A Laird for All Time by Angeline Fortin (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📗

the inn manager had brought for her.  She nodded her thanks to the man and even drank the hot tea gratefully when it was placed before her.

“Will there be anything else, lass?” the jolly middle-aged man asked.

“No, thank you,” she replied pressing a damp towel to her neck.  “I appreciate your help.”

The man nodded and started to move off when a deep gravelly voice drew their attention.  “Maybe ye should offer the lady some toast or something, Jimmy.  She’s looking a might peaked.”

Jimmy nodded and set off to do just that as Emmy stared in amazement at the owner of that distinctive voice.  “Donell?” she questioned aloud but received no response.  “Donell!” she commanded more firmly and for her troubles got an eyebrow raised at her over the rim of a pewter mug as the man sipped his drink.

It was Donell the shuttle driver without a doubt but why not acknowledge it?  Why was he looking at her as if he didn’t know her?  Emmy grabbed her cup and moved over to his table without waiting to ask permission.  Leaning forward, she whispered, “Did it get you, too, Donell?”

“Did what get me, lass?” he asked whipping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.  His bushy eyebrows rose in recognition that to Emmy’s mind looked a bit contrived.  “I know who ye are, ye know?”

“I know you do!” she insisted.

“Ye’re the lady countess of Duart returned after all these years!”  He raised his mug in a toast and drank deeply though his eyes never left hers.  “What do ye think of Duart these days?  Not too simple a life, eh?”

Emmy slumped back in her chair and stared at him flabbergasted.  As thoughts and realizations raced through her mind, she gaped like a landed fish as she tried to formulate a response.  “You?  You did this to me?  How?  Why?”  These last two words were vague and thread with disbelief as he continued to drink and study her in turn.

“Ye seem to be doing pretty well fer yerself so far,” he added still looking at her.  “Are ye enjoying your visit?  Ye’ve come a long way after all.”

Emmy’s head began to nod automatically in response.  “Yes,” she whispered.

“Ready to go home then?”

Hesitation, just a moment and that was all it took for his rugged face as the wrinkles to crease into an expression of amusement.  “Not yet then, eh?”

“Donell,” she whispered stunned by the realizations that he presented.  “How?” she repeated.  “Why?”

“Tragic family, the MacLeans,” he commented as if he never heard her questions.  “What wi’ the laird’s wife leaving him like that and then the wife of the younger one…”

“Dory?  It is about Dory, isn’t it?  I thought so!  Am I here to save her?  What of Connor?” Emmy reached out and squeezed the old man’s hand in appeal.  “They are good people, Donell!  Tell me what I need to do.”

The old man patted her hand between his in a kindly manner and smiled as he continued on as if he hadn’t heard her at all.  He hadn’t even admitted that he was behind what had brought her here!  How had he done that?  Laws of physics and government conspiracies aside, Emmy wasn’t one to believe in magic or sorcery.  What other power could make this happen?  She was believer enough to have just one answer jump to her mind, but taking Donell in with a shake of her head, denied that possibility.

Perhaps it wasn’t happening at all but was instead some drug induced delusion.  More dream than reality but old Scot didn’t look evil enough to have been a part of such duplicity either.  “What is going on, Donell?” she repeated insisting, “You must tell me!”

“Everyone deserves a second chance at life, lass.  Even ye.”

“Me?” Emmy slumped back in frustrated confusion.  “I don’t need a second chance!  I have a perfect life waiting for me!”

“Do ye now?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Is it now?” he questioned again with a twinkle in his eye.  “Ye came on yer holiday alone, lass.  No friends wi’ ye.  No man.  Perfect life?  Do ye even know what ye really want?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Ye don’t envy these people their simple life?” he queried craftily.  “Ahh, but mayhap ye’ve begun to realize that it isn’t so simple, eh?  What say ye, lass?  Ye still thinking these people have a simple life?”  He chuckled and shifted his eyes.

Hers followed and she saw Connor approaching the inn.  Her long exhale spoke volumes.  “A bit longer, I think.”  The old man rose and dropped a few coins on the table.  “G’day, Jimmy,” he called as he shuffled to the door.

“Wait!” Emmy called but Donell just raised his hand in farewell and even held the door open with a slight bow to the laird as Connor entered the inn.

“Ye still look a wee bit peaked, my love,” he commented with a hint of worry as he joined her at the table.  “Are you sure ye want to do this?”

“Connor,” she asked instead, a touch of desperation in her voice, “do you know that man who just left?”

Connor looked over his shoulder and bit back a chuckle, “Old Donell?  Has he managed to wrap ye around his finger?  Most of the ladies here would do just about anything he asked.”

“Who is he?”

“He owns a small farm north of here on the coast.  Been old since I was just a lad, but never seems to change.”  Enjoying the look of curiosity on her face, Connor leaned in and added in a confidential tone, “Rumor has it that he might be a wizard or such.  His mother before him was said to be a powerful witch.”

“Really,” Emmy choked out.  A wizard?  Was it magic that had brought her here?

“Some others say he’s a fallen angel.”

“A what?”

“One of God’s angels who has come down from Heaven to serve a penance of sorts,” Connor chuckled again.  “Don’t look so serious, lass, it’s all nonsense and superstition.  ‘Tis what happens when an old