Love by the Stroke of Midnight by Raven McAllan (best historical biographies .txt) 📗

“Ah.” Her dad reddened. “Must have slipped our minds.”

“Nope, others wanted you to come to it happily with no preconceived ideas. Your papa disagreed. They overruled him. He is not happy. He thought you should have been told.”

She believed that, or else there were pigs flying around the battlements. Nevertheless, good manners forced her not to give the comeback she ached to, and she nodded. “Getting old is a bugger, eh?”

A gong sounded nearby, and her dad almost sighed with relief. “That’s Mum with the half hour ‘get your drinks now or never’ warning. You’ll take a wee dram, Paden?”

“As you’re offering, Ruari, who am I to turn a good malt down,” Paden replied in an easy manner. “Legal?”

“I never said that,” Ruari Drummond said with a laugh. “Don’t you go putting words into my mouth. Will you be escorting Marcail in for me, and I’ll away to get the special bottle.” He disappeared as fast as anyone could without running. He hated confrontation.

Marcail counted to ten under her breath and turned to glance at a blank-faced Paden. She hoped her expression was as unforthcoming as his.

“It seems you’re saddled with me. Shall we?”

He nodded and held out his arm. Marcail ignored the gesture. She might be prepared to accept his presence so far, but not that far. “Evidently as you’re family, there’s no need to stand on ceremony.” She walked ahead of him and opened the lounge door. “Why is my father still angry?”

The fact he didn’t bother to answer her pettiness should have made her ashamed, she knew. Instead it annoyed her even more. He couldn’t even be bothered to supply an explanation.

Well, sod him.

“You will find everything out soon, mo ghaol.”

Soon wasn’t soon enough.

To her relief and pleasure, Bonnie was already in the lounge, sitting in an old armchair by the fire. She scowled when she saw Paden. It was obvious she knew as much as Marcail did—not much.

“Thought I best be here,” she said lightly to Marcail. “In case I’m needed.”

Reinforcements? If so, for whom?

Bonnie had also gone for warmth rather than elegance and wore an old plaid shawl of their grandma’s around her shoulders. She held another one up and threw it to Marcail as she glared at Paden, who ignored her obvious antagonism. Why? Did he know something the others didn’t?

Too many mysteries were happening. Marcail was about to speak when Bonnie frowned at her. It was a definite ‘do not say a word’ expression. She shivered instead.

“Here,” Bonnie said. “I knew you’d forget yours. That one was Great-however-many-Granny Pearl’s. She said it was for you.”

Marcail ignored the emphasis on Pearl. It was happening way too often. She caught the plaid and whooped—her bad mood vanquished in an instant by the sight of the faded material. Pearl’s or not, it was welcome. “You doll. Mine’s in one of several boxes due to arrive here whenever Joe McCormick gets his finger out—and his removal van on the road. He’s in his yearly I need to go stalking so the van’s broken session. Though he’s promised me next week or Ma gets a haunch of venison every month for a year. I’m betting she’s hoping he forgets my stuff.”

“He’ll not,” her mum said as she came in with a tray of nibbles. “Not when money and meat is concerned. Your boxes will be here before the weekend and your dad will have to go and be a ghillie or whatever to stash some cash and some game.”

Marcail and Bonnie burst out laughing at their dad’s anguished expression.

“Mum, that’s positively cruel,” Marcail said. “Dad the would-be-veggie, but he hates them apart from cabbage, collecting deer or grouse? How could you?”

“What’s with the would-be bit?” Ruari said. “I am.” There was a pause as his wife and daughters stared at him. “Well, I’m trying.”

“Very,” Marcail said. “Often. But I love you. Well, most of the time I do. The rest, I’ll reserve judgement on.”

“Ingrate,” her dad said huffily, then spoiled it by laughing. “I tell you, Paden, kids have no respect these days.”

Paden shook his head. “Terrible,” he said in a mournful voice and with a lugubrious expression. “How dare they?”

“Very easily,” Marcail and Bonnie said at the same time.

“Pa, you’re a champion wriggler out of anything you don’t want to be in,” Marcail added. “And we’re on to you.”

Their mum, rolled her eyes. “On that note, five-minute warning for dinner. Paden, ignore them. This family has got scoring points off one another down to a fine art.”

Bonnie groaned. “Well, who showed us, eh? Mum, do you need help getting the food out?” She sounded desperate.

“I’ll help as well,” Marcail said promptly, and was dismayed when her mum flapped her hands at her.

“Nope, Bonnie, Dad and I can do it. You entertain Paden. He’s not exactly a guest, but he’s not used to us either. Just listen for my holler.” She ushered her husband and youngest daughter into the kitchen.

Bonnie raised her eyebrows. “Good luck,” she mouthed.

Why, Marcail wondered, did she think she’d need it?

“Your family is something else.” Paden perched on a chair arm and saluted Marcail with his glass. “How do you keep up?”

“With difficulty, and I thought Dad said you were family.” It still rankled. Marcail had had no idea she was capable of holding such a grudge, especially when there were a lot more important things she could be antagonistic about. It gave her something to ponder—later.

“No, he said you needed to hear my story,” Paden answered her gently. “With regards to family. Which is something entirely different. About which we will not talk until Samhain.”

“Why?” That was something else that was bugging her. “That’s my birthday. Why do we have to have whatever it is then, and spoil it?”

Paden stared at her steadily, then slowly raised his eyebrow in query.

“Sorry, but that’s how I feel,” Marcail muttered. How on earth could someone she was attracted to make her feel hot, bothered and, to