Bairn, not barn, which is Scots for child. When I googled it, just to be sure, I found out the word comes from the Danish for child. That’s Danish as in Vikings, who raped, pillaged, then settled on this coast long, long ago. Following on from that, I tried very hard not to imagine my recent association with the Vikings. Or rather Viking. Okay, so I may have dwelled a little. But, in other words, it sounds like Dylan Duffy’s wife is pregnant. It helps that I’m getting better at reading between those Scottish accented lines.
“Och, that’s braw!” Chrissy announces, ignoring the younger woman’s tone. Braw is a good thing. And och I’ve come to learn can convey sorrow, pain, resignation, weariness, or as in this case, a pleasant surprise.
I zone out a little as I make my magic brew, wondering what I should wear tomorrow night. I might even bust out my Prada purse, which hasn’t seen daylight in weeks. Jeans definitely, I think. Maybe a cute shirt. And a coat because, despite summer being just around the corner, the evenings are still cold. And often wet.
Honestly, for the weather, I might as well have stayed in Mookatill.
Coffee made, I find myself smiling into my cup as the pair talk about the formal dinner tomorrow night in tones of awe. I mean, I get it. Hollywood stars and all. One particular Hollywood star that has a little extra somethin’ somethin’ in his pants, according to that time he broke the internet a few years ago. I didn’t see it myself, but Dylan Duffy apparently had some home movies, of let’s say a delicate nature, leaked. Word was the man is hung. I guess it made for popular watching, especially when it was announced he’d secretly been married. And then they had kids! Ovaries popping all over the place!
Where was I? Jeans and a cute top. Maybe I’ll even bust out a pair of heels unless I’ve forgotten how to walk in them. I wonder what the pub is like. I know there are two of them in the village. Two pubs, something called a “chippy”, which is a takeaway joint. There’s also a dine-in Indian restaurant, which makes the village positively cosmopolitan.
“Dougal says venison.” Chrissy’s words somehow register in my brain, bringing me back to the conversation.
“It’s always bloody venison,” Mari replies scornfully.
“Bloody is how it’s served. And why go to the expense of the butcher’s when you’ve some many of deer roaming about?”
Can’t say I’d ever had venison until I moved to Scotland.
“McCain went down to the cellars and brought up the good wine,” Chrissy adds. “Champagne, too. The vintage stuff.”
I was right in declining Isla’s invitation. This is definitely not my kind of party. Even if I’m more likely these days to be found sipping a cocktail or a glass of (non-vintage) champagne than I am doing tequila body shots.
“Come on, Gert.” I stand under the stone portico, the one with the weather-worn heraldic shield carved into the masonry, Gertie’s leather lead in hand. Not that she’s budging. She apparently has no intention of going for her afternoon constitutional, which I’d volunteered to supervise. It had seemed like the right thing to do because almost everyone in the castle is running around like headless chickens in preparation for tonight. Also, I don’t have the school run today because Isla said something about needing to talk to Hugh’s teacher.
“We’ll do a quick lap around that tree.” I work the zipper on my jacket up to my chin and pull on the lead again. Gertie just looks at me balefully, her butt firmly cemented to the floor. I can’t say I blame her because it’s raining again. Just for a change. The Bible might talk of it raining for forty days and forty nights but that just seems like a spring in Scotland. “I can’t take you back in until you’ve done what needs to be done,” I say, not feeling too dumb for continuing a conversation with a dog. One-sided conversations are sometimes the best kind of conversations to have. “Please? How about you pee and I give you a treat?”
The look she gives me? A big fat no.
I sigh, listening as the rain falls against the leaves of a nearby tree, the syncopated sound almost musical. I guess I’ll be tying my hair up tonight. It’s either that or I’ll have to rock the frizz.
On the horizon, one of the gardener’s ATVs moves over the hills and vales of the vast garden. It could be Cameron, I think to myself, waiting for that pleasant little anticipatory twist in my stomach that doesn’t come. I really don’t get it. Why aren’t I more excited for tonight? Maybe my excitement is shy. A late developer. Maybe it’ll develop tonight.
At the meaty rumble of Isla’s Range Rover, I look down at Gertie. “Now you’re in trouble,” I tell her. “The boss is home.”
The boys tumble out of the vehicle, and I move aside to let them pass.
“Hello, Holly. Goodbye, Holly,” calls Archie as he dashes in through the door. A split second later, he’s back and throwing his arms around a (very briefly dejected) dog. “Almost forgot,” he says, shooting me an embarrassed-looking grin. “Love you, Gertie girl.” Hugh is a little more circumspect. Head down, he pats Gertie’s head before gracing me with a very short-lived smile.
“What’s up, champ?”
“It’s nothing I want to talk about,” he mutters stiffly before disappearing through the open door.
“Off for a walk?” Isla asks, coming to a stop under the portico.
“That was the plan.” I glance down at the mutt. “But it’s a plan Gertie wants no part in.”
“Bloody kids and animals,” Isla says, lifting her purse higher on her shoulder before pointing at a patch of grass next to the left. “Gertie, go pee,” she commands sternly. Unbelievable, the elderly pooch shuffles her butt onto the wet grass, cops a squat, and does exactly what’s demanded of her. “Good girl,” she offers in a mildly begrudging tone as she unclips the lead from Gert’s collar and the old mutt trundles indoors. “She does hate the rain.”
“Then she’s living in the wrong country.”
“I’m sure we’d both prefer Acapulco, but one doesn’t always get the choice, unfortunately.”
Oh, boy. That was some frosty tone. I guess that’s me told.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Isla offers almost immediately. “Pay no attention to me.” She presses her hand to her head. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate today, and it must be coming up to that time of the month.”
“Plus, you have a Hollywood superstar staying with you, not to mention a formal dinner to host and a weekend’s worth of entertaining to provide.”
“God, I know,” she says on a moan. “When all I really want to do is disappear into a bottle of wine about this big.” She gestures chest height. “And to top it all, my brother is sodding well late, and then Hugh’s teacher insisted she needed to see me today. Like I haven’t got anything else I need to do!” She throws up her hands, and I think I see the beginnings of some frustrated tears.
“Come on.” Reaching out, I touch her arm. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you a coffee, and we can plot to murder this teacher.”
“Coffee would be good.”
We don’t go to the castle’s kitchen—there’s too much going on in there today—instead, making our way to the family’s private apartments and the small but stylish kitchen there.