Chapter Thirty-One
The sky was as dark and grim as if it had been twilight by the time Caroline returned to the castle, though it was barely teatime. The mist had turned into a strident downpour, needle-sharp and chilling.
She entered through the kitchen, and Muira was stirring a pot over the fire, which smelled delicious. A joint of venison was cooking in the vast fireplace, along with three plump hens. A pair of fat salmon lay on the table, staring up at Caroline in dull surprise, waiting for their turn.
“It smells like Christmas in here!” Caroline said, taking off her sodden bonnet and cloak.
Muira turned on her, a wooden ladle at the ready.
“Out!” she shrieked. “Ye’ll not invade this patch o’ Scotland, you Sassenach dogs!
” She lowered her weapon when she saw it was Caroline.
“Och, I didn’t mean you—I thought it was the other one, back again—that English cook the company brought with them.
She insists she must prepare a proper meal.
I insisted she leave before I got out the cleaver.
” Her face softened as she looked at Caroline.
Caroline assumed she meant Sophie’s cook, who was terrified to set foot in Muira’s domain.
“Ye looked like a drowned kitten, lass! Where’ve ye been? ’Tis no day to be outdoors—though it’s just as stormy within. The laird’s been looking for you all afternoon.”
Caroline’s chest tightened. “Oh? Well, he’ll have to wait for a while longer. I need a bath and a dry gown at the very least.” One of the very reasons she’d gone out was to avoid Alec.
Muira took her cloak and hung it by the fire. “And ye’ll need a dram of warmed whisky along with it to ward off the chill. It won’t take a moment to fix. Sit ye down, lass.”
“I’m quite all right, Muira. I walked over to Lullach Grange and got caught in the rain.
There’s no harm done.” Caroline sat on the bench by the fire to remove her sodden half boots.
Even her stockings were wet, but removing them would have to wait until she was in the privacy of her own room, the same as her gown and petticoats.
“The Grange?” Muira said. “Now why would a body want to go there, even in fine weather?”
“I had company. The old gentleman from the ceilidh was there.”
“What old gentleman would that be?” Muira asked, giving the soup a stir, and pushing a poker into the heart of the fire to heat.
“I didn’t even think to ask his name.”
“Well, we’d best tell Alec there’s someone in the old place that shouldn’t be there.
The Grange has been locked tight since Laird Angus died, some twenty years past, and even before that.
There was an English major who lived there once.
He was killed at Culloden, and the place was left to itself.
Some folk think it’s haunted.” Her eyes widened. “Och, did ye see a shade?”
Caroline smiled. “No, of course not. This was no English major—he was a Scot.”
“Oh? And how could ye tell?” Muira poured a tankard half full of whisky, golden in the firelight. She pulled out the poker and thrust it into the cup, and it sizzled as it heated the whisky. Muira’s lined face was radiant in the fire’s glow, her eyes sharp as a bird’s.
“He was wearing MacNabb plaid from top to toe, for one thing. He said he knew my—”
The kitchen door burst open. Muira’s ladle came up yet again. Jock MacNabb reached for his dirk, then dropped his hand. “For pity’s sweet sake, Muira, ye scared the life half out of me!”
“We’ve just been talking about ghosts,” Muira said, dropping the ladle and crossing to baste the chickens.
“Och, there ye are, Lady Caroline. Alec’s fair anxious to see you. He told me to go out and look for ye. I’m glad that won’t be necessary now.” He rubbed at his elbow.
“The ache again?” Muira said, noticing the gesture. “Ye’ll need liniment for it. I’ll make some up once the bread comes out of the oven. “You’d best go and tell Alec that Lady Caroline needs a hot bath before she sees him. She’s soaked to the skin.”
Jock stole a sweet roll off the cooling rack when Muira turned away. “Aye, I will—but he won’t like it.”
She swallowed, wondering what he wanted. She wasn’t ready to face him yet, not knowing she loved him, not until she got her emotions under control, was certain she could hide her feelings.
“Please tell His Lordship that I’ll speak to him before supper, as soon as I’m dry.” Caroline said. Her wet stockings left dark footprints on the flagstones as she crossed to the back stairs.
“I’ll send up with some hot water,” Muira called after her.