“Yes, you’ll meet a number of veterans when we travel about the islands.” She gestured at the door. “You go on in. Scratch Odin’s head for me. I have a few things to do before I head home.”
He nodded agreement and entered the laird’s room. Signy did need to talk to Mrs. Donovan, the housekeeper, but first she wanted to hang one of her pictures in Ramsay’s room. Which would be most suitable? She thought about the things he’d revealed during their talk today. Ah, she knew exactly which one to choose.
* * *
Ramsay walked soft-footed to the bed, not sure if his grandfather had drifted off again. Odin shared the laird’s pillow, his tail giving a slow warning twitch. But the old man’s pale blue eyes opened and regarded him steadily as he approached and settled into the bedside chair. “How are you feeling, Old Duncan?”
“Tired, Young Kai.” The laird sighed. “It won’t be long.”
“Don’t be in a hurry to leave,” Ramsay said lightly. “I still have a lot to learn.”
“Don’t worry. Signy can tell you what needs to be done, and if you make mistakes, there will be no shortage of people willing to point out your errors.”
Ramsay laughed at that. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“You look so much like your father. Uncanny,” Duncan said abruptly. “I wish you’d had a chance to know Alastair better.”
Ramsay felt an unexpected stab of pain. He barely remembered his parents, and they were seldom mentioned in his presence. His father had died at about the age Ramsay was now. His mother had been an Edinburgh girl a couple of years younger. They’d met when his father was studying at university.
He had only brief fragmentary memories of them. Young Kai squealing with pleasure as he rode on his father’s shoulders. His mother’s warm hug and a scent of lavender. Gone too soon. How had it been for Duncan and Caitlin to lose their only son? Surely it was a devastation beyond what Ramsay could imagine. “I wish that too.”
“Alastair would have been proud of you. Both for your going out to adventure and for your coming home.” Duncan exhaled roughly. “I expect I’ll see him soon enough.”
“I hope so,” Ramsay said. He had no strong opinions about what happened when one died, but the idea of being met by departed loved ones was appealing.
Preferring to talk of more practical matters, he said, “Signy is going to accompany me on visits across the islands. Hamlets, villages, churches. So I can see and be seen.”
“That’s a good plan. You’ll inherit my horse, Thor the Fifth. Best horse I ever had.”
All of the laird’s horses had been named Thor. “I look forward to meeting him. Our Thorsayian horses are a rare breed.”
“It’s their Icelandic heritage,” the laird said in a tired voice. “Off with you now. I need my rest.”
Ramsay rose. “I’ll stop by again later tonight. Till then.”
How much longer would his grandfather last? he wondered again.
The door opened and Signy entered quietly. After walking to the bed, she scratched Odin’s head and got a rumbling purr in return, then she kissed the laird’s bristly cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Rest well.”
The laird gave her a slight, fond smile before his eyes closed. She turned and collected Ramsay with a glance, and they left the sickroom. Outside, she said, “I’m heading for home now. You might want to raid the kitchen for some food to hold you over until dinner. You’ve had a long day.”
“I’d still like to visit to see where you live, if you don’t mind.”
She shrugged as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “As you wish.”
He did wish. People’s homes often showed a great deal about them, and he wanted to know more about Signy.
* * *
Signy led the way outside and turned left along the cliff path that ran the opposite direction from Clanwick. Sea Cottage was only a ten-minute walk. Skellig House and its outbuildings were on a solid bluff well above the water, but the cottage was lower, on a small rise halfway down to the waterline.
She’d had a railing built along the path that angled down the bluff to her cottage. When storm winds were blowing off the North Sea, she needed a secure grip when she was coming and going. As she led the way down the path, she breathed the air and knew there would be a storm tonight—she could feel it. Not one of the fiercest, but fierce enough.
The beach stretched in both directions below the cottage. Ramsay observed, “I see you have material for your work literally on your doorstep.” He glanced up at terns flying overhead, obvious inspiration for the V shapes in her artwork. “Do you ever get flooded during storms?”
“I don’t, but in the past it happened occasionally. The chance of flooding is one reason I give most of my work away. It’s safer on higher ground.”
The path led to the cottage’s back door. It was unlocked, as was true of most island residences, and there was a dog door cut at the bottom. Signy opened the door into the kitchen and was greeted by a happy woof. She bent to scratch the neck of her dog, a smallish sheepherding dog who was mostly black with white trim and shaggy fur. “How’s Fiona doing?” she cooed. “Your fur is warm, so you’ve been sleeping in the sun, yes?”
