Would he ever see her again though? If she was an assassin she might be nearby waiting for the right time to attack.
Yet, he felt certain she was far, far away. Something told him she was not just gone from the keep. She was gone from the castle, gone much further and swifter than any person could travel on foot. How could that be?
Superstition, he told himself. He was imagining things because he was angry. She must be nearby. Where else could she be?
Chapter Three
On Monday morning Daisy made a second trip to MacGregor Castle.
She’d come home from that first strange journey almost able to believe she’d dreamed the entire thing. If it wasn’t for the mileage on her car, she could have convinced herself she hadn’t been to the world’s most surreal castle occupied by the world’s strangest laird.
“How was it?” Tabby asked from her pit of blankets on the couch when Daisy walked back in. “Did you deliver it?”
“Oh yes, I delivered it all right.” She put her bag down on the side.
“Good, good. Got his signature on the form?”
Daisy cringed. His signature. The form she’d taken with her that he was supposed to sign to confirm he’d received the parcel. She’d been so flustered by his behavior it completely slipped her mind. “I forgot,” she admitted.
“You forgot! If you don’t get his signature, we don’t get paid.”
“I’m sorry, all right. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You know exactly what I’m going to say.”
Daisy shook her head. “No I don’t.”
“You’re going to have to go back up and get him to sign for it.”
“You’re kidding? I traveled hours and used up half a tank of gas. I’m not going back just to get his signature.”
“Please,” Tabby said, sitting up and straining with the effort. “Otherwise I don’t get paid and neither do you. I need more tissues and hot lemon drinks.”
Daisy’s shoulders sagged. If Tabby didn’t get paid neither did she. If neither of them got paid, the rent didn’t get paid. If the rent didn’t get paid, she was in trouble.
It wasn’t just that of course. Daisy’s dream would move a little bit further away. She had been squirrelling money for some time into her savings account and if she had to use it to cover the rent she’d be back at square one. Her plan to one day buy a commercial building would get further away.
She knew the truth, really. That the chance of her ever having enough to buy a place and open her own historical bakery was pretty slim. There wasn’t much of a market for people wanting gingerbread recipes that had last been made in the thirteenth century.
Her real dream was to be in the thirteenth century, cooking such things for real. That was impossible of course, so she settled for wanting the next best thing, a medieval style bakery.
Was there any harm in dreaming? Whenever she was feeling down she could make herself feel better by imagining picking up a winning lottery ticket. She wasn’t greedy, it wouldn’t have to be millions.
Just enough to buy a shop and empty it out, clean it up so her little bakery would go from dream to reality.
She even had a name planned. Out of Date Gingerbread. It was why she kept a tiny piece of dried ginger in her pocket, like a lucky charm. She would use it in the first batch she used when she opened.
She’d indulged herself in a new dream on the way back home from delivering the package to Jock MacGregor. He would feel so guilty for being rude to her that he would offer to buy a place for her.
It was a nice dream, if more than a little unrealistic.
At least thinking about him buying her a bakery stopped her thinking about him in other ways, ways that made her wind the window down to cool off as she drove home after meeting him for the first time.
“Earth to Daisy,” Tabby said, bringing her out of her reverie.
“I’m not going back up there, he was really rude to me,” she said, realizing she’d been silent for some time while Tabby looked expectantly up at her.
“Who? The custodian?”
