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Which wasn’t to say that he had to welcome her back with open arms. Alistair felt a wicked smile curve his lips.
He sobered and entered the kitchen. The children were at the far end of the room, squatting by the hearth. At his appearance, they both rose hastily, turning guilty faces toward him. Revealed between them was Lady Grey, lying before the small fire. She was on her back, her large paws in the air. She turned a sheepish face toward him, her ears flopping comically upside down, but she made no move to rise. Why should she? Quite obviously she’d been receiving the adoration of the children.
Humph.
The boy stepped forward. “ ’Tisn’t her fault, really! She’s a nice dog. We were just petting her. Don’t be angry.”
What kind of ogre did this child think him? Alistair scowled and advanced toward them. “Where is your mother?”
The boy glanced over his shoulder at the outside kitchen door and backed up a step as he talked. “In the stable yard.”
What was she doing in the stable yard of all places? Bathing his gelding, Griffin? Winding daisies in his mane? “And what are you two doing here?”
The girl moved around her brother so that her body shielded his. She stood very stiff, her thin little chest nearly quivering with tension. “We came back.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. She looked like a martyr ready for the torch. “Why?”
She looked at him with her mother’s blue eyes. “Because you need us.”
He halted his advance. “What?”
She drew in a breath and spoke carefully. “Your castle is dirty and awful, and you need us to make it nice.”
ABIGAIL STARED UP at Sir Alistair’s face. Sometimes, on the carriage ride to Scotland, they’d passed huge stones, planted upright in fields, standing all by themselves. Mama had said they were called standing stones and that some ancient people had put them there, but no one knew why. Sir Alistair was like one of those standing stones—large and hard and sort of scary. His legs went on for miles, and his shoulders were wide and his face… She swallowed.
He had a dark beard that was patchy, because it didn’t grow on the scars on one side of his face. The scars ran through his beard, red and ugly. He’d covered his empty eye socket today with an eye patch. She was grateful for the eye patch, otherwise she might not have been able to look him in the face at all. His one eye was light brown, the color of tea without milk, and he looked down at her like she was an insect. A beetle, perhaps. One of those horrid black ones that scuttled away when someone overturned a rock.
“Huh,” Sir Alistair said. He cleared his throat with a grating, rumbling sound. Then he frowned. When he frowned, the red scars twisted on his cheek.
Abigail looked down. She wasn’t sure what to do next. She should apologize to him for screaming at him last night, but she didn’t quite have the courage. Her new apron was pinned to her bodice, and she plucked at it. She’d never worn an apron before, but Mama had bought one for herself and one for Abigail in the village. She said they’d need them if they were to set the castle kitchen to rights. Abigail didn’t think cleaning a castle would be nearly as fun as Mama was trying to pretend.
She peeked up at Sir Alistair. The corners of his mouth were turned down, but oddly his frown wasn’t half as frightening as it’d been the night before. She cocked her head. If Sir Alistair hadn’t been a very big, very stern sort of gentleman, she might’ve thought that he didn’t know what to do next, either.
“There was hardly any food in the pantry this morning,” she said.
“I know.” His mouth went flat.
Jamie had gone back to the big gray dog by the fire. He’d been the one to see her when they’d come in the kitchen. He’d run over to pet the dog, despite Abigail’s warnings. Jamie adored dogs of all kinds, and he never seemed to think that they might bite him. Abigail always thought about being bitten when she saw a strange dog.
She had a sudden longing for home, in London, where she knew everyone and where everything was familiar. If they were at home right now, she and Jamie would be having tea and bread with Miss Cummings. Although she’d never been very fond of Miss Cummings, the thought of her pinched, narrow face and the bread and butter she always served made Abigail’s chest ache. Mama said they might never return to London.
Now Sir Alistair was frowning down at the big dog as if he might be cross with her.
“Mama’ll be in soon,” Abigail said to distract him.
“Ah,” he said. The old dog put a paw on his boot. Sir Alistair glanced up at Abigail, and she stepped back. He was so stern-looking. “What are your names?”
“I’m Abigail,” she said, “and that’s Jamie.”
“We’re to have tea when Mama comes in,” Jamie said. He didn’t seem at all nervous at Sir Alistair’s presence. But then he was blissfully rubbing the dog’s ears.
Sir Alistair grunted.
“And eggs and ham and bread and jam,” Jamie recited. He often forgot things, but not things that had to do with food.
“She’s going to make some for you as well,” Abigail said cautiously.
“She isn’t a very good cook,” Jamie said.
