1
Old Kilmeny Castle
Aberdeenshire, Scotland
May 10, 1822
Miss Eilidh Fyffe was rather a connoisseur of despair.
She instantly recognized the flavor of it—
The dip of dread in her stomach.
The desolation that bleached color from the world.
The hopelessness of staring up from a deep pit, wonderinghowshe was going to get herself out of this quandary.
Case in point . . .
Eilidh watched from her bedroom window as Reverend Gillespie and his wife rushed from the castle door to the waiting coach.
The early hour, the trunks strapped to the carriage boot, and the way the reverend kept glancing back at the castle—as if expecting Eilidh to race out and demand answers—had been all the confirmation she needed of their intent.
The Gillespiesmeantto leave her, to abandon her to an uncertain fate.
Eilidh swallowed.
After everything that had transpired. After her own tireless care and dedication.
They would simply . . . walk away.
Or, in this case, ride off in style in a wealthy man’s carriage.
Of a certainty, there would be some logical explanation for their hasty departure, something to justify (from Eilidh’s point of view) their heartless betrayal of her trust. Briefly, she imagined Reverend Gillespie explaining in his deep baritone.
“Eilidh,”he would say on a sigh, his voice dragging her name out—AY-lee,“it is sorrowful that we must now say farewell, but the Lord has called us to forge onward in our missionary efforts. Remember,Eilidhrhymes withgaily, Miss Fyffe, and therefore, you will find reasons to be happy, even though we are parting . . .”
But of course, in reality, the Gillespies had said nothing.
The reverend had never been one for long goodbyes. Even easier to avoid the tears and recriminations altogether and scuttle off at dawn.
Or was it rather that Eilidh herself was not worthy of the courtesy of a goodbye? Reverend Gillespie insisted God had forgiven her sins, but the man sometimes did not behave as if hehimselfdid.
Despair tasted acidic and bitter in her throat.
How was she to get home now? Had they even left her funds for the stagecoach?
And how was she to explain the situation to the owner of this castle, whomever he or she might be?
This trip to Scotland with the Gillespies was meant to be a visit to Mrs. Gillespie’s elderly cousin, Mrs. Campbell. But was even that truth?
They had arrived the evening before, passing a gleaming modern estate before stopping in front of an ancient castle perched on a cliff high above the North Sea. The sun glittered low on the horizon, but as they were so far north and so close to June, the hour was well past supper.
A kindly housekeeper had shown them to their rooms, explaining that, due to the late hour, Mrs. Campbell would see them in the morning. It had been odd for the cousin not to greet them personally, but as Eilidh was merely a lady’s companion to Mrs. Gillespie, she had said nothing. She had tended to Mrs. Gillespie next door and then retired to her own well-appointed bedchamber.
Eilidh had found the bedroom itself to be encouraging. One could learn much about a hostess based on how she treated those she perceived as beneath them. In this case, the soft down of the bed tick and luxury of the brocade curtains had lifted Eilidh’s spirits. Her room was that of an honored guest, not a servant. She had eaten dinner from a tray before a cheery fire and had promptly fallen asleep.
Hours later, she had awakened to the sound of horse tackle outside her narrow window and whispered voices in the hall.
