Page 15 of Gardening and Gargoyles

She doesn’t.

I quickly make my way around the house, heart beating faster as I look through window after window and don’t see her—until I spy a sliver of space between curtains in one of the back chambers.

Through the gap, I spy her, sprawled on the bed, features obscured by her arm and her curls.

Her body is obscured by nothing. A naked figure full of womanly curves meets my eye, and I back up quickly, only to frown, and then press my face against the glass again.

Lady June is likely sleeping. Perhaps she retires early, before the moon is well risen.

Or perhaps... Perhaps the scoundrel has returned and left her beaten and ravaged. I stare at the space between her hips and breasts, trying to see a reassuring rise and fall with her breathing—and I cannot see any movement. Perhaps it is because the room is dark, and it is dark outside as well, and even though Gargoyles can see in normal darkness, perhaps this is too much. Or perhaps it is because I’ve never seen a naked human woman before, and my eyes keep traveling to her breasts and the space between her hips, feelings of curiosity and shame stealing over me.

Fear blots them out when it’s been several minutes, and I still cannot see if she breathes, and she doesn’t stir. I understood humans to stir constantly in their sleep, something gargoyles know nothing of.

I groan a little and stalk back to the door, a feeling of unease filling me. At least back home, with my clan, I had someone I could have asked questions of. Even if my clan was away orcaptured, or something, I could have flown to Tulloch to find members of Clan Davidson, or to Straithnairn, to find members of Clan Shaw, both our ancient, sworn allies.

You’ve nothing but yourself here, laddie—and she’s got none but you.

With a low snarl, I march into the house and race to the bedroom, low, on all fours, eyes scanning, searching for threats. If that faithless new laird is here, I don’t care if he is now the owner of my sacred ancestral home. He’s getting his innards turned into haggis.

“My lady!” I cry softly, approaching the bed.

“Mm?”

Lady June lives! But she barely stirs.

“Lady June! Are you well?” I turn my back, averting my eyes. “Shall I fetch help?”

“Huh? What? I— Oh, shit! Where’s my towel?” Lady June goes from unconscious to fully alert. I can hear frantic rustling and muttered curses. “Duncan, what are you doing in here?” she demands.

“I couldnae find ye, and when I did, you appeared lifeless, and I feared the laird had returned and harmed ye,” I say, aware that the more agitated I am, the more my brogue thickens.

Lady June is aware of it, too. It takes her a moment, and then she’s in front of me, wearing a striped towel. “No. The ‘laird’ and I broke up. He was unfaithful again. In a worse way. And thanks for the concern, but I didn’t sleep most of last night, and then I had a big fight with Daniel—”

“He fought with ye?” I look around for him, for evidence of this fight. “Where is he? I’ll rip his fists clean off, laird, or no, for daring to strike a woman!”

“Not here. He was on the phone. We had a fight over the phone.” Lady June looks at me as if waiting to see a sparkof understanding, but all she sees is a spark of confusion. “Speaking, on the phone. The telephone?”

“The telegraph?”

“No, it’s a... Never mind, we’ll review later. Oh, geez. Well, look, I didn’t get any sleep last night, I had a shitty morning, and when I’m really emotionally done, I tend to push myself until I collapse.”

Fearing the collapse will soon return, for who could not feel like collapsing when their lover is unfaithful, I rush to pick up Lady June and deposit her back on the bed. “Stay there. I will fetch one of the women from the village to attend to ye,” I urge.

“No! No, Duncan, that’s... That’s really sweet and kind of you, but I don’t know anyone in the village. We’re up in the mountains, and I don’t need anything but a bathroom and something to eat.”

“A bath? I can draw ye a bath if you tell me where the well or pump is.” It’s unseemly work for a gargoyle, as we are not servants or ladies’ maids, but I’ve resigned myself to do whatever must be done.

Lady June looks up at me and shakes her head with a wee little smile on her face, something of a sparkle in her eyes. “You’re gonna love this thing called indoor plumbing. From what Daniel’s told me, it wasn’t as widespread in rural parts of England and Scotland until after World War II—oops. Spoiler: We had two huge wars. Um. The good guys won, if that helps.”

I blink at my lady, still puzzled. I decide to bow and agree. “Yes, my lady. But you really must have a seamstress come, or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

“No, honey... Oh, my sweet summer gargoyle. Listen.” Lady June holds her towel with one hand, rises, and puts her tiny hand on my shoulder. “I have clothes. I took a shower and had a fight with my now ex as soon as I was out—”

“But he was not here? He used a telegraphone?”

“Close. I got water and aspirin, because I had a headache the size of Broad Street—nope, never mind that, and then I passed out. I haven’t eaten anything in a day except a bottle of wine, a glass of water, and two aspirin.”

“And you’ve no cook?”