by A. L. Knorr
“Who was playing music last night?” I asked as I tossed uneaten bits of sandwich into the trash bin and began to wash the dishes.
Ainslie stopped peeling and looked up. Her spine straightened and her bosom swelled. “Music?” She tilted her head. “You heard music?”
“Yeah, I could hear drums in my room. Distantly.”
Her look said that if anyone had been playing music late last night in the castle and she didn’t know about it, there’d be hell to pay.
“Maybe the neighbors?” I guessed.
“The nearest neighbors are a quarter-mile down the hill. If they were playing music loud enough for you to hear it, they would have had a visit from the local bobby. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
I hadn’t been; I’d been walking the halls, but I didn’t want to get her riled. “Maybe.”
The creases in her forehead relaxed.
“Where might I find Jasher?” I asked as I put the last dish into the drying rack.
“He’ll be out back with Gavin most like,” Ainslie replied, eyes returning to her growing pile of potatoes. “Go through the center path of the garden maze, follow it down the hill and into the trees. After that, things get a little prickly. Just follow the sounds of men making grand plans. Here.” She set down her knife and went to the counter where she grabbed a fat aluminum Thermos and held it out. “Gavin likes a spot of tea in the midafternoon.”
I took the Thermos and told her I’d deliver it.
“You tell those boys supper is at seven sharp. They have a tendency to get carried away and be late for meals.” She pointed at me with the tip of her knife. “I don’t slave all day over a working man’s meal only to have it go cold afore he even sits down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted her. “I’ll pass on the message.” I went to the back door and found my jacket and boots.
Maybe the laird would be able to tell me who was playing drums here last night, since the housekeeper could not.
Chapter 3
Leaving the castle by the side door, I continued down the stone steps along the side of the building. They flattened out and led me to the rear garden where I stopped dead in my tracks.
A beautifully manicured maze made of hedges, rosebushes, and topiaries spread out before me. The humid air was heavy with the pungent aroma of roses in full bloom. A fountain burbled in the maze’s center, and weatherworn statues of frolicking stags seemed to sprout from the greenery.
“Impossible,” I whispered, staring at the sea of white roses and lush, thorny shrubs. The air was cold enough to condense into fog when I exhaled. It was too cold to be outside without a hat, gloves and a scarf, not to mention a thick pair of jeans…and yet this garden maze was in full bloom.
I went to the nearest rose bush and took a closer look. The blossoms were white threaded with green veins, and the base of each petal was a soft shade of coral. Similar colors to the bedroom I’d been given. Bending to take a whiff, I groaned with pleasure. It was these roses I’d been catching the scent of since I’d arrived. But how was it that they were in full bloom in the dead of winter?
Unable to stem my curiosity, I slipped my feet out of the rubber boots I was wearing and raked off my socks. The ground was so cold it made me cringe, but once I got used to it, it wasn’t so bad. Laying the soles of my feet against the soil, I closed my eyes and tuned in to the roses.
It was extraordinary. The rest of the garden plants were dormant. The herbs, shrubs and other flowers were all in the right seasonal cycle…basically sleeping. The roses, however, throbbed and hummed with life. They were so vividly alive, they practically sang. I shook my head, amazed, and put my socks and boots back on, making a mental note to ask Bonnie or Ainslie about them.
Continuing through the garden, I passed two lichen-coated fountains of animals frolicking while spewing water joyfully overhead.
Following the sound of men’s voices, I navigated a long downhill slope, slippery with mud and ending in a thicket of scrubby trees. The voices came from somewhere within the knotted woods so I continued on, trying not to slip. The kind of narrow path we referred to as a goat-track back home, wound through the woods. Brambles snatched at my clothes and the ground was littered with rotting leaves and soggy twigs. Winding my way through the dense underbrush led me to an open glade.
Jasher and another young man stood with an older man, gesturing as they discussed what looked to be a roiling mass of thorny bushes. Ainslie’s claim that things got a bit prickly was an understatement.
I crossed the glade, noticing that within the impressive thicket of two-inch long thorns were several very thick, worn-down stone walls. The ruin Jasher had to demolish, I guessed.
The fellow with Jasher spotted my approach and lifted a hand. “We’ve got company.”
“You found us!” Jasher beckoned me over. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”
The tall older man looked over his shoulder and smiled. He was wearing a kilt. His close-trimmed beard was giving its way over to silver. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “This must be your friend from Canada.” Turning to face me, he held out a wide mitt for me to shake. “I’m Gavin, the laird o’ these here lands and castle. Ye’re welcome.”
I shook his hand. “I’m sorry that my arrival is a bit of a surprise.”
“It’s no’ a problem, lass,” Gavin replied. “We’ve plenty o’ empty rooms, but if you dinna watch Ainslie, she’ll be offering to treat you to the joys o’ peeling potatoes and cleanin’ privies.”
I laughed. “She’s already done so. The potatoes part, not the…privies.”
“And this is Lachlan.” Jasher gestured to their other companion.
“Nice to meet ye, Georjayna. Welcome to Blackmouth.” My heart tripped unexpectedly over his voice, which was warm and low, like a thick blanket. Lachlan’s expression was open and earnest. Red shadow covered his jaw, and eyes the color of the sky before a storm sparkled from a wide, handsome face. He was almost as tall as Jasher, but broader and softer. Lachlan was the kind of guy you had to give a second glance to realize he was attractive, but once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. He was lumberjack hot, capable and trustworthy. His gaze kept a grip on mine and I felt somehow unable to look away until Gavin spoke again.
“Jasher tells me ye’re a Sutherland?”
I nodded and smiled at how it had come up twice already today. “On my father’s side.”
“We’ll be related then,” Gavin said without any hint of doubt.
I had to laugh. “It’s feeling a little déjà vu-ey around here this morning.”
“A little what-ey?” Gavin’s silver brows tightened. “Is that Canadian slang?”
“Déjà vu,” I began, and decided against elaborating. “Your son, Lorne, he said the same thing at lunch. I’m sorry to disappoint, but my family is from Ireland.”
Gavin’s brown eyes widened and then he threw his head back a gave a belly laugh that was so infectious it had the rest of us laughing along, though I had no idea what was so funny.
“From Ireland, she says,” Gavin said between bellows of mirth. “Lassie, do ye not know yer own heritage, then?”
“Of course,” I replied, nonplussed. “My family has lived in Ireland for over two hundred years. I just spent part of the summer with my Aunt Faith there. Our house is full of family history.”
Jasher nodded. “It’s true. She’s Irish on her mother’s side. Her mum is my adopted mum’s sister.”
Gavin lifted a thick finger and beamed into my face as though he had some spectacular secret. “Tell you what, Miss Sutherland, ye’re welcome to stay in Blackmouth Castle until she opens again for the season. Longer, if ye’re up for some housekeepin’ duties. But ye’re going to spend some of that time in the library, learning ‘bout yer own history. I’ll no’ have a relative of mine, distant or not, thinking they’re Irish!” He broke into fresh gales of laughter, red spots blossoming on his cheeks.
I looked at Jasher, both of us laughing because when Ga
vin laughed, it was simply not possible not to join in, but his look said, I told you so.
“I might be able to help you there,” Lachlan said through a grin of his own. “I’m a bit of an amateur historian.”
“Sounds like the perfect way to procrastinate from my schoolwork,” I replied.
“Ye’re standin’ in the region of Sutherland, little miss,” continued Gavin. “In these highlands, we’re like royalty.”
Lachlan nodded. “He’s right. The reason there are Sutherlands in Ireland is because there was a migration in the seventeenth century. The Sutherlands that moved to Ireland never came back, and it’ll be those that you’ve descended from.”
I shared a startled look with Jasher. He just shrugged with that same look.
“I…did not know that.” I felt mildly dazed.
“I understand if you feel more connected to Ireland than to Scotland, with over three hundred years of genealogy there.” Lachlan shifted the pair of gardening shears I only just noticed he was holding, from one hand to another.
“Don’t change that it’s Scots bluid that’s running through yer veins.” Gavin thumped me on the back and I had to take a step forward so I didn’t fall on my face.
I shrugged. “I feel connected here, too. It’s so beautiful.”
“Aye, the faeries keep it bonnie and green,” said Gavin.
I shared another surprised look with Jasher, wondering if Gavin had meant the quip in a figurative way.
Jasher was the one who’d first introduced me to faerie cocoons. Most people couldn’t see them. Not even my elemental friends could see the tiny, colorful spirits who hatched from tiny transparent cocoons. They happened when dappled sunlight penetrated fresh rainwater as it dripped from branches and leaves. According to Jasher, it used to occur a lot more often, but now faerie cocoons were so rare he almost never saw them anymore. I had to admit I hadn’t seen any outside my own private garden back home, which I’d built just for the purpose. After I learned how fragile they were, I wanted to give them a safe place to hatch.
“Course, if the faeries have anything to do with these blasted thorn bushes, then I’d rather you evicted them.” Lachlan hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the choked ruins behind us.
“Is this where you’ll be building your cottage?” I took a few steps closer to the old foundation and broken-down walls.
“Aye.” Gavin appeared beside me. “I’ve been wanting a wee house for guests who want their own private suite, a sort of honeymoon thing.”
“What was it before?”
Gavin scratched at his chin, his eyes full of question marks. “Lachlan?”
“It was a game-keeper’s home, something nearing five hundred years ago.” Lachlan began to point out patches of land. “There was an old barn attached over there and a stable just there. There’s a well here too. There was a fire at some point and the cottage fell into disrepair. I don’t believe it was ever used for anything again after that, but”—he gave a shrug—“not everything was recorded in the history books, ye ken.”
“That’s quite a crop of brambles.” I’d never seen a thicket of spikes nastier than the one choking the plot before us.
“Aye,” Gavin grumbled, his tone darkening. “They’ve been a right pain in me arse. First thing we’ll do is cut ’em back, find the roots and rip ’em up. Can’t plan properly until we can see what’s underneath ’em.”
“I can round up some lads from the village,” Lachlan suggested. “I have a cousin who could use a reason to keep out of mischief and it wouldn’t hurt him to make a pound or two.”
“I’ve got Will lined up to help pour the footings,” Jasher added. “He won’t mind coming a few days early to rip this mess up.”
Jasher glanced at me and we shared a secret smile.
Well, maybe not so secret. I felt Lachlan’s gaze on us. He hadn’t missed the meaningful look that had passed between Jasher and me. Feeling the question in Lachlan’s gaze, I looked away.
If anyone could be the most effective in convincing stubborn brambles to vacate the premises, it was me. I couldn’t just go about snapping my fingers and making the thorns retreat back into the earth, though. If the men attacked the brambles today, then it was possible they wouldn’t need my help. They might have them cleared by sundown. If not, I could find a stealthy way to help out that didn’t make anyone’s hair stand on end.
“Strange that they never spread, though,” Gavin murmured, so quietly it seemed he was talking to himself. “All my life I lived on these lands. I played back here as a boy. Never in the thorns of course, they’d have made mincemeat of me. But we built a treehouse over that way,” he gestured to the right, “and there’s a little swimming hole down that way,” he nodded to the left. “These brambles were always thick as Medusa’s hair. My own father burned them once and they came back stronger than ever. But never have they grown beyond these ruins.”
“Must be something in the soil here they like,” I suggested.
“That makes sense, actually.” Lachlan’s eyebrows raised. He glanced from me to Gavin. “Maybe the lass has solved the mystery, and her being on the land only a few minutes. Something in the soil is feeding them.”
“Maybe so,” Gavin said thoughtfully. “Maybe so.”
“Sounds like you have a green thumb.” Lachlan raised his garden shears and snipped away some branches. They fell away, leaving a window into a world of long, wicked-sharp thorns that looked positively villainous.
“Georjie’s a genius when it comes to all the green things,” Jasher said, dimpling.
“Are ye now?” Gavin turned to me. “Bonnie’d love to make use of yer talents. She’s got it into her mind to re-landscape the maze and make a few changes to the gardens at the front. If ye’re not too busy with yer schoolwork…”
“…or the potato peeling,” Lachlan added with a grin.
“P’raps ye’ll consider helping the lady. Ainslie’s good, but Bonnie doesn’t know a petunia from a pine tree.”
“I’d be happy to help. You’re being more than generous letting me stay in the first place.”
“We’ll no’ be turning away a Sutherland,” Gavin waved his mitt of a hand, “but help is always appreciated. We all have our talents.”
“It would be a shame to change the maze too much, though. I love the roses and I’ve never seen any like them before. I hope Bonnie doesn’t plan to get rid of them.” Even now, this far away, the faint scent of rose could be detected.
Gavin gave a knowing chuckle. “No, she wouldn’t dare. There’s a story to them roses. You ask Ainslie.”
“I’ll do that.” I suddenly remembered the Thermos. “Oh, and here’s your tea. Ainslie says she’ll string you up by your toes if you’re…”
“…late for dinner,” all three men said at once.
“Yeah, we know.” Lachlan laughed.
I handed Gavin the Thermos. “Before I forget, was there a party nearby last night? I was wondering where the drums were coming from.”
“Drums?” The laird looked blank and shook his head. “There’d be no one playing the drums around here.”
“Well, it was more musical than just drums,” I interjected. “It was fast, music to dance to. It sounded kind of pagan.”
“Blackmouth Castle is quiet as the grave in the nights, Lassie.” He went to where a pail was sitting on the ground and retrieved a pair of sharp-looking hedge clippers. He frowned at them. “I think we’re going to have to recruit something a little more powerful to get this job done…like dynamite.”
“You must have dreamed it,” Jasher suggested. “My room is near yours and I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Huh.” I chewed my cheek thoughtfully.
But it hadn’t been a dream. It wasn’t like the visions I’d had before I’d gotten my elemental powers. Those were vivid also, but afterward, I had been aware I’d been dreaming. But last night I’d been walking the halls, perfectly lucid, searching for the source. Then again, the music hadn’
t fluctuated the way music did; it had stayed constant, whether I’d been in my room, or down the hall and around the corner.
As the men went to work on the thorn bushes, I wandered back to the castle to start my schoolwork. But the reactions to my questions about the drums kept my thoughts coming back to it all day.
I hadn’t dreamed the music. Of that, I was certain.
Chapter 4
“I didn’t think I’d be back here so soon.” I cupped my hands around a mug of steaming hot chocolate. “It appears The Blackmouth Arms has become your favorite hangout. You never spent time in pubs back in Anacullough.”
“That’s the beauty of no longer having to contend with the pesky undead.” Jasher lifted his glass of ale and sipped it through a layer of foam. “One can enjoy the older haunts of the world unbothered and unencumbered. Cheers to you”—he clinked his pint jovially against my mug—“and your unusual gifts.”
“What’s got you so jolly?”
“Can’t a man be jolly?” He took another sip, tongue peeking out to lick the cream off his upper lip.
“You remember how rude you were to me when we first met?” I said. “I was scared to be in the same room as you.”
Even after Jasher had melted, he’d maintained a serious quality about him.
Jasher looked at the ceiling wistfully. “I was a righteous bear, wasn’t I?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Jasher hadn’t warmed up to me until he realized I could see the faerie cocoons. Until then, he didn’t know anyone else who could see them, not even my Aunt Faith, which was weird because she was a true believer. Once Jasher realized I had ‘the sight,’ his attitude totally changed toward me.
“Admit it, you thought I was a materialistic airhead.” I poked him in the side.
