Page 38 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

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“Ah, Lady Kenna.” Sutherland set down his collection of jars and crossed to take her hands into his pudgy fingers. “So good to see ye, lass. Look at ye… Ye are still so bonny despite everything they have put ye through. How is yer arm?”

“The burns are healing fine, Laird Sutherland. I understand I am to thank ye fer the ointment.”

“‘Twas nothing. My wife will be pleased that it was put to some use. The woman hardly trusts me to return home in one piece; she spends so much at the apothecary. Anyway, come in, come in, can I offer ye some wine and a bit of oatcake? I absolutely loathe spending time away from home, but I must say that the housekeeper under my brother’s employ makes the finest oatcakes in all of Scotland.”

“Sounds lovely. Is this yer brother’s home, then?” Kenna asked as they sat beside a table piled high with fine china and pastries.

“Aye. He left the comforts of the clan years ago to marry the only daughter of a merchant. Inherited the whole lot. He is currently gone on a wee bit of business but was still good enough to lend a room to his Laird and brother.”

“How kind,” Kenna said before Sutherland began to tell her every story he could possibly remember about his brother, his hands constantly reaching for another oatcake or his goblet.

Before Kenna knew it, Sutherland’s words began to slur, and he was rocking slowly back and forth in his chair under the influence of wine and a belly full of sweets.

“I mean, I love my brother. I do. ‘Tis a fine thing to have brothers, no? Well, of course, ye understand the feeling; ye have two fine brothers yerself. Thomas is especially sharp, if ye do not mind me comparing them. His prose is so eloquent, so refined. ‘Tis so near to poetry, isn’t it? John, though, ach! That lad only writes what is needed. Considering his pompous speech in person, ‘twas a bit surprising to see his prose.”

“You have such knowledge of their prose?” Kenna asked, her cold hands firmly gripping her skirt to keep them from shaking. “Have they written to ye?”

“Oh.” Sutherland paused. “I mean, I just received a small pair of notes. They were waiting fer me here when we arrived yesterday. Amazing how slow our little convoy moved. We were overtaken so easily by a letter carrier, of all things.”

“‘Tis true.” Kenna forced down the overwhelming hurt that was making her eyes sting.

She had arrived in Aberdeen so hopeful that she would have received some word from home. News of their father’s burial, perhaps, or even just a small note asking her how she was and how the journey had been. There had been nothing.

Give it time, she had told herself. The boys and Elizabeth are just too busy recovering from the siege and all of the trouble that the Earl of Huntly is stirring up.

But, apparently, they hadn’t been all that busy. They just hadn’t wanted to write to her.

“Shall we retire to the sitting room fer a game of cards or some other bit of entertainment?” Sutherland asked, intervening in her thoughts.

Kenna nodded, “Aye, that would be lovely.”

Sutherland’s brother and his wife had a peculiar flair for decoration. The room, which was at the side of the house, was large and only had one window. But, on a dark night such as this, the only light was coming from the small hearth and piles upon piles of white, dripping candles, which the maid was rushing around to light as they entered. The walls were lined in red silk, a deep shade that reminded Kenna of blood, giving the entire room a soft, crimson glow. The furnishings were large and overpowering, though all intricately carved with delicate flowers and birds, bits of ivory embedded into the images for a bit of emphasis. There had to be at least a hundred ornately woven rugs scattered across the floor, layered one on top of the other in thick heaps, which made the floor uneven and oddly soft under her feet. Along one wall was a series of shelves full of strange objects and artifacts. Animal skulls, fine porcelain vases, oddly carved trinkets, and little portraits in golden frames; the odd and the expensive were all mixed together on the same shelf as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Only one shelf seemed to stand out from the rest. While the other shelves were nearly overflowing with treasures, one held only three cups, each wrapped in soft brown leather and turned upside down. The space they were given emphasized them, drawing any eye that dared cast a glance in their direction.

“What are these fer?” Kenna asked, lifting one of the three cups and looking beneath it, but finding nothing.

“Look at ye, lass—finding the one thing in this room that is mine. Those are fer a game. An excellent betting game, as it were.” Sutherland came over and gathered the cups, bringing them to the table at the center of the room. “I saw it first on the streets of Edinburgh and showed it to the Queen. She adores it now, ye ken; she asks me to play it with her all the time. Let me show ye.”

He set the three cups down onto the table, still turned over. From his pocket, he pulled a silver coin and placed it beneath the middle cup.

“Track it, and it shall be yers to win.”

With speed she never thought him capable of, he began to shuffle the cups on the table, twisting them back and forth and round and round. Kenna tried to keep an eye on the cup with the coin, but she went cross-eyed. Finally, Sutherland stopped the cups in their tracks and pulled his hands away.

Kenna reached out and hesitantly pointed at one of the cups. Sutherland tipped it back.

Nothing.

“Ach! Better luck next time,” he said with a big, booming laugh.

At that moment, the maid popped her head back into the room. “Laird Sutherland, there is a man here who needs yer signature on a delivery,” she said.

“My new dagger! Thank ye. Please excuse me, Lady Kenna.”

Kenna waited to laugh about his delivery until he had left the room.