Page 8 of Return to Wildsyde

Lyall stared out of the window at the little black dot on the horizon moving steadily towards the castle. As it drew nearer, it resolved itself into a carriage and horses, bringing Lilith’s cousins to his door.

“Am I a monster?” he asked mildly.

“No, of course not, but you are hard-headed, just like your father, and believe me, he was dreadful when I first arrived here. He made my life a misery for some time, and I don’t want you to—”

“Ma!” Lyall exclaimed, impatient now. “I’m nae going to beat them and feed them on bread and water, aye?”

“And neither did your father do anything of the sort, but there are other forms of cruelty that are just as awful,” his mother said stubbornly.

Lyall sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hear ye. But I will nae have these two in any doubt of the fact that I have their measure. If they behave themselves and keep out of my way, we’ll go on well enough, I don’t doubt.”

“Hmmm,” was his mother’s only response. She fidgeted by the window a little longer before heading for the door. “Come along, we must greet them.”

“I will nae,” he said, shaking his head. “They can come to my study later.”

“When they’ve had time to freshen up, you mean?” his mother said, eyes narrowed.

“Aye, if ye like,” Lyall said, having meant no such thing. He was damned if he was going to present part of a welcoming party for the cuckoos fate had saddled him with, though.

His mother gave him a long look that he met with a steady one of his own before she hurried off to the front door.

Lyall sighed, turned his back upon the window, and settled himself at his desk. He had no interest whatsoever in the new arrivals past ensuring they did not interfere with his life.

The sooner they learned that, the better off they’d be.

Luella stepped down from the carriage on legs that felt stiff and achy. How people had made this dreadful journey before the advent of the train she did not wish to consider. It had been quite long and arduous enough as it was. Jack’s hand snuck into hers and held tight and she felt her heart clench. It had been some time since he had done such a thing, for he considered himself a young man, not a child, and such a display must gall him. But they were both scared to death and there was little point in denying it.

They stood gazing up at the forbidding castle, bracing themselves for their first glimpse of a furious highlander who would rage at them and send them to the stables with a plate of stale bread and mouldy cheese. They were unprepared, however, for the arrival of a tall, elegant woman simply if richly dressed in a gown of dark burgundy.

“Miss Fulbright, Master Fulbright, welcome to Wildsyde,” she said, smiling at them.

It was not precisely a welcoming smile, as it held a deal of reserve, but the woman’s gaze was candid, and her face one Luella thought held no trace of malice.

“Thank you, Mrs…?” Luella faltered, uncertain whom she was addressing.

“I beg your pardon. I am Lord Buchanan’s mother, Lady Morven.”

Luella gaped, never having seen a real-life countess before. Her great-uncle might have been an earl, but she had never been near an aristocrat in her life.

“Lady Morven,” she said, dipping an awkward curtsey. She elbowed Jack, who bowed even more awkwardly, blushing as he did so.

The countess made no comment on their social skills, however, which was a relief, and instead busied herself instructing the servants what to do with their few items of luggage.

“I’m certain you must be worn out after such a long journey, so I will show you to your rooms and send up some tea for you. Lord Buchanan will see you once you have had time to rest a bit.”

“That’s very thoughtful of him,” Luella said cautiously, wondering if they were not to be treated as pariahs after all.

“Isn’t it,” the countess agreed, with a smile that seemed a touch too wide to Luella’s observant eye.

Her father had taught her to notice such slight differences, or tells, as he had called them. People gave themselves away all the time with little gestures that, once learned, could tell you what they really meant, instead of just what they said.

The countess led them inside the house and Luella found herself surprised to discover the interior of the castle was welcoming and cosy. She glimpsed what looked like a family parlour as they passed, with comfortable chairs, and lots of cushions and throws, many of them in what she suspected was the Anderson tartan. A fire blazed in an immense stone fireplace, and the desire to curl up in one of those overstuffed chairs with a cup of tea hit her with some force.

“It’s lovely,” she admitted out loud, gaining herself a smile of appreciation from the countess.

“Thank you. It is,” she agreed. “It was not half so welcoming when I arrived here many years ago as a young bride, but we worked hard to make it a home for our children, and now Lyall—Lord Buchanan—has continued that work and made it his own.”

“You do not live here?” Luella asked, rather disappointed.