“He’s not an adversary,” he said in a whisper. “He’s at least seventy, and deserves some respect. For survival if no other reason.”
She frowned at Douglas, but he only shook his head and escorted her into the adjoining room. The dining hall was as cavernous as the room they’d just left, with an arched ceiling reminding Sarah of a cathedral. The sound seemed magnified here too, as Douglas pulled out a thronelike wooden chair for her and walked around the table and took his place. Legs grated against the pitted stone flooring, and for a few minutes that was all she could hear.
The table where they sat was pocked and scarred, at least twenty feet long and made from rough planks nailed together at irregular intervals. In places, the lacquer was darker than in others. The chairs were upholstered, seat and back, in cracked brown leather. Did this table, did all the furnishings in the Great Hall, date from Kilmarin’s beginnings? Everything was rustic and oversized, built for Scottish warriors, a definite contrast from the furniture in the Queen’s Suite.
The settings looked oddly out of place, as they seemed like something she’d find at Chavensworth. She immediately identified the Spode china, with its distinctive crimson-and-black pattern. The napkin was well-pressed linen, with a wolf’s head embroidered in the corner. The silverware was sterling, as were the serving pieces.
Sarah sat opposite Douglas in the middle of the table. Linda sat next to Douglas, and Robert sat to Sarah’s right. At the head of the table was Donald, while the foot of the table was left empty.
Donald waved his hand, a signal, evidently, because a parade of young girls came through the door at the far end of the room bearing trays of food.
“Move the cattle tomorrow,” Donald abruptly said in the silence.
“I’ve already moved them,” Robert said.
Donald stared at him. “Did I give you leave to do so?”
“Yes,” he said, an answer that evidently surprised the older man. “The minute you put the herds under my control, you gave me leave to do so.”
Donald sat back and regarded Robert for a minute, then surprised Sarah by repeating: “Move the cattle tomorrow.”
Robert only smiled.
Evidently, this was a game of long standing, and the only conversation at the table.
Dinner consisted of two types of fish, neither one of which Sarah could identify, slices of beef, a selection of ripe cheeses, and a dessert made from strawberries and tayberries atop a round of cake and topped with cream.
The fish was flaky and delicate; the beef was succulent, and each selection of cheese seemed more pungent and aromatic than the next. But it was the dessert that almost made her moan aloud, and more than once she caught Douglas looking at her as she savored her portion.
Her dessert finished, Sarah placed her spoon onthe edge of the dish and blotted her mouth with the napkin.
Was she supposed to remain silent? Did everyone at Kilmarin treat Donald as they would a king? Was he as much a despot as her father? Was he as cruel? She had stood up to the Duke of Herridge; she would not cower before Donald Tulloch.
“My mother never talked about you,” Sarah said, lobbing a comment into the silence. She glanced at Linda. “I didn’t know that she had a brother, let alone that he had children. I thought, until tonight, that I had no family other than my father. And you.”
“Did she not tell you of Kilmarin?” Donald asked.
“She mentioned the name once or twice in stories she told me, but nothing of her family.”
Donald closed his eyes, as if Morna’s silence was a sorrow greater than her death.
“You’ve not asked about her. Don’t you want to know? If she was happy? Or even how she died?”
Linda looked aghast. Robert only wore a small smile as if he was applauding her rebellion. As for Douglas, she didn’t dare look across the table to see his reaction.
“Would you like me to assist you from the table, Grandfather?” Linda asked.
Donald focused a stern look at her, and Linda subsided without a word.
The silence in the cavernous room was loud enough that it was an occupant. Thunder rolled across the roof, and Sarah was grateful for the sound of the renewed storm. In those minutes, when Donald placed his napkin on the table and folded his hands on top of his lap, Sarah discovered that she was capable of being intimidated after all.
However, Douglas was here, and she knew he would protect her.
Donald still didn’t speak, and it was a silence left uninterrupted by the other occupants of the dining hall.
“Your mother chose to leave Kilmarin,” Donald finally said. His voice was eerily calm, his Scottish accent adding a sweetness to the raspy tone. “On that day, she stated that nothing would ever bring her back. Nothing did. Not her mother’s death. Not her brother’s death. Nothing.”
For long moments, he didn’t speak, as if composing himself.
