Page 58 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

It had all happened so fast that it was dizzying. Disembarking too quickly from the nut-brown mare, Teasag swayed slightly against the front door to the house.

She didn’t even get as far as knocking on it when it was opened abruptly.

Staring at her was the face of Lorcal, her brother, a little older, with one or two slight wisps of gray creeping into his dull blond hair, but otherwise just the same as when she had left.

Immediately, Teasag fell into his arms, weeping and wailing. Pressing her face up against his shoulder, her cheeks turned wet with tears.

Her heart rose and sank at the same time; She was home.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“T easag, I barely recognized ye!”

Teasag melted into Lorcal’s arms, her proud shoulders shuddering with the weight of unexpected emotion.

Her arrival back at the house that had been her childhood home felt somehow a little impromptu. Despite the length of her journey, she stupidly felt as if she had but a short time to prepare for it.

The door opened, as the familiar smells hit her before she even saw them. Without looking, Teasag knew them all off sight; the scent of tallow candle burning in the center of the room, the rushlight lit in the fireplace; the low embers of smoking peat in the grate. And on the fireplace, her mother’s copper kettle singed black with heat coming to the boil.

Teasag stepped into the open room, swaying a little in Lorcal’s arms.

“Teasag, when did ye get back? I cannae believe it!” Lorcal exclaimed, bringing her closer in his arms and then tilting his head back a little to get a better look at her.

“Are ye well? Och, look at yer arms, yer nae but skin an’ bone, come in, ye need a good bowl o’ moo-bone broth!” Lorcal added with a little laugh, then ducked out of the way.

“Moo-bone broth, I havenae called it that since I was wee!” said Teasag, her heart pounding. At that moment, everything was overwhelming. Her senses were so full it hurt - the sights, the sounds, the memories.

Lorcal took her hand and ushered her over to the wooden chair in front of the fireplace, and allowed her to take a seat there.

Casting her eyes around the dusky room, Teasag could see there was very little change since she had left. On the mantel was a pair of evenly spaced candlesticks, two of her mother’s finest possessions. They were, though, unadorned with candles.

The only light came from the dying embers of the peat fire and the faintly flickering amber rushlight, which at any minute threatened to leave.

The air was thick with a million scents, the musky aroma of beef stew intermingling with the acridity of the tallow fat in the rear of the cottage.

Everything was just as she had left it, but at the same turn, it was all so different. Teasag’s eyes glanced at the empty stool by the hearth, where her mother used to sit, sewing, and her eyes moistened.

“It’s just nae the same here, without her, Lorcal,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Aye,” said Lorcal gently. “But, we try…!” He came over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, then he busied himself fetching a hot cup of something steaming from the kettle on the grate.

Her eyes strayed over to the corner of the room, where, pressed in beside the tiny bed which had used to be hers, an old, worn scrapbook peeked out.

Teasag had to fight an immediate desire to dig it out and flick through it. Even just seeing it had made her heart leap. That had been her scrapbook as a child, and she had been more than surprised to see it still there.

But suddenly she felt shy. Even though Lorcal was her brother, he might laugh at her half-hearted attempts at painting.

Instead, she dabbed her eyes and set them on Lorcal, his pale frame filling her visage. His straw-colored hair had faded to a slightly muddied blond, but still with sprigs of light within it. However, Teasag could see the signs of age creeping in, with the spider-like lines which ran from his eyes to his cheeks when he smiled.

“An’ what about ye, then, brother,” she asked, as he handed her a fragrant cup of raspberry tea. “I can see that nae lassie has snapped ye up yet!” she teased.

Lorcal retorted with a quick pout. “Well, as ye ken, I’m the most eligible bachelor in Blackness, an’ I set the bar high!” he quipped. Then his face clouded over, slightly, giving Teasag the impression that maybe, there was a story to tell there somewhere

Still curious, but not wanting to pry too much, Teasag tried to make innocuous inquiries.

“So, then, what is going on around here, ye still in household cavalry at the keep?” she asked, eager for more information.

Although they had exchanged the occasional message, Lorcal was not really one for long letters. Besides, his writing left a lot to be desired.