MacFadden eased forward, as if being dragged by invisible forces.
Rebbie snorted softly and sent an amused glance to Calla. She gave a wee grin in return. Aye, he did love it when she smiled.
Once seated beside Rebbie, MacFadden scooted himself and his trencher a foot further away.
Rebbie grinned. "So, how long have you lived here in my home?"
MacFadden glared at him. "'Tisnot your home. You've only been here twice."
"Three times," Rebbie corrected, then released a tired breath, unwilling to beat a dead horse. "How long have you lived here in Tummel Castle?" he asked again, this time in a harder tone. He was tired of the man claiming Rebbie didn't own this estate simply because he didn't visit often.
"Six months."
"I can see you've taken good care of the place. I appreciate that," Rebbie said, hoping to end up on better terms with him. He didn't want an enemy, but neither would he allow the man to claim ownership.
MacFadden gave him an uncertain glance.
"How didMacGilldie?"
"Wolves attacked him when he was out hunting one day. The fever from the bites killed him."
"Saints!" A dark feeling roiled through Rebbie when he remembered how close he and Calla had come to having bites themselves. "A pack of them tried to attack us on the way here. They must be overpopulating again. What a horrible way to die."
"Aye. In the spring, they took several lambs and calves as well. We've hunted for them but cannot find them."
"Humph. I might have to send Devil after them."
MacFadden eyed him in abject shock.
"My horse, Devil. He tramples the hell out of them."
"Ah." He looked so relieved Rebbie wanted to laugh. Had the man believed him a sorcerer?
Maybe he should've let him believe the worst. That would've been one way to keep him in line. As it was, he was going to have to assign one of the guards to watch him. No telling what kind of scheming plans he had.
***
After supper, Mistress Hillman led Calla upstairs, where a bedchamber had been prepared for her.
"I'm so glad the laird is back," the housekeeper said in an excited tone as she climbed the turnpike stair. "He is a handsome devil, is he not?" She turned and smiled at Calla, assessing her expression with keen, observant eyes.
"Aye." Of course he was, but Calla didn't want the housekeeper to know exactly how attractive she found him.
"Just like his father."
"Indeed." The two did favor each other a great deal. Their dark hair and dark brown eyes were evidently strong traits.
A few candles and the wee fire burning in the hearth lit the small bedchamber with a cozy glow. The covers on the carved four-poster bed had been turned down, revealing white linen sheets. A bathtub filled with heavenly steaming water sat before the fireplace.
"All this is for me?" Calla asked.
"Of course, m'lady," Mistress Hillman said as if she were ridiculous to ask.
But what Calla refused to tell her was that she'd not had a private room of her own in months. Not since she'd taken on the position as Elena's companion. Of course, she took baths—mostly sponge baths—but nothing so luxurious as being able to soak in a tub before the fire for as long as she wanted.
"I thank you, Mistress Hillman."
"My pleasure.'Tisso nice to have a lady in residence." She beamed and blinked rapidly as if on the verge of tears.
