She remembered what Gifford had said that morning about Galbraith leaving employment with another clan. She frowned trying to remember.MacFarlane, that was it. Had Galbraith been dismissed? Clearly he was trustworthy – well at least he hadn’t tried to take advantage of her - though she supposed that didn’t mean he wasn’t light fingered. But somehow she doubted it. There was something honourable about the Scot. Every action he’d taken since fishing her out of the freezing water had been congruent with someone who had an inherently compassionatenature. And that didn’t match her image of a thief or worse. And besides, Gifford had declared the Clan chief dicked in the nob.
Resting her head on her knees, she sighed. Despite her abundance of blankets, the cold was beginning to creep back in. How long had it been now?
Abruptly a small sound caught her attention. She swallowed in sudden fear. Were there rats onboard? She’d heard tales of rodents the size of cats eating people’s toes and fingers. Granted, the unfortunates having their extremities removed were dead at the time, but still…
The noise came again, and Jennifer frowned. It sounded like someone sniffing.
‘Who’s there?’ she called, not entirely able to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘I … I have a weapon,’ she lied, while casting desperately around for something she could use to defend herself.
The sniff came again, and this time it sounded suspiciously like a sob. Frowning, she gingerly put her bare feet back onto the deck and stood up. Peering down the stairs into the blackness of the little boat’s cabin, she eventually made out a small form, curled up on the floor. It had to be a child. With a slight gasp, she stepped forward, only to watch the shape scuttle backwards into the farthest reaches of the cabin.
∞∞∞
‘Da, what the devil dae ye think yer daein?’ Brendon roared, putting Flossy on the floor and hurrying over to drag his father off the prone clergyman. ‘Are ye daft? Can ye nae see, ye be giein a skelpin tae a man o’ God?’
Dangling in mid-air on the end of his son’s vice like grip, Dougalfrowned and looked down at the groaning figure below him. In broad daylight, what had looked to be a shroud was clearly a cassock. ‘Hoo was ah tae ken? The eejit didnae annoonce himself.’
Sighing, Brendon stood his father back onto the floor and bent down to help the Reverend onto his feet. ‘Tare an’ hounds, the chawbacon’s addled,’ Augustus Shackleford muttered, checking that all his extremities remained intact.
‘Ye should ken better, tae sneak up thatwey.’
‘I was not sneaking,’ the Reverend retorted, his ire well and truly roused. ‘As I recall, it was you who attacked me, you ... youheathen.’
‘Ah’ll gae ye heathen, ye toom-heidit Sassen…
‘What the blazes is going on?’ Peter’s voice cut into the mêlée, and all three men immediately fell silent.
Brendon stepped forward and bent his head. ‘Ah hope ye’ll forgive ma intrusion and that o’ ma foolish da, ma lord…’
‘… An’ jus who dae ye think ye be callin foolish?’ Dougal interrupted.
Brendon gritted his teeth and glared over at his father. ‘Haud yer wheesht,’ he growled. ‘If ye open yer mouth agin, ah’ll be gaggin’ ye.’ Unthinkingly, Dougal opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and subsided with a scowl.
‘Ma lord, ye can dae as ye wish wi’ ma da, but first - ah foond this wee dog wanderin’ near the loch.’ He gestured towards Flossy, now happily ensconced in her master’s arms. ‘Ah’m thinkin’ ye ken her?’ When his audience continued to stare at him blankly, he added desperately, ‘She wernae wi’ anyone.’
‘Didn’t she go out with Jenny?’ Peter asked, abruptly grasping what the Scot was trying to say.
‘Aye,’ Malcolm confirmed. ‘Did ye see a lady wi’ the dog?’ he asked Brendon.
With an internal sigh of relief, Brendon shook his head. ‘There were no lady wi’ her.’
‘Thunder an’ turf, she could have fallen into the deuced loch.’ Reverend Shackleford’s face turned pale. Grace would never forgive him if anything happened to her only daughter.
Peter raked his hand through his hair in agitation. ‘Will you show me where you found the dog?’ he asked Brendon.
‘Aye, gladly,’ the Scot responded. ‘Shall we be takin’ a horse for fear the lady may be injured?’
Peter nodded. ‘Excellent idea. Gifford, can you have a horse saddled immediately?’
‘Ah’ll wait fer the horse. Ye and the lad get ye gone.’ Malcolm waved Peter towards the door.
‘Here, take Flossy. She might help. There’s a bit of Freddy in her yet.’ The Reverend gave the little dog a quick fuss and handed her back to Brendon.
‘Can you ask Mrs Darroch to have a hot bath taken to my sister’s room, Grandpapa?’ Peter looked over at his white-faced grandfather. ‘We’ll find her. If she’s fallen into the loch, she’s an excellent swimmer.’
The Reverend gave a worried nod before glaring at his erstwhile opponent who was busy muttering, ‘Tatties ower the side an’ nae mistak.
∞∞∞
