The cat came back into the room and circled around Portia’s feet before starting out the door again.
Portia knelt and held out a hand. Owl bit the tip of her finger. The cat was urging her to follow.
Fear, Portia discovered, was a contrary emotion. She feared following; she feared not following.
But what if Owl was merely a cat wishing Portia to chase mice with her?
Or what if Harry’s suspicions were right and there was more to Owl than met the eye?
“Rose?” Portia asked. Again, Owl circled around her.
“Fenella,” she said, as if challenging the cat.
Owl came up on her hind legs, placing her paws on Portia’s arm and kneaded. Was that a sign that Portia had chosen the right name?
“Why can’t you speak?” Portia said, rubbing the cat’s head. “If you were reincarnated, why couldn’t you have chosen a talking parrot?”
A purr was the only answer she received. And perhaps she was being silly. She was placing human characteristics to an animal. If her motheror Minnie overheard her, they would think her ridiculous.
With a sigh, Portia rose, but before she could take a step away, the cat ran in front of her path. Owl looked up at her expectantly as if to say,I thought you were coming with me.
“I need to put on my shoes and my spectacles.”
The cat made a low, throaty trill and went to the door.
“This is too strange,” Portia said, and yet Owl was very clear in what she expected. Portia picked up her spectacles from the bedside table, adjusting them on her nose, before pulling on her walking boots. She followed Owl out the door.
All was quiet in the hallway save for the faintest sound of Lady Maclean’s snoring. Portia went down the steps, Owl right at her side. She took her cloak off the peg by the door and threw it around her shoulders.
The last time she had gone out into the night had been to pretend to be Fenella. Now, Portia might very well be letting Fenella herself in the guise of a cat lead her to who knew where.
On the front step, Owl looked back to see if Portia was behind her. The moon had come out behind the clouds and the cat’s coat had a ghostly hue.
“Yes, I’m coming,” Portia said, and closed the door.
From his post in the shelter of the tree line, Harry thought he saw movement on the front step—and then he did see Portia standing there. She pulled the hood of her cloak up around her head and took off with great purpose across the yard, disappearing behind the house.
Harry reached for Ajax’s reins. The horse had been sleeping. He’d actually been snoring, a sound that Harry found annoying since it made him tired.
“Come on, my friend,” Harry said, putting Fenella’s book in his saddlebags and tucking the pistol in his waistband. He lifted the reins over Ajax’s head and put a foot in the stirrup. “We are on the chase.”
Mounted, Harry trotted around the side of the house. Portia was just disappearing in the woods. To his surprise, he realized she was heading in the direction of the bothy.
Harry kicked the horse forward, giving Portia plenty of room to walk ahead of him.
Through the woods midnight-quiet, he could hear her voice. She was talking to someone—andthen he realized she was talking to the cat. Was she following the cat to the bothy?
Nothing made sense in this day. Nothing.
When he was close to the clearing where the bothy was located, Harry hung back. He dismounted and tied Ajax to a tree. The horse knew he was close to the cottage where he’d spent agreeable hours grazing while Harry had been taking his pleasure with Portia. He rumbled his protest.
“I’m sorry, old friend, but you are best tied up right now.”
With a pat on his horse’s neck, Harry went out into the clearing. He didn’t see anything amiss. He also didn’t see Portia, and he grew afraid.
What was the matter with her? She should have more common sense than to traipse around the countryside in the dark.
By the light of the solstice moon, all appeared calm and serene, and yet Harry’s instincts warned him to be prepared for anything.
