Hero of a Highland Wolf
Page 19
“We have an assortment of items for breakfast. Sausage, pancakes, bacon, toast, jams, eggs anyway that you like them, porridge. Tea. Or…coffee,” Grant said, walking with her to their new seats.
Same location. No roasted whole pig to eyeball while eating the meal.
“Thanks,” she said, meaning it. She appreciated how he had changed to accommodate her. The walk with Archibald had been well worth the effort.
As soon as they took their seats, Colleen asked for some toast, a little grape jelly, one egg over easy, and sausage. Grant looked surprised when she asked for tea.
“I always drink it. Never acquired a taste for coffee,” she said.
Grant nodded, but then he got right down to business. “What did Borthwick want?”
She figured he would ask and was surprised he’d waited this long. “He wished to welcome me here to Scotland.” She hoped that Grant would realize that was a barb at him for not welcoming her properly to her own estates.
In ye old days, if she had been the owner of a castle and returned to it, the estate manager would have been careful to welcome her home in a proper manner. Grant would learn soon enough that she wasn’t leaving.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said, wanting to let him know just what she had in mind to do if he had any notion to give her further trouble, “my cousins may come to stay also. Just wished to give you a heads-up in case I feel I need their help.”
“Help with what?” Grant quickly asked, his tone of voice close to a growl.
She smiled. “We’re…close. They’re like brothers to me. They just said they’d be on standby if I needed their help with anything.” You, she wanted to say. But she kept her mouth shut and just smiled again—a wolf’s smile, indicating neither he nor anyone else would push her around.
“We can make accommodations for them. We’d be pleased to set them up anytime they’d like to come,” Grant said, as if realizing he’d better shape up or else, even if it killed him to do so.
“Okay. Sounds super. They said they have bags packed and ready to go. I just have to give the word.”
“Great.” He didn’t sound like he meant it at all.
She enjoyed her meal this time, served up with tea and a glass of water, no whisky. She suspected no one would ever serve it to her at a meal again. Which would be fine with her.
“What did Borthwick want?” Grant asked again, his growly tone still audible.
She would love to tell him Archibald wanted to have wolf pups with her, but she curbed the wicked urge to say such a thing. Grant might believe her and try to have the man murdered.
She didn’t believe in holding grudges, especially since she didn’t recall her father discussing any problems her family had with the clan. Not that her father had talked about much concerning family, except how much trouble her grandmother had been and that dealing with Grant and his people had been a chore because they were human. But maybe Grant and his family had experienced real difficulties with Borthwick and his people. She sighed.
“What happened between you and Archibald that would give you reason for not liking the man?” she asked. She swore everyone around them stopped eating to hear what he had to say.
“I would think you would know best.”
She waited while he finished eating his eggs. “Well, I don’t. If you wouldn’t mind enlightening me, I would appreciate it.”
He put his fork down. “My family has managed the Playfair estates since the keep was built. Archibald’s grandfather, Uilleam Borthwick, murdered my grandfather, John MacQuarrie, while he was serving in the capacity I do now. My father, Robert MacQuarrie, took over the management and my mother, Eleanor, mysteriously died in a fall from these very cliffs when my brothers and I were three. Your father was living at Farraige Castle at the time.”
Her mouth gaped. She was shocked to the core to learn that Archibald’s grandfather had murdered Grant’s. How could Grant insinuate her father was responsible for Grant’s mother’s death, though? Her father was despicable, but she couldn’t imagine he would do anything so horrible.
“You’re not saying my father had anything to do with it,” she said, wanting to clear up any misconception she might have.
“Your father felt he should manage the castle. After John died, my father took over the role as my family has done for centuries. But Theodore was furious. He swore he’d get back at his mother—your grandmother—by marrying a young American she-wolf and left for the States. He shunned your grandmother, refused to answer her letters, and didn’t care what she did with the castle.”
She noted Grant had avoided saying he believed her father had anything to do with Eleanor’s death, but he hadn’t denied it, either. Had her father been capable of murder? She couldn’t believe she’d been so clueless about all of this.
“But my grandmother willed it to him anyway,” Colleen said softly.
“Aye. Theodore was still her son. She had another, but he, too, left. And that one was the younger of the two.”
“My cousins’ dad. He died young also.”
“Aye. Theodore did return home on occasion, maybe to ensure she didn’t give the estates to his younger brother, or maybe so that she didn’t will them to my father. Your father was visiting Farraige Castle when my brothers and I were twenty and away at college. One dark and stormy night, Robert MacQuarrie fell to his death from the same cliffs.”
Same location. No roasted whole pig to eyeball while eating the meal.
“Thanks,” she said, meaning it. She appreciated how he had changed to accommodate her. The walk with Archibald had been well worth the effort.
As soon as they took their seats, Colleen asked for some toast, a little grape jelly, one egg over easy, and sausage. Grant looked surprised when she asked for tea.
“I always drink it. Never acquired a taste for coffee,” she said.
Grant nodded, but then he got right down to business. “What did Borthwick want?”
She figured he would ask and was surprised he’d waited this long. “He wished to welcome me here to Scotland.” She hoped that Grant would realize that was a barb at him for not welcoming her properly to her own estates.
In ye old days, if she had been the owner of a castle and returned to it, the estate manager would have been careful to welcome her home in a proper manner. Grant would learn soon enough that she wasn’t leaving.
“Oh, and by the way,” she said, wanting to let him know just what she had in mind to do if he had any notion to give her further trouble, “my cousins may come to stay also. Just wished to give you a heads-up in case I feel I need their help.”
“Help with what?” Grant quickly asked, his tone of voice close to a growl.
She smiled. “We’re…close. They’re like brothers to me. They just said they’d be on standby if I needed their help with anything.” You, she wanted to say. But she kept her mouth shut and just smiled again—a wolf’s smile, indicating neither he nor anyone else would push her around.
“We can make accommodations for them. We’d be pleased to set them up anytime they’d like to come,” Grant said, as if realizing he’d better shape up or else, even if it killed him to do so.
“Okay. Sounds super. They said they have bags packed and ready to go. I just have to give the word.”
“Great.” He didn’t sound like he meant it at all.
She enjoyed her meal this time, served up with tea and a glass of water, no whisky. She suspected no one would ever serve it to her at a meal again. Which would be fine with her.
“What did Borthwick want?” Grant asked again, his growly tone still audible.
She would love to tell him Archibald wanted to have wolf pups with her, but she curbed the wicked urge to say such a thing. Grant might believe her and try to have the man murdered.
She didn’t believe in holding grudges, especially since she didn’t recall her father discussing any problems her family had with the clan. Not that her father had talked about much concerning family, except how much trouble her grandmother had been and that dealing with Grant and his people had been a chore because they were human. But maybe Grant and his family had experienced real difficulties with Borthwick and his people. She sighed.
“What happened between you and Archibald that would give you reason for not liking the man?” she asked. She swore everyone around them stopped eating to hear what he had to say.
“I would think you would know best.”
She waited while he finished eating his eggs. “Well, I don’t. If you wouldn’t mind enlightening me, I would appreciate it.”
He put his fork down. “My family has managed the Playfair estates since the keep was built. Archibald’s grandfather, Uilleam Borthwick, murdered my grandfather, John MacQuarrie, while he was serving in the capacity I do now. My father, Robert MacQuarrie, took over the management and my mother, Eleanor, mysteriously died in a fall from these very cliffs when my brothers and I were three. Your father was living at Farraige Castle at the time.”
Her mouth gaped. She was shocked to the core to learn that Archibald’s grandfather had murdered Grant’s. How could Grant insinuate her father was responsible for Grant’s mother’s death, though? Her father was despicable, but she couldn’t imagine he would do anything so horrible.
“You’re not saying my father had anything to do with it,” she said, wanting to clear up any misconception she might have.
“Your father felt he should manage the castle. After John died, my father took over the role as my family has done for centuries. But Theodore was furious. He swore he’d get back at his mother—your grandmother—by marrying a young American she-wolf and left for the States. He shunned your grandmother, refused to answer her letters, and didn’t care what she did with the castle.”
She noted Grant had avoided saying he believed her father had anything to do with Eleanor’s death, but he hadn’t denied it, either. Had her father been capable of murder? She couldn’t believe she’d been so clueless about all of this.
“But my grandmother willed it to him anyway,” Colleen said softly.
“Aye. Theodore was still her son. She had another, but he, too, left. And that one was the younger of the two.”
“My cousins’ dad. He died young also.”
“Aye. Theodore did return home on occasion, maybe to ensure she didn’t give the estates to his younger brother, or maybe so that she didn’t will them to my father. Your father was visiting Farraige Castle when my brothers and I were twenty and away at college. One dark and stormy night, Robert MacQuarrie fell to his death from the same cliffs.”
