued to lie apathetic, congealing snugly between two boiled potatoes. Even the clootie dumpling, rich with dried fruit and spices, failed to rouse her appetite.
Rye, meanwhile, asked for a second helping.
At last, the interminable meal was over and the ladies rose.
“They’ll only be a few minutes behind us, Bonnie dear.” Ursula heard Lady Balmore chivvying her daughter as they entered the drawing room. “Now, don’t be afraid to—you know…” She tugged a little at Lady Bonnie’s neckline, pulling the yoke to the edge of her shoulders.
“Do you think he’s interested, Mama? I can’t tell. He seems to look just as much at Fiona as at me, as if he can’t decide.”
“Of course he likes you.” Lady Balmore sniffed. “Now, get yourself seated at the piano and play something melodious—none of your doaty dirges!”
Close behind, the other Lady Balmore—Arabella, wasn’t it?—seemed to be taking a different tack with her own daughter. “You’re being far too obvious, Fiona. Less smiling if you please. Men like to hunt rather than be chased. In fact, a certain aloofness can work wonders; ignore him all together if you like.”
Fiona looked bewildered and wandered over to turn the pages for Bonnie.
With a sigh, Ursula helped herself to the coffee that had been put out on the side.
No sooner had she poured than Lady Balmore was at her elbow. “How thoughtful of you, Miss Abernathy. If you might bring us each a cup that would be most kind.” With a curt nod, she lifted the saucer from Ursula’s fingers and went to take a seat.
Pursing her lips, Ursula did as she was told.
The laird it seemed, was weary, requiring Lady Dunrannoch to retire with him, leaving Cameron and Rye to join the would-be harem.
“How are ye getting along?” asked Cameron, coming to sit alongside Ursula. “Surviving the vipers’ pit?” He chuckled to himself. “I dinnae envy my cousin, being thrown in with these fighting o’er him.”
Ursula buried a smile beneath the rim of her cup.
She was more than happy to let Cameron cheer her up a bit. He was a little on the skinny side for her taste, but he might do to make Rye jealous. Despite heading towards her, Lord Balmore had veered away as soon as Cameron sat down, taking an armchair by the fire instead, next to the dowager.
“You’re a saint and no mistake, choosing to spend your Hogmany up here in the wilds of Rannoch—in this dreich weather, and all for the sake of this crabbit lot. They’re ne’er happy unless they’ve something to moan about.”
Ursula couldn’t help laughing. It was nice to have an ally—even though Cameron was a mite younger than her and didn’t seem to hold sway over anyone. Since being introduced, he’d been nothing but friendly.
“They’ve not been so very crabbit—and I don’t mind the weather when we’re warm inside.”
“You’re too polite by half, Miss Abernathy. I only hope your good manners rub off on these tumshie cousins o’ mine.”
“Tumshie?” Ursula raised an eyebrow.
“Like turnips o’course. Although, to be fair, sometimes, they’re more like plain tatties.”
“That’s a dreadful thing to say!” Ursula laughed again. “On behalf of my gender, I must protest.”
“In that case, I shall shut ma blethering and offer ye a wee dram. Grandfather keeps the best locked away in his library, but I know where the key is. I’ll be back in two ticks with something to warm ye better than coffee.”
No sooner had he departed than Ursula noticed Lady Arabella Balmore staring at her with marked dislike. Ursula fought the urge to poke out her tongue.
Rye was also looking over, and with a wistful expression. No doubt, it was exhausting having a bevy of women tussling over one. She’d overheard his two younger cousins vying to guess his favourite song, only to discover that he’d never heard of any of the ballads they suggested.
He rose from his seat and wandered over, the wolfhound following. It put its head in his lap when he sat down again, gazing up with devoted eyes.
Even the dog is enamoured with him!
Ursula rolled her eyes. “A new friend?”
“You miss your master, don’t you, big lug.” Rye rubbed behind the wolfhound’s ears. “I’ve been letting Murdo sleep on my bed.” He grinned in his usual way. “I don’t see why anyone should mind if I don’t.”
“Well, if it’s the best company you can find…” Ursula smiled sweetly and opened up her reticule to extract her pot of salve.
Only too late did she remember.
The little mouse had sat inside cosily all through dinner, so still and quiet that she’d quite forgotten him. Now, he made a leap for the carpet.
With a squeal, Lady Iona jumped onto a chair.
The piano lid crashed—as the tiny varmint skittered up and across the keys.
Murdo began to howl and, from two rooms away, McTavish caught the scent and barrelled in to join the fun.
Both cat and mouse shot at high speed, scampering between petticoats and slippered feet. Cups and saucers went flying and, as Cameron entered the room, so did the whisky. The screaming had reached a fever pitch when Rye made a dive for McTavish.
Ursula, meanwhile, opened her reticule wide and the mouse, sensing its best interests, bounded back in.
Nothing more needed to be said. Ursula whisked from the room, with Rye in pursuit.
“Don’t let it out again until I’ve locked this one away!” Held unceremoniously aloft, McTavish spat and wriggled.
Having witnessed the commotion, the butler had presented himself and, with a nod at the main doors, opened them in readiness. A cold blast of air wafted into the hallway.
“I’m sorry but you’re far too much trouble,” chided Ursula, whispering into her bag through the cracked clasp. She took three steps outside and gave the mouse its freedom, sending it scuttling through the snow.
It was at that moment that she heard them—bagpipes!
Was someone on the roof?
She craned her head upward. It was impossible to tell, but it sounded as if the music were coming from above.
It was certainly too cold to be standing about outside—either listening or playing.
Darting back into the hall, she near collided with Lord Balmore.
From the open door of the drawing room, the dowager’s voice carried out, full-laden with doom. “’Beware! Beware! ’Tis Camdyn, playing on the ramparts.”
Staggering to her feet, she outstretched her gnarled finger, pointing into the hall, directly at Rye.
“’Tis the Dunrannoch curse, come to claim the next heir!”
Chapter Fourteen
Mid-morning, 19th December
It was a relief to finally get outdoors. Rye’s feet were itchier than a buck’s in springtime. He’d never liked being cooped up inside and, these past days, he’d had about as much as he could take.
All those yapping women! They were driving him crazy.
It wasn’t just the talk about sashes and gloves and how puffed their darn sleeves ought to be. It was this business about the curse. As far as he could tell, it was a load of balooey. His uncles’ deaths had been tragic alright—but the result of some old loon’s jinx upon the place?
At worst, someone was playing tricks—for their own amusement, or to see if he wa
s the sort who scared easily. They could suck their teeth ’til they turned blue before he gave them that satisfaction.
Striding across the castle courtyard, he breathed deep, letting the fresh air clear his head.
Besides that nonsense with the curse, there had been Lady Dunrannoch to placate. She’d been discreet in pulling him aside after all the waltzing, but there was no duping her. The others might have been too caught up in themselves to see him and Ursula spring apart, but Lavinia knew a clinch when she saw one.
Of course, he’d taken the blame onto himself, telling the countess he’d jumped on Miss Abernathy without any sort of provocation. A woman had to guard her reputation and he wouldn’t be the cause of Ursula losing hers.
He’d been raised to know the difference between right and wrong and he’d acted reckless. He’d let his pecker do the thinking and near got Miss Abernathy dismissed for it.
The countess had been mighty good about the sorry business—all things considered—but she’d reminded him that Miss Abernathy was there with a job to do. The job of making him decent for ‘polite society’, as she put it, and that Miss Abernathy was a decent gentlewoman herself.
She’d put him in his place all right, and reminded him that Ursula deserved better than a stand-up grope, delivered where anyone might walk in and see.
There were to be no more private lessons. The countess would sit in herself where she could, or ask one of his aunts to do so.
The upshot was, he’d had not a minute’s peace the whole time since.
The only consolation was that Ursula looked as miserable about it as he was. Was it wrong the he hoped she might be hankering after another of those sweet kisses and wondering how they might snatch one?
Doggone it! There he went again.
No matter what his blood was telling him it wanted, he was man enough to know when to leave a woman alone, and there was no excuse for him to forget the promise he’d made.
It included taking on one of those porcelain doll cousins. He just needed to work out which one he’d the best chance of falling for—or which of them seemed most in love with him. A few weeks back, he’d thought it would be pretty simple. A matter of time; nothing more.
Now, a whole heap of reasons kept getting in the way—and they all looked like Miss Ursula Abernathy.
As Rye entered the stable, there was a collective turn of heads from the half doors of each stall. Charon gave a whinny at his approach, bending to breathe into his palm.
“You and me, buddy.” Rye rested his forehead against the stallion’s nose. “Ready to stretch those legs and take a ride?”
The stable lad, Buckie, appeared beside him and Rye nodded his thanks at the offer of having Charon saddled up. He could do it himself, of course, but that wasn’t the point. Everyone employed at the castle had a job to do, and part of Rye’s job was to make them feel valued.
Rye took a wander down the stalls, pausing to whisper to each horse.
Only when he came to the last, which was empty, did he hear the muffled sobbing.
“Miss Abernathy?”
She was bundled with a strange assortment of woollens about her neck, and her nose was redder than a pig’s pate in the midday heat.
“You all right in there?”
With a self-conscious snuffle, she gathered herself upright and dabbed at her eyes.
Was she hiding out? She didn’t exactly look pleased to see him.
“I’m fine. Just…” she sighed heavily. “There are the most delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, and they’re putting up the last decorations in the banqueting hall today—for the dance—and raising the Christmas tree. Lady Dunrannoch asked my opinion and I had to tell her the truth.”
“Which is?” Rye raised an eyebrow.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her voice dissolved in a wail.
Rye gave a low whistle. “Well, it sounds awful. No wonder you wanted to get out o’ there!”
Ursula gave a choked laugh. “I know it’s silly of me. It’s only that everyone’s so excited, and there’s so much bustle, and, and…”
“And you’re far from your own folks.” Rye finished the sentence for her. “You’re thinkin’ about the people you’d really like to be with.”
She frowned briefly, then nodded. “One person, really.” She sniffed. “My father—but he’s dead, so I won’t ever see him. It’s too late!” Ursula dropped her head, giving in once more to tears.
Rye didn’t need to think twice. He brought his arm round her.
Sometimes, a person just needed holding.
They stood for a while, until Ursula quietened and wiped her cheeks.
“I have to toughen up. I’m not the only one to have lost a parent.” She attempted to laugh. “None of your cousins are out here feeling sorry for themselves.”
“I’m out here.” Rye leant against the stall’s divide.
“I’d forgotten, sorry. I expect you’re feeling some of the same things.”
“More than likely.” Rye gave her his half-smile.
She wasn’t alone in losing someone she’d cared about. That was true. But, he’d a feeling there was more than that making her miserable. Whatever relations she did have, she’d decided to be here instead. They must be pretty poor excuses for family if she was choosing his over her own.
Rummaging in her pockets, she drew out a fresh handkerchief.
“No pet mice today?” He gestured at her coat.
She looked bemused, so he nudged a bit further. “No scorpions or snakes?”
Her lips twitched at that. “There aren’t any in Scotland—not scorpions anyway.”
“That’s a relief. Though McTavish could probably handle them.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “How about I teach you something for a change—just for fun. We can shake out our manes and let the wind blow through.”
“You’re comparing me to a horse?” Ursula gave her nose a final blow.
“It’s the highest compliment.” Rye took her hand in his own, leading her out to where Buckie had the stallion saddled. “Know how to canter while standing in the stirrups?”
“You want me to do that? On this enormous beast?” Ursula shook her head, laughing.
“Get good enough an’ I’ll show you how to stand on the saddle itself. I did it all the time back home.” He gave her a wink.
“You may be waiting some time—but don’t let me stop you from showing off your talents. I can tell you like an audience.”
As if on cue, another voice called across the courtyard. “Off on a jaunt, Balmore? Care if I come along?”
Rye sighed. It was no surprise that Cameron would hunt them out. He’d been showing far too much interest in Miss Abernathy for Rye’s liking. Not that she belonged to him; he could hardly claim that, but he didn’t know his cousin well enough to guess his intentions.
Despite her bravado, Rye could see Ursula was vulnerable. He wouldn’t stand by and watch his cousin lead her down some merry path. He’d come close enough to doing that himself.
“The sun’s warmed things up a wee bit, I see.” Cameron rubbed his hands together. “It’ll be melting the lighter patches o’ snow and giving the coos a proper feed again—but I wanted to check on those grazing east of the bothy. There’s a lot of clover in the pasture there and it can give them the bloat if they over-eat.”
Rye passed his hand through his hair. “Sounds like we’d best take a scout over there.” He cast an apologetic look Ursula’s way.
“Here,” he passed Cameron the reins. “I’ll saddle one of the others. You take Charon and I’ll catch up.”
“Brodie’s stallion?” Cameron blanched. “But—is he safe?”
“Charon? Sure he is!” Rye gave the horse’s rump a slap. “I’ve been ridin’ him the whole time. He’s solid as a rock.”
“Not that I’m feart of the animal, o’course.” Cameron gave the horse a doubtful pat.
“Wouldn’t think it for a min
ute.” Rye nodded to Buckie, that he might bring round another of the horses. He couldn’t help notice the lad was also looking somewhat pale. He’d have a word with Campbell, the head stableman; perhaps Buckie had been working too hard.
With a stiff smile, Cameron brought his boot into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle.
No sooner had he done so than Charon uttered a full-throated whinny. The stallion reared onto his hind legs, peddling wildly. With a buck, he jumped to the side, throwing Cameron clear out of his seat.
Ursula screamed as the young man flew toward the hard cobbles. His landing came with a horrible thud.
“Dear God!” Rye grabbed at Charon’s reins, attempting to calm him before those powerful hooves came down on Cameron’s prone body. Something had spooked the beast badly, and even the best of horses were unpredictable when frightened.
The stable lad, meanwhile, was backing away in horror.
“None of that, Buckie!” Rye knew he needed help. “Run for Campbell, quickly.”
Ursula was down on her knees already, checking for signs of life.
“He’s breathing, and moving his fingers. There’s no blood. His head looks fine.” She looked up at Rye, her eyes wide with their own terror at what she’d just witnessed.
“What happened?” Cameron raised his chin a little then whimpered in pain.
“You’ve had a fall.” Ursula took Cameron’s hand. “Just tell me where it hurts.”
Despite her fear, Ursula was doing a marvellous job. Rye felt a surge of pride.
“My shoulder,” Cameron gasped. “It’s happened once afore. A dislocation. Hurts like the devil.”
“We need to get it back in the socket.” Rye looked from Cameron to Ursula. “Miss Abernathy, can you follow my instructions?” Though Rye had a firm grip on Charon, the stallion was still skittering. He couldn’t afford to let him go, nor trust Ursula to hold him.
“I d-don’t know.” Ursula looked as if she might be sick.
“Please.” Cameron was begging now. “I’m afraid I’ll pass out.”
“You can do it, Miss Abernathy.” Rye kept his voice level. “Take his wrist and bring the arm directly upward, then pull it straight.”
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