“You miss your master, don’t you, big lug.” Rye rubbed behind the wolfhound’s ears. “I’ve been letting Murdo sleep on my bed.” He grinned in his usual way. “I don’t see why anyone should mind if I don’t.”
“Well, if it’s the best company you can find…” Ursula smiled sweetly and opened up her reticule to extract her pot of salve.
Only too late did she remember.
The little mouse had sat inside cosily all through dinner, so still and quiet that she’d quite forgotten him. Now, he made a leap for the carpet.
With a squeal, Lady Iona jumped onto a chair.
The piano lid crashed—as the tiny varmint skittered up and across the keys.
Murdo began to howl and, from two rooms away, McTavish caught the scent and barrelled in to join the fun.
Both cat and mouse shot at high speed, scampering between petticoats and slippered feet. Cups and saucers went flying and, as Cameron entered the room, so did the whisky. The screaming had reached a fever pitch when Rye made a dive for McTavish.
Ursula, meanwhile, opened her reticule wide and the mouse, sensing its best interests, bounded back in.
Nothing more needed to be said. Ursula whisked from the room, with Rye in pursuit.
“Don’t let it out again until I’ve locked this one away!” Held unceremoniously aloft, McTavish spat and wriggled.
Having witnessed the commotion, the butler had presented himself and, with a nod at the main doors, opened them in readiness. A cold blast of air wafted into the hallway.
“I’m sorry but you’re far too much trouble,” chided Ursula, whispering into her bag through the cracked clasp. She took three steps outside and gave the mouse its freedom, sending it scuttling through the snow.
It was at that moment that she heard them—bagpipes!
Was someone on the roof?
She craned her head upward. It was impossible to tell, but it sounded as if the music were coming from above.
It was certainly too cold to be standing about outside—either listening or playing.
Darting back into the hall, she near collided with Lord Balmore.
From the open door of the drawing room, the dowager’s voice carried out, full-laden with doom. “’Beware! Beware! ’Tis Camdyn, playing on the ramparts.”
Staggering to her feet, she outstretched her gnarled finger, pointing into the hall, directly at Rye. “’Tis the Dunrannoch curse, come to claim the next heir!”
Chapter Fourteen
Mid-morning, 19th December
It wasa relief to finally get outdoors. Rye’s feet were itchier than a buck’s in springtime. He’d never liked being cooped up inside and, these past days, he’d had about as much as he could take.
All those yapping women! They were driving him crazy.
It wasn’t just the talk about sashes and gloves and how puffed their darn sleeves ought to be. It was this business about the curse. As far as he could tell, it was a load of balooey. His uncles’ deaths had been tragic alright—but the result of some old loon’s jinx upon the place?
At worst, someone was playing tricks—for their own amusement, or to see if he was the sort who scared easily. They could suck their teeth ’til they turned blue before he gave them that satisfaction.
Striding across the castle courtyard, he breathed deep, letting the fresh air clear his head.
Besides that nonsense with the curse, there had been Lady Dunrannoch to placate. She’d been discreet in pulling him aside after all the waltzing, but there was no duping her. The others might have been too caught up in themselves to see him and Ursula spring apart, but Lavinia knew a clinch when she saw one.
Of course, he’d taken the blame onto himself, telling the countess he’d jumped on Miss Abernathy without any sort of provocation. A woman had to guard her reputation and he wouldn’t be the cause of Ursula losing hers.
He’d been raised to know the difference between right and wrong and he’d acted reckless. He’d let his pecker do the thinking and near got Miss Abernathy dismissed for it.
