“Thank you for pointing out my error, Mr. Elliot,” Derne snapped.
Aila’s inner thanks was a tad more sincere.
The steward’s glare found her once more, not an ounce kinder for the confirmation. “A pox upon William Adam for turning his respected business over into the hands of two untried youths.”
“Er, Mister Adam died only a few months ago, sir,” Elliot murmured.
“A bloody inconvenience it is, too.” Derne slapped the letter down onto the desk. “I cannot imagine what use you’ll be to the process, Mistress Marshall. I assure you I shall be writing to the duke regarding this flight of fancy.”
As if flight of fancy wasn’t what prompted this new castle nonsense to begin with, she snorted softly under her breath.
“House her in the northwest tower with the others.” He snapped his fingers at Elliot. “Then informMisterKeeley that she shall be his problem from here on until the duke responds to my query on the matter.”
Elliot jolted and bowed before scurrying toward the office door with a glance over his shoulder that indicated she should follow. Aila did, though with none of his frantic haste despite her eagerness to leave the dark room with its oppressive display of draping tapestries behind. She’d be damned if she’d cower before any bully. “What a bawheeded jobby.”
“I — I beg your pardon?” The young man’s expression was curious but unoffended. Sassenach that he was, given his accent, he hadn’t a clue to her meaning.
Good thing.
A uniformed footman opened the door as they approached. Another in the antechamber that separated the office from one of several public rooms had been commissioned with holding Rab. He released the growling animal with a thankful sigh. The dog circled her with a sniff of her skirts and a chuff that sounded suspiciously like disgust as he peered through the open door with a grumble low in his throat. “I dinnae care for him either,” she told him as the dog claimed a place by her side.
“Pardon, mistress?”
“Nothing.” She waved aside the clerk’s question. “So, what now?”
“I’ll have your trunk sent to your room, unless…er, that is…”A flush rose in Elliot’s pale cheeks to blend with his fiery hair. “The northwest tower is largely a bachelor’s quarters. Perhaps a room at the inn would be preferable? Mr. Derne need not know.”
“I would hate for ye to get in trouble.” Aila toyed with explaining to him the concept of the coed dorm she’d lived in while at university simply to see if his blush could grow any brighter but decided against it. Poor lad seemed beleaguered enough already. “I’m safe enough with my guard dog at my side, aye?”
And it wasn’t as if she planned to be here long.
“Very well.” He issued instructions to the footman. When Aila moved to follow him, Elliot caught her arm with an apology. “I feel I should see you to the building supervisor straightaway, that is, if you don’t mind, mistress,” he said with a pleading glance. “Mr. Derne is…”
“Many unmentionable things?”
He colored again at the suggestion and dithered, finally pointing to Rab who waited with more patience than Aila for them to move on. “Shall I send the beast along to your quarters as well?”
As much as it would please him, she wasn’t about to lose her only friend in this place. “He stays with me, Mr. Elliot.”
His eyelid ticked however he made no argument. “This way then, if you would.”
They worked their way through the existing medieval castle with the young man leading the way. One chamber opened into the next until he paused at the far end of the dining hall where the dark mouth of a gaping passage awaited them. He pointed to a tight spiral staircase set into the wall. “These stairs lead to the tower where your rooms are located. When Lord Keeley dismisses you for the day, I’ll show you the way.”
He waved her into the hallway. A series of flickering candles dotted the way ahead at wide-spaced intervals. The smell of burning tallow followed along with Aila and mingled with the stench of mildew and stale earth. Shafts of meager sunlight from the narrow openings far above illuminated particles of dust or worse floating in the air. Weighing the odds of airborne spores, she held her breath. Dark and dank as it was, misery pressed in from all sides of the arching passage. Rab’s nails clicked on the stone floor as he hugged her side. He let out a soft whine of protest she was hard put not to echo. Good thing Aila wasn’t claustrophobic.
Each weak circle of light she passed through revealed another piece of the statuary that lined the hall. One by one, they emerged from the shadows like a ghoulish specter as they passed. Stony figures of armored knights and uniformed soldiers, heads bowed over their weapon of choice held in silent homage to their chieftain. Natural light finally broke the darkness and the long passageway opened into a large servants’ hall and from there to a warm, bustling kitchen.
Aila drew a deep breath, thankful for the yeasty aroma of baking bread that vanquished the mustiness clinging to her nostrils. They made their way through a scullery, pantry, and buttery, then outside at last. Rab sprinted with a joyful bay into an expansive courtyard with a cluster of animals opposite her — the stables, she supposed — and a blacksmith complete with anvil at work. The bailey, she believed it was called. A real architect would know. Obviously the oldest part of the castle, the thick fifteenth century curtain wall cast long shadows and a chill over her once again as she was led to the smaller postern gate.
It was a different path than the one marking her entrance. She’d arrived at the imposing main gate closest to the village. While lacking a portcullis and with the moat filled in, the battlements still provided a daunting welcome, though nothing in comparison to Derne’s. Working her way past each sentry questioning her purpose, her journey had taken her through a great hall bearing a hushed, solemn atmosphere a librarian would relish. The dog’s progress then had been muffled by woven rugs. Layers of tapestries depicting various wars, nothing like the lighthearted bucolic scenery of those she’d admired on the tour of the new castle, covered the stone walls. The eyes of a few centuries of Campbell ancestors peered down at her from gloomy oil paintings on her way to the steward’s office.
Upon entry or exit, it was oppressive. Aila took another deep breath this time inhaling the crisp autumn air and lifted her face to the sunshine, wishing she could express her relief as openly as Rab. She followed Elliot through the postern gate set in the wall with a silent wish that she had agreed to stay at the inn. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend even a day…
“Wha-a-a-t the actual fu…” She modified her exclamation under Elliot’s astonished eye. “Hell.”
Behind the old fortress stood a partially built grey stone castle.
Not a plan.
