The woman blinked, staring at her as if surprised. “I am Lady Murdina Sullivan.” She slid another repulsed glance at her sniffling brother. “Sister of the ailing Laird Leckness here, and recently widowed.” Her feral gaze flickered to the wee lad. “That is my son, Frances.” Her nostrils flared as she pulled in a deep breath, as though summoning whatever patience she possessed. “And next to him is Hesther, my lady’s maid.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet all of ye.”
The maid managed a trembling smile. Frances stared at his hands and didn’t respond.
“Frances!” Lady Murdina barked, making everyone in the coach jerk.
The boy sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and filled with leeriness. “Aye, m’lady—M-Mother?”
Lady Murdina rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to Lorna. “Ye must forgive him. He has not been the same since the passing of his father.”
Lorna’s heart ached for the boy, and without hesitating, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him closer. “It’s hard to lose family. I am verra sorry for yer loss.”
“Thank ye, mistress,” he whispered, and snuggled closer.
Lorna smiled as he melted into her embrace as if no one had ever hugged him before. She loved children. Always had. She had grown up in a social care group home and been repeatedly passed over for adoption or placement in a foster home. So, she had helped the short-staffed orphanage take care of all the abandoned and abused children with nowhere else to go. Sad thing was, once she turned eighteen, the law required that she move out. And without the proper certification, they couldn’t let her help anymore. So she had struck out on her own. Once again belonging nowhere and having no one.
“He likes ye.” Lady Murdina appeared thoughtful, but it was her calculating smile that made Lorna hug the child a little tighter. The woman nudged her maid with the toe of her boot, startling the girl. “Do ye not think so, Hesther?”
Without even looking, Hesther bobbed her head and whispered, “Aye, m’lady.”
Lorna wondered what sort of situation she had stumbled into here. Were they actors headed for a re-enactment? If so, something was not right, because wee Frances and Hesther were as uneasy as cornered animals. The poor lad trembled against Lorna, and she would lay odds it wasn’t because of the cold.
She eyed Lady Murdina. That woman set her on edge. The auburn-haired beauty had a feral quality about her that made Lorna wonder if she sprouted fangs when the need arose.
“Children always take to me,” she said, determined to keep the lady talking to find out more.
“Do they now?”
“Aye. Usually.”
Lorna wished she could help poor Frances and Hesther but wasn’t sure how. Maybe if she found out where they were staying and gave one of her old care worker friends a call, that would help. From the general ill feeling permeating the coach, this odd little group needed an interview as soon as possible. Hesther might be too old for social care intervention, but there were labor laws that could still protect her.
“I overheard ye say an earl awaits ye?”
“Aye.” The lady sat taller as if settling into a hard-won throne. “The Earl of Caithness. I am to be his countess.”
Lorna found that even more confusing. Was that part of their script or real? The Right Honorable Malcolm Sinclair was divorced, but she thought she had read somewhere that he had chosen to spend the House of Lords’ Christmas recess in London this year. With his children grown, they probably preferred spending holidays with their father in the city. Or was the woman referring to an earl from a particular historical era that was part of the performance?
“How nice,” she hurried to say when she realized Lady Murdina waited for a comment. She made a pointed glance around the carriage. “Quite the rough ride, but I suppose it adds to the romance and realism, aye?”
The woman eyed her with a befuddled expression. “Aye, it has been long and trying,” she said. “But we reach Thursa Castle within the hour. I feel certain my prospective husband will see to our comforts after such a dreary trip from Edinburgh.”
“ThursaCastle, ye said?”
“Aye.” Lady Murdina preened like a bird proud of its new plumage. “Ye have heard of it?”
“Of course, m’lady.” Lorna concentrated on not appearing skeptical. There had to be a logical explanation for all this. Either the woman and her brother were certified nutters, or whoever wrote their script had not researched the area.ThursaCastle no longer existed. Not even in ruins. Hadn’t for centuries. However,ThursoCastle was still intact. At least in spots. Parts of it had been torn down and rebuilt to house the current Viscount of Thurso. But the site where ancient Thursa once stood was nothing more than a mound of dirt. Maybe the viscount was giving a holiday party, and these actors were part of the entertainment?
More uneasiness threatened to make her stomach churn anew. Why hadn’t the driver stopped to let her out by now? They should have already reached the cafe, but she couldn’t tell. They had shuttered the oddly glassless windows with blankets fastened tight across them with wooden strips to keep them taut against the wind. This level of authenticity was ridiculous this time of year. Did these folks have no common sense at all? They should’ve updated the carriage with some concealed heaters and glass for the windows.
A smelly oil lamp that looked like a convincing replica of an ancient brass Roman lamp sputtered on the wall between the covered windows on Lady Murdina’s side of the carriage. It spewed out sooty smoke, making the already acrid pungency inside the boxy coach even worse. When had these people bathed last?
“Could we have the driver stop?” Lorna tried to pry an edge of the blanket away from the window next to her.
“Whatever for?” the laird asked before blowing his nose loud and long on a lacy-edged handkerchief.
“We should have reached my stop by now.” She loosened a corner of the covering, gathered it out of the way, and peeked outside. “What the bloody hell?”
