Page 34 of Return to Wildsyde

Hamilton was not so pleased. Luella refused to do anything more than bid him good morning or good afternoon, apparently, and would only converse with him at dinner when their mother was there to chaperone. All Lyall’s fault, naturally, as Hamilton was quick to point out.

Perhaps he could get his mother to take Luella with her when she returned home. Her brother seemed happy enough here, so he was no bother, and that way Lyall need not have a blasted chaperone under his roof as well as the unhappy little ghost that seemed to haunt the bloody castle and undermine his peace of mind. Yes, the sooner he was rid of her, the better it would be. For her as well as for him. She could not be happy scurrying about and keeping out of sight as she was doing. He determined to put the suggestion to his mother that afternoon. Then he could get them both out of the way at the same time and have the castle to himself again. Just the way he liked it. Hamilton would be easy enough to shake free once Luella had gone. Perhaps he would go with her. That was a worrying thought and one he would do well to get his mother to squash if Hamilton raised it.

The scent of something spicy, heavy with cinnamon and ginger, drifted to his nose, making his stomach growl. He knew Luella had been practising her skills, for Mrs Baillie was always keen to tell him of her successes, and that her fair hand had often prepared the food he ate. She seemed to have a fondness for making cakes and puddings, and Lyall could not fault her for it. Whatever she was cooking today made him think of Christmas and happy days as a boy, when the castle had been decked out for the celebrations his parents always made so much of.

He wondered what Luella would make of it all this year and thought it might be nice to make more of an effort for once, for it seemed a bit foolish to go to so much trouble when he lived alone, and… he thrust the notion away. She would be gone before then if he had his way. Lyall glowered at the repair bill, which was far more expensive than he had hoped.

A heavy sigh from in front of the fireplace took his attention again and Lyall regarded Moire and Maggie as they raised doleful eyes towards him.

“It’s June,” he said firmly. “I am nae lighting the fire.”

Though he had to admit the day was chilly and far from the summery weather they had enjoyed at the end of May.

Sighing again, Moire put her head on her paws. Maggie gave him another reproachful glare before doing likewise.

“And where is that worthless fellow of yours?” Lyall asked them, which they did not deign to answer. “Fine, don’t ye talk to me either, see if I care,” he muttered irritably, and reached for his pen.

“Do you want to come to the stables and help me?” Jack asked, his face pink with exertion and happiness. “I’ll let you brush out her tail if you like,” he added generously, for he clearly believed this was a great treat.

“Actually, I think I’m going to stretch my legs before the rain comes,” Luella replied, ruffling his thick hair. She glanced up at the sky, which was devoid of even a glimmer of sunshine. A sharp breeze tugged at her bonnet and Luella was grateful for the cloak she had almost packed away only a week before, thinking she would not need it again for a while.

“Ye are not to walk out without telling anyone where ye are going,” Jack chided her, and she smiled a little at the trace of Scottish brogue she heard creeping into his speech more and more.

“I beg your pardon, Jack. I am going to Bucholie Castle, and before you say it, no, I won’t go anywhere near the edge or climb in the ruins, I promise. Just there and back to blow the cobwebs away.”

“Well, I suppose that sounds all right,” Jack conceded. “I’ll see you at dinner, then?”

“You will,” she agreed. “And don’t forget to wash before you come down.”

Jack pulled a face but muttered a grudging ascent to this command before taking his pony back to the stables.

Luella watched him go before striding out. It seemed the only way she got any sleep these days was to wear herself out. If not, she was beset with that peculiar dream again, where she ran pell-mell through the darkness, away from the castle and into the unknown, though sometimes she was running from something, and sometimes desperately towards it. Except that she knew now it wasn’t a something at all, but a someone.

“You are not right in the head, Luella, my girl,” she scolded herself sternly, as she told herself several times a day. It did not make a scrap of difference.

The moment she closed her eyes at night, there he was: Lord Buchanan, with his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, not to mention those knees. She sighed. Lord, what a fool, to get herself in such a sorry state over a man who could not stand the sight of her. At least if it had been Hamilton, it might have been understandable. He was kind and funny and tried very hard to make her feel at home. The countess too seemed to have decided Luella was not the devil’s daughter either, and treated her with increasing warmth. Mrs Baillie was an absolute dear, despite her scolding and occasionally sharp tongue, for she had taken Luella under her wing and determined to teach her everything she knew. In fact, if it were not for the situation with Lord Buchanan, Luella would have been happier than she had ever been in her life. But there was no getting away from him, no matter how she tried.

Though she had not seen him for days, he was always there, for he was as much a part of Wildsyde Castle as the stones that made the walls. The pleasant rumble of his deep voice seemed to reach her wherever she went, the heavy tread of his footsteps a sound she had learned to recognise so she could leave a room before he entered it. There had been several times she had almost not run away, for she had wanted badly to see him halt on the threshold of whatever room she occupied. She imagined taking her own sweet time to walk past him in silence, head held high, but behaviour of that nature would only remind him she was here and how much he disliked that fact. He would send her away at best, at worst he might not do everything he promised for Jack. She could not risk that. So she bit her lip and held her indignation at bay and enjoyed her time in the kitchens, learning everything she could so she could one day have a guest house of her own, and make a proper home for herself and Jack once he was free of Lord Buchanan’s guardianship. Of course, he’d be a grown man by then, hopefully earning his own wage. Maybe he’d even be married.

The idea struck her square in the chest. Not that she didn’t want Jack to grow up and marry and have a family. Of course she did, more than anything. But then he would have his own life and be far less a part of her own. A sense of melancholy settled over her as the ruins of Bucholie Castle came into view. On a gloomy afternoon with ominous grey clouds chasing the daylight away, it was the perfect setting for sombre thoughts of an uncertain future.

She would not return to London, that much she knew for certain. A place in the countryside was what she longed for, close to the sea, for she had come to love the sight and sound of that vast stretch of water. There was something about it that soothed her nerves and made her feel more at peace, no matter if it was sparkling azure or a seething foam flecked mass of steely grey blue as it was now.

Luella stood for a long time, staring out at the sea, and contemplating her future. The idea of leaving this place was remarkably depressing. If only Lord Buchanan did not distrust her quite so thoroughly, she could be happy here.

Liar, she told herself. If he was nice to her, if he showed her even a little encouragement, she would likely do something very foolish indeed. She might go getting ideas in her head that had no business being there. Worse, she might act on them. No, it was far safer that they kept each other at arm’s length and did not go about mending any bridges.

Shivering, Luella caught hold of the billowing folds of her cloak and tugged them around herself. The wind was far sharper here, blowing in off the sea and bringing with it a salty damp spray of icy water that prickled over her skin. She walked on, striding out quickly now as the idea of sitting down to a good hot dinner possessed her mind. She had helped Mrs Baillie prepare a glorious lamb stew earlier, and she had made a clootie dumpling for dessert. It had still been simmering in the clootie cloth that gave it the name when she’d left, but the scent of spices had permeated the kitchen, and she was eager to try it.

The wind picked up, buffeting her as she walked, and the sound of the crashing waves was such that it was a wonder she heard the pitiful whimpering at all. Stopping in her tracks, Luella turned, searching for the source of the sound. It came again, this time with an unhappy bark. The field beside her had been fenced to keep sheep in, and along one side had grown a low, scrubby hedge and the noise seemed to come from there.

Luella moved cautiously, having no great desire to come across a stray dog, but the sound had been so piteous, she could not in all conscience walk away without checking to see if some creature was in distress. She walked slowly, peering around the corner of the hedge and giving an exclamation of dismay at what she saw.

“Murdoch!” she exclaimed, as the big dog whimpered and thumped his tail at the sight of her. Luella swallowed, reminding herself that Lord Buchanan had assured her this was a good sign.

She walked closer, appalled to see the dog had been caught in a snare, his front leg trapped by a thin coil of wire that had sunk deep into the flesh. The other end was nailed securely to the fence post, and she did not see a way she could get it free.

“Oh, you poor thing. I think that was supposed to catch a rabbit, not you. Were you chasing it?” she asked, wondering why she was having a conversation with a creature who did not know what she was talking about.