Once safely dressed, she tamed her thick curls into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and wrapped a woolen shawl tight around her shoulders. All in an attempt to prevent the damp of the castle from colliding with the chill lodged in her chest.
She surveyed herself in the small mirror over the fireplace, rising on tiptoe to see her entire face. Wary eyes peered out—more greenish today than gray, thanks to the faded blue-green muslin of her gown.
She looked like the poor companion she was—short, impoverished, and easily overlooked.
“You were born a lady,” she told herself. “Do not forget it, no matter the troubles you encounter today.”
It was something her mother, the granddaughter of a squire, had always said—Circumstances do not determine a lady’s behavior. Innate character does. Be a lady, even if the way is not easy.
Eilidh packed the remainder of her meager belongings into her small travel case. If she had to leave quickly, she wished to be ready.
Swallowing, she unlatched her bedroom door and peered out. Her bedchamber was one of two off a small hallway. She walked to the narrow spiral staircase at one end, a window there lighting her way. A glance out of the wavy glass showed only the vast expanse of the North Sea.
Like most Scottish castles, this one appeared to be a rabbit warren of tight passages and even tighter staircases. The bottom of the staircase ended in a hallway, likely the largest in the castle. Even then, it was only wide enough for two people to pass one another. At the far end, she could see another staircase descending—the main steps that led to the front door.
She saw no one. The castle appeared empty.
Surely, that wasn’t the case. Someone had to be here.
Clenching her fists into her shawl, she continued forward. A heavy oak door stood open to her right. She glimpsed a high ceiling decorated with filigreed plasterwork.
The great hall, then?
Smells reached her. Bacon. Potato scones. Tea.
The scents of comfort and warmth.
Her stomach growled.
Someone was in residence.
Please, Lord, let me at least have breakfast before being cast out.
She could face just about anything, as long as she had a full stomach.
Taking a deep breath, she walked through the door and into the great hall. A carved wooden screen separated the bulk of the room from prying eyes.
Cautiously, Eilidh peered around the screen.
It felt a bit like that first glimpse of one’s cards while playing Brag (Mrs. Gillespie’s favorite pastime).
She wasn’t sure what she expected to see.
An empty room?
A regal, elderly lady eating breakfast?
Predictable cards, in other words.
But that wasnotwhat greeted her.
Instead, her eyes met the gaze of a handsome man sitting at a table in the center of the room.
He looked entirely too much like the Knave of Spades.
Eilidh froze, her heart speeding up.
In the game of Brag, the Knave of Spades never boded well.
