Chapter 3
Gannet House, Tullie village, several days later…
“Folk be talking, sir.”The familiar voice came from right behind Greyson. “Didn’t even hear me come in, didyou?”
Smithers.
Greyson stopped staring down into Tullie Gorge and turned to face his disapproving manservant. “How could anyone hear you when you creep about like a wraith?” Greyson tempered the words with a smile. “You surprised me yetagain.”
The truth was, the house’s ‘great hall’ echoed with so many sounds, an old man’s footsteps were easily lost beneath the creaks and groans of ancient wood and wailingwind.
“Humph.” Smithers shook his gray-tufted head. “An elephant could run in here and you wouldn’t notice. No’ these days, obsessed as you with that fool bit ofcloth.”
“I am no’obsessed.”
“What are you then?” The old man frowned at the piece of silver silk in Greyson’s hand. “Word about town is that this old pile of stone and ghosts has maddenedyou.”
“If there are ghosts, they’ll have a reason and are welcome.” Greyson placed the silk on the work table that held his morning tea and the tools he’d been using to pry rotting panels off the vast room’swalls.
Greyson suspected the wooden sections were Arbuckle Priddy’s attempts to hide the murals he’d painted – exceptional work that made the room look like the great hall of a medievalcastle.
“As long as the spirits do not disturb my night’s rest and leave Wiggle in peace, they have a home here.” He glanced at his pet squirrel, currently more a blur of red fur as the wee beastie dashed about the room, seeking out nuts he’d stashed here and there. “As for gossip, when did I care what the gentry think ofme?”
Smithers – a fellow animal lover even if he wouldn’t admit it - pulled a nut from a pouch at his belt and tossed it to Wiggle beforeanswering.
“It be more than the fancy folk.” He dusted his hands and frowned at Greyson. “I cannae even go to market without being asked if you’re still pounding on doors in every alley around thon great Mither Kirk, along Union Street, and even around the harbor. Pestering good souls is what you’re doing, and about a maid that doesnaeexist.”
“She was real.” Greyson had nodoubt.
He’d kissed her, hadn’the?
He’d held her lush, pliant warmth against him, feeling the thunder of her heart through the layers of their clothes. She’d quickened his pulse, firing his blood, and – the gods help him – she’d stolen his heart, though he still wasn’t sure how she’d managed that. No other lass had ever doneso.
And thesedays…
Well, he took care to harness his emotions. He wanted nothing to do with lassies and all the accompanying nuisances that came along withthem.
“She was real,”Smithers repeated Greyson’s words. “Everyone in Aberdeen thinksotherwise.”
“Is thatso?”
“Think she was a faerie, they do.” Smithers leaned toward him. “It was SamhainEve.”
“Aye.” Greyson remembered only too well. “A night ofenchantment.”
“Pah!” His manservant straightened. “‘Tis witchery what’s about then. She was of the fey and she spelled you. That be the way of it. Folk be saying that when you cannae find her, you’ll head up into the hills and stumble across her faery knoll. Andthen-”
“I’ll ne’er be seen again, eh?” Greyson finished for him. “Well…” He paused to reach down and rub Wiggle’s head when the squirrel hopped onto his foot, perching there. “Nae worries, old friend. There’s too much work to do with this house and Wiggle needs me. I’ll no’ be disappearinganywhere.”
Smithers shook his head. “You will no’ have any say in it if the faery folk wantyou.”
“Then there’s no cause for alarm, is there?” Greyson picked up his hammer, turning it to remove yet another nail from the wood panel he’d been working on. “What will happen, willhappen.”
“‘Tis no’ a laughing matter,sir.”
“I didnae say itwas.”
The whole affair was earnest and he wouldn’t rest until he’d found thewoman.
