But Jamie ran to a globe of the world and peered at it. “I can’t see England.”
The globe was nearly obscured by dust.
“Ah.” Sir Alistair took out his handkerchief and wiped off the globe. “There. Now England’s revealed, and so is Scotland. Here we are.” He pointed to the area north of the Firth of Forth.
Jamie squinted at the globe and then looked up. “Where’s your book?”
Alistair glanced about the library, frowning. He hadn’t had occasion to look at his own writing in quite some time. “Over here, I think.”
He led the way to a corner in which several oversized volumes were piled on the floor.
“These ought to be put on a shelf,” Mrs. Halifax muttered. “I can’t believe you keep your own book on the floor.”
Alistair grunted before rummaging in the pile with Jamie. “Ah, here it is.”
He laid the book out on the floor and opened it. Jamie promptly threw himself down on his stomach to peer closely at the pages, and Abigail sat by his side to look.
“You must have spent many years in New England.” Mrs. Halifax was standing behind her children, looking at the book over their shoulders. “Mind the pages when you turn them, Jamie.”
Alistair strolled to her side. “Three years.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes startlingly bright in the candlelit room. “What?”
“Three years.” He cleared his throat. “I spent three years in New England recording the information in that book.”
“That’s a very long time. Did not the war interfere with your work?”
“On the contrary. I was attached to regiments in His Majesty’s army the entire time.”
“But wasn’t that dangerous?” Her brows were drawn together in concern.
For him.
He looked away. Her eyes were too beautiful for this dingy room, and he regretted the impulse to bring her and the children in here. Why lay himself open like this, let them see into his life, his past? This was a mistake.
“Sir Alistair?”
He didn’t know what to say. Yes, it’d been dangerous—so dangerous that he’d left behind an eye, two fingers, and his pride in the woods of North America—but he couldn’t tell her that. She was merely making conversation.
He was saved from having to reply by Jamie looking up suddenly from the book. “Where’s Lady Grey?”
The deerhound hadn’t followed them into the library.
Alistair shrugged. “Probably fell asleep by the fire in the dining room.”
“But she’ll miss us,” Jamie said. “I’ll go get her.”
And he hopped up before anyone could say a word and scurried from the room.
“Jamie!” Abigail called. “Jamie, don’t run!” And she was off as well.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Halifax said.
He frowned at her in surprise. “What for?”
“They can be so impetuous.”
Alistair shrugged. He wasn’t used to children, but these ones were rather interesting to have about.
“I—” she began, but she was interrupted by a single shrill scream.
Alistair was out the door without waiting for Mrs. Halifax. He ran down the hallway. The scream wasn’t repeated, but he was sure it’d come from the dining room. Perhaps Abigail had seen a spider. But when he rounded the dining room door, he knew it was something else entirely.
Lady Grey lay by the fireplace as he’d predicted, but Jamie knelt over her, frantically patting her side, and Abigail stood still and pale with her hands pressed to her mouth.
No.
He slowly walked to the fireplace, Mrs. Halifax trailing behind. Abigail simply stared at him, silent tears running down her face.
But Jamie looked up as he neared. “She’s hurt! Lady Grey is hurt. You must help her.”
Alistair knelt by the old dog and placed his palm on her side. She was already growing cold. It must’ve happened as she slept, while they ate supper, as he’d shown Mrs. Halifax his library, completely oblivious.
He had to clear his throat. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“Yes!” the boy cried. His face was red, tears glittering in his eyes. “Yes! You must!”
“Jamie,” Mrs. Halifax murmured. She tried to grasp her son’s arm, but he wrenched it from her grasp and threw himself on the dog.
Abigail ran from the room.
Alistair placed a hand lightly on the boy’s head. It quivered under his palm as the child sobbed. Lady Grey had been a gift from Sophia, many, many years ago, before he’d left for the Colonies. He hadn’t taken her with him; she had been a young dog back then, and he feared that the long sea voyage would prove too cramped for her. But when he’d returned home, broken, his life no longer what he’d thought it would be, Lady Grey had been here. She’d galloped down the drive to greet him, had stood with her paws upon his shoulders as he’d rubbed her ears, and she’d grinned, tongue lolling. She’d walked by his side when he’d wandered the heath, lay by the fireside as he’d written his book. Come to nuzzle his hand when he’d woken in the dark of night, drenched in sweat from hideous dreams.
Alistair swallowed with difficulty. “Good dog,” he whispered huskily. “That’s a good lass.”
He stroked her side, feeling the rough, cooling fur.
“Help her!” Jamie reared up and hit at the hand that had touched his head. “Help her!”
“I cannot,” Alistair said, choking. “She’s dead.”
Chapter Five
The beautiful young man led Truth Teller into the courtyard of the castle. An ancient knot garden lay here, formed of yew shrubs and decorated with statues of knights and warriors. A small cage of swallows was at one corner, the birds beating their wings hopelessly against the bars. In the center of the knot garden was a great iron cage. Dirty straw was scattered in the cage, and in the back huddled a large thing. It was a dull black color with rotting scales and stringy hair. It stood eight feet tall and had huge horns that curved down to its great shoulders. The thing’s eyes were yellow and bloodshot. At the sight of the young man, it leapt at the bars and snarled with a mouth filled with dripping fangs.
The beautiful young man merely smiled and turned to Truth Teller. “Are you afraid now?”
“No,” said Truth Teller.
His host laughed. “Then you shall be this monster’s guard.…”
—from TRUTH TELLER