She ate dinner in her sitting room but found she hadn’t much of an appetite. After dismissing Elspeth for the night, she readied for bed, turned off the lamp, and stared up at the ceiling. If it were possible to will oneself to sleep, that was exactly what she did, only to wake three hours later, wide-awake.
Perhaps she should look in the Tulloch Sgàthán. What if it remained blank again? Worse, what if it showed her a future filled with misery?
She rolled to her side, wishing she’d opened the drapes before she’d settled for the night. The room was too dark, the mantel clock shrouded in shadow. After leaving the bed, she walked through her suite in the darkness, stopping at the connecting door to Montgomery’s room. Perhaps he was asleep. She leaned her forehead against the door, feeling the wood cool against her forehead. She doubted she’d sleep for the rest of the night, but her inability to do so was not reason enough to wake him.
Still, she rapped on the door.
When he didn’t answer, she pushed down the handle and peered inside. Montgomery wasn’t in his bed. Either he was taking one of his nightly walks again, walks he never discussed, explained, or even admitted. Or he was still working.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she dressed, deciding to wear only one petticoat. Anyone abroad at this hour would not be concerned about her attire.
The night was cool, with a hint of chill in the air, as if the child of spring relinquished its winter parent with reluctance. A waning sliver of moon, as delicate as a fingernail, sat high in the sky. She halted as she left Doncaster Hall, staring up at the heavens.
When she was a little girl, her mother had told her the stars were angels looking down on the earth.
“Pick one,” her mother had said, “and choose your guardian angel.”
“I want the brightest, Mama.”
“Then you shall have it, my darling daughter.”
She looked up at the sky and said a prayer for her parents. Instead of a star, what better guardian angels could she have than the two people who’d loved her so much?
She took the path along the river, but Montgomery was nowhere to be found. Crossing the lower half of the glen, she headed for the arched bridge. From there it was simple matter of keeping the distillery in sight. A flickering light in the back of the building told her Montgomery was, indeed, working.
Halfway to the bridge, she wished she’d worn her heavier shoes. She could feel each individual pebble through her slippers.
She halted in the middle of the path, startled by a sudden sensation that she wasn’t alone. The distance between the distillery and the house wasn’t all that great, but it was sufficient to make her feel isolated. With the trees so close, and deep caves of shadow facing her, unease skittered over her skin.
How foolish. She was at Doncaster Hall, not in some unknown place. All she needed to do was shout, and someone would come running. Even at that hour, people were working in the stable or the smithy or the other outbuildings not far away.
Was the rustle of leaves simply the wind? Or was someone standing there, watching her?
Her imagination was furnishing the sound of soft footfalls behind her. Or was someone truly there, following her? She’d brought nothing with her, not her reticule, or anything she could use as a weapon. She hadn’t even wanted a lantern, since the light would alert others she was going to the distillery.
Suddenly, she wished she’d waited for Montgomery to return to Doncaster Hall.
She thought of running but decided against it because of her slippers and the darkness. She could barely see the path before her. Although her heart was racing, she kept her pace sedate, trying not to look over her shoulder.
As she climbed the steps of the arched bridge, she placed her right hand against the stone, grabbing her skirts with her left. At the top, she stopped, daring herself to turn around. Only the shadowed landscape met her eyes. No one followed her. No stranger hid, watching her. Or, if someone did, it was with such stealth she couldn’t discern a shape from the bushes, trees, and the winding path leading back to Doncaster Hall.
Her skirt swung around her, the fabric catching on the rough stone. She jerked it free, caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked in that direction, nothing was there.
She was allowing herself to be frightened by the wind.
Resolved to be more courageous, she approached the distillery.
“Montgomery?” She hesitated at the door and called his name again. When he didn’t answer, she took a tentative step inside. The light she’d seen earlier had been extinguished. Was he standing there in the dark, waiting for her to leave?
“What are you doing here, Veronica?” he asked from behind her.
She jumped, her heart nearly bounding out of her chest.
“Have you been there all this time?” she asked, wondering if it was Montgomery she’d sensed earlier.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again.
Surrounded by shadows, kilted in night, he might have been a creature of myth and magic, a Highlander come to exact revenge, a brownie intent on mischief.
