The Curse of McMillan Castle - A Novella (A Scottish Time Travel Romance): Book 12.5

by Bethany Claire

  The old woman protested immediately. “I am fine, truly. Ye can set me down. Ye only took me by surprise is all.”

  Relieved that she’d found her voice and that the color was quickly returning to her face, Duncan smiled down at her, but he made no move to set her back down on two feet.

  “I’ll see ye to a chair, just as I was asked.”

  “Then do so quickly, and go and gather the portrait straight away. I doona wish for Baodan to see it.”

  It was no more than a few long strides to the chair Madeline directed him toward. The moment he lowered Kenna into the seat, he turned to gather the portrait but found that Rosie was already carrying it into the sitting room.

  He nodded at her as he reached for the wide frame. “Thank ye, lass.”

  He could see in the young lassie’s eyes that she worried for Kenna, for the moment he relieved her of the portrait, the young girl rushed to kneel down by Kenna’s side.

  “Are you really okay? Are you sure I shouldn’t go and get Baodan?”

  Duncan watched as Kenna’s hand shot out and gripped at Rosie’s arms.

  “Aye, lass. I’m fine. And doona ye dare go and get Baodan. He is the last person I wish to be in this room. Will ye go and close the door so that the four of us might have some privacy?”

  Duncan stepped out of Rosie’s path as she hurried to close the door to the sitting room. Kenna said nothing else until the door was securely closed.

  “None of ye are to tell anyone else about this painting, do ye understand?”

  Duncan said nothing—there was no one for him to tell. He knew no one else in McMillan Castle outside of those in the very room he found himself in now.

  All he wanted to do was leave. He’d returned the portrait. His part was done.

  “If ye will excuse me, I think it best if I bid ye farewell. If ye truly are fine, I doona wish to intrude on ye any longer. I only wanted to return what belonged to ye.”

  Kenna shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks.

  “Ye, sir, are no’ leaving the castle, this night. ’Tis too late now. But we canna tell anyone else why ye are really here, which is precisely why I had wee Rosie shut the door to this room. Sit. We must fabricate a story.”

  What had he gotten himself into? He should’ve just burned the painting when the impulse first struck him and been done with it.

  Madeline

  While my stepmother might’ve been fine after her brief fainting spell, I couldn’t say the same for myself. My hands shook uncontrollably as I stood near the fire, watching Kenna forbid Duncan to leave. Kenna was tough. She was feisty. Seeing her so rattled nearly scared me to death.

  For the first time since directing Duncan to help me move her, I spoke, and my voice shook with every word. “Kenna, what the hell is going on? Who is that in the painting?”

  Before Kenna could answer me, Duncan’s arm came around my back to steady me.

  “I think ye should sit as well, lass. Ye doona look well.”

  I didn’t feel well. Nodding, I allowed him to usher me over to a chair opposite Kenna.

  When I was seated, Kenna answered me.

  “Take a deep breath, lass. We doona need ye dropping to the floor, too. I dinna mean to frighten ye. ’Twas shock is all.”

  I did as she bid, and the intake of air seemed to steady my voice just a little.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Kenna. Who is that?”

  “’Tis Osla. Baodan’s first wife.”

  “What?” My voice broke like a hormonal teenage boy. “His first wife? How did I not know about that?”

  The truth was, I imagined there was a lot about the McMillans I didn’t know. My father could speak for hours if asked about something, but he had never really been one to volunteer information, and I’d never really asked him or Kenna much about McMillan history. Still, the thought of Baodan being with anyone else besides Mitsy was difficult for me to comprehend.

  I watched Kenna carefully, and the heaviness that fell over her features saddened me all the way through to my core.

  When she spoke again, her voice was low and quiet. “We doona speak of her much, though mayhap we should. Osla was a fine lass, kind and gentle. She dinna deserve what happened to her. It took Baodan too long to forgive himself for all that happened during those dreadful years.”

  “What happened?” Rosie’s voice, also quiet, spoke up next to Kenna, her hand slowly giving her grandmother’s hand a gentle squeeze of comfort.

  “She died. For a verra long time, we thought the lass had taken her own life. In truth, she was another one of Niall’s victims.”

  While this was the first I’d heard of Baodan’s first wife, I had heard stories of Kenna’s second son. Kenna, understandably, rarely spoke of him. I couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult it must be for a mother to reconcile that one’s son was capable of murder. The grief, the anger, the confusion and guilt, and the fact that Kenna had moved on from all of it as bravely as she had was a testament to her strength.

  When none of us said anything, Kenna continued. “I remember the day I noticed her portrait was missing. I thought mayhap the sight of her each day had been too difficult for Baodan to bear, so he’d removed it himself. I never asked him about it for that verra reason. I suspect he wondered the same of me. Regardless, I do ken that seeing this now would upset him.” Kenna paused and glanced in Duncan’s direction. “I agree with ye that the lass should be here, but I doona wish for Baodan to see it. Whatever presence ye may have sensed within this painting, I’ve no doubt the disturbance to ye shall end now that ye’ve seen her home. I shall see her portrait tucked away in the cellar for safekeeping. In the meantime, we must think of another reason to explain yer arrival here.”

  Kenna stopped and stared at Duncan as if she expected him to come up with some sort of believable excuse. As I watched him, my earlier feelings shifted. Rather than a desire to greet him with snark, I wanted to help him.

  How confused he must be—sitting there silently, wanting to leave—while Kenna went on about people he knew nothing about. He’d done a kindness by returning the painting, and now he was being asked to lie to the laird of McMillan Castle.

  I turned to look at him as I tried to offer him a lifeline. “You did say you were a stone mason, didn’t you? I’ve noticed that part of the east wall surrounding the castle has crumbled in a pretty large section. Maybe Kenna heard word of your good work from someone in the village and sent a messenger asking you to come here?”

  Duncan looked at me hesitantly, then nodded before glancing over at Kenna for approval.

  “Aye, mayhap so. I noticed the wall meself as we approached. ’Tis a large job, but I would be more than happy to take it on, though ’twill take me the better part of a moon to do so. Do ye think it possible for me to procure lodging somewhere near the castle for that long?”

  Kenna smiled and rose from her seat, seemingly no worse for wear from her fainting spell.

  “Aye, o’course. The inn in the village is run by the two kindest people ye shall ever meet. We will pay for yer lodgings and will o’course pay for the work that ye do here. ’Tis a bonny plan. Madeline, do ye mind seeing Duncan to the dining hall and making introductions? I shall tend to this painting and be along for dinner shortly.”

  Chapter 8

  Duncan

  Never before had he found himself in the presence of such strange people. So many of them spoke with the same strange accent. He couldn’t place it. It was plain. Simple. Unrefined. And while they all spoke English, he was unaware of any English-speaking country in or out of Scotland that spoke in such a way.

  It wasn’t only the sound of their speech that surprised him. The words that came out of the lassie’s mouths came as a shock. They all spoke so openly. It was clear that among this lot, there was no real rank or order among them. All were free to say what they wished. Duncan found it remarkably refreshing.

  Even the children sat at the table with the rest of them, and th
e one seated directly next to him was especially vocal.

  “Go on. Give it a taste. I know it doesn’t look appetizing, but I promise it’s good. Our cook here is excellent.”

  Duncan looked down at the young lad and smiled as he tried to make his best guess as to the child’s age. He almost certainly looked younger than he actually was.

  “Aye. ’Tis true. I’ve already tasted it. ’Tis only I’ve found myself distracted by the conversation around the table. What is yer name, lad?”

  He turned back toward his dinner as the boy answered him.

  “I’m Cooper. I’m Grace’s and E-o’s, and Jeffrey’s and Kathleen’s son.”

  Duncan couldn’t help the way his eyebrows lifted at the boy’s words. What sort of a place did he find himself in? He’d heard stories of such living arrangements in other countries, but certainly not in Scotland.

  “Oh?” The question slipped out before he could catch himself.

  Cooper laughed beside him. “It’s a long story. I forget that our little life is strange to most people here.”

  Duncan hurried to try and find some way to redirect the conversation. “’Tis none of my business, lad. Have ye…”

  The boy interrupted him before he could continue. “Nah. It’s okay. It’ll be less weird to you once I explain it. Jeffrey isn’t my real dad, you see. I never knew my real dad. He was gone before I was born. But Jeffrey and my mom, Grace, were real good friends, and he stepped in as my dad my whole life, so he’s really my dad in every way that matters. But later, when I was a little older, Mom fell in love with E-o, and Dad fell in love with Kathleen, so now I have another bonus Mom and Dad. You see?”

  Duncan’s shoulders relaxed as he listened to the boy’s explanation. “Ah. I do see. Ye are a lucky lad then. One canna ever have too much family, aye?”

  Cooper nodded. “Exactly.”

  Madeline

  I ate little over dinner. I was too busy listening to Duncan interact with Cooper. It had taken everything in me not to burst into laughter as I watched the look of shock and horror cross Duncan’s face as Cooper told him just who all he belonged to. While common in my own time, nothing of the sort was common here. But Duncan’s restrained and understanding response only served to increase my opinion of him further.

  He was just as lovely with everyone else at the table. But while he engaged with all of them with just as much kindness as he had Henry earlier in the day, he seemed much less at ease with the McMillans than he had with my elderly patient.

  It made perfect sense. We were an odd lot, and we all knew it. While I had exactly zero experience with the workings and livings of other Scottish castles, I knew that most of them didn’t run in the way ours did.

  If Duncan did have such experience with other castle households, I imagined this dinner had to be an overwhelming juxtaposition. All of us women spoke freely and loudly, Baodan didn’t rule over us in any real way, and we interacted with those who served us as if they were real humans and not just silent animate objects moving in and out of the room.

  I couldn’t tell as I watched him whether or not he found the oddity of us appealing or completely unnerving. Perhaps it was a little of both.

  The dinner was nearly over when Duncan spoke to me for the first time since sitting down.

  “Are ye well, lass? Ye havena said a word since we sat down. Mayhap I smell, aye? ’Tis likely I do. Me apologies.”

  I turned toward him and smiled as I shook my head. He did smell, but not badly. He had a manly, musky scent that I honestly quite enjoyed.

  “I’m perfectly well. And you don’t smell. I’ve just been listening, trying to decipher what you’re thinking about all of us.”

  His expression was guarded as he narrowed his eyes. “The truth?”

  I nodded. “Always.”

  “The entire lot of ye are the bonniest clan I’ve ever spent time with, and I canna tell if that means I should sneak away in the night and ne’er come back here for something is afoot, or if I should rent some land from yer Laird and build up a home and ne’er leave.”

  I liked the thought of him never leaving, even as stupid as the thought felt inside my mind. I didn’t know this man, but my judgment of him was as agreeable as his was of us. He was one of the bonniest men I’d ever met, as well.

  “Which way are you leaning?”

  He smiled again, and I smiled as I looked at the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he did so.

  “I doona ken yet. ’Twill take me a few more days among ye to decide.”

  I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “Might I ask ye a question, Madeline?”

  Butterflies took flight inside my stomach at the sound of my name rolling off his tongue. Jesus, I was in trouble.

  “You can.”

  “Where are all of ye from? Many of ye are no’ from Scotland, and I ken well enough that most of ye are no’ related, so how did so many of ye end up here? And where precisely do ye hail from? I’ve ne’er heard such speech before.”

  Shit, I thought to myself as I scrambled to come up with an explanation. Duncan wasn’t a permanent resident of McMillan territory. He wasn’t allowed to know the truth about any of us.

  “Um...you see…you’re right, we’re not Scottish. Most of us are from outside of London.”

  “London?” He frowned as he crossed his arms in disbelief.

  “None of ye sound as if ye are from London, lass.”

  “We’ve traveled a lot. Over time, a bunch of accents have just blended together, I guess.”

  “I’ve traveled much, too. Me journeys havena caused me to lose the Scottish lilt in me voice.”

  I shrugged, drowning in my effort to come up with some sort of believable lie.

  When I glanced over to see Kenna pushing herself away from the table as she waved at Duncan, I practically knocked over my chair in my effort to get away from the table.

  “Oh, look! I think Kenna is ready for you two to visit with Baodan about your new job. I’ll get out of the way so you three can talk.”

  I could feel his frown boring into my back as I all but ran away from him.

  Chapter 9

  Duncan

  “Ye needn’t escort me to the inn, lass. I am certain I could find me way there well enough.”

  The poor lass looked dead on her feet. It was no wonder. Secrets added weight to one’s soul, and now they were both the bearers of a secret whether they wished to be or not.

  He didn’t like lying to the laird, but he could see Kenna’s genuine desire to protect him—even if he didn’t understand all of the specifics of which she’d spoken.

  And it wasn’t only their shared secret that must weigh on Madeline’s shoulders. The lass had more secrets, he was sure of it. She was not from London. None of them were. But why lie to him about it? Why would she not wish for him to know about her homeland?

  “I’m sure you could find it, but I want to speak to Isobel and let her know that Kenna is going to see them taken care of, and explain that you might be staying with them for a while.”

  Thinking of his newfound work pleased him. He could trust a laird to pay currency he could use. The income would be a welcome relief after far too many scarce months of work.

  “Aye, fine, but someone else must come along. ’Twouldn’t be proper for the two of us to be out at night all alone.”

  Madeline groaned and rolled her eyes as they stopped short in front of the grand entryway door.

  “I promise you, it’s fine. No one in this territory will think anything of it.”

  Duncan regarded her hesitantly but chose not to argue the point further as she plunged ahead of him into the darkness.

  “Madeline, is there a messenger that ye trust? One I could use to send a letter back home?”

  “Yes, of course. Bring the letter with you to the castle tomorrow, and I’ll make sure it gets to the man Baodan uses most. Do you have a wife and children back home you need to let know you’ll be away for longer th
an planned?”

  “Nae. I’ve nae children nor wife. ’Tis me mother. She has promised to care for a stray cat that loves to call me home hers when the sun sets. I just wish to tell her how long she may have to continue doing so.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a stray if it sleeps in your house, Duncan.”

  Why did everyone insist on trying to make Tabitha his?

  “Aye, ’tis most certainly a stray. I doona own a cat.”

  She chuckled softly next to him, and he noticed for the first time how lovely her voice really was. Strange to be sure, but lovely.

  “If you say so. Look, I hope you don’t feel like I pushed you into a job here. If you don’t want to be away from home that long, I promise you it is fine. Don’t feel obligated to stay here.”

  “I need the work, lass. There is no’ a stone wall nor structure in my homeland that I havena built or fixed. I am glad for the work.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  They both turned toward the sound of footsteps coming toward them. The Laird of McMillan Castle approached.

  “Madeline, just where do ye think ye are going? Do ye no’ see how dark ’tis outside? I ken where ye come from, ye lassies do whatever ye please whenever ye please, but I doona care for the idea of ye walking back to the castle alone in the dark after seeing Duncan to the inn. I will see him there. That way I can go ahead and settle arrangements with Isobel. Go inside and have one of the maids heat some water for a bath. Ye look as though ye could use one. I doona ken if I’ve ever seen ye look quite so ragged.”

  Duncan’s eyes grew wide at the insult. While the lass looked tired to be sure, ragged would not be the word he would use to describe her. Beautiful, wild, mysterious mayhap, but certainly not ragged.

  The reflexive knot in his gut that had built at Baodan’s words relaxed when Madeline snorted comically in response.