Page 32 of The Lady of Her Highland Clan

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"My laird, Bruce McDowning is here," the spidery-limbed servant announced the laird's guest, then scuttled back off into the shadows.

From his gloom, Edan Anderson looked up. He barely saw the lithe serving lad, who seemed to reside in the shadows. His sly, delicate features glanced up, only quickly at the laird, before making his exit.

Through the fog, Anderson made out the shape of the tall, young man, coming slowly before him. In the half-light, it was hard to see much; the castle was shut up, with all of the shutters still down. Anderson liked it like that. He preferred it in general if people did not know if he was in. Unless he was ready for them.

Watching the tall, thin lad wavering down the hall, Anderson tapped with his stick.

"Come, come, lad, nay need tae dawdle. I'm nae gonnae eat ye!" grumbled Anderson, picking up his whiskey quaich. It was empty.

Setting it down, he looked grumpily around for the sly-faced servant. He was gone.

The visitor crept slowly through the gloom, the top of his fair hair shimmering in the scant light.

Eventually, he came close enough to see a blond lad properly, of around forty, several inches too tall for his plaid, which fell far too short of his knees. Bruce McDowning hovered before the laird, his pale face like a spectral presence in the darkened room.

"Come on, lad," snapped Anderson briskly. "Spit it oot. What did ye want me for?"

Anderson drummed his fingers impatiently on the back of the chair. Without thinking, he reached around for a dram, picking up the empty quaich cup and then crashing it down again. He had forgotten it was empty.

Bruce McDowning stood before him, hesitant. Having not yet been invited to take a seat, he wavered uncertainly about in front of the laird, swaying from leg to leg.

"Sir, but ye asked tae see me?" he said, a frown forming on his pale face. This caused Anderson to startle, a little bewildered.

"Och," he said, looking around. "So I did!"

Laird Anderson got to his feet, his heavy chair scraping on the floor. In the semi-light, it was hard for him to see properly, so he groped his way to the front of the room. Behind him, Bruce McDowning watched, perplexed.

"Damned servants," muttered the laird, trying to find something. At the opposite end of the room, he crashed about futilely in search of more whiskey. And maybe some light.

"Sir," said Bruce, approaching Anderson from behind. "Can I help ye?"

Seeing his spectral frame hover over him, Anderson almost jumped out of his skin. Somehow the stealthy beanpole had got to his feet and shimmered across the room like a streak of light, and all without being heard.

Then again, this was exactly what he needed. Smiling, Anderson watched as McDowling worked.

Despite the dark, he had somehow located the decanter and poured another generous dram. He also produced the candelabra and started to light it.

Anderson watched him, his pale complexion glowing in the firelight. Bruce McDowning leaned over and lit the candelabra before placing it on the small table beside Anderson's chair. Having done all this, McDowning returned to his chair.

"Braw," said Anderson, beaming. "Do ye want a job here, son? Ye could replace that spider-fingered servant. I dinnae ken what he does all day save slither around."

Bruce McDowling looked at him blankly. Amused, Anderson took another wee dram, then remembering his manners, offered his guest one.

"Nay," said Bruce briskly. "I want tae hear what ye wanted me tae do."

The lad's watery eyes met the laird's and held there a few minutes. Anderson stared at him a little more closely. From the looking glass across the chamber, he could see that McDowning was deadly serious.

With a sigh, he beckoned the lad to come near. Well, he wasn't really a lad, he supposed, taking another wee dram. Just everyone looked young when you got to his age.

"Alright, son," said Anderson, rearranging himself on the chair. Now in the candlelight, he looked closely at Bruce. "I need ye for something..." Then he stopped and checked himself. "That is, if ye’re sure ye dinnae want a position here, in the household service?"

Anderson gazed at McDowning wistfully. McDowning stopped dead.

"Nay, I wouldnae," he said a little bluntly. Then, he added, "Sir."

Seeing he had got his weak spot, Anderson grinned.