Edwina

by Patricia Strefling

Chapter 2

  The streets of Edinburgh passed by quickly through the dark glass of the car. She’d never ridden in a... what did you call them?... The black cars with shaded windows and champagne that slid out from a secret compartment when you pushed a little button. Her mind would not function. It felt like she was the actress in a movie she’d seen once. Was it Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca?

  The Scot’s man, Reardon, and her knight in shining armor spoke. He sat beside her right this very minute. Only her book would be set in the sixteenth century with a horse instead of a black limosine.

  “Sir, shall I have Bertilda prepare a room for Miss . . .” The Scot turned to her.

  “Edwina Blair from Michigan, in America.”

  “Yes, ‘tis known you are from the states.”

  Edwina cringed. Was it that apparent? “Alex Dunnegin.”

  “Mr. Dunnegin, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No need, Miss Blair. Reardon, push on and make it quick. The lass is weak from lack of food, and by the looks of it, sleep as well.”

  Edwina wanted to laugh out loud. She laid her head back with her eyes closed because the dizzying scenes passing by made her sick. She doubted Reardon thought her in need of food, for indeed she was at least fifteen pounds heavier than the doctor’s office chart said she needed to be. Of course, she was no actress, neither in looks nor in body shape, so what was the need to worry about what people thought?

  It was good to be in someone’s hands who knew what they were about, because she had been forced into this situation against her will. And from the problems she had encountered thus far, things would only get worse if left on her own. Thankful, for she didn’t know why but her instincts told her to trust this Scot, she relaxed against the back of the soft leather seat and promptly fell asleep.

  What seemed like seconds later, she was awakened, the motion of the car had stopped. Her heavy eyelids opened slightly. A sense of activity poked into her senses. What was it? Where was she? Scotland! She lifted her head and looked around. Suddenly the door next to her right elbow opened.

  “Miss. I shall attend you. Allow me.” Reardon offered his gloved hand and lifted her from the soft seats. The tall Scot was not in sight. He had, no doubt, flown on wings to his beloved. Her feet stepped on crushed stones. The crunch beneath her black flats sounded loud in the quietness of the late afternoon. Then her eyes, dull from lack of sleep, widened. They were at a castle. A beautiful castle. The kind you read about in books. History books.

  “Where are we?” Her soft voice lifted on the wind that wrapped strands of hair about her face.

  “Ye are at Castle Dunnegin, standing on grounds that have belonged to this family since 1702,” Reardon said, a proud look on his solemn face.

  “Castle Dunnegin?” Edwina repeated dumbly. “Three hundred years?”

  “Aye, miss. Ye’d be standing in western Scotland, to be sure.”

  Edwina could think of nothing to say, so shaken was she at the view before her eyes. Distant hills marched upward softly and down again. The sun, still radiant, was making its slow descent behind the rolling hills, leaving magical patterns of faded oranges, pinks, and lavender. Edwina’s legs, though weak, would not move her from the place where she stood. Never in her twenty-seven years had she witnessed such beauty—and then only in travel books.

  “Miss... ye’d best be coming in. The wind is picking up her pace and will be aboot us in no time.”

  “Yes, of course,” Edwina whispered.

  Her bags were in the arms of the Scot’s man, and she followed him, turning her head now and again to view the scene behind her.

  “It is a sight for weary eyes, Scotland is,” Reardon spoke quietly.

  “That it is.”

  As they entered through the huge doorway, Edwina’s eyes widened. The foyer was larger than her entire apart- ment. A finely crafted curved dark cherry staircase invited her eyes upward. The huge glass multi-colored arched window at its turn bid her to come up. Perhaps she was too tired to think clearly. Her hand lifted to touch her temple. Awestruck, Edwina allowed her gaze to take in the largeness, no... grandness of the space she now stood in. Had it been only yesterday that she was arguing with her stepsister that she could not possibly get on a plane and go to Scotland?

  “Come, miss.” Reardon broke into her thoughts.

  Blindly, like a sheep meekly going to slaughter, she stepped onto the ancient wooden stairs then down a rather dark corridor until they stood at the last door on the left. Reardon set down his burdens. Another huge arched window was at the end of the corridor, the sun repeating its gothic pattern on the wood floors. The thick ornate wooden door was opened to her. She walked past Reardon, who stood aside and bowed slightly. Had anyone ever bowed to her before? She couldn’t remember.

  Reality could have slapped her and she would still think she’d just awoke from a dream. The tapestry at the windows and across the huge four-poster bed, also of dark cherry, looked like so many pictures she’d seen in magazines. A decorator she was not, but she knew elegance when she saw it—and in fact was standing upon it this very moment.

  Usually practical to a fault, Edwina allowed herself to feel the dream, to pretend she was beautiful and rich. After all she was in Scotland standing in a castle somewhere near Edinburgh. Why shouldn’t a girl dream? she wondered wildly.

  She knew Reardon had followed her in and set her suit- cases upon the low chest at the foot of the bed.

  “I shall send Bertilda to assist you in your unpacking.”

  Edwina opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. What she wanted was to be left alone to look at everything in the room, to look behind the long emerald green and royal blue plaid curtains that surely hid an awesome view. Plaid seemed to be the main theme in the room. No doubt the Scot’s Tartan. A strange ambiance circled her in a feeling of being at home. But she was Irish on her mother’s side. Definitely Irish. Not Scottish.

  Shaking her head because her mind was mush, she turned at the sound of a slight knock. The door was so thick she barely heard the request to enter. Before she could open her mouth, a large woman bustled in and began unpacking her bag.

  Edwina’s hand went out to stop her. She was quite capable, tired or no, to unpack her own things. The maid’s countenance told her she’d done this many times before and knew her duty. Edwina let her hand fall to her side. She didn’t know a thing about protocol in Scotland. She’d read dozens of books—why hadn’t she thought to read some travel books before stepping into another country? And then she remem- bered. Cecelia had surprised her, knowing full well Edwina would refuse the trip if it hadn’t already been planned. She’d had exactly six days to prepare.

  What day was it anyway? She’d left late Friday after- noon. What about the time change? She’d not had the sense to investigate.

  “Ma’am, what day is it?”

  “It’d be Saturday. And me name’s Bertilda. If ye be needin’ anything, ye must only ask fer it.”

  “Thank you, Bertilda.” Edwina almost lifted her hand in a friendly shake but placed it back at her side.

  “Would ye like yer bath drawn?”

  “A bath?” Edwina sighed. Bertilda saw her need and hustled through another door.

  Before long Edwina found herself soaking in rose-scented bath bubbles. The tub was larger than her entire bathroom at home. Such luxury. And the towels! Fit for a queen in a castle. Which was exactly what she was right now. A good pinch might pop the bubble.

  Wrapped in a huge cherry pink, very thick towel, she made her way to the bed, which had already been turned back and smoothed to perfection. Her thin cotton pajamas lay out on the elegant covers. She felt a certain shame at the raggedy material so out of place in such grand surroundings. What must Bertilda think of her?

  Seconds later she was ensconced first in her own pajamas and then in the huge, soft bed. Above her the fringe on the canopy fluttered as her eyes blinked, then closed. She was safe for the night.