“We are there,” he said softly.
She knew, without a doubt, that if Florie had not been there, he would have taken her into his arms and held her there as he had so many nights after her mother died.
The road abruptly leveled so they were no longer climbing uphill. Instead, it seemed as if they had come to an entrance of sorts, the shadows in front of them becoming an iron gate.
“Just how many defenses does Kilmarin need?”
“You’re talking about a country that has its share of ruined castles,” he said. “Evidently, Kilmarin has just the right number of defenses.”
She heard Tim shouting again, but this time his directions weren’t for the horses. The carriage slowed and stopped. Despite the fact that it was still raining hard, Douglas opened the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To gain admittance to Kilmarin. I doubt they welcome visitors.”
Another difference from Chavensworth. They hadnever turned away a traveler. Yet she couldn’t imagine anyone coming to Kilmarin’s gates voluntarily.
“You’ll get wet.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I imagine I will. But I’ll also dry. Nevertheless, thank you for your wifely concern.”
“I’ll not care for you if you become ill,” she said.
“Nonsense. Of course you will. Despite your fierce looks and stern frowns, Lady Sarah, you’ve a generous heart and a loving nature.”
What on earth should she say to that?
As he left the carriage, she reached out her hand and touched his shoulder.
“Be careful, Douglas.”
A nod was his only response.
When Douglas stepped out of the carriage, it was to find three men encircling Tim. He approached them slowly, hands out, palms to them, so they would know he carried no weapons.
Ahead of them, shrouded in the dim light, was the approach to Kilmarin. On either side of the iron gates was a tall pedestal, each topped with a statue of a man holding a spear. The effect was not the least bit welcoming, but he didn’t suppose the Tullochs really cared. They’d held power in this part of Scotland for generations.
“Is Donald Tulloch your laird?” Douglas asked.
The taller of the three men separated himself from the group around Tim and faced him. Given the other inequities in this situation, Douglas was happy to see that they were the same height.
“He is. And why would you be speaking of him?”
“His granddaughter is in the carriage, and has come from England to see him.”
“He has no granddaughter,” the man said with some certainty.
“He does. Lady Sarah Eston, of Chavensworth. Her mother was Morna Herridge. The Duchess of Herridge.”
The man stared at him for several moments. Since the rain showed no sign of lessening, and since he was drenched anyway, Douglas was more than happy to stand there as long as the other man decreed. But when he showed no sign a moving or saying anything further, Douglas folded his arms and suggested a compromise.
“Why don’t you send word to Donald himself, and have him make the decision whether or not to allow admittance to his granddaughter. Otherwise, I can’t think him pleased with your decision to turn her away. Unless, of course, he defers to you in all things.”
The other man surprised him by smiling. “Aye, we’ll do that, then.” He signaled to the two men who still stood by Tim, and within moments, they had disappeared from view.
Their leader walked some distance away before glancing over his shoulder at Douglas. “Do you like standing out in the rain, man? If you do, you’re welcome to it. If not, come with me.”
He and Tim followed, and when the man disappeared into a shadow, Douglas approached cautiously, only to find himself in a cave hewn from solid rock. A warm fire blazed in the brazier near a table and four chairs. A lamp sat on the table, along with a deck of cards. Evidently, guarding Kilmarin’s gate wasn’t strenuous work.
