

Edwina

by

Patricia Strefling

Copyright © 2008 written by Patricia Strefling

Edwina

Smashwords edition

All rights reserved solely by the author. The

author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. The views expressed in this book are not necessarily those of the publisher.

Unless otherwise indicated, Bible quotations are taken from The NLT (New Living Translation). Copyright © 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1993, 1996 by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois.

To my beloved friend Shirley who always believed in me.
Chapter 1

"But see here. I am who I say I am. Edwina Emily Blair from the United States. I have the reservations right here. The extra large suite for two weeks starting today at the Old Waverly Hotel." Edwina's voice cracked. "My sister made the arrangements. There must be a mistake. This is the third person I've spoken to!"

"And 'twil be the last," came a voice behind her. A strong Scottish brogue. Edwina turned slightly, glad for anyone who would speak for her. Alone in a foreign country on a trip she had not planned—nor had wanted to experience—she stood on tired legs, wishing for nothing more than a bath and a bed.

"Ye see the lass standing 'ere." He stepped ahead of her, glancing at his watch.

"Doesn't match the name I 'ave here, a Miss Cecelia Giatano and she is not that person, came the stubborn reply from the bearded man behind the counter. Also a Scot.

"Yes, Miss Giatano is my sister... I..." Edwina's voice faded away as the man interrupted her.

Miss Giatano did not appear within the allotted time." That room has been given to another party."

A last-minute emergency had sent her sister, the one who'd planned this trip, flying off to Italy. Too tired to say another word, Edwina hoped this man could help.

She recognized him as someone who had flown on the plane from London to Edinburgh. His handsome appearance had not been easy to ignore. Women had turned to look at him, but he'd seemed oblivious to the doting females who flitted by like bluebirds trying to find a place to land. She'd studied him from the seat behind. He had been intent on his laptop.

It had been pleasant to observe him as he pointed out the obvious to the stubborn man behind the counter who held her destiny in his hands. She loved the study of human inter- action. One of her few creative gifts, she noted tiredly. This particular male would provide the perfect character profile for the book she would write one day. For that reason alone she made note of his features as her sleepless eyes tried to focus. He turned slightly, giving her a perfect profile. Straight nose, perfectly chiseled chin. Green eyes, thick dark hair, and tall. Very tall. She sighed. A study of human nature secretly woven into a fictional story including mystery, suspense, and romance. The latter she would no doubt never experience, except perhaps through the writing of the book.

Shaking the thoughts from her head because her book and its story were only a dream at this point in her life, she moved slightly away from the handsome stranger who even now was speaking on her behalf. He seemed too perfect to touch.

Suddenly her brain felt strange as the world around her began to fade. Her knees began to wobble and, to her horror, Edwina slipped to the floor as the black hole became smaller and smaller until she disappeared inside of it.

* * * * *

"Ah now, see here, she has fallen dead away. Ye have pressed the poor lass." Alex Dunnegin scolded as he caught the woman just before her head hit the floor.

The man behind the counter continued with the long line of travelers that awaited his evil eye and suspicious nature.

"I have no time for this. I must be about getting home. I am late already," Alex mumbled and looked about. No one came forward, so anxious was each not to lose their place in the dreadfully long line.

He could not leave the woman to her own affairs. She undoubtedly was without assistance. He'd heard the entire conversation with the infernal hotel employee. This one time he wished he'd ignored his gentlemanly duties allowing her to step in ahead of him. Alone in Scotland, from the looks of it, most likely an unmarried lass. And for that he felt a kinship. He too was unmarried—considered a catch in modern Edinburgh, sought after by many, but loved by no one.

Bending on one knee he lifted her shoulders and cradled her head in his elbow, her long, dark hair slung over his arm. He waited for the color to return to her cheeks. Slowly she came round and looked up into the face of the stranger and immediately jerked away from his touch.

Smiling, the Scot helped her stand, steadying her with a slight touch at her elbow.

"I'm... I'm so sorry," she blurted out breathlessly as flashes of heat burnt her face. She lifted a shaking hand to her temple. "I'm fine now, please... please..." her voiced failed her as her knees turned watery again. Not sure if it was the closeness of the handsome stranger or lack of sleep, she stumbled to the nearest chair and sat down, relieved.

"Stay here while I make a call." He ordered before turning his back. He was speaking into his phone.

"Bertilda, has she arrived? Aye. Tell her I'm on the way.... Tell her not to fly away," his tone serious "Is Reardon waiting for me in the car? Aye... good." He snapped the phone shut. The wedding suite would have to be secured later.

Edwina saw the hurry in his stride as he walked back to her. Immediately she wished to release him from his obligations and said boldly,

"I'm fine. It seems I have found what I need." She fished in her purse and pulled out a folded paper and waved it in the air. "You may be on your way, sir."

"Ah, so ye think a menu would buy your way through the line?" his lips turned upward slightly

She looked at the paper in her hand. Indeed she felt her face warm again as she stuffed a Starbucks menu back into her purse.

Formidable thoughts raced around in her brain, threatening to send her to the floor again.

"Come. Ye will be my guest this night," he said forth- rightly and reached for her bag.

She started to protest, but with a wave of his hand he said, "Tis not for you I am offering my services," he stated firmly, "but for my own desires. My fiancée who is now waiting at my home has flown in from Madrid, and I am here."

"All the more reason to leave me where I sit," Edwina stated flatly. "Be about your business, sir. I will be all right." She willed her bloodshot eyes to behave and not give her fears away.

He pulled his small black bag alongside hers and ignored her request. "My man will take these to my auto and come back for you. Ye will come with me, lass."

And by the tone of his voice, Edwina knew she would.

Chapter 2

The streets of Edinburgh passed by quickly through the dark glass of the car. She'd never ridden in a... what did you call them?... The black cars with shaded windows and champagne that slid out from a secret compartment when you pushed a little button. Her mind would not function. It felt like she was the actress in a movie she'd seen once. Was it Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca?

The Scot's man, Reardon, and her knight in shining armor spoke. He sat beside her right this very minute. Only her book would be set in the sixteenth century with a horse instead of a black limosine.

"Sir, shall I have Bertilda prepare a room for Miss . . ." The Scot turned to her.

"Edwina Blair from Michigan, in America."

"Yes, 'tis known you are from the states."

Edwina cringed. Was it that apparent? "Alex Dunnegin."

"Mr. Dunnegin, I don't know how to thank you."

"No need, Miss Blair. Reardon, push on and make it quick. The lass is weak from lack of food, and by the looks of it, sleep as well."

Edwina wanted to laugh out loud. She laid her head back with her eyes closed because the dizzying scenes passing by made her sick. She doubted Reardon thought her in need of food, for indeed she was at least fifteen pounds heavier than the doctor's office chart said she needed to be. Of course, she was no actress, neither in looks nor in body shape, so what was the need to worry about what people thought?

It was good to be in someone's hands who knew what they were about, because she had been forced into this situation against her will. And from the problems she had encountered thus far, things would only get worse if left on her own. Thankful, for she didn't know why but her instincts told her to trust this Scot, she relaxed against the back of the soft leather seat and promptly fell asleep.

What seemed like seconds later, she was awakened, the motion of the car had stopped. Her heavy eyelids opened slightly. A sense of activity poked into her senses. What was it? Where was she? Scotland! She lifted her head and looked around. Suddenly the door next to her right elbow opened.

"Miss. I shall attend you. Allow me." Reardon offered his gloved hand and lifted her from the soft seats. The tall Scot was not in sight. He had, no doubt, flown on wings to his beloved. Her feet stepped on crushed stones. The crunch beneath her black flats sounded loud in the quietness of the late afternoon. Then her eyes, dull from lack of sleep, widened. They were at a castle. A beautiful castle. The kind you read about in books. History books.

"Where are we?" Her soft voice lifted on the wind that wrapped strands of hair about her face.

"Ye are at Castle Dunnegin, standing on grounds that have belonged to this family since 1702," Reardon said, a proud look on his solemn face.

"Castle Dunnegin?" Edwina repeated dumbly. "Three hundred years?"

"Aye, miss. Ye'd be standing in western Scotland, to be sure."

Edwina could think of nothing to say, so shaken was she at the view before her eyes. Distant hills marched upward softly and down again. The sun, still radiant, was making its slow descent behind the rolling hills, leaving magical patterns of faded oranges, pinks, and lavender. Edwina's legs, though weak, would not move her from the place where she stood. Never in her twenty-seven years had she witnessed such beauty—and then only in travel books.

"Miss... ye'd best be coming in. The wind is picking up her pace and will be aboot us in no time."

"Yes, of course," Edwina whispered.

Her bags were in the arms of the Scot's man, and she followed him, turning her head now and again to view the scene behind her.

"It is a sight for weary eyes, Scotland is," Reardon spoke quietly.

"That it is."

As they entered through the huge doorway, Edwina's eyes widened. The foyer was larger than her entire apart- ment. A finely crafted curved dark cherry staircase invited her eyes upward. The huge glass multi-colored arched window at its turn bid her to come up. Perhaps she was too tired to think clearly. Her hand lifted to touch her temple. Awestruck, Edwina allowed her gaze to take in the largeness, no... grandness of the space she now stood in. Had it been only yesterday that she was arguing with her stepsister that she could not possibly get on a plane and go to Scotland?

"Come, miss." Reardon broke into her thoughts.

Blindly, like a sheep meekly going to slaughter, she stepped onto the ancient wooden stairs then down a rather dark corridor until they stood at the last door on the left. Reardon set down his burdens. Another huge arched window was at the end of the corridor, the sun repeating its gothic pattern on the wood floors. The thick ornate wooden door was opened to her. She walked past Reardon, who stood aside and bowed slightly. Had anyone ever bowed to her before? She couldn't remember.

Reality could have slapped her and she would still think she'd just awoke from a dream. The tapestry at the windows and across the huge four-poster bed, also of dark cherry, looked like so many pictures she'd seen in magazines. A decorator she was not, but she knew elegance when she saw it—and in fact was standing upon it this very moment.

Usually practical to a fault, Edwina allowed herself to feel the dream, to pretend she was beautiful and rich. After all she was in Scotland standing in a castle somewhere near Edinburgh. Why shouldn't a girl dream? she wondered wildly.

She knew Reardon had followed her in and set her suit- cases upon the low chest at the foot of the bed.

"I shall send Bertilda to assist you in your unpacking."

Edwina opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. What she wanted was to be left alone to look at everything in the room, to look behind the long emerald green and royal blue plaid curtains that surely hid an awesome view. Plaid seemed to be the main theme in the room. No doubt the Scot's Tartan. A strange ambiance circled her in a feeling of being at home. But she was Irish on her mother's side. Definitely Irish. Not Scottish.

Shaking her head because her mind was mush, she turned at the sound of a slight knock. The door was so thick she barely heard the request to enter. Before she could open her mouth, a large woman bustled in and began unpacking her bag.

Edwina's hand went out to stop her. She was quite capable, tired or no, to unpack her own things. The maid's countenance told her she'd done this many times before and knew her duty. Edwina let her hand fall to her side. She didn't know a thing about protocol in Scotland. She'd read dozens of books—why hadn't she thought to read some travel books before stepping into another country? And then she remem- bered. Cecelia had surprised her, knowing full well Edwina would refuse the trip if it hadn't already been planned. She'd had exactly six days to prepare.

What day was it anyway? She'd left late Friday after- noon. What about the time change? She'd not had the sense to investigate.

"Ma'am, what day is it?"

"It'd be Saturday. And me name's Bertilda. If ye be needin' anything, ye must only ask fer it."

"Thank you, Bertilda." Edwina almost lifted her hand in a friendly shake but placed it back at her side.

"Would ye like yer bath drawn?"

"A bath?" Edwina sighed. Bertilda saw her need and hustled through another door.

Before long Edwina found herself soaking in rose-scented bath bubbles. The tub was larger than her entire bathroom at home. Such luxury. And the towels! Fit for a queen in a castle. Which was exactly what she was right now. A good pinch might pop the bubble.

Wrapped in a huge cherry pink, very thick towel, she made her way to the bed, which had already been turned back and smoothed to perfection. Her thin cotton pajamas lay out on the elegant covers. She felt a certain shame at the raggedy material so out of place in such grand surroundings. What must Bertilda think of her?

Seconds later she was ensconced first in her own pajamas and then in the huge, soft bed. Above her the fringe on the canopy fluttered as her eyes blinked, then closed. She was safe for the night.
Chapter 3

Undisturbed, Edwina woke on her own. She stretched and mewed like a cat, so sweet had her sleep been. Had she ever mewed like a cat before? She didn't think so.

A trip to the bathroom left her refreshed after a quick washup. Rifling through her clothes, she wondered what a girl in a Scottish castle should wear. She found her things neatly folded in a drawer, pushed aside her worn jeans and chose her favorite black print skirt and a short-sleeved white cotton shirt. Settling herself in the overstuffed wing-backed chair, she thought about the last couple of days and how she could possibly find herself, the sensible one, here in Scotland alone.

Edwina remembered their conversation well.

The call came as they waited in Chicago to board the plane.

"What do you mean you can't go?" Edwina stared at her sister.

Cecelia snapped her phone shut and said, "Father has expired. I must make arrangements to travel to Milan immediately."

Edwina watched her step-sister's quick steps with disbe- lief, grabbed her carry-on and ran after her. "But we're ready to board. I can't go to Scotland without you, Cecelia." Edwina stopped.

Cecelia turned, crossed her arms over her nut brown embroidered jacket and said, "Of course, you'll go without me. The arrangements are all in order. You need only to follow the itinerary I gave you. Chicago to London to Edinburgh. Simple."

For the first time in her life, Edwina stomped her foot. "Look, this was your plan for us, together, not for me to travel alone. You know I don't like to... to... leave home." She sputtered.

"Exactly, the reason you must continue your trip. This is your first holiday away from your job in three years, Ed. You need to learn a little about other people."

"You're the one who needs people all over the world... not me. I'm happy to be an assistant librarian and read about other people's lives." Edwina's hands were on her hips. She glanced around at the people passing.

"The barrister said Father's will is to be read day after tomorrow and I must be in Italy. I am his only heir."

"I know that, Cecelia. It's just that... .that..." Edwina forced herself to lower her voice.

"What, Ed?" Cecelia checked her watch. "I have to see if I can get on standby... it's going to be difficult enough to catch another flight today. Really, I'm sorry. Besides we flew to Italy for our parents' wedding remember?"

"Yes, but that was six years ago..." Edwina heard the whine in her normally calm librarian voice. "And you're the one that was born in England."

"It's not that difficult, Ed... you're so organized."

"In my own world, I'm organized. This is not my world, Cece, it's yours."

"Look, why don't you just board the plane and see if you might find someone to talk to and learn all you can about Edinburgh. It's easy enough. I've done it dozens of times. Ask lots of questions. People love to talk about things they know."

Edwina's thoughts flew through her head like scattered pearls bouncing off a marble floor. "You love to talk to people. I love to read books about people, remember?" The pitch of her voice raised a notch.

"Well, then it's time you learned a little more about life. You can't live your entire life out of books, Edwina Blair."

The firmness of her sister's words hit her like a scorching wind. Or was her face already hot? She lifted her hand to her cheek and looked away. She hated emotional displays in public places.

"Besides, everything is paid for. It cost me a lot of money, Ed."

Edwina stared into her sister's beautiful blue eyes as her stomach did flip-flops. That did it. Not one for wasting money or disappointing anyone, she realized at that moment she would be going to Scotland for two weeks. Alone.

Cecelia must have known she'd won, for her sister tucked her cell in her pocket, laid her exquisitely manicured hands upon Edwina's shoulders and winked. "See, I knew you'd see it my way. You'll have the time of your life, believe me. There's plenty to do... be sure to visit Edinburgh Castle, take several bus tours around the country, one through the Highlands for certain. The people at the hotel will tell you which ones are best. The itinerary is in the packet I gave you. You'll be fine, Edwina."

Edwina looked at her feet. Well, if this was called adventure, she guessed she was in for a big one. Lord, I'm going with you... show me the way. A huge sigh escaped her lips.

"There, now." Cecelia comforted her sister with a pat on her arm.

Edwina's heart seemed to return to normal pace, for some odd reason, because none of this was going to be easy or fun... at least not from her point of view. And all because there was no way she'd let all that money be wasted just because she was afraid. Besides, her conscience railed, wasn't she being insensitive to Cecelia's pain right now?

"I'll be all right, Cece. I'm really sorry about your father."

"Don't worry about me, Ed. You know Father and I were never close. He was not kind to my mother or me. But he did have a beautiful villa and I shall make plans to put it to good use. Actually, I'm rather excited to see it. Mum says it is located in an exquisite part of the country and quite lavishly furnished."

Edwina stared at her sister. Cecelia could change life- styles quicker than Edwina could put gas in her little white Volkswagen.

"I'll let the airlines know I won't be flying. They'll use my seat for a standby. Be right back."

Edwina barely heard.
Chapter 4

It was Cecelia who loved to travel. Her dreams always came true, including the fact that she, being the only child of an actress and an Italian count, was also beautiful beyond imagination. Silky golden blonde hair, blue eyes and a bone structure to die for.

Edwina's mother and father were not of the same stock. She was born not of a count, but of two college professors who gave her, their only child, the gift of practicality and the desire to learn. Unlike Cecelia who had the best educa- tion money could buy at Oxford, Edwina had received two degrees: one in Library Science and a second in Writing from the University of Michigan, her father's alma mater. But beyond her superior education, Cecelia also possessed a star-quality beauty, not to mention strong entrepreneurial leanings.

Edwina's widowed father, stern, yet of a kind nature, had fallen completely in love with Cecelia's mother, an aged but still beautiful English stage actress. She was rich and unattached and her father had married the woman within a month—which was very unlike his conservative nature; the man who planned every detail of his life right down to the annual purchase of fresh, new underwear in January during the white sale.

The passing of Cecelia's father had left her an Italian villa and who knows what else. With all the money Cecelia would attain, she would still boss Edwina around. Her elder by exactly twenty-three months, Cecelia insisted on acting the part even though they were only stepsisters. Cecelia had been twenty years old, she eighteen, when the pecking order had been established.

Edwina hated her name. Aptly named after her father's mother, she rather wished she'd been called by her middle name, Emily. It sounded so much softer. But now her name and her life were set in stone. And having a beautiful, rich, and very spoiled stepsister, she'd been honor bound by some sort of human chain of events to choose a lifestyle that was very sane, very safe. Which she had done. A well-educated librarian had been her choice of vocation, pleasing her parents immensely.

So now she found herself bound by duty... once again... to save her sister's cash outlay and was presently square in the middle of Scotland in the castle of a very handsome Scot. She brushed her long, chestnut brown hair and tied it back with a black ribbon.

Edwina wanted to laugh. If her sister were here, the hand- some Scot currently at Edwina's service, Cecelia would have made a play for him at the hotel counter... no even earlier... on the plane. Cecelia would have finagled her way into the seat next to the handsome man and chirped up a conversation immediately. And with her golden blonde upswept hair around her perfect heart-shaped face, she would have succeeded.

Edwina giggled at the foolishness of it all. Time to get to the business for which she came—the castle tour. She fished through her small purse for Cecelia's itinerary. She must make her way to the hotel and fight with the hotel's owner that she was not Cecelia Grace Giatana but Edwina Emily Blair. Nothing about their names matched and Cecelia's driver's license picture that had been faxed ahead was clearly nothing like her own image. That's when the problems started.

Snapping the folded paper out of her purse, she smoothed it on the small bedside table and sighed. She'd much rather be about the countryside, checking out plants and flowers native to Scotland. And what industries were about the area? How did Scotland carry its people? What were their likes and dislikes? Again she found herself wishing to study people and places, not ballrooms and buildings. It was Cecelia who bought buildings and turned them into elegant apartments or English bed-and-breakfasts. Not her. She hated business. Another difference between her beautiful, talented stepsister and herself.

Well, what was to be done? Edwina's practicality surfaced, and she studied the paper. After a night of blessed sleep. . . hmm... what did one do in a castle in Scotland?

From the looks of the faxed paper she now held in her hands, she was to stay in one of Edinburgh's finest, The Cannon Brae. At several hundred dollars per night, Cecelia had scheduled massages, beauty treatments, and all sorts of body shaping and exercises. Edwina hated exercise and would rather walk the downtown side streets meeting the people in the small shops, drive down a country road wondering who lived in this house or that, or read a book. Cecelia would much rather walk on a treadmill while listening to a CD about the newest diet fad than do anything Edwina considered interesting.

Well, it's time to pack and be on my way—I've inconvenienced this man enough.

Before packing, she wanted to see the land that surrounded the castle. Walking on bare feet across the oval rug, then onto the wooden floor, she pulled back the heavy velvet drape and gasped. Blue and green hills sledded their way across the land. Up and down they rolled. Colorful spring flowers—yellows, purples, blues—performed their nature dance in the May winds.

The scene before her sent her mind fleeing into some dream place. Squinting, she could envision a tall, beautiful woman dressed in flowing white gauze traipsing over the hills singing some romantic Scottish ballad. A man dressed in the Scottish plaid would rein in his black steed and haul her up behind him, and they would disappear over the knoll into a life of pure happiness.

What foolishness! Edwina shook the cobwebs from her brain. Since when had she put on such an impractical countenance? Such puffery. Everyone knew that plain women with fifteen extra pounds could not look forward to such goings-on. She must get out of here before she turned into Cinderella. And her with a degree in Library Science. Perhaps the reading of too many books had mushed her mind.

Stomping back to her room, she slid her feet into her black flats and in doing so became just Edwina.

Checking the itinerary once again, Edwina packed the last of her things, making herself a promise she would buy a new pair of pajamas, and snapped her case shut. It was time to thank her host and remove herself from his home... castle.

A smile crept to her lips. Cecelia had never planned on meeting a handsome Scot, nor staying in his castle. Sure enough, if the man had laid eyes on her stepsister, he would have been smitten instantly. For Cecelia possessed what all men seemed to want. Beauty, charm, and intellectual savvy.

Edwina had not been born with any of it. But, she assured herself, she had been born with rational reasoning. And in her chosen field and simple lifestyle, she needed it desperately, especially now when it seemed her Cinderella senses had increased and her common sensibilities had decreased.
Chapter 5

Dragging her luggage to the door, she left it for Reardon to fetch later and opened the heavy door to the hall. Her feet took her immediately to the arched window. As she gazed down, her dark blue eyes followed the gentle swooping of the hills... not mountains, but hills. The blue-green of the lush countryside bid her to investigate. Unfortunately, time would not permit. Sadly, she turned from the window.

Thirty minutes later, she still could not bring herself to stop studying each huge framed picture that hung along the long, wide corridor. It was like walking through an art gallery. She stopped at each oil painting and busied her mind. Who was he? The Scot's father? Grandfather? Reardon had said the family occupied this castle since... what was it... 1702? The paintings of the women fascinated her. What would it have been like to live three hundred years ago? Walking these very halls. How many times had the castle been attacked? What babies had been born in these rooms? Her mind wandered until she felt a chill. What was it about this castle that pulled her deeper into its history? Inhaling deeply, she slowly descended the stairs. Each step was at least twice the width and length of the stairs at her apartment.

Elegance reeked from every column standing sentinel along the staircase that guided her downward. At the bottom, she let her hand rest on the newel post. Others had rested their hand here. But she was an intruder, not a family member, which prompted her to wander toward the open doorway of a room that looked very much like a Victorian parlor. She stepped into it, awed at its size. The tall ceilings were a huge artist's canvas painted with golden cherubs, chestnut horses, and pink roses intertwined with small green leaves. There were voices. Edwina turned. Walking toward her was the most exquisite woman she had ever laid eyes on. She wanted more than anything to rub her eyes. Was she dreaming? Perhaps she was still in her apartment at home and this was just a figment of her very tired imagination. But her gaze could not leave the confection that moved toward her.

The woman was much like the one she pictured moving across the hills. Silly. This woman was real. Her dress was of turquoise silk, and it shimmered on the slender figure as she moved through the sun-dappled room. Ebony eyes appeared from her flawless dark skin. Hair as black as her Chinese vase at home fell around the woman's elegant face in perfect symmetry. Suddenly a voice came from her mouth.

"Are you the American from the hotel?"

"Yes," Edwina whispered, trying to distinguish the accent.

"Ah, then you . . ." The woman stopped and smiled slightly, wiping away any disdain Edwina might have had for her intense beauty.

"I... I'm sorry for the mix-up," Edwina blurted. "I don't mean to be a problem."

"Tis not a problem... as you say." The woman skimmed across the floor and pulled a long satin rope.

"I am Ilana Mamara from Madrid."

That was it! Spanish.

Bertilda appeared in the doorway with folded hands answering the call. "Miss?"

"Would you mind bringing us tea? And biscuits."

She must be starving, for she's as thin as a pencil, Edwina thought. "My name is Edwina Blair." Did Scottish etiquette require her to offer her hand?

The woman nodded politely. "Please sit. We await Laird Dunnegin. He is out for his morning ride, and we shall not be able to start without him."

That slight smile again. The woman lowered herself into the elegant, tall-backed cream colored chair and smoothed her dress then straightened her back. Edwina stepped lightly to the sofa and sat down slowly, placing her own hands in her lap.

Edwina straightened her back too and couldn't help but feel as though they were on a stage set for a Victorian play. So the handsome Scot was a Laird.

Bertilda appeared with a silver tray and tea. Little biscuits were offered and Edwina, careful not to rattle her cup in the saucer, took two and laid them alongside the cup. Sipping quietly, she fished for something to say.

"It's beautiful here," she ventured.

"It is beautiful in Scotland. I am from Spain where it is more beautiful."

"So it is beautiful there too?" Edwina found herself leaning forward.

"Most beautiful. But different from Scotland. Our people are much more, what do you say?, animated than those here. They are stuffy in Scotland." She laughed lightly and lifted the cup to her lips.

Edwina nodded and sipped her tea, munched on her biscuit, and realized she was very hungry.

"Where do you live in America?"

"In Michigan, a small town called Niles. Just two hours from Chicago." Edwina added that to show she was close to a wonderful large city.

"Ah, I know Michigan well. I was once in Chicago and traveled to a beautiful home on... Is it Lake Michigan? I think."

"Yes, Lake Michigan. Many people live in Chicago and build their summer homes—more like castles—on the Lake. There are many ports for yachts and such," Edwina said proudly.

"It is as you say, beautiful. But Spain . . ." She sighed and looked away.

"Well, I must be going." Edwina suddenly found she needed to be gone when the Scot came back. She had over- stayed as it was. "Please tell Mr. um... Laird Dunnegin that I am grateful for his help last evening." Standing she looked down at her plain shoes. Much too inelegant for this place.

"Ye may tell him yerself," a booming voice echoed from behind her sending her teacup slithering off her saucer. She caught the cup with one hand, but a small amount of tea slung itself across her white blouse.

"Ah, you are back early," Ilana said as she rose from her chair, disposed of her cup and glided toward the Scot.

Ignoring her wet blouse, Edwina set the offending contraption on the table and backed away since the other two people in the room had eyes only for each other. Now was her time to square things up and get out before she caused another ruckus.

"Thank you so much for your kindness." She bowed slightly, hoping it was customary and turned on her heel.

"Ah, but you must stay," he called. But sure that he was speaking only to his beloved, she kept walking.

"Then ye do not wish to attend my birthday celebration?" He had caught up with her, the beautiful Ilana the perfect distance behind him, so as not to appear too eager.

"Me? Your birthday? You want me to stay?" Edwina, now turned, asked.

"Yes. Ye must stay for another day and celebrate with us. An American is always sought after at a party here in Scotland. There are many questions my guests would like to ask of ye."

"They want to ask me questions?" Startled at his words, she could not think fast enough to form a response. But a look behind the tall man's wide shoulders told her the beautiful Miss Ilana was not thrilled with that proposition. What could he want with an American from a little town in Michigan? And what answers could she possibly form to questions from Scots? It all seemed silly.

"Really, I must go, but I thank you sincerely for allowing me to stay in your... your castle." She waved her hand. "It is very beautiful, but I must insist on leaving. I have an itin- erary. And I will need to make my plans sure so that I can go along on the bus with the tour group."

"Ah, but you do not know that Monday is the best day to start your tour. That gives you today and tomorrow." He spoke stubbornly, as if in charge of her life.

A quick glance at Miss Ilana told a different story. She was a woman scorned.

Edwina's eyes narrowed. What was this Scot up to anyway? Didn't he want to be alone with his fiancée? After all, it was the reason he had helped her at the hotel... to get home to his beloved, right?

Edwina excused herself and slipped up the stairs to change her stained blouse. Something seemed awkward, but she wasn't exactly aware of what it was. Yet.
Chapter 6

With a fresh sweater, she descended the stairs to find the two of them talking quietly. She tried to ignore them but was caught.

Well what did it matter? So she might as well make the best of it. "You say the best tours start on Monday?" She eyed both Ilana and the Scot.

"Would I not know such things?" he said, pulling his beloved's hand into his elbow. "Come you two, we shall plan the celebration while we dine."

Then he did the most amazing thing. He took her hand, put it in his other elbow, and pulled her along. Quick as she could, Edwina wiggled her hand out of his embrace, her face redder than a Michigan apple. Did Scottish men have no sense? The beautiful Ilana seemed not to notice, but sure as yesterday's rain, Edwina knew she must be storming inside.

To make matters worse, Bertilda appeared and looked quite affronted. Edwina heard the puff of air she released in disgust. Was she that unwanted as to infuriate even the help?

Something was amiss.

"Will ye be wantin' yer special brew?" She directed the question to her employer, but Edwina saw the smirk that lifted Ilana's beautiful mouth.

"We would," the Scot said directly.

"Aye," came the simple reply from Bertilda without so much as the flash of an eyelash.

"Ah, seat yourself here." He took them to a dining table.

Edwina took the offered chair and turned beet red again. Shouldn't etiquette have called for him to seat his fiancée first? Something was definitely going on. And it couldn't be good.

"Ilana, dear, you must sit near me." Then he swooped forward in a very gentlemanly bow and seated his fiancée.

A breath escaped Edwina's mouth. All must be well, then.

The handsome Laird Dunnegin had eyes only for Ilana. Edwina sat, elbows on table, until she remembered her manners and placed folded hands in her lap, making great work of viewing the room.

She thanked the Lord when Bertilda entered, tea service upon the tray. The slight noise and activity made the uncomfortable silence more bearable.

It had been her dubious assignment to celebrate the birthday, but it was a load heavier than she wished to carry. Edwina knew she was not wanted here, except by the Scot. He had a second purpose, undetected by her practical nature as of yet.

Breakfast began to appear. Two other young females, dressed in black with white aprons, joined in their service alongside Bertie. A name that more suits the woman, Edwina thought as a smile crept across her face. Bertie did not like the Miss Ilana. That was becoming very clear. Each time she appeared at the beautiful woman's side, she seemed to wear a sneer that left Edwina quite unnerved.

What was the problem anyway?

Watching the Scot as he chose his silver was more important at the moment. Breakfast in her small apartment usually consisted of a simple bowl of cereal or a tart popped in the toaster. When was the last time she'd eaten at a table like this? Then she remembered—at her father's wedding. The classy Cecelia had planned the entire affair. She and her actress mother had definitely put on the show for their guests, while her father sat goo-goo eyed at his lovely new bride. She remembered the entire scene and decided even then that her wedding, if there ever was one, would be simple. Profoundly simple.

But now she had to concentrate on what Cecelia taught her that very first year of their parents' marriage. Salad fork, dinner fork. Edwina sighed. Ah, what's the use? I'm going to be here only one day, so does it really matter?

The five-course meal ended with a miniature bowl of flam pudding. "This is wonderful, Bertilda," Edwina called out and knew instantly she had fumbled.

Finally, after a few moments of deathly silence, he said, "Tis only that you complimented the food to the help, not to the host." He smiled.

"Ah, a foolish blunder indeed." Edwina took up the Scottish accent.

Alex Dunnegin's eyes lit up, and he did the most unusual thing.

He laughed. Out loud. Ilana smiled indulgently over the rim of her teacup. The noise rang through the large room and several

persons, all dressed in black and white, appeared at the two doors.

"Something amiss, sir?" Bertilda asked while the others stared.

"Nothing amiss. Go back to your duties." The Scot laughed again.

"So... there is a bit of fun to be had in a castle." Edwina could not believe her ears.

Indeed she must have said the words aloud because the Scot's voice rang out in laughter again.

And again Bertilda appeared at the door, the strangest look on her face. Her prognosis must have been right because Edwina saw her pursed lips turn up slightly before she gave them her back once again.

Had she, Edwina the Dour, a propensity for humor?

Well, was it impossible? God had created the heavens and the earth. Could He not create basic common sense and a touch of humor in the same person?

The thought whisked through her mind. The first of its kind that she could remember. When had she heard laughter like that? Especially to her very own comment . . . perhaps she did have a penchant for humor. Edwina smiled and picked up her dinner fork... or was it the salad fork?
Chapter 7

The meal ended soon enough, but the magic remained. Edwina could sense among the help that hearts were lighter. There were whisperings behind hands and smiles that seemed to be pinned on her. Waiting for Laird Dunnegin to release them from the table, she folded her hands and sat quietly.

"Dismissed." He waved a hand.

Ilana, stone-faced, stood and retreated from the room like she was walking on water. She disappeared up the steps.

The Laird turned to her, bowed slightly in her direction, said, "We shall meet this evening up in the ballroom. Bertilda will dress you." and stalked from the room, his booted feet echoing across the black and white marbled floors.

Dress me?

Well, now what do I do? Edwina, still happy from her recent success, was left to her own devices.

"The library," she whispered. Seeing no one about, she began to wander the corridors seeking her favorite pastime— reading. Once found, she knew she would not leave the blessed array of reading material at her disposal for many hours.

After several peeks into open doors, she spotted books. Stepping into the corner room, she went straight for the windows. They were at ground level and she watched as a small cart, being pulled by a miniature horse, meandered down a long pathway. Up the slopes and down again.

Finally turning from the view, with a reverence borne out of respect, she ran her fingers along the fine array of books. The top shelf was far above her head, a small ladder rolled along for reaching volumes. After a few minutes she spotted a favorite. In light of the fact she wanted to write her own sixteenth century novel she might as well create the ambience in her mind.

"Ah, Emma by Jane Austen," Edwina whispered. "Truly a work of beauty and truth." She sighed and held the book as if it were made of gold, turned the heavy ancient volume in her hand, and lifted it to her nose. Her eyes roamed the room for the coziest corner and stopped. Next to three very tall windows with heavy burgundy drapes now open to the sun, she found two brown leather chairs. She chose the sunniest spot. The chair was big enough for the tall Scot and consumed her entire body, all fifteen extra pounds.

"Heavenly." She sighed, all comedic thoughts gone from her head. She would never need to take a drink or a drug to feel this high. Books and their stories were enough.

Hours must have passed. Once she looked up to stretch and think about finding a bathroom, she saw the sunlight had moved across the floor and now rested high on the rows of books. Finding no clock, then deciding she didn't need one, she rose from her seat, rubbed the muscles in her neck, shook the feeling back into her legs, and set out to find the ladies room.

The click of her flats on the marble floors signaled her presence. Everything about the castle was quiet, so she removed her shoes and swung her arm, shoes dangling precariously from her fingertips. She had not known such

peace and fulfillment in many months. She wandered back to the library and walked the hallowed floor in her stocking feet, reading book titles and hefting huge volumes.

Had she, Edwina Emily Blair, lived such a boring life that a few moments of quiet solitude in a handsome Scot's castle could find her so exhilarated? Suddenly a thought flew into her mind and landed like a robin settling on the highest branch of a tree. This was the story she was seeking, the one she wanted to write. She was living the material right this minute.

Slapping her temple, she began to allow her mind to wander. What if... what if an American met a Scot in a castle? A beautiful woman, with all the right attributes? What would the result be? And it was born. The story of her dreams.

Could she perhaps become a published author someday? She knew books well enough, enjoyed reading voraciously, and met various authors and editors at book signings. Perhaps this was why God had interrupted her life. To bring her to this place, for this reason, just like Esther of the Old Testament.

Stranger things have happened, she mused.

"Lass, I have been searching for ye." Bertilda bustled into the library, arms filled with linens. "They are waiting dinner for ye."

"Me? Why did they wait?" Edwina pulled her thoughts out of her magic writing world and into the present.

"Ye are a guest." Bertilda's head turned to give her a look. "Be aboot your way." She waved her off like a fly.

"Thank you, Bertie... I mean Bertilda." Edwina picked up her pace, stopped, put on her flats, and began the long walk toward the dining hall. At least they would know she was on her way since the tapping could be heard echoing against the stone walls. She must hurry. Being late was not something she admired in anyone.

She entered the dining room through the large, arched doorway to find the Scot and Ilana standing to the side of the table talking. Not exactly friendly-like, if she had her guess.

"Ah, our guest has been found." Mr. Dunnegin nearly galloped up to her, so long were his legs and his stride.

"Where have you been?" came the annoying voice of Ilana, her Spanish dialect more pronounced. Her face was not as beautiful at the moment. There was a definite scowl upon it, Edwina noted.

"Please, I am sorry. I was reading in the library." She started to scurry to her chair, but was beaten by the Scot. Apparently he insisted upon seating his guests at every meal. She shrugged and allowed him. Perhaps it was Scottish manners. What did she know about Scottish nobility?

He seated Ilana next, much to his fiancée's dismay, for she sent a rather menacing look toward Edwina across the very large table. Edwina caught it like a softball to the stomach.

Dinner was boiled corned beef, potatoes, cabbage, and pumpernickel bread.

"Fit for a queen," Edwina said with a sigh as she ate heartily.

"You being the queen?" Ilana suggested.

"Me? Oh no... that's not what I meant . . ." Edwina stumbled over her words. She wasn't a fighter, especially in the game of confrontation. Never quick enough with a retort, she was always the one who needed to think an entire evening before coming up with the right response.

"Ye will join us at the celebration this eve, will ye not?" the Scot said, effectively saving her from further embarrassment.

"Thank you. But I have work to do tonight." There was no way she was going to have the wicked Ilana chomping at her heels all evening. Edwina came up with the excuse, and even to her it sounded true. Lord, forgive me for lying.

"Work? What could be so important to reject your knight in shining armor on the one day of the year he turns thirty?"

"Oh... well . . ." Edwina snuck a look at Ilana whose barely veiled gaze was clearly pushing her to decline the invitation. "I can't." She turned to Dunnegin, sorry to fib so outrageously, but then again she could read a book. That was work. Now that she had a story line in mind, she was in fact telling the truth. She would begin her novel this very evening. "Truly, I must begin my writing tonight," she said and sounded convincing even to herself.

"Ah, the writer."

"Yes, sir. I will begin my work tonight," Edwina repeated, hoping she might have sounded a little like Jane Austen when she knew she would write Emma.

"And what writing shall you do while you're on the bus touring all of Scotland's best castles? Will you write your book then?"

"I... well... I will... I will tour, then write... in the evenings, of course." Edwina knew her voice faltered. Besides, she thought, I'll be out of here by tomorrow, if the hotel clerk cooperates.

"As ye wish, lass.... But I can tell you now, you will not be worthy of a single line of writing after you have walked the sacred halls of so many castles."

Ilana placed her white linen napkin across her plate, which signaled she was through with the small talk.

True to his nature, Laird Dunnegin rose and pulled out the chair for his fiancée. Edwina knew she would expect the same of her beloved. When he stood behind her chair, setting her free, she made for the door.

It was none of her business. She may be a guest, but she did not have to be an unwanted entity in the room when the Scot had obviously hurried home to meet his fine lady friend... and here she was interrupting who knows what.

There were some customs women knew about other women, that no amount of protocol would change. And this one Edwina was sure about. She made it her mission to disap- pear for the evening, birthday celebration or no.
Chapter 8

Thankfully, Mr. Dunnegin did not stop her. Climbing up the stairs on tiptoe, she hurried away to her room. The beautiful Ilana was nowhere to be seen.

It was already half past six. They had just finished dinner. What time was the party anyway? Did they always start parties so late? And where were all the decorations? She hadn't seen any. Of course, she had only been to her own room, the parlor, dining room, and library. What fun it would be to have the castle all to herself. To wander around, feeling the carved wood beneath her hand, dreaming of ancient days and bygone eras.

Surrounded by so much beauty, it was difficult not to ensconce herself in the writing of her story. But why shouldn't she? The entire evening was ahead of her, and she had already declined the birthday celebration. Why not get started?

Edwina grabbed a yellow-lined pad and two pencils, then ran down the stairs, hoping no one was lurking about. Walking the halls of so great a castle, she began to make notes. Descriptions of carvings, busts, portraits on the wall.

Ornate desks, and wood and stone floors. Oh, and the decorative fireplaces. Cecilia would have been in heaven.

Hating the clip-clop of her shoes, she left them on the first stair. She could muse without being discovered.

After a walk-through of the first floor, she tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor where her room was. Careful not to open any closed doors, she slipped down the corridor making notes. Door handles made of ivory, wood trimming measuring ten inches high, along the floor and at ceiling, windows of unusual sizes and shapes. Suddenly, in the middle of a note she heard voices. From somewhere up above. The parapets. Wow. That was something she needed to do. Get outdoors in the morning light tomorrow and make notes of the decorative towers, the courtyards, the gardens... oh, there was so much to do before leaving.

Then, smashing right into her dream world, came several servants all carrying trays covered with huge domes. "Pardon me, miss," each said as they scurried by and through a small door.

Once alone she peeked inside the door and saw servant's stairs curling upward. Not hearing anything, she tiptoed up the stairs, each step announcing her position, and looked down the hallway. She hid in an alcove at the sound of footsteps.

Edwina watched as they opened a door and hurried inside. The feeling of excitement followed them.

This is none of my affair. Her conscience pricked, yet her heart beat faster.

She made her way down the stairs to the first floor, slipped on her shoes, and found an exit at the back. Large glass doors opened to her touch. The handle was a beautiful black iron piece shaped like a question mark without the dot. Her feet stepped onto a large gray stone patio surrounded by riotous red and white flowers and greenery hanging from white lattice screens. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Like the book The Secret Garden. She was a child again.

Pad and pencil in hand she found a stone path and followed it, the party above stairs forgotten. It would be dark soon, so she hurried along gazing at the succulent plants, fingering the tender new ivy. Walking this way and that, she forgot to remember the way back, but surely one could not get lost? She had a good sense of direction. It would be no problem. Right now she had only this eve and tomorrow to see it all... and see it all she would.

Sometime later she began to trip over the stones as the darkness fell over the quiet garden, and with all the hanging vines and flowers, it was difficult to see the pathway. After several turns, she could see lights from the windows on the third floor that helped to guide her through the head-high labryinth. Then as she sensed she was nearing the castle, lights along the pathway lit. Of course the property and grounds would have lighting. She smiled. Everything was so perfect.

As she rounded a huge tree, several dogs began barking. Oh no... she hated being cornered by dogs. And no doubt these were guard dogs—they wouldn't know her.

She rushed to put her back to the tree for protection and held her pad in front of her face.

Three large dogs came running toward her. The bark dug into her back. What should she do? No one would hear her... they were all inside at Mr. Dunnegin's birthday party.

"Nice doggies. Nice doggies," she repeated over and over, to no avail. The barking only became louder as she spoke. It seemed like an hour had passed. She was in the soup now.

"Ah, my dogs have found my guest." She heard the Scot's booming voice before he appeared out of the darkness.

"Fife, Bailey, Duke, hush!"

At the owner's command, the dogs stopped barking and sat down by their master, doe-eyed.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you." Edwina sighed. "I was beginning to think I might be sleeping against this tree tonight."

"You seem to always be in need of rescuing." He laughed, but she could see he was not exactly happy to be outdoors looking for a wayward guest. An unwanted guest at that.

"I am so very sorry... again it seems. I try to stay out of your way and only make things worse." She eyed the dogs.

"Come." He offered his hand.

Edwina gladly accepted. Her knees were shaky and the uneven ground could be treacherous at this late hour.

As soon as her footing was sure, she released herself from his warm grasp. That in itself was a dream. The hand- some Scot holding her hand. She must make note of that on her pad.

As they entered the castle through the glass door, Bertilda came around the corner. "Lass, ye have been trouble."

The Scot smiled and released his guest to his maid. Edwina heard the echo of his boots.

"Have ye Americans no sense? This day is verra important to the household. Tis the laird's day of birth, and ye are keeping him from his celebration."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Come now, move yer feet. We must find suitable clothing for ye. And a bath... yer hair... yer hair has sticks in it."

Edwina's hand went to her hair.

"Pick up yer pace, we have much work to do."

"But I don't want... I shouldn't be at the party.... I'm just a guest, not a friend of the family. Besides, he already knows I have work to do."

Her sentence was cut off with spit and vinegar. "If the laird says ye are to attend, ye are to attend. I'll hear no more aboot it."

And Edwina knew she wouldn't.

Again in her room, the bath water gushing at high speed, the woman was running from room to room seeking a dress that would please her. Most of them she threw on the bed were too small. Edwina knew she did not possess a tiny waist and stick-like arms.

"Ah, this will do. Tis the dress . . ." A sad look came across the matron's face. "We have no other choice—put it on. I will add some decorations to make it look not so . . . so familiar," she whispered and hurried away.

Edwina allowed herself to be dressed wondering what was so special about this dress.

"Now, there."

Bertilda turned, but there was a tear in her eye. Edwina was sure of it.

"Have I... have I ruined the dress somehow?" she asked quietly, looking down.

"What? What makes you say that?" came the tart reply.

"Oh nothing . . ."

"Well, sit. We have to swirl that thick hair upward. And it's barely dry from your bath." Edwina sat and when she rose again was decently attired.

The dark emerald color of the dress displayed her simple beauty. The cut was empire, rather old fashioned, yet unpretentious. It was not satin, like the turquoise worn by Ilana, but it was nicer than anything she'd ever owned. She slipped her feet into the black flats. Bertie could find no other shoes in such a short time. "They'll have to do," she said, her nose wrinkled.

Edwina ran her hand along the sleeve. It was soft. "Rather nice," Bertilda stated. Had that been a compliment?

"Yes, ye will do. Now follow me... and try to stay aboot the place. Laird Dunnegin has spent enough time fishing you out of your troubles."

Edwina's eyebrows went up. Yet what Bertie said was true.

"Don't fidget," came the call over the woman's shoulder.

How did Bertie know she was fidgeting? She certainly must have eyes in the back of her very stiff-necked head. Edwina suppressed a nervous gasp. She was headed to her doom. She could feel it. Cecelia should have been here, not her.

Her nerves were beginning to tingle, and from experience Edwina knew that was not a good sign.

She lifted the dress which swirled around her ankles, grateful the soft fabric covered her legs because they were not long and fashionable. Besides that, her black flats were rather worn. How did she get into a situation like this?

Before she could answer her own question, Bertie came to a set of double doors and pushed them open with both hands. Edwina felt like the dirty cinder girl following the wicked stepmother to the dungeon.

Suddenly she was shoved into a whirlwind. Instruments played from a corner and servants hustled about with trays while the well dressed guests stood in small groups talking and gesturing grandly. What had she to do with all this?

"Oh no ye don't." Bertie grabbed her arm as Edwina turned back to exit the door they'd just entered. "Ye are the Laird's guest."

Edwina was left to her own devices when Bertie was called away.

Her hands, already sweating in the elbow-length gloves she wore, didn't seem to know what to do. Down at her side they went, then up again at her waist, then crossed over her chest... but that was not good body language. That she knew from a book she'd read only recently.

"Ah, my American guest," came the deep voice of the Scot from somewhere in the crowd.

Edwina could not stop the flush of red that crept to her face. How disgusting. Why hadn't she read anything about how to keep her face from turning apple red when she was embarrassed?

Before long the small crowd had separated revealing the very handsome, very tall Scot. Her knight in shining armor to be sure, for there he was dressed in a kilt, a sword actually dangling from his side.

Edwina's eyes widened. She knew what Scots wore beneath such attire. Read that in a book too. Further embarrassing herself for the thought, her face turned a deeper red, if it were possible, and for some odd reason she couldn't catch her breath.

She forced her eyes away from him to gather her wits while he made his way toward her, then her gaze fell on the beautiful and angry Ilana. Oh dear.

"Miss Edwina Blair, my guest from America." He stood a full eight inches above her head. She had not noted the vast difference in their height. She was five feet and six inches, not short by any means.

Had he actually remembered her name? Fundamentally, it seemed important right at the moment. She wanted to knock herself in the head... he had seen her papers. Duh! So what now? Was she supposed to curtsy to the birthday boy? It was all too much. Hopefully when she opened her mouth something elegant would come out.

But it didn't.

"Sir... I wish you a happy fortieth birthday," she said and smiled until she heard the gasp of the crowd.

Her eyes darted around the room before they fell on Miss Ilana's. The beautiful black eyes were surely pleased.

Somehow she had made a huge blunder. The people were now whispering behind their hands.

So much for protocol and pretense. And thank the heavens above she would be gone tomorrow. That thought alone kept her knees straight. She would not fall to the floor in a faint to cover her obvious error... which was what?

Suddenly Mr. Dunnegin laughed aloud again. Booming laughter. "Ye have added ten years on me life," he said, his brogue strong.

Edwina's heart fell to her stomach in one fell swoop. So that was it. He had said he was thirty, not forty?

"I shall hope to be the father of many heirs by then." He laughed and took her arm, leading her through the crowd like a ship crashing through the icy seas.

"Don't tremble, lass. Tis all right," he leaned his head down and whispered.

"Aye, for you maybe," she whispered back, which only caused him to laugh again at her attempt at the Scottish language.

Ilana must be ready to dump her body in the North Sea, which wasn't very far from where they stood. Edwina again wiggled out of his gentle grasp and said, "Where is the ladies room?"

"There." He pointed, then took her hand and put it back on his arm. "Not so quickly. I have guests who wish to meet you."

"Me? Why me?"

"They wish to visit Chicago or New York. They have not decided, and since they've not been to your country, they would like to inquire of you which would be most suitable."

Edwina slipped in a full breath. "Is that all? I can handle that," she said proudly. "I live near Chicago and have been to New York. Twice."

"Then you shall find no harm in discussing your American cities?"

"I shall not." she returned his amused gaze.

He had the greenest eyes. They matched the blue and green plaid he wore, making his weathered, tan face even more handsome, if that were possible. Oh that Cecelia were here now to see her plain little sister walking on the arm of a Scottish laird.

Before long she had been introduced to an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie, who were well-to-do by the looks of their fine clothing. Mr. Dunnegin, having bowed politely, left them to their conversation.

"Shall we find a seat?" the gentleman asked, his brogue much more pronounced than Mr. Dunnegin's.

"Of course." Edwina tried to sound elegant.

The older man seated his wife with great gentleness and then her. "Now, it seems we are aboot to travel to your country to see our son, and we wish more than anything to visit New York or Chicago. Our son, Sean Patrick Gillespie, lives in Boston. He attends the university there. We will have precisely two weeks to see the sites."

That seemed to be the only introduction because the two waited for her response.

"Wonderful. Boston University is a good school." She removed her gloves and set them across her lap. She couldn't think straight in such a formal setting.

They smiled.

And for the next half hour, Edwina told them all she knew. The evening had been saved after all. The elderly couple apparently enjoyed her every word; Edwina noticed their gentle smiles and affirmation.

When, finally, they had been called away to dance, Edwina found herself alone in the corner, lurking behind the palm leaf foliage and enjoying the scene before her. Violins played, couples danced, others talked, some picked up small plates and filled them with all sorts of unfamiliar little sandwiches and treats.

Alex Dunnegin and his fiancée were not in her view. Edwina was glad. Miss Ilana had not liked being upstaged by the American guest.

"Here ye are, lass," came the booming voice, just when Edwina had begun to relax. Suddenly he stopped in midstride just two feet from her and stared.

What was wrong? Her mind flew in all directions. Had she done something wrong—again? Should she stand or stay seated? Her legs had no strength so she sat beneath his intense gaze, her face turning crimson.

"What is it? Have I . . ." She looked down in the direction where he was staring.

"The dress. Where did ye get that dress?" He sounded not angry, but sad.

"Bertie put it on me." She knew her voice sounded weak. "Did I... is there something wrong?"

"Never mind," he said and gave her his back.

Edwina stared down at the dress. He hadn't said anything about it when she walked in. It was certainly more elegant than anything she'd ever worn; had it been someone else's? His sister's perhaps, dead even now in the graveyard, and the dress reminding him of the loss? Oh her mind was flying.

It was time to flee. She lifted herself from the seat in the corner, keeping her back against the wall, and looked for an exit. Was the only way out the double doors they had entered? Apparently so. She would head there, smiling and talking to this one and that one on the way and disappear down the hall, pack her things, and ask Reardon if he might drive her back to Edinburgh this very evening while the Scot was still at his party.

As she slid by, a wood panel suddenly opened and a servant appeared. "How'd you do that?" she asked, shocked. There was no knob—at least not one she could see.

"It is the servant's passageway," the girl announced and went on her way.

Well if it opened again, she was going to escape. Sure enough, a few minutes passed and it slipped open. This time Edwina caught her finger in the door, almost crying out because the very heavy door pinched her quite nicely.

The passageway stairs were steep, very narrow, and it was dark. After several turns she opened a tiny butler's door and stepped into the kitchen. A room she had not seen until now.

"Oh. I'm sorry." She slid along the kitchen wall. "I must have made an error. Which way out?" She smiled sweetly, hoping they would not tell their employer of yet another faux pas by the American.

"There." One pointed, and she was almost to her destination when the voice of Bertie sounded in her ear.

"What ye be aboot now, lass?" Her hands were on her ample hips.

"Oh, nothing. I was just... hungry... that's all . . ."

"Hungry? After the dinner ye ate and all the food above stairs?"

She looked up at the woman. "It's the dress," she said quickly, glad for a reprieve.

"What's wrong? Have ye injured it?" Bertie seemed very upset.

"Oh no... that's... what I'm worried about." Edwina picked up the thread of conversation. I'm becoming quite quick in my responses to trouble, she thought proudly.

"It's... just that I don't want to harm it and feel I must change into my own clothes. I am very tired." Then she added for good measure, "I do have the beginnings of a headache."

Bertie did not believe her, but she allowed her to go. "Be aboot your business then. At least ye've made ye're appearance at the laird's party. And lay the dress across the bed – carefully." she replied.

"Who's dress is this?" The words came out of her mouth before she had time to put them back in.

Bertie's face turned sad for a moment, "A lady whom the Laird loved."

"Oh." Edwina wanted out of that dress. "I'll be very careful..."

"See that ye do, lass."

"I will," Edwina called out, but Bertie was already gone.

Escaping from people is difficult around this big place, Edwina mused as she tiptoed up the stairs, the dress lifted in both hands.
Chapter 9

Once concealed in her room, exhausted, Edwina kicked off her shoes and fell across the bed, pulling a pillow beneath her head. "What work it is to suffer through all this fliff-fluff." she sighed as her eyelids fluttered. "I rather think my lifestyle much more . . ." Her words faded away as her thoughts left her.

The next thing she remembered was Bertie calling to her softly. "Miss Edwina... Miss Edwina . . ."

Her eyes opened. There in the ghostly darkness was Bertie, a candle burning, flames dancing upon her austere face. Edwina thought her the epitome of a 1940s character on an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

"How eerie." Edwina tried to sit up. "Do you always go around with a candle? Surely the electricity—"

"Works fine enough. I prefer a candle. It wakes a soul more gently than a light turned on full in one's face."

Well, what about that? Bertie had concerns about gently waking me? How strange. Edwina rubbed her eyes, then realized she'd fallen asleep in the dress. She jumped up, smoothing the skirts.

"I'm sorry, I guess I..

"There now, be gentle with the dress, lass." Bertie interrupted.

"What is it with this dress anyway?" Edwina began to undo the buttons at her wrist.

"Tis nothing for ye to think aboot," came Bertie's quick answer.

"That's true," she acquiesced. "I'm sorry, Bertie."

"You need not call me Bertie," she said smartly. "I'm sorry. I can't help it." She started to say that Bertilda was so proper and decided it may not win her any affection from the formidable Miss Bertie.

"There, give me the dress. And stop saying, I'm sorry."

Edwina almost said it again and stopped herself with a finger across her lips. She handed Bertie the dress and turned to retrieve her packed case, which still stood next to the door. While Bertie was busy in the adjoining dressing room, she quickly skidded the case to the end of the bed and plunked it down, then opened it.

"Ah, I have found a nightdress for ye." The woman held up a pink confection to the lamplight now lit atop the small table.

"It is much nicer than my... my . . ."

"Much nicer," Bertie said forthrightly. So her raggedy pajamas had not gone unnoticed by the maid. "Slip off yer underthings, and I shall help put this over yer head. Edwina obeyed. "We mustn't muss yer hair."

"Why not? I'm just going to take it down anyway," Edwina stated, pulling at the pins. She could not possibly sleep with all those knots Bertie had wound into her hair. "Lass, don't know ye know yer manners yet? Tis my duty to unwind yer hair and comb it free." Bertie shook her head. Bertie was forever feigning disgust and tired as she was, Edwina was rather sick of it.

"I can do it myself, Bertie... I mean Bertilda," she said crossly. But before she had lifted her arms to do it, Bertie slapped her hands away, took hold of her shoulders, walked her to the little pink flowered seat in front of the vanity, and sat her down.

"Well." was all Edwina could say.

"Now sit still, lass. I have much to do yet this eve." Edwina nearly blurted, "Well, go and do it . . .and leave me be." But she bit her tongue. After all, she was a guest. And soon she would be out of this castle with all its Scottish rules and manners. It was au revoir to all plans for a sneaky getaway this evening.

"Oh, but that feels so nice." Edwina felt her frustrations fly away as Bertie's hair and scalp ministrations left her body feeling as though she had no bones.

"Tis good for a body to relax before going to the bed."

Bertie's voice had softened. Edwina, in some far-off fashion, wondered why. She had so much to do. Suddenly she jumped awake.

"Shouldn't you be combing Ilana's hair?" she looked up at Bertie.

"That lass won't let me lay a hand on 'er." Bertie's face hardened right before her eyes.

"Why? It feels so nice... and Ilana has such beautiful black hair . . ." her voice trailed off as her muscles relaxed again. Bertie was running a soft brush through her hair now.

"Tis not for me to speak of." Bertie clamped her lips shut.

"Ah... and not for a guest to know either," Edwina said.

"Right ye are lass," Bertie agreed.

"Then we won't speak of it . . ." Edwina's voice trailed off again.

"Now to bed with ye." Bertie pulled her up and gave her backside a little slap. Her eyes popped open. It was a mother tap. Edwina wanted to cry—her own mother had done such things when she was a child. She could remember distinctly.

"Well, be off with ye," Bertie's voice sing-songed.

"Thank you, Bertie." Edwina hesitated, then hugged the woman quickly and ran for her bed. She felt like a ten-year- old. And here she was a twenty-seven-year-old woman, practical and quite satisfied with her life. But with a newfound bit of humor, she reminded herself.

Edwina saw the candlelight disappear and then heard a soft click as the door closed.
Chapter 10

Morning came too quickly as Edwina turned in her bed, the long gown wrapping around her like the red stripe on a white candy cane. She pulled it free and stuck her feet atop the covers, stretching as she woke. Why hadn't Bertie come this morning? Surely she was up and about. The woman probably never slept with both eyes shut.

Her mind danced as she lifted her well-rested body from the bed and turned on the bath water. Just as she was slipping beneath the bubbles, she heard Bertie's heavy footfall.

"Lass, ye 'ave run yer own bath?"

She sounded upset. "Of course, Bertie—Bertilda—you have plenty to do. I love this scent."

"Don't change the topic," Bertie warned. "And call me Bertilda. I'm tired of ye saying Bertie," she sputtered as she gathered Edwina's tossed clothing.

"Yes, Bertie—I mean Bertilda," Edwina said sweetly. "As you wish."

Bertie harrumphed and closed the door behind her, opened it again, and announced, "Breakfast in an hour." Then she was gone.

An hour? What time was it anyway? For some reason this castle had no clocks.

Edwina hummed as she shampooed her hair, wondering which book she would read today. This was her last day at the castle, and instead of trying to run, she had decided sometime during the night she would make the best of things and make full use of the library today, as, no doubt, Mr. Dunnegin and his fiancée would be making plans for their nuptials. She happily let her mind create a different heroine than that of Ilana for her Scottish hero. The book would weave a much sweeter life for the handsome Scot. Thinking thusly, she removed herself from the still warm water, toweled try, and wrapped the cherry pink towel around her body.

Off to her bag to find something suitable to wear for a Sunday's pleasure. Upon opening her case, she picked up her Bible. Oh Lord, I have been so remiss.... Here I am running around with all my worries, and I have not talked with You. After a half hour of reading and some overdue prayer, Edwina lifted herself from the chair and pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a pink T-shirt. Planting her bare feet in the black flats, she took them off again and let them dangle from her fingertips. No way was she going to be found this day. She wanted to be alone.

After putting her ear to the door, no sound came. She opened it ever so slowly. The wood creaked loudly. Tiptoeing on bare feet, she descended the long staircase successfully and silently made her way to the library. Upon entering she saw the drapes already open and began perusing the book- shelves. Something caught her eye above.

Some of the oldest books lay on the top shelf.

It must be a half story up, she thought, then drew the ladder along the rails and positioned it squarely to the left so she could reach the desired volume. Edwina climbed slowly, curled her toes around a rung, reached for the book, and had it in her hand when a voice sounded from behind her.

"Lass, I'll get it."

The heavy volume fell from her grasp, and she tried to catch it, nearly knocking herself free of the ladder.

"Must you always come up behind me with that shouting voice?" Edwina let loose.

"Must ye always be aboot something unsafe?" he shouted back as he picked up the book off the floor, smoothing the pages in his large hands. "Do ye always climb library ladders in yer bare feet?"

Edwina looked down. Her shoes sat at angles on the floor below. Wouldn't you know.

She sought another topic. "It seems I 'ave been nothing but trouble for ye ever since I arrived," she said contritely and meant every word.

"Ye? Now ye speak like one of us Scots." His laughter boomed throughout the room, successfully announcing to everyone where they were. So much for a quiet day alone. She slowly descended and slipped on her shoes.

"What is the noise aboot?" Bertie stood in the doorway, hands on hips.

"Nothing amiss, go aboot your business, Bertilda." The Scot's voice held the hint that he was still laird of the castle.

Bertie disappeared.

"After breakfast I'm leaving for the farm. Think ye can abide here without the servants calling me back?"

He was suddenly grumpy, but she had made him laugh already this morning. "Oh yes," Edwina said sweetly, her hands behind her back. "I will do just fine. In fact, I was about to read for the entire day. If you don't mind...," she added.

"Do as ye wish. It is yer affair." He hesitated at the door. "Is there anything ye'd be needing?"

"Oh no, thank you." Edwina moved toward him. "You have been most kind, especially in light of all the... well...you know... I have been a handful, and I'm sorry for any inconvenience I have caused you. It's because of your kindness I have been so well received in your Scotland."

"Nicely said." He nodded. "Well then, I will be aboot my business and you yers." He bowed slightly. "Did you get your writing done last eve?"

He had noticed her gone early from the party.

Edwina's eyes fell to the book in her hand. She turned it over in her palms and looked out the window before she answered.

"I... I fell asleep."

The Scot said nothing else. Edwina could hear the clicking of his boots.

For some reason, Edwina felt melancholy. The Scot had not been as friendly. Something about his eyes. A certain... was it sadness perhaps? She shook the thoughts free of her mind and picked up the volume, soon caught up in the throes of World War II.
Chapter 11

The breakfast bell rang. Edwina set the book aside, glad for the break, then hustled off to the dining room. Bertie did not need another cause to ruin her already busy day.

She appeared and instantly saw the elderly couple from last evening. They rushed up to her and said excitedly, "We have chosen Chicago."

"Ah, well done. You will not be disappointed, although New York has much to offer too."

"Yes, dear, and we will be so close while we're in Boston . . ." the lady smiled at her husband.

"Funds, dear. It is for lack of funds." He patted his wife's arm.

A thought struck Edwina. "I... well my sister owns several bed-and-breakfast units in downtown Chicago. Might I help you save some... funds... by putting you up while in Chicago? Perhaps then you could visit New York as well?"

"Oh no, we could not accept, although it is a fine offer," the woman said immediately.

Edwina was not sure of Scottish protocol as yet and wondered if she should insist or let it remain an open invitation. She decided quickly.

"Do you have a paper and pen?"

The man pulled out a gold pen from his suit jacket and a slice of elegant paper with their address in script at the top.

Edwina wrote her sister's name and phone number on it and returned it. "Should you decide, my sister will see to it you are treated very well, at no cost to you," Edwina threw in. By this time her sister would be richer than she was previously now that her father had left his fortune to her. And in exchange for the Scot's kindness to her, really to her sister indirectly, she reasonably expected Cecelia to put them up.

"It would be most kind of you, should we find ourselves able." The man bowed slightly and slipped the paper in the pocket of his suit jacket. "Our address, should you need us." He handed her a fresh sheet.

"Ah, our host." The older man said with a smile.

Edwina turned and saw Mr. Dunnegin coming toward them. Wasn't he supposed to be gone by now?

"Sorry to be late," he said without a smile.

Oh boy, things were not good. Edwina started for her seat when she was grabbed at the elbow and propelled forward. What now?

Before she knew what was happening she was seated in Ilana's chair. The Scot then stepped around the table to settle the elderly woman in her chair, waited for the man to be seated before he took his own. Where in the world was Ilana going to sit? Surely she would toss Edwina out on her head if she were to come in and find her position occupied. Her eyes slid back and forth from the doorway to the Scot to the elderly couple.

"She will not be joining us," he said pointedly with a stare. "Stop fidgeting."

Edwina set her hands in her lap, eased to the point that at least the fiancée would not be yanking her hair out strand by strand. Perhaps she was out purchasing the lace for her storybook wedding dress.

Breakfast was served and eaten in good spirits, at least with the couple and Edwina... the Scot's thoughts were else- where and he barely spoke. And Bertie. Well, she made up for the lack of smiles and good humor. Edwina just stared at her. The woman was smiling at every turn, quick to serve them, almost glowing. Glowing?

The Scot was angry, Bertie was happy. Such things that went on in castles these days. Edwina almost shook her head.

When the plates were removed and the small talk had pretty much died down, Edwina excused herself to the library.

Sunk deeply in the leather chair with the World War II volume still heavy upon her lap, she started to doze. She laid her head back, shut her tired eyes, and relaxed. She wasn't even worried about tomorrow. Her mind drifted to hills and dales and women in fanciful, flowing dresses.

Something pulled her from her reverie. Slowly she opened her eyes, stretched her arms outward, and found herself in the presence of Alex Dunnegin. He was sitting in the chair opposite her, his booted legs stretched out in front of him... looking at her.

"What?" She came awake alarmed.

He lifted his hand as though to stop her. "I came in to bid my guest bye-the-bye and found ye dozing."

"Oh." She closed the book and started to rise. How long had he been there?

"Remain seated. I have much to do and must be on my way. Reardon will see ye to Edinburgh this evening or in the morning, whichever ye wish."

"Thank you," she said quietly, still mush-minded.

"It was kind of you to offer yer sister's accommodations for my friends."

"Oh, it's nothing. Not after all you've done for me. And for my sister, indirectly," she added smiling. "She planned the trip."

"The cause of yer predicament, eh?"

"Exactly." she said. "You see my sister is rather elegant, English and beautiful. It was her picture that arrived by fax and no one believes she is me... as well they shouldn't."

"Will ye have trouble tomorrow... on the tour, I mean."

"Probably, but I will insist, absolutely insist that I be let on." She smiled at her ability to make light of the problem.

"Ah, a lass in a man's world."

Edwina thought about that for a moment. "Well, not exactly," she admitted. "Cecelia, my sister, she's one of those."

"Ah, another one," he said and looked past her through the windows deep in thought, the smile gone from his lips. Lips much too pretty for a man. Where had that come from? I've never noticed a man's lips before. But then, she reasoned, I've never seen so much handsomeness wrapped up in one man before either.

The Scot stood to his full height. "Hope you enjoy the rest of your tour in bonny Scotland." He bowed. His long black coat swung at his booted ankles as he exited, leaving the room bereft at his absence.

"Jeesh." She was falling below the line of common sense and letting her silly heart rush away with her thoughts.
Chapter 12

So Laird Dunnegin had a farm, did he? Edwina mused. What did he do? Run a tractor? Grow things? Raise sheep? What did Scots do on farms anyway? She'd ask Bertie—who amazingly appeared in the doorway right that very minute.

"What do Scots raise on farms?" she asked.

"Whatever do ye mean, lass?" Bertie's dusting cloth never stopped dusting.

"You know... sheep, cows, horses, or maybe corn or wheat—stuff like that."

"Stuff like that?" Bertie repeated, her nose in the air. "Such a way ye Americans have of speaking."

"Okay, I'll be straight with you."

"Straight?" Bertie stopped her work and stared at her.

"You know... real."

"Ah... real."

"What does the Scot... laird, Mr. Dunnegin, whatever you call him do on his farm? Does he raise things?"

"He grows potatoes."

"Potatoes?"

"Yes, potatoes. Have ye not heard of them in America?" Bertie shot back.

"Of course. We have French fries, you know." Edwina started to laugh and saw Bertie was not in the mood. What had happened to the smile she'd been wearing during breakfast?

Since it seemed there was nothing else to say, Edwina clamped her mouth shut and cast her eyes on the book.

"Why would a lass like ye want to know what the laird does?" Bertie's question was too nice.

"Oh, nothing, just asking. I'm thinking about a story line, and I just needed some information, that's all."

"Story line?" Bertie had her hands on her hips again. "Ye aren't thinking of writing some fancy dandy story about the laird are ye?"

"Well . . ."

"Well, my socks. Ye just put that idea out o' yer head this day, ye hear?"

"Why, Bertie?"

"Cause it's none o' yer affair how the laird lives and what he does. Besides . . ." She stopped for a minute. "Besides, things o' such nature are not for ye to know aboot."

"What nature?" Edwina knew the moment the words were out they were the wrong ones.

"See? See?" Bertie waved her dusting cloth, and Edwina saw dust mites twinkling in the sunlight.

"There ye are trying to find out things ye need not know aboot. Tis as I said." Her dusting became frantic. "That man has been through enough," she said tartly and then her hand went to her mouth. Bertie rushed from the room, her dust rag still on top of the shelf.

Now what had she done? Should she go after Bertie? No way. It would only make things worse. Perhaps Bertie was going through menopause or something. She'd read about such things in women's magazines. Happy one minute, angry the next.

Snapping the book shut she decided to take a walk on the grounds since it was late afternoon, hopefully undisturbed by the dogs.

Slipping on her shoes, she found one of the servants and asked about the dogs. "Will they attack me even though their master has told them not to one other time?"

"Miss, the dogs are with the master. Ye need not worry." And the girl was gone.

"You're sure?" Edwina called out loudly, but the soft sounds of retreating footsteps announced she was already out of hearing range. These people sure did move fast.

This time Edwina chose the front door to exit. She had already seen most of the gardens in the back. The hills across the way were calling her name. Besides, she would do well to memorize the surroundings so the descriptive scenes in her book would be real and ring true. There was nothing she hated more than to find a falsehood in a book.

Suddenly she knew she needed paper and ran back for her pad and pencil.

The hills and dales were everything the books said they would be. Soft, lush green, low and gently rolling. She made note of each attribute and walked through fields of myriad shades of colored wildflowers, rocks dotting the hillsides. There were pathways where others had walked before her. No wonder the Scots were proud. Their land was hauntingly beautiful.

Caught up in the new spring flowers, honeysuckle and foxglove she recognized, she tried to memorize each nuance, even sketched some of the plants on her pad. The late after- noon skittered away. She could see the castle up on the hill. No matter how far one walked, she was sure they could see it like a beacon. Lights were beginning to come on in the miniature windows as she viewed the Scot's home. It was, sadly, time to go back.

The walk took longer than she'd predicted. It was dark now, but a full moon gave enough light to make the ground appear frosty white. The evening was magical. The sky, after a sun-warmed day, gave way to the moon in all its glory; full, white, and low, it seemed to lull her home. Thank you, Lord, for such a fine day and for all the things you created. Edwina walked through the front doors and wondered if she should have rung the bell first.

"Ah, you have returned," Reardon said, his manner gruff. "I was about to place a call to Laird Dunnegin."

Edwina's eyes widened. He sure was pomp and circumstance tonight.

"Oh, I'm glad you didn't," she gushed. "He would have been very unhappy."

"Indeed."

"Is it so late that you were worried?" She cringed at the question.

"I was just coming out to look for you. I have orders to assist you in loading your baggage and taking you to Edinburgh, this eve or on the morrow, as you desire," he said gazing past her.

So he didn't like her shenanigans either. Well, she would be gone soon.

"I'm very sorry. Would you prefer I leave tonight?"

"I... what have I to do with it?" he said sensibly. "I am at your service, lass."

The reminder was quick and sure. "Yes, right. Then I will leave in the morning.

"What time shall I come for you?"

"Eight o'clock?" she questioned.

"Eight o'clock." Reardon repeated and retreated, his flaps flying. Edwina ran up the stairs and found her bath was running.

Uh oh, Bertie is in my room.

"Lass, where have ye been? Reardon was just aboot to set out fer ye."

"I know, Bertie. I spoke with him just now."

"Then ye apologized sure and true? He is not aboot friendliness this eve."

"I noticed. And yes, I apologized."

"Good lass, now be aboot your bath. I shall return with a plate."

"Thank you, Bertie, you're a doll. I'm starving."

"Doll?"

"You know, a sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" Bertie appeared the foolish one this time. "It's a pet name."

"Ye call me a pet name. Like a dog?" Her hands flew upwards.

"No, not that kind of pet.... Oh goodness, forget I said anything. It was an endearment, Bertie."

"Well then." Bertie settled down and hustled through the door.
Chapter 13

"Ah, I shall never appreciate a shower ever again," Edwina cooed as she settled into the warm water. I wonder if I could possibly fit a tub this size... no, it would never work, even if the landlord were willing to pull down the wall between the kitchen and bathroom. Then what would I use for a kitchen?

Her musings quickly gave way to thoughts of moving into a larger apartment. Perhaps she ought to think about making a real home for herself, not just a come-hither-and- rest place to lay her head until the next day's duties.

Funny, she'd never thought about that before. What had prompted her to think about it now? She should know some- thing about herself, with all the psychology books and magazine articles she had read.

Strangely enough, she had no idea why she wanted a cozy home at this point in her life. She had planned to keep the apartment until—or if—she married. Now it seemed to take on a sense of urgency. Edwina shrugged. Just when you think you've figured out who you are and what you're about, something as simple as a slight emergency trip to Scotland changes your whole way of thinking. And after only two days! Perhaps she was overly tired.

She lifted herself out of the tub and to her surprise found a beautiful, satiny white dressing gown lying across her pillows. Had Bertie left it for her? Perhaps there was a new guest and she needed to leave the room tonight.

Still in her cherry pink towel, she picked up the heavy garment, and it slid across her fingers like silk. Perhaps it was silk. She had no clue. But it felt wonderful as she rubbed it across her cheek. The scent... what was it? Lavender? She fanned the fabric underneath her nose and sniffed. "Ah, it is Lavender, my favorite." She whispered.

A tap followed by Bertie's now familiar presence interrupted her thoughts. "Ye like it?"

"Aye," she answered and saw Bertie's smile.

"Lass, ye are not Scottish are ye?"

"Oh no, Bertie. Irish on both sides."

"Ach." Bertie said no more.

"I see how it is," she teased and let the towel slide off while Bertie slipped the gown over her head. "It is so beautiful." Her hand ran along the smooth fabric.

"Silk, lassie. Pure silk." Bertie's eyes skimmed her. "Ya know ye'd be a right pretty lass if ye'd... well, walk the hills a bit."

"Ah, so you think I'm fat?"

"Fat? Such a nasty word, lass. If I thought so, I wouldna say it."

"Well, you've got eyes. I'm not exactly a willow stick."

Bertie made great work of punching the pillows into shape.

"What does it matter? I'm just a librarian in a small town back home. I doubt I'll marry. . . Edwina didn't exactly like where this was going.

"Oh puff and stuff. Ye're a young gal. A good man would like a woman with some flesh on 'er. Just ask my William."

"You have a husband?" Edwina knew her shock was showing.

"Ye think me incapable?" Bertie's familiar hands-on- hips stance was unrepentant.

"It's not that, Bertie. Would you please stop putting words in my mouth?" She sat on the side of the bed and nearly slid off.

"See lass, a smart-tongued one ye are. Nearly fell to yer death with that slippery silk."

Suddenly the absurdity of their conversation struck Edwina and she began to laugh. She laughed until her sides hurt. The usually sharp-tongued Bertie had joined in and neither could stop themselves.

"I can see me tellin' Laird Dunnegin that ye slipped off the bed and died, right at my feet, cause of the nightdress. And ye being an American . . ."

"Now Bertie, that's not nice." They were off again. For several minutes neither could gain their composure.

"Bertie, stop. Stop!" Edwina held her sides as she rolled on the bed.

"Lass, ye are the grandest child in a woman's body I 'ave ever witnessed."

"Well, you're not so bad yourself, Bertie... when you lighten up a little."

Finally they settled down, and Edwina could ask the question she longed to say.

"Bertie, tell me about your William." She settled herself under the covers and allowed Bertie to tuck her in.

"Now lass, what ye be wantin' to know aboot me old man? He died and left me penniless, ye know it."

"He did? Did you love him, Bertie?"

"Aye. Till I wanted to die for not having him with me."

"What did it feel like—to love someone that much, I mean."

"Lass, there are no words. Even Shakespeare, bless his English soul, was not able to pin it down about the way a man loves a woman, even though he tried."

Edwina gazed into the woman's sad eyes. "And as a woman also loves her man."

"Ah... I see. Did you have children?"

"One lad, but he died afore he was three. And no more came after that. It was our lot in life, I suspect. We must have sinned too much, for the good Lord gave us no more babes."

"Oh Bertie, God doesn't do things like that."

"Puff and stuff." She waved off Edwina's comments.

"Well, He doesn't."

"And ye—the little lass from America—thinks she knows all things?" Bertie made work of smoothing the covers and plumping the pillows.

"No. I don't really. I just know that God loves you. And you must trust Him, no matter what's happened to you."

"What easy talk, child. Ye have no senses yet about how ye might feel if'n ye was in my shoes, poor as they might be."

"You're probably right, Bertie. Just remember one thing for me?"

"Aye, child, say ye're piece and let me be."

"God loves you no matter what you've done right or wrong. Just ask Him to forgive you and He will."

"There, now ye've said it. I'll think on it, lass." Bertie patted her hand and left.

Lord, please let Bertie know that you love her.
Chapter 14

"Rise up, lassie. It's half past six."

"What? Morning already?" Edwina groaned and then remembered it was Monday. Funny how the days flew by so quickly.

"I've made ye a good breakfast today, lass, so be aboot yer business."

"Bertie, I have nothing to pack, it's all in my suitcase. And thanks for cleaning my clothes the other day. They were laid out on the bed so nicely ironed, I hated to fold them."

"An iron is readily available, lass, anytime ye need to use it," she spoke smartly.

"Aye, and then what would ye do?" Edwina caught the pillow that Bertie threw.

"A child. A wee child is all ye are."

Suddenly tears came unbidden to her eyes. She would be gone from Bertie in just a little while. Why should that bother her so?

She missed her mother—that was it. College psychology classes had given her some sort of help after all.

And since her father had married Cecelia's mother, things had not been the same. Victoria Rose was an actress, not the mother type in the least. Cecelia was her mother's pride and joy.

But Edwina didn't mind. Victoria Rose would never take the place of her mother, and thankfully, had never tried. Besides, she'd been eighteen, already a freshman in college when her father remarried.

Cecelia was in her third year at Oxford, so there was no family unit for several years. Her father, a professor of history at the University of Michigan, and Victoria Rose had stayed in Ann Arbor where they'd purchased a small condominium. Victoria had plenty of opportunities to appear on stage in plays in the bigger cities like Detroit, Chicago, and New York.

Cecelia returned to the States, stayed in a simple apartment for one week, and moved into an elegant town house via funds from her well-to-do father. Upon graduation, Edwina had chosen to take an apartment on Bond Street in the small Michigan town where she was raised. The house she lived in had once been owned by a family whose son became a prolific sports writer, Ring Lardner, so it was not without distinction in the community. She occupied the second floor, complete with a separate outdoor entry. The windows of her bedroom faced west, and she enjoyed a clear view of the St. Joseph River across the street. Practically, and perhaps best of all, it was only a seven block walk to the library.

Her life had been so unremarkable as to be almost nonexistent.

Edwina scolded herself. Now a planned, practical life is nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of people would like your job and a decent home to come to every night. At least, that's what her father always said.

But there is a vast difference in a decent place to live and a warm, welcoming home, she decided.

Sighing, she tossed the cheerless thought from her mind. Plenty of time for changes later. She was in Scotland and due in Edinburgh. The tour bus was scheduled to leave Holyrood Palace at exactly 10:45, and she planned to be on it. For the next ten days she would be hustled around at various hotels around the country, visiting points of interest and seeing more of the beautiful hillsides, which would also translate into material for her Scottish setting in the story already forming itself in her head.

For the first time in her life, Edwina actually looked forward to meeting new people and seeing new things.

She chose her best black dress pants, a matching jacket with three-quarter sleeves and a cream blouse for the first day. It was simple, and she hoped it would make a good impression.

Her favorite shoes accompanied her as she raced down the stairs, her luggage left at her room's door for Reardon.

Practically running, she stopped and made her way to the dining room. It was quiet. The elderly couple must have left, and with the Scot gone, she wondered who would be eating with her.

"Sit ye down." Bertie signaled to the single place setting, not at the head, but at the side.

"I'm to eat alone? Can't you join me, Bertie?"

Bertie huffed. "Lass, haven't ye learned anything about the Scottish ways? The help does not eat with their betters."

"See Bertie, that's your problem. You people have to remember that folks are all the same, at least to God. None are better than others."

"That's not what I said to ye lass. We call our landowners betters. Tis just a term, lass, just a term."

"Oh, I see." Edwina was truly contrite.

"I have spoken carelessly."

"See to it ye don't do it again, lass." Edwina's eyes shot up, and she caught Bertie's look.

"Now... don't you start... stop... we can't start laughing again, Bertie, or I will never be ready for Reardon."

Bertie, to her credit, said not a word, but hurried through the swinging door to the kitchen. Another servant came back with her breakfast, and Edwina smiled. She was going to miss the saucy Bertie. Tears burned again.

As soon as she laid her fork on the plate, Reardon appeared at the door.

"Ready, Miss Blair?"

Well, he is bright and cheery, Edwina thought. Not half as friendly as when she'd first arrived, though. Perhaps the good valet did not like the American.

"I'm ready. My bag is—"

"Your baggage is in the car, miss," he said unsympathetically.

"Thank you. Then I will say good-bye to Bertie."

"Bertie?" he nearly snarled. Edwina thought it best not to try and explain and slid through the door to the kitchen. She found the woman sweeping the floor furiously.

"Bertie, I just . . ." Uh oh.

"Now don't cry, Bertie. Please."

"I'm not crying, lass. I have only just this moment peeled a bowl full of onions."

"Let me smell your hands," Edwina shot back. Bertie looked horrified.

"Oh don't worry. I hardly ever cry. It's not practical, you know." Edwina tried to be funny. The two exchanged a look, and Edwina threw herself into the woman's ample arms.

"I'll see you again... maybe. Bertie, take care, okay?"

"Be off with ye lass. And don't let life pass ye by."

"I won't." Edwina felt a catch in her throat. She busted through the kitchen door, walked quickly toward the entryway and there stood Reardon, face as hard as a stone. She glanced at him but walked past wiping her cheeks seeking the safety of the car. He opened the door. Edwina took one last look at the castle, steeled her heart, and slid across the leather seats. Reardon did not offer his hand or a kind smile this time. She watched the rolling blue-green hills pass, a lump in her throat the size of Texas.
Chapter 15

Edwina sniffed and blew her nose and wiped her eyes all the way to Edinburgh. Get ahold of yourself, you were only there two days, Edwina Emily Blair.

Reardon didn't say a word. Either he had a heart of stone or his employer had filled him in on her shenanigans and he wanted no part of her. They pulled up to Holyrood Palace, and even though it was grander than the Scot's castle by three times in size, she did not like it at all. It couldn't possibly be as homey as Castle Dunnegin.

Reardon set her bag at the entryway, bid her a quick good-bye, bowed slightly, and drove away. He'd never once looked her in the eye.

"So much for protocol." Edwina sighed and carried her bag to the front desk, ready for the fight. While waiting for other customers, she found a chair, pulled all her papers from her purse and smoothed them across her knees. They were in for a good one because she would get on that tour bus. There was nothing else to be done. She sure couldn't traipse back to the Scot's place, no matter what trouble she got herself into.

Several minutes passed while she waited in line. She prayed for kindness and for wisdom... because at the moment she did not feel kind or wise. The trip was paid for. Why did they care who went? Her reasoning skills kicked in, and she was ready.

When at last her turn came, she spoke in a clear, no- nonsense tone. "This is my sister. I have taken her place. She was called to Italy because her father passed, and I will be doing the tour."

"No problem, miss," came the reply. Edwina's heart nearly failed her. No problem, miss? Had she heard the words correctly?

"Good, where do we meet?"

"Over there," the clerk pointed and offered to have someone carry her bag.

"Thank you, but I can handle it." She sat in a soft mauve chair in a lovely area, huge windows revealing a dark blue sky with puffy white clouds. Her breath came out in one big puff.

Exactly ten days, three blisters, and a roaring headache later, Edwina arrived back at Holyrood in Edinburgh. The tour was hardly relaxing, so rigorous was the itinerary. She'd seen more castles than she could have imagined and had more massages than a girl should have her entire life. Cecelia had scheduled one almost every single night of the tour. She had flatly refused all other treatments. Mud baths, saunas that made you gasp for breath, and other such hardships.

Cecelia owed her big time.

Finally in her hotel room that she hadn't had to fight for—once on the tour, she was allowed all of Cecelia's privileges—she threw herself across the bed, not even bothering to slip off her shoes, which were now worn so thin she could feel the hard stone through them.

Dozing, the pain in her leg muscles finally ebbed. The entire tour had been a study in How to Kill an American. Perhaps Cecelia was right in one thing: Americans did not get enough exercise. The others on the tour were not short of breath or tired to the bone. And she was one of the younger set. On top of that, she'd probably dropped five pounds since she'd left home..

Edwina kicked off her shoes and turned, stuffing a pillow behind her back for support. She slowly let her body relax.

Sometime later, a soft knocking invaded her senses. The door... someone was at the hotel door. Who could it be at this hour? A quick check of the clock said it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. How could she have slept so long?

Edwina looked through the peephole and opened the door. "Miss Blair you have a visitor. He's waiting in the lobby."

"He?" She pushed strands of hair from her eyes.

"Aye, a man." The young girl said with a grin. "If I were you, I'd be getting meself down there." She winked.

Edwina's eyes grew large. A man? Was it Reardon come to dress her down for some error she'd made? Who else could it be?

"I'll be right down. Tell him ten minutes."

"Aye, miss." And the girl was gone. Quickly throwing off her travel clothes, for she had not bothered to remove them. There was one casual outfit left that was clean. Her jeans and pink button down shirt. But it would have to do, especially if all she would receive is a dressing down from Reardon. Maybe she'd forgotten some piece of luggage. Ten days had passed. How did they know where to find her? Suddenly her tired mind began to wish she'd asked the girl for a description of the man.

Best to find out for herself. She brushed her hair, tucked it behind her ears and scooted out the door. She would skim the lobby and look for a familiar face before presenting herself.

Walking slowly, she cast her eyes from left to right and seeing no one she knew, was about to head back to her room when she saw him. A tall man, standing at a large window, talking on his cell. It was Alex Dunnegin. She knew before he turned.

What was he doing here? And how did he know she was here? What could he possibly want with her?

Looking down at her worn jeans and pink shirt, she shrugged. It couldn't be that bad. After all she had given him plenty of trouble, the least she could do was see the man who'd taken her in. Duh... that was easy enough.

Smoothing her suddenly warm hands over her jeans, she made her way toward him. He turned as she lifted her hand to tap him on the shoulder. She dropped her hands and tried to read his face as he snapped his phone shut.

"Miss Blair." He greeted her formally, as a gentleman would do.

Gazing into his face she knew this was not going to be a pleasant visit.

"Mr. Dunnegin."

"May I speak with you alone?"

Edwina's eyes opened wider.

"Well yes, of course."

He motioned to a set of chairs in a corner. He waited

until she was seated then immediately sat in the chair next to her.

"I would like to speak to you about a position." He ran his hands through his hair.

"Position?" Edwina tried not to cringe.

"Yes, you see I have a situation that needs a person with a sense of duty – in confidence." He added.

"Duty? Confidence?" She repeated giving herself time to digest his words.

"Yes, it is the utmost trust that I require of you."

"Mr. Dunnegin. Today is the last day here in Scotland. I don't see how I could help you."

"That is the..." he stopped when several people came and sat nearby.

"May I take you to dinner?" He stood.

Edwina followed his lead and stood. She was hungry. Then remembered what she was wearing. "I'm not dressed..."

"Go upstairs and make yourself presentable. I ask for precisely two hours of your time. When we are finished, you may make your decision."

Edwina nearly cringed. What in the world could he possibly want from her? She saw from his body language that he was prepared to wait.

"I'll go upstairs and change then." She said and was off. Her fingers tingled.

In her room, she tossed clothing aside as unsuitable. Besides that, most of her things were ready for the laundry. What did one wear when they were? What? In a meeting? Frustration sent her in dizzying circles. When in doubt dress in what you feel good in. That was what she had always done. This was no different, she kept telling herself.

A pair of dark brown dress pants and white long-sleeved blouse was the only choice. The one formal outfit she'd not had occasion to wear during the tour was still presentable. They would be out in the evening. She combed her hair once again and pulled it together with a wide barrette behind her neck. That would add a bit of formality to her look—since this was to be some sort of a dinner meeting.

Snatching a tan sweater and throwing it over her arm, she grabbed her small purse, smoothed the wrinkles from her pants and opened the door. What did he expect on such short notice? Pulling in a deep breath, she walked down the hall.

She caught sight of him. He was on the phone again. There was something amiss. She could feel it in her bones.
Chapter 16

He turned and she saw his ashen face. Had something bad happened while she was away? As she drew closer slowly, he changed his countenance and smiled rather sadly.

"Reardon will drop us. Do you have a preference?"

"You mean about food?"

"Aye."

"No. I am at your beck and call." She said hoping to raise his spirits a bit. He did not seem to notice her comment for when they reached the car, Reardon put them in and they were dashing down the busy streets of downtown Edinburgh.

"Ralph's" The Scot had said.

The car pulled up under a burgundy canopy with the word Ralph's written in gold.

"Oh dear." Popped out of her mouth.

"What?" The Scot turned.

"Well, as you see, I'm not property dressed for... .for... such..."

"Too formal?" He said with a side glance.

"Much too formal." She found strength from somewhere inside.

"Ah... I see." A slight smile rested on his face.

A smile? Hmmm... perhaps he was in need of some encouragement. She could do that.

"If we're just to talk we could swing into a fish and chips place and find a good corner." She offered.

"A good corner..." he said considering her idea. Edwina gazed out the window.

"You know it's been a long time since I've had fish and chips. Reardon, do you know of a place?"

"Ah, Sir, indeed I do not know of such a place."

"I do. It's right down on Walter Street, near the Pop and Top Restaurant. I went there a couple of times." She said quietly.

"Reardon, do you know where the Pop and Top is located?"

"I do, Sir."

"Well, then take us there." Reardon drove around the streets until they arrived.

"Seems nice enough." The Scot said. "Reardon, you may do your duties and come for us when I call."

Edwina noticed Reardon's face as he stepped out to open the door. He seemed pleased. The Scot led the way opening the door for her as Reardon drove away.

"I hope you like it here." She was a bit worried it may be below his taste in food.

"There in the corner. There's a nice table and we won't be bothered." She offered.

He led the way and since he couldn't pull out her chair, went to stand by it until she sat. Boy was he trained well. But something inside her stomach twitched. She could get used to this.

"We order from the counter." He said and asked her what she preferred. She told him and he went up to order. He was the only one with a dark suit and tie.

Edwina knew the feeling. She was always properly dressed. But since she'd come to Scotland, she'd learned to be more casual. Why was that? She was pondering those thoughts when he returned with the tray.

He set it down and she waited as he took off his suit jacket, folded it exactly in half and draped it over the extra chair. Then he removed his tie and smoothed it over the jacket.

"There now isn't that better? We won't have to worry so much if we're offending anyone by our dress." Edwina couldn't believe she'd said that. But this arena was much more to her liking than it was to his, she realized.

He looked up and passed her a drink and then a basket of fish and chips. Then took his off the tray.

Edwina paused for a quick mental prayer and felt her face warm. How did one talk to a Scottish Laird? She took the plastic fork and began to eat.

Before he took a bite, he rolled up his perfectly white sleeves.

A minute or two passed. Edwina noticed his strong hands and muscular forearms. Geesh, wasn't he going to start the conversation? Wasn't he the one who wanted to talk?

When he didn't she could barely stand the quiet. "Do you always eat in silence?"

He looked up. "No, I was just thinking." He said by way of apology.

"That's okay." She shrugged.

"I am interested in offering you..." he hesitated. "A position."

Edwina picked up her fork again so her hand would shop shaking.

"Miss Blair, do you like children?"

"Oh yes, I like children. I read to them at the library every Thursday night and Saturday mornings."

"I see." He pondered. "I will get down to the matter, but I need your word that you will not speak of this conversation to anyone. Not my staff, nor anyone else."

"Are you sure you want someone like me to be in that kind of position? I mean..." her thoughts were flying in all directions. Did he want her to do something illegal. No... he wasn't that kind of man, she scolded herself. Yet she'd only known him two days...

The deep voice interrupted, "Believe me, I know about you, Miss Blair. I do not make this offer carelessly."

"What do you mean?" She put her fork down.

"I have checked your background and find you suitable."

"Suitable for what?" her stomach flip-flopped again.

The man took another bite of food and seemingly ignored her question.

Edwina turned her head giving him her ear, waiting, her hands squeezed together in her lap.

After he swallowed his food, like a gentleman would before speaking, she felt her face turn warm again.

"Miss Blair, you are serious in your endeavors. Have you attachments at home?

"What do you mean?" Her food forgotten.

"I know that you are unmarried, your position at the Michigan Library is secure, and that your sister is well suited to her life."

"Yes."

"I've observed your demeanor. And I find it to be..."

Edwina waited.

"Truthful, fresh and, well, you have a bit of fun in ye."

"Me? Fun? Really?" She could not help herself.

"Aye. I saw you walking the hills with your pad."

"You did?" Edwina felt her face warm up a degree.

"Aye. I was about my business." He pulled in the reins on the conversation.

"Mr. Dunnegin, I have a job back home... I couldn't possibly... stay." She was too tired to think about such things. Not to mention she was leaving tomorrow.

"The position is offered for one year and then you will be free to continue your life as you wish. I'll pay you triple what you make at your current assignment." He tapped the table with two fingers.

Edwina could not think of a single thing to say. That would be a substantial amount.

"I need assistance in the office and ... other household duties."

Edwina nodded, thoughts tittering on the edge of reason and insanity. How could she possibly fulfill such a request?

"It may seem untoward for you to be about the castle, an unmarried woman—as it is you would live at my farm. The Gillespie's are the caretakers and they know the circumstances. They will be there while I am away. You may count on them."

"Sir, I thank you for your generous offer, but I do not think that I am suitable for such a position and as I said I have a job back home."

The man's dark green eyes held hers captive.

Edwina felt the inward groan of her heart. Why in the world did he have to look at her like that? The man with the deep voice and tall frame also contained a serious, almost sad side.

She was free, could always get another job, and this would be an adventure. A big adventure, she reminded herself.

"It is a large request, but I am in need almost immediately. I do not have time to interview and besides... I cannot trust those here that I know."

Why couldn't he trust his friends? There must be some sinister reason, she began to worry again.

"There are questions you may have that I cannot answer at this time. I only know that you are trustworthy. I will also pay your travel expenses and you will live free of room and board at the farm on a small estate. The house will be yours while I am away."

Edwina was trying to wrap her mind around the idea. It was an opportunity. One she knew would never come to her again. She could stay and write her story here in the midst of the Scottish mists and hear the brogue of the locals while she wrote. Kill two birds with one stone, per se.

The Scot finished his food, even eating his chips with his fingers. Edwina thought him rather cute, sitting there with his sleeves rolled up eating fish and chips, and smiled.

"You find something amusing?" He'd caught her.

"Yes, the fact that the Laird of the castle is eating fish and chips with his fingers." She smiled, glad to lighten the mood, so she could think.

"It has been quite a long time since I've done so... perhaps since college days." He admitted.

"It's good for you to relax." She couldn't think of anything smart to say.

"I have been run amok for these last few months."

She pushed her empty cartons away and sat back, trying to relax herself, but it was impossible. Could she, Edwina Emily Blair, leave her safe apartment, her safe job, her completely safe life and come to Scotland?

He gathered his things and hers and carried them to the trash.

It's only for a year Edwina Emily Blair, get a grip. You could stay for one year. It may be your only chance to write the story in the country where it takes place.

The moment he left the table, Edwina knew she wanted stay.
Chapter 17

When the morning light hit her face, Edwina knew she couldn't stay. Whatever she was feeling the night before was gone now. There was no way she could possibly live in Scotland. Why had she been so mesmerized with the idea? Because the Scot needed her that's why. She reasoned. Had anyone ever really needed her? That was plain silliness, she scolded herself. Not to mention she was tired from the constant touring. She was ready to go home. Back to her safe life.

He had given her until today to make up her mind. Throwing the covers off, she stomped into the shower at the hotel and scrubbed clean. She had a job to do and she would not do it over the phone. The Scot had given her his number to let him know of her decision. She had hardly slept through the night. She had responsibilities. Her apartment lease renewal was three months off, and what would she do with her Volkswagen? Not to mention her position she'd worked so hard for at the library.

If she was patient, she might still have a chance as head librarian if she stayed on. Besides, what would her father do without her?

Edwina had exactly six hours before her flight left for London and then home. The hotel checkout was eleven o'clock but she was not inclined to sit around and wait. Should she call for Reardon to come for her... no... she would take a bus out to Dunnegin Castle and let the Scot know face to face. She was not the right person for the job. There must be someone closer, someone that would take the enviable position he was offering. The money was more than she could ask for, but it was not the motivation she should consider. Besides, what about his fiancé?. Another good reason why she could not stay under the watchful eye of the Laird.

After reading her Bible, she still was not convinced she could do the job. Nary a word had come from the Lord as to whether she should stay or go... so she allowed her practical nature to rule her senses. It was easier that way. Common sense told her she'd come there for a good reason and that was to keep Cecelia's $4000 from being wasted. That was a good reason. This, however, was not.

"May I see a bus schedule?" she inquired at the hotel counter.

"Aye, where might ye be going today?" The lady asked kindly.

"Dunnegin Castle."

"Yes, it's not far."

"Hmmm..." Edwina studied the list. "I see a bus leaves in fifteen minutes. Will I have time to make it back here to the airport by seven o'clock?"

"Aye. If you leave on the half hour. You should have time. Would you like to leave your luggage here while you travel? We have a locked room for such purposes."

"Thank you for stowing my luggage. She followed the woman. "It'll make the trip so much easier. I should be back by four o'clock so I can get to the airport on time."

"You are quite welcome. When you return inquire after your bags at the front counter. I'll add your name to the list."

Edwina thanked the woman and made her way to the bus station stop just outside the hotel entrance. Determined to give her answer to Mr. Dunnegin with kindness, she whispered, "Lord help me to know what to say."

The early morning views from the bus as it rolled along the curving streets out into the countryside drew a certain sadness from her heart. She forced herself to put the feelings away. Three quarters of an hour later, Edwina stood at the end of the long drive at Dunnegin Castle. She started walking, the wind catching her hair and blowing it hither and yon. Early morning dew still rested on the grasses and the smell of freshened air filled her lungs. She dare not dally nor look too long at the rolling hills else she might throw her common senses to the winds and stay.

When the door opened to her there stood Bertie, hair sticking out and her apron askew. "Miss Blair... what brings ya back?"

"May I see Laird Dunnegin, Bertie." She saw the scowl on her face and forgot she preferred her full name, not the one Edwina had assigned to her. "Is he in?"

"He is 'in' as you say, but at his desk. Come in, the wind is blustery this morn. I will announce you."

Well, wasn't Bertie formal this day? They'd left on such good terms, Edwina wondered why she was austere and stiff. That didn't make what she had to do any easier.

In a moment Bertie returned and marched her to the Laird's office... a room that had not been opened to her before. The Scot looked up and stood, offering her a chair. Once she was seated, he sat down. "Have you an answer?" his manner was forthright.

Why was everyone so solemn today?

"Mr. Dunnegin, I want to say thank you for trusting in me regarding the position you offered. I have thought about it and realize I will not be able to take the position."

"Ah, I see. Perhaps the salary is not enough?"

"Oh no, it's not that..." What was it? She'd forgotten the reasons. "It's just that I feel someone else, someone close here in Scotland would be a better fit for the position than I would."

"So you don't think you could do the job?"

"Oh, I think I could, it's just that... that... well, I have a good position and I... well I just cannot accept." Edwina twisted her hands in her lap.

"You are unconvincing, Miss Blair."

Unconvincing? What did that mean?

"That may be, sir, but my plane leaves this evening and I plan on being on it." Edwina felt stubborn and tearful all at the same time. How dare he make her feel she couldn't refuse his offer.

The Scot stood and Edwina knew she was dismissed. "You have made up your mind. I thank you for your time, Miss Blair."

"Yes..." she stood on shaky legs remembering his help at the hotel that first night. And the trouble she'd caused him. That in itself should have been warning enough to the man to seek help elsewhere.

"Thank you for the offer."

'Tis not for me I made the offer."

Edwina felt instant shame. Here she was thinking about her own circumstances.

"It is imperative that you not mention this to anyone. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

The sadness in his eyes cut straight to her heart.

"What about Miss Ilana? She will handle your household duties." Edwina said softly.

"Aye, she will not." The Scot said, closing the subject, as he stood to his feet and crossed to the window.

Edwina heard the intake of her breath and schooled herself not to overreact. She wanted to retract her answer instantly but her father's words came to her. When in doubt, sleep on it.

When Alex Dunnegin did not look back, she quit the room. As she walked through the door she heard the squeak of his chair.
Chapter 18

Alex Dunnegin sat down in his chair hard, head down, hands threading through his hair and pressing against his temple. For some reason he'd thought Miss Blair would take the offer. He could have been more forthcoming with additional details, but knew he could not. At least not now.

Standing, he went to the window and watched as she walked up the road. She must have taken the bus out. Should he have Reardon drive her back into town?

She's a grown woman, man. She arrived here without difficulty. Besides it would only embarrass her. He had known she struggled with the answer. Free, a little earnest perhaps, nevertheless he admired her enough to ask for her assistance. He knew from conversations that her sister was beautiful and Miss Blair thought herself somewhat unworthy.

He knew all about that feeling. The second son of a wealthy landowner, he had not been his father's choice to inherit Castle Dunnegin. His brother had received that reward by the position of his birth.

Throwing off his bitter feelings, he saw the dust rise as the bus stopped at the end of the road. She was safe.

There was work to be done.

"Bertilda." He called out.

She arrived and he had to cast his eyes downward. The woman's hair was sticking out in every direction. "I shall be leaving this afternoon for America. See that my bags are prepared."

Bertilda acknowledged his order and was on her way without a word. Something was awry. She was always quick with a word and neat in her appearance.

Alex Dunnegin pored over the legal papers and felt his stomach churn. His daughter's life hung in his hands. If he was to protect her he had to leave her. And that was some- thing he was loathe to do.

The smells of the kitchen wafted down the hall, reminding him that he'd not eaten. Once the papers were in order he would be flying back to the States for another round of ridiculous mocking of the very law meant to protect his daughter.

Not wealthy by any means, yet well enough off for the present time, Alex wanted nothing more than to move to the farm and raise his sheep and harvest potatoes. But until things were settled, he would not rest.

Rising from his chair, determined to finish what he'd started, he headed for the kitchen and stuck his head in. The staff was busily preparing a bit of lunch.

Bertilda looked up from her work and Alex saw her eyes dart around the room. He knew that she was concerned that he was stepping into her territory and found it, truthfully, quite disheveled.

Then he decided that today he would get his own coffee. Bertilda dusted the flour off her hands and said, "Sir, I will see to your coffee."

"Stay at the task, I will get my own coffee." He said sourly.

She gave him a second look, but did as she was told. "I may be busy, but I am capable of serving myself once in a while." He grumped.

Alex felt rather sorry for the dough she was pounding into shape. What was with her this morning? He opened several cupboard doors and eyed her while doing so. Her mouth was pursed into a straight line and he knew she would not open it.

"Have you spoken to the Gillespie's today?" He inquired fishing through the drawers looking for a spoon.

"I have not." Bertilda said through her teeth.

"Well, old gal, what consumes your joy this afternoon?"

"Old gal?" Bertilda's voice rose.

"Just a form of speech." He rather felt like teasing today, wondering where that strange desire came from as he relaxed his backside against the counter.

"Don't you have other things to do?" She said rather sweetly.

"Ah, what brings about the sudden change. Is the Laird of the castle not welcome in his own kitchen?"

"Ahhhh..." Bertilda grabbed a towel and quit the room, but not before he saw tears.

"Women." He snapped and gulped his coffee down, scalding his throat.

There had been only one woman for him and God had taken her away. Without warning and without a care, it seemed. His joy and reason for living died the day she did.
Chapter 19

After the thirteen hours spent on two planes, one layover only forty-five minutes, Edwina was exhausted. The flight attendant woke her when they landed in Chicago. She rose on weak legs and pulled her small carry-on from the space above her head, the last person off the plane.

Then there was the matter of the three hour bus ride back to South Bend, Indiana and a twenty-minute cab ride to Niles. The familiar surroundings did nothing for her sore and wounded heart. She'd gone over and over in her mind why she found herself so desperate to get home. To what? To whom? Oh there had been one or two men asking for dates, most of them library patrons, but none she felt inclined to spend time with.

Because I'm safe here. I know every waking moment what I will be doing. Every hour is accounted for. Edwina wanted to cry. Certainly it was overtiredness from the hours traveling alone. She wished Cecelia could have come along. Yet, somehow she knew that God was pushing her. God I don't know what you're doing... but it sure hurts.

Slinging off her worn shoes, she dropped her bags at the door and hit the bathroom. The sight of her small shower and tub sent her into new fit of tears. She did want a different life. But how did one do that without changing their entire personality?

After slipping into a pair of worn pajamas Edwina crawled into her single bed and snuggled down. Bertie wasn't there to comb out her hair. Tears fell on the pillow as her blood- shot eyes closed and shut out the world.

By morning, she was ready to jump out of her second floor window. Rain was coming in the bedroom window, sluicing down the bookcase. It must have been open the entire time she was gone and had soaked the walls and several of her favorite books.

Crying harder, she wanted to pray, but nothing would come out. She pulled each book from the case. Her fingers turned red and blue and black from the ink running from the covers. The pages were wilted and crinkled. Laying them out flat on the wood floors, she let the tears fall freely. It was good to cry when one was overwhelmed. She'd read that in a health magazine. And heaven knows she'd had enough stress these last two weeks to last a lifetime. Perhaps she was made for her practical, common sense lifestyle.

But she had taken the trip. By herself. And worked it out. She'd walked the hills of Scotland, resided in a castle with a very handsome laird, hadn't she? Even caused him to laugh once or twice. Not to mention the fact that she had her hero bio all set out for the story. Perhaps it had all happened so that she could write her first novel. That must be it.

But why had she not considered the job the Scot offered? It had been a life-changing offer and she'd turned it down because... because she was afraid.
Chapter 20

Two months passed. Her old life was there for the taking. And it was familiar and worn, just like her black flats, which she still wore. She'd had the shoe repairman put on new soles. Too bad I can't renew my spiritual soul as easily, she mused one afternoon. It was already the last week of July. Soon the Michigan autumn would set in, then winter. She wondered which stack of books she would start tonight. She had read voraciously since she'd returned home. It seemed the only remedy for her sick heart. She'd wanted, more than a dozen times, to write Bertie a note. But she didn't dare open that door.

Cecelia had come home from Italy penniless, except for a trunk, which still sat unopened. Her father had given her all his money through the years and was broke when he died. She returned distraught; any income she hoped to have from her father was gone.

Her sister's entrepreneurial skills had dashed to the fore- front, however, and saved her when she became a television entity. In one fell swoop, Cecelia had managed to obtain her own design show and was even now planning to appear on Oprah, in Chicago, for all the world to see and admire. And with her perfect beauty and design savvy, she had rolled in the money without a bit of trouble.

Edwina almost admitted she was jealous. As she sat at her desk opening mail, wishing she were better at admitting her faults, her eyes fell on an envelope. It was from Scotland. The Gillespies!

She had completely forgotten she'd promised them a suite in one of Cecelia's rentals. Oh dear! What to do? She grabbed the envelope and tore it open. They were coming in September. Would the offer still be open to visit Chicago?

On and on she read, the kind note mentioning their excitement to see their son and the fact that they, even at their age, were to visit the United States.

Something in her heart fluttered. Was it hope? She had made a promise to the Gillespies and with God's help would keep it. She picked up the phone, then remembered Cecelia was off visiting the producer of Oprah for her future appear- ance. Edwina put the phone back in the cradle and finished opening the mail. She put the special envelope to the side.

Cecelia called, excited to share her news. "I'm not only going to appear, but I can bring two guests to the show with me. What do you think? I owe you after you took my Scotland tour," she said sweetly.

Cecelia was not a sweet-talking person—unless she wanted something, which Edwina was sure she did.

"Oh no you don't. I don't have a television persona. Thanks, though. But I do have a favor I need to ask of you..." She winced, having just turned down a favor herself.

"What is it?" Cecelia's voice changed, back to her normal businesslike tone.

"Well, I met a couple in Scotland, at the castle I told you about... and I told them you'd provide a room free of charge. Just for a few days. They wanted to come to Chicago, but didn't have the extra funds." Edwina talked fast since Cecelia had a penchant for not listening to anyone talk but herself. "I really do owe Alex Dunnegin the favor, Cecelia."

"Oh, is that all? Of course, you must do your duty. What day will they arrive? I have plenty of rooms now that I've purchased the new building. And we will be ready with ninety-six new rooms by the end of this month," she said proudly.

"Really?" Edwina was relieved. "I'm proud of you Cecelia. You've made your way even without your father's income."

"I told you I would, didn't I?"

Edwina remembered the day. "Yes, you did. Thanks for letting me have the room. I know you need to make the money to pay the mortgage. . . ."

"Think nothing of it. Did I tell you I negotiated an extra three thousand a month on my contract with the television show? Not to mention my appearance on Oprah will prob- ably fill my rooms to capacity, and I will be able to introduce my new design show."

"How exciting, Cece. You really have done well."

"Well, back to the reason I called. I need two take-ons for the show, and I thought of you first, Ed. Sure you don't want to try it?"

Cecelia was the only one who was allowed to call her Ed. Besides, no one would ever be able to stop her anyway, so Edwina had let it go. "No thank you." She said firmly.

"I'll try to think of someone else," Cecelia continued. "Hey, what about your two visitors? You say they're coming from Scotland? That's an excellent idea! I can attract trav- elers from overseas when they stop in Chicago. How perfect is that?" Cecelia's brain was burning.

"I can ask. They might consider it."

"Well, let me talk to them. I'll get them on the show" she said squarely.

Edwina knew she would. "Let me get a hold of them. I'll write tonight and mention it. Don't hold your breath, though. Have some other ideas ready, okay Cecelia? I wouldn't want to force them, you know. They're very quiet people."

"Of course." Cecelia said the words, but Edwina knew she didn't mean them for one second.

Later that night, sitting in bed with her best stationery, she wrote a letter to the couple and invited them to Cecelia's Place, the new building aptly named for its owner. And as an aside, would they consider appearing on Oprah right here in Chicago as her sister's guests from Scotland?

"Oh, that sounds real subtle," She muttered, then folded the letter perfectly even at the corners and sealed it in the envelope. Lord, bless this letter.

Lately she could feel her heart again. Every day she wondered about Alex Dunnegin. Had he found someone? Could she have done the job properly? She would always wonder.

Edwina laid the letter aside and picked up a magazine. Flipping through and checking article titles, she decided she'd had enough real-life stuff and needed a good movie. Just this once, she would watch a two-hour movie and be late to bed.

Thumbing through the stack, she found The Count of Monte Cristo and pressed the DVD into service. Two hours later, she sat cross-legged staring at the screen. An innocent man accused of wrongdoing suffered terrible atrocities in prison for eleven years. God had provided a way out for the man, now called the Count of Monte Cristo. He first sought vengeance and then remembered his prison mentor's words, "Do not commit the crime for which you now serve the sentence. God said vengeance is mine."

The thought that we should make the most of our lives, came washing over Edwina like she was drowning. She sat on the sofa, unable to move and for the first time in her life

realized that she was wasting her life. Edwina sobbed into her hands, crying out to the Lord to make her life worthwhile.

Somehow during the night, she came to the conclusion that she needed some time off and called in using one of many available sick days.
Chapter 21

So what to do? She was up at her usual time sipping tea sitting on the seat in the three-windowed nook of her bedroom; she stared at the occasional car that passed on the street below. She'd been so practical as to save ten dollars per month by taking the second floor apartment.

Right now she wanted nothing more than to walk out her front door and find herself in a park-like vision of the Garden of Eden. No more scrimping. No tromping up the narrow stairs with groceries in plastic bags so heavy they left deep gashes on her wrist.

And the shower. She hated her tiny three-foot square shower with no tub; another five dollars saved per month, she reminded herself. What had been the benefit? Five extra dollars in exchange for a tub full of bubbles and warm, rose- scented water? Hardly a trade-off.

And her newly discovered bit of humor and frippery had disappeared. The banter she and Bertie had shared still rang in her ears. Could she pick up the phone, she would gladly spend the extra dollars just to hear in a strong Scottish brogue, "Get on with it, lassie."

Edwina realized she'd been stirring one level teaspoon of sugar at the bottom of her teacup for who knows how long and tossed the spoon down, chipping the garage sale mismatched saucer. What was life if you couldn't have at least one matching cup and saucer? It didn't have to be expensive, just matching.

She picked up the cup and sipped. The warmth flooded her body; the feel of the cup in her hands flushed memories out faster than she could process them. She was complaining about every little thing. She knew she should be thankful, grateful, and blessed, for she was—in so many ways. Her frumpy nightgown was now stained with tea—again— because her hand was shaking.

"Whatever," Edwina said and swiped at the tea soaking through her gown.

She finished the tea and stood. It would do no good to sit in the apartment and dream. Dashed dreams were things she did not want to think about right at the moment nor did she care to use one of her sick days in familiar surroundings. Gazing at the sun filled windows, she realized for the first time that her entire two week Scotland vacation had been worth every bit of trouble.

Today she would use the extra gas in her little used white Volkswagen and go to another town and walk. There were hills in Michigan, but none like the blue-green ones in Scotland. She needed to walk on some hills. Soon the winds of autumn would change the season again, and for some reason she could not abide the thought of a snow-covered winter, although there was nothing more beautiful than a sunny day with every living thing covered in sparkling snow or a moonlit white night.

St. Joseph. That's where she would go. There were hills there—sandy hills. Not the same, though it would have to do. The beaches would be overrun with sunbathers, but she might find a nice shady street and walk to Lake Michigan just to watch people. If she were lucky, she might be able to snag a bench.

Take a lunch? Nope, not this time. No peanut butter and grape jam sandwich today. She would stop at McDonald's, then have a triple decker ice cream cone at Kilwin's in down- town St. Joe.

Slipping into a worn pair of blue jean shorts, something she hardly ever wore, she pulled on a red sleeveless cotton tank top and slipped her toes into beach shoes. That would have to do. She gathered her thick hair, now grown halfway down her back, into a pony tail, then clipped it up atop her head. Grabbing sun block and a towel, she headed out.

Edwina felt silly tiptoeing down the back stairs on a Thursday morning, considerably later than usual. She wasn't doing anything wrong, just taking a day off. She'd worked many overtime hours when no one else would. Surely it was all right to enjoy a little tomfoolery.

After a stop at the gas station which used six of her four- teen dollars, saving the rest for lunch and ice cream, she rolled down the windows, pulled sunglasses from the visor, and started up the highway to St. Joseph. It was a pleasant enough ride, her hair blowing around her face, kids out of school riding bikes, and travelers stopping along the road- side for summer's-end sweet corn, tomatoes, green beans, and watermelon at the fruit and vegetable stands.

Her heart fluttered like the pad of paper on the front seat, the wind blowing it wildly. Restless, she punched several buttons and settled on an oldies music station. The upbeat sounds soothed her somehow. Made her stop thinking about herself. That was the problem, she decided as she drove along. She'd been thinking way too much about herself.

The story about the Scottish hero and the woman in the gauzy dress meeting on the windswept hills had died some- where along the way. Perhaps another story line would come today. It would be a project that would keep her mind off things. And what better way for the local librarian to make the front page of the small town newspaper than to write and publish a book?

Excitement sliced through her soul—an emotion she hadn't felt in a long time.

The forty-five minute drive brought her to her destination. Luckily she found a spot not too far from the beach and parked. From the looks of it, the weather was blowing up a storm and beachgoers were walking to their cars hauling towels, ice coolers, and pushing babies in strollers. Surprisingly, she was not distressed by the change in weather. It might blow over, but if it didn't she'd gaze across the wide blue expanse, wondering what she was supposed to be doing with her life. Maybe a ship's captain was better suited as a hero.

For now she'd let the wind blow her hair and try to keep the paper from ripping off the pad. It was turning dark. People were starting to scatter; paper cups and napkins were sucked out of their grasp against their will. Dark clouds formed over the water. She watched, fascinated.

Storms over the water. Storms in our lives. She let the idea settle. Not surprisingly she found an abandoned bench and sat down, held the pad of paper over her head as the huge drops plopped on her hair, and gazed at the scene before her. It may not be Scotland, but it was beautiful and frightening at the same time.

Lightning began to strike from the dark clouds hanging over the roiling water. A bolt hit the water, and Edwina wondered if it skittered across the top and struck things or went diving into the water. The wind picked up even more, white sand burying her shoes as it blew inland. The storm raged and rain fell. It was a warm, quick downpour and then it stopped. The wind blew the rolling clouds northward. Then the sun popped out again. The sand, now heavy with rain, fell into her shoes. But it didn't matter. The storm had lasted only ten minutes.

She'd eaten on the way up, so she was in no hurry to leave the bench, especially since people were starting to come back. Soon the beach would be full again. An hour later, she was ready to go. Shouts of children playing and beach balls flying past signaled she should move to a quieter place, since that was the reason she'd taken off work. To be alone. To think. Contemplate her life.

Removing her beach shoes and shaking the sand out of them, she decided to walk barefoot and meandered toward the car. The sun had dried off every spot of rain, leaving behind a clean scent. She pulled the fragrant air into her lungs and thanked God for life. She'd been too introspective as of late and promised herself she would seek out better ways to spend her time.

Perhaps she was naïve, but she wanted to make a difference in somebody's life. And the path she was walking right now was headed nowhere.

Edwina left the tree-lined residential street and headed for downtown St. Joseph. It was a short walk to the ice cream store. Minutes later she found herself meandering by shops noting the summer visitors, many from Chicago, as she slurped her fast-melting giant mint chocolate chip ice cream waffle cone. She hadn't allowed herself the luxury of a triple dip cone for... she couldn't remember when.

After a full day moseying, driving, and just plain laziness, she walked back to the Volkswagen and headed for home, parked her car in the shade, and ran up the stairs, her shoes dangling from her fingertips. The phone was ringing. Should she answer?

"Nope, not today, my friend," she said aloud. "Not today." This was her day. She'd be back at work tomorrow.

That decided, she sat at the dining table and worked over her notes on thoughts about the storms and lazy days of life. Perhaps her ideas could be turned into a magazine article.

Still full from lunch and the huge ice cream cone, she settled for a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner and went to bed. She'd taken charge of a tiny piece of her life and lived it today. And it had refreshed her spirit, body, and mind.
Chapter 22

Alex Dunnegin had finally twisted the truth out of Bertilda after her unusual behavior in the kitchen. She admitted that she wished to seek another position. He had nearly dropped his coffee cup at the confession.

"Come to my office, away from the others." Alex led the way.

The conversation started out with Bertilda's defensive declaration. "Mr. Dunnegin..."

"Alex, Bertilda. We are alone, call me Alex."

His soft words must have touched a nerve, because for the second time since he was a boy, Alex saw her cry. She'd turned her back and he saw her back shaking. Whatever could be so wrong in his house that she should be so unhappy? It seemed unhappiness reigned in this castle. First his brother, the eldest son and one who had been groomed for this position had died. But once Alex had lost his wife, things seemed to only get worse. Now the legal problems with his daughter. Paige had been his only salvation. Paige and Bertilda.

When Bertilda turned back and faced him he knew she was determined. "Alex, I cannot work for ya any longer. I must find another position." The woman had actually crossed her arms over her chest.

He calmed himself, "Now suppose you sit down here and talk about it."

"I cannot sit. I've troubled myself enough over the deci- sion. You must let me go."

"Where, Bertilda. Where do you need to go? Have you another offer?"

"I have no other offer. It's as though... .though..." She could not finish.

Alex took a seat in a large overstuffed chair next to the fireplace and motioned for her to sit in the other.

She sat, but Alex dreaded her explanation.

"What would I do without you Bertie?"

"Bertie? Since when have ya ever called me that?" She caught his eye. It was Edwina that called her that. He had heard her several times. She had a way with Bertie.

"Suppose you tell me what's bothering you."

He ignored her question.

"You wouldna understand."

"Try me."

"It's as though I've changed somehow, Laird Dunnegin."

She sounded distressed and addressed him in the old way.

"How?" Where in the world was this going?

"I can't tell you in words. All I know is that I cannot sit by idly and see Paige be taken from you. I can't. If it comes to that, I don't know what I'll do." She got up and walked to the window.

Alex pulled in a breath. This he could deal with. He let a few seconds pass as he formed an answer. He knew women well enough that if he said the wrong thing at the wrong time, he'd have double the trouble trying to fix it.

"Bertie, do you trust me?"

"Of course I do, you're like a son to me Alex Dunnegin." She pronounced as she turned. "You know that."

"Then trust me. I'm doing everything I can to see that Paige is not taken away."

"She has no mother." Bertie's voice raised. "The Gillespie's are good people, but they're like grandparents. The lass needs a mother. And I don't mean like the last one you brought home." Her hands were on her hips now.

"And you see that I did not marry Ilana."

"Had you wed her, Alex Dunnegin, I would'a packed my bag and walked out that door." She pointed behind her.

"As well you should." He agreed. "I was a fool."

"What is it? You are all the things a young woman wants. You're kind. You've got money." She swung her arms hither and yon. "And you're a good-looking lad." She added with such seriousness Alex thought he could not keep the smile off his face.

"My governess would think such a thing. Not every woman I meet loves me as well as you do, Bertie."

She ignored his humor.

"Why is it then you haven't found a wife... a mother for Paige. It would help your case."

"Yes, it would. But I cannot marry for those reasons. And well you know it." Alex reprimanded her, buying some time to decide whether he should speak further.

Bertie gave him her back again.

"I asked Miss Blair to stay on as my secretary." He stared at the small fire burning in the grate. "I thought maybe if she met Paige, they would get on."

"Ya did? Truly?" She turned to face him.

"Aye."

"Well, that was the first sensible thing I've heard this day."

"You agree with my decision, then?"

"Aye, I do. The young lass is sensible, kind, good to the heart. She would get on well with Paige. And did she refuse ya then?"

Bertie's temper was rising.

"She did."

"Ack... I thought the woman smarter than that."

"She's afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"She never wanted to come to Scotland. Her sister was supposed to be traveling. But Miss Blair took her place. I don't think she is accustomed to being away from home."

"She seemed to like our Scottish hills well enough." Bertie harrumphed.

"Aye, she did. I saw her walk upon them meself."

"Ah... so you were watching the lass, too?" Alex stared at the fire, choosing not to answer.

"Well, be that as it may, are ye going to ask the lass again? Tell her about Paige?"

"That would be up to me, now wouldn't it?" Bertie didn't say a word.

"Will luncheon be ready in a while? I'm famished." He smiled and caught her eye.

"Aye. I'll be back to my work. But take note that ye'll be needin' to find someone who can make your oat cakes for ya while I'm gone."

"Gone?" Alex looked up.

"Aye... I'd be aboot a bit of a holiday meself." She said smartly.

"So you don't wish to find another position. Only take a holiday?" Alex was careful with his words.

"Aye. A good long holiday..." she warned.

"You deserve one. When will you leave?" Alex knew she had worked tirelessly for years.

"I'll let ya know, lad." She sputtered, back to her old self.

"Perhaps things will be better by then." His voice trailed off

"Rest yourself. I'll see your bags are packed."

"Thanks. It's going to be a difficult trip, this time."

"Aye, I'll be saying a little prayer for ya, too."

"Thanks Bertilda."

Alex lay his head back and wondered when he would have time to find a wife. Not for himself but for his daughter's benefit.
Chapter 23

Edwina returned to work and found chaos. The woman who was called in to take her place yesterday; after complaining to the city council that the library was not being run correctly, began her new duties as a watchdog.

The head librarian had shut herself up in her office in order to avoid the clash going on out in the small, usually quiet library.

Edwina forbade her mind to rush off on negative clouds of thought and pushed the critical words, She's just trying to take my job... who does she think she is anyway... from her mind. The woman had given her a headache. The lady didn't know the first thing about running a library, but she sure knew how to run her nails across the chalkboard with her incessant bellyaching. Her yammering had caused even the high school teens who came after school to give the woman dirty looks. One of the young gals had whispered in passing, "How can you stand it?"

"Not very well." Edwina watched her words because she knew they had a funny way of flying back and landing on your head, like a little bird. Besides, she knew it was wrong to gossip.

She had enjoyed a walk at lunch today. It reminded her of the time she spent in the hills in Scotland that day back in May and wanted to relive the joy of walking alone. Besides, she thought it was better to leave the building, get away from the woman who seemed honor bound to find fault with everything she came across.

The sidewalks were still too warm to take her shoes off and walk barefoot. Even though she wore her work clothes, she was tempted to do it anyway. But she didn't.

Once home from work, glad because it was Friday, she had the unpleasant task of answering the calls from yesterday. After her shoes were put in the closet, pants hung just so, and the shirt tossed in the laundry basket, she slipped on a pair of cutoffs and a raggedy T-shirt. Pen and paper in hand, she sat in the chair and pressed the play button on her answering machine.

Cecelia called three times. Another call came in for a book request. Most of her friends thought she knew exactly where any one book would be at any given time. She wrote down the title. The last call was from Cecelia.

"Edwina, I've called several times today, where are you? I need information on the couple from Scotland. It seems they've moved up my appearance on Oprah, and I have to let the producer know guest names. The couple called once and left a message, but I can't seem to find their telephone number anywhere."

Wincing because she still had not heard from the couple, she tried to think what to do. Check the mail first. A quick run down the stairs, Edwina gathered two days' worth. She'd forgotten about it yesterday.

There in the middle was a letter with her name on the front of the familiar stationery—the paper he had written on from his pocket, one and the same in style. She smelled the cream colored envelope and opened it quickly. They were most excited to come to Chicago. And to be on the show... they would be delighted to be of assistance, especially since they were receiving several free nights at Cecelia's Place.

Edwina wanted to dance. She picked up the phone and related the good news to her sister. "They will be here the first of September," she said excitedly.

"What? The first of September! My show has been moved up several days. I need them here no later than August 20." Cecelia's voice raised.

"But you said September... I wrote them the dates."

"Ed, you're not listening. The show has been moved ahead of schedule. I've told you that three times."

"That's barely three weeks from now."

Edwina could hear the tapping of Cecelia's pencil in the background.

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Call them, or better yet, give me their number. I'll talk them into coming early."

"No." Edwina hesitated. She didn't want the elderly couple left to her sister's mercy. Cecelia could unglue any normal person... no, she couldn't allow it. "I'll take care of it. You've got enough to do."

Strangely enough, Cecelia settled for her suggestion. Her sister was a control freak from the get-go.

"Good, but don't write. It'll take too long. Get their phone number, it'll be quicker. We don't have that much time. I need them here by the twentieth, Ed."

Edwina knew her sister was right and hesitated.

"Make the long distance calls at my place." Cecelia knew her very well.

"All right . . ." Edwina felt cheap, knowing she didn't want to spend the money when Cecelia could better afford the charges. And she hadn't seen her sister since she'd returned from Scotland.

"You have the key to my new place, don't you?"

"New place?"

"Ed, you know I moved up a floor into the bigger condo, don't you? Where have you been?"

"Sorry, I guess I've been in my own world."

"Yes, I guess you have. Why don't you come tonight? I'll give you the key, and you can make your calls. Spend the night. I'll be here for another hour or so—I have a short meeting, but I should be back in time for the news. You can see my new condo, and we can gab about your trip."

"Now?" Edwina knew she whined. She'd planned for a simple supper and a good read tonight.

"Suit yourself."

Edwina hated it when she said that because it always worked. As soon as she turned a situation over to someone else, that someone else knew Cecelia was right and went along with her.

"Okay, I'll be there, but I'm coming like I am."

"You always do." Her sister was smiling, she could tell.

"Yeah, and you always get your way," Edwina said grumpily. She could tell Cecelia wanted to argue that point. Twenty minutes later, she was on the way. It was less than a two-hour drive to Chicago in good weather. Thank goodness it was Friday. The drive was so familiar, Edwina made it in record time. She'd packed a small bag, with a new pair of summer pajamas, and walked out of the house in less than half an hour. She hadn't seen Cecelia's new place and needed a key for emergencies, because Cecelia was always losing hers.

She rode the elevator up, then realized she hadn't asked what the new apartment number was. Pushing the button to the floor above her old place, she got out and snooped around. Should she knock? There were only three doors down the hallway, whereas the other levels had at least ten. The walls had been newly plastered and painted a soft taupe.

"Pick one, Edwina. This can't be too hard."

Before she could lay her hand to the door's buzzer, it opened. "Forgot to ask, didn't you?" Cecelia gave her the usual European hug, a kiss on each cheek without actually touching.

"Yep."

"Come in. You look tan or something. Have you lost weight?"

Edwina winced. She asked that every time. "Does every- body have to be as skinny as you? Who would notice you then?"

"That wasn't nice," Cecelia said.

"No, it wasn't. But really, I get tired of people thinking someone has to be beautiful, powerful, and skinny all at the same time."

"Well, well, what have we here? A memorial for the downtrodden? You just look thinner, that's all."

Edwina shook her head. "Got your extra key? I don't want to forget it."

"Yes."

Edwina slipped it into the secret compartment of her bag.

"So this is all yours, huh?" Edwina tossed her bag on the cream-colored overstuffed pristine sofa, one of four matching ones forming a perfect square, and slipped off her shoes near the door. "Nice. Very nice... and huge. What do you do with all this space? You're hardly ever home."

Her sister shrugged. "Yes, the entire floor is mine. I had the builders knock out several walls to make this larger space. I like it and can afford it. Why not? Did you bring the letter?"

"Sure did." She laid the letter in her sister's perfectly manicured fingertips and wandered around touching all the beautiful things while her sister read.

"Are you jealous yet?" Cecelia looked up as she slipped the letter back into the envelope.

"Jealous? Are you kidding? I'd like something a bit roomier, but nothing like this." She waved her hand. "I wouldn't know what to do with all this space. And who cleans? Obviously you don't have time to vacuum, scrub toilets and mop floors . . ."

"Well, if you must know, I allow one of my tenants a reduction on his rent, and he cleans for me every other day."

"He?"

"He."

"Every other day Cecelia? Why so often?"

"I have guests. Important guests. I have made this a showplace for those who want to make their space look as elegant as this, so they can see how it's possible in an older, architecturally sound building such as this one. It can be done, Edwina, and I think the best way is to show people what they can achieve. The upper floors will be condominiums and the lower three rented out as B&B rooms, which, by the way are decorated in European style."

"Makes sense," Edwina admitted.

"Of course it does, dear, or I wouldn't be where I am today."

"That's true Cecilia. Got anything to eat? I skipped supper tonight, so I could get here at a decent hour."

"I'll send out. What would you like?"

"We can eat in."

"Ed, I'll send out. I want to spend the time talking about your trip, not in the kitchen, and how we're going to get the good Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie to the United States in time for the show."

"Okay, you're right."

"Would you stop saying I'm right?"

"Okay, okay."

"How does pizza sound? Or sushi."

"As in raw fish? How can you stand that stuff?"

"Pizza then? I know a great place. It's just down the street."

"Sounds good to me." Which sounded very much like, You're right.

They decided on toppings and crust and Cecelia placed the order, complete with drinks, dessert, even the unexpected—mints. Cecelia made sure she got her money's worth, but then so did she. In that one way they were alike.

"Now sit down. Quit fidgeting and tell me about your trip. The one I missed."

The words quit fidgeting slammed into her mind. The Scot and Bertie had said the same thing to her.

"Helllooo... anyone at home?" Cecelia was waving her arms wildly.

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"Obviously. Now tell me, did you enjoy the plane ride?"

"Well, it seems that the hotel will only keep your room for several hours... and since my plane was late..."

"Didn't you call ahead and tell them your flight was late and to hold the room?"

"No... I didn't know then that I needed to... I just thought they'd hold it."

"Ed, the upscale hotels do not work like that. They're constantly turning over guests, you know.

"I know that now, but then I didn't. Besides, I was so tired I could barely think straight. All I heard was that I didn't have a room. If it hadn't been for the Scot... Mr. Dunnegin, I think I would have ended up on the next plane home."

"There's always a way around, things, Ed. You just need to travel a bit more." Cecelia made her point.

"What happened with Mr. Dunnegin?" Cecelia slipped off her elegant crème satin heels and curled her slender legs beneath her matching crème skirt.

"Well, I noticed him on the plane. He is really handsome, Cece. You should have been there to meet him."

Cecelia smiled her gorgeous smile.

"Anyway he ended up behind me at the hotel counter. He was there to rent the Bridal Suite. He came to my rescue. Anyway, he took me to his castle for the weekend and—"

"Stop right there. You went to his castle? And you didn't even know the man?"

"What was I supposed to do? I couldn't get past the guy at the counter. Mr. Dunnegin took full responsibility for me, and we left." Edwina purposely did not tell her sister that she'd fainted. She knew she'd never live that down.

"So he was good looking, yes?"

"Very. Rich, too."

"Anyone that owns a castle is rich." Cecelia stated the obvious.

"So, his fiancée was waiting, and he'd just flown home to be with her. She was beautiful, Cecelia. Movie star beautiful. From Spain. Her name was Ilana Mamara."

Her sister was leaning closer now.

"So did the Scot—what was his name? Did he treat you well?"

"His real name was Mr. Alexander Dunnegin of the Castle Dunnegin. Laird Dunnegin, Bertie called him"

"Who is Bertie?"

"Oh, she's the head housekeeper. She was formidable at the beginning, but we ended up friends. We even laughed together the day I left."

"Laughed? Housekeepers aren't usually given to laughing in Scotland."

"Well, we did. And once or twice I even had the Scot laughing. You should have seen him in full Scottish dress for his birthday party. Kilt, sword, everything. He was—is— very handsome."

"Well, did the he and the woman, Ilana, marry while you were there?"

"No. She left the last day. He told me before I left that they'd parted ways."

Cecelia had a dreamy look. "Just like in a book or a movie, huh?"

"Yeah, it was dreamlike all right. I walked the hills one evening, and oh Cecelia, it was so beautiful." Edwina stared off into space.

"Well, tell me about the tour. Did you just love it?"

"Oh yes, I loved all the locations. But then you know me. I don't like to be rushed. I love to see everything, look it over, take my time. When the tour bus stopped, we'd get out, walk for what seemed like miles, get on and off, walk and walk. I had blisters the size of dimes."

"Oh, that bad, huh? It was the best tour, the most expensive, and I scheduled plenty of time for massages, exercise, and beauty treatments."

"I know. But that's you, not me. Anyway, it couldn't be helped. And I am sorry you didn't get to go, Cece. It would have been perfect for you."

"Oh, don't worry. As you can see, everything worked out. I might have missed the chance to buy this building had I not been here at the right time."

"That's a good way of looking at it."

"So, did you see the Scot before you left to go back and thank him?"

"I did see him for a few minutes." Edwina did not want to go into details about the offer he made because if she did she knew she'd be in Scotland tomorrow morning.

"For goodness' sake you didn't thank him? The man put you up in his castle. Do you know how expensive it is to stay in a castle, for even one night?"

Edwina shrugged. "I did thank him the day he left, but I guess I should have written a thank you note or something."

"Or something indeed. Come on, pizza's here. Let's eat, and we'll get down to business about the Gillespies."

They went back and forth for the rest of the evening. Cecelia insisted that Edwina place a phone call to the Gillespie's number, but it was four o'clock in the morning in Scotland and Mr. Gillespie was woken. Edwina left her number with him along with an apology.

"Well, let's go to bed early. I have a meeting at seven and after that you and I are going shopping."

"Shopping? You know I hate shopping in Chicago." Edwina whined. Her sister would drag her from one huge store to another, nothing of which she could afford to buy, even if she wanted to.

"Your birthday is coming, buy yourself a gift on me."

"But it's months away." Edwina knew they would go shopping. Cecelia would hang packages on her arm, and she'd be stuck hauling the stuff all over the place. There she was whining again. She didn't like herself very much these days.

The ticking of the grandfather clock in Cecelia's living room kept her awake half the night. She was not one to ease into a new situation easily. And morning would mean a bagel and a tomato juice, then off to Saturday shopping in one of the biggest cities in America. Edwina groaned and covered her head with a pillow.
Chapter 24

The escalators became dizzying and the myriad packages cumbersome as she tried to keep up with her sister. Her arms were indented and felt like she'd been beaten with a whip.

"One more stop," Cecelia announced, "then it's your turn."

"My turn?" Edwina tried not to be unkind.

"Yes, I told you I'd buy you a birthday gift."

"I don't want one... but thank you. Consider the trip my gift." She thought it appropriate. Besides, they'd be here another two hours trying to decide on something.

"No. Not fair. What about . . ." Cecelia was off again.

After an hour, Edwina wanted to cry. "Cece, let's go. I'm hungry and my feet hurt."

"Well, if you'd buy yourself some decent shoes—" Then she stopped.

Edwina crashed into her.

"That's it, we'll buy you some Birkenstocks for your birthday." Cecelia headed in the opposite direction.

"I don't want Birkenstocks. I'd never wear them."

"You'll wear them. They are the most comfortable shoes, Ed."

Twenty minutes and four stores later, they were seated in "the best shoe store," Cecelia had reminded her at least three times on the way.

"What color do you prefer? Oh never mind, let me choose. It takes you forever to make a decision." Her sister cooed at the shoe salesman as he carried out several boxes of shoes.

Sure enough, the shoes were wonderfully comfortable and had better be. Cecelia had whipped out one of her credit cards and with one swipe tossed over two hundred dollars for a simple birthday present.

"Never walk in puddles, oil patches, or wear these shoes unless you want to impress." Her sister taught the etiquette class as they walked to the parking garage.

Edwina wished she had on the soft shoes on this very moment, oil patches or no.

"Are you listening, Edwina?"

"I'm listening."

"When we return, make yourself at home. I'm off to another meeting." She checked the exquisite piece of jewelry at her slender wrist.

"I'll be happy to make myself at home. Your place is really nice, Cece. You've done a good job decorating and taking charge of your life, especially after your father... well, you know."

"Yes, incredible isn't it? I had no idea I could do as well as I have without that income. It just goes to show, if you work hard, everything will come to you."

Edwina wanted to teach her sister a lesson of her own. She knew very well that work did not always get you what you wanted in life. A rich father, an actress mother, and a beautiful bone structure were much more conducive to success in this world than her sister realized.

Now she was being facetious; in her heart of hearts, she knew that was not true. Not even for a minute. Sorry, Lord, I'm becoming quite the complainer myself these days.

"Well, you've done well, Cece."

"Thank you." Cecelia seemed to want to say more, but nothing came out of her mouth. They drove home immersed in silence, which shocked

Edwina. Once parked in the garage, they toted bag after bag to the elevator. "I'll be off to my meeting. When I get back, we'll make chicken salad and talk."

Cecelia was already planning dinner.

"I'll put everything away," Edwina called out, glad to be home.

Cecelia was already in her room changing into a fresh set of clothes. Edwina let the packages fall onto the sofa and began to methodically take out the items, fold each sack, and place each purchase on the coffee table along with its receipt.

"You are always so neat, Ed. It drives me crazy. Throw the bags out." She waved a hand. "And the receipts."

"What will you do if you have to return something?" Edwina was shocked. The prices on several items were worth more than a month's rent at her apartment.

"Everyone knows me," Cecelia puffed. "I have only to voice my request and the item can be returned."

Edwina truly did not know what to say. Did Cecelia own half of Chicago too? Then she smiled, glad she would be headed back home on the morrow. Back to her simple life, her simple job. Heaven knows, with her brand new Birkenstocks, she'd come up an entire rung on the ladder, at least in Cecelia's eyes.

"Be back soon. Don't answer the door. I don't like intrusions of my personal space unless they're scheduled. Besides, you won't know how to handle a problem with the tenants." She waved a hand, talked over her shoulder, slipped on her own Birkenstocks which matched perfectly with her embroidered navy pant suit, and fished for her keys all at the same time.

"Don't worry. No one will know I'm here." Edwina waved her off and locked the door behind her sister.

"Ah. Quiet. Peace. Not much noise way up here on what, the twelfth floor?" She kicked off her new shoes carefully and padded across the beige carpet that must have been two inches thick and lifted the sheer mauve curtains back to check out the view.

"Oh my... beautiful." Lake Michigan was off a good distance, but she could still see the shimmering blue expanse from the window.

She let the curtain slowly fall back into place and straightened the panel so it hung perfectly straight. Yawning, she decided to allow herself one treat and lay her head on the crème chenille pillow, which was an exact match of the sofa.

Sometime later Edwina was wakened by the ringing of a phone. It seemed distant, and just as she gathered enough strength to get up, it quieted. Then as she was about to mosey back to dreamland, it rang again. Jumping up, she had forgotten the Gillespies might be trying to reach her sister. She ran crazily, tripping on the China blue rug near her sister's bed.

"Hello?" she said as professionally as she could muster after such a cozy nap.

"Miss Giatana?" came the Scottish brogue.

"No, it's Edwina."

"Ah, the elusive Miss Edwina," came the quick retort.

"The very one." She laughed, happy to hear the familiar voice.

"I am to understand your sister has tried to reach us."

"Yes. And I am so sorry to have called at such an hour last evening. I'm afraid I forgot about the time difference, Mr. Gillespie."

"I'll have ye know, there are worse things in the world to worry ye pretty head aboot," he replied.

Edwina could hear the smile in his singsong voice.

"My sister is not here at the moment. But it is my understanding that you know about the show you and your wife are to appear on?"

"We are happy to accommodate Miss Giatana, yer sister. We never thought to be on the tele. It is quite the honor."

"I'm so glad you feel that way, but there is a matter of dates," Edwina hesitated, not quite sure how Cecelia would frame the question. "Well... it seems the producer has moved the taping of the show up to August 20."

"Ah, that will not do, lass. We will not arrive in yer country until the first day of September."

"I see." Now what?

"Then it is a great problem?"

"I'm afraid it is, sir. I mean, I don't know much about these things, but the shows... well, they're hard to get on... and I'm afraid there's nothing she can do to change the date, you see."

"A problem indeed," he agreed. "We would love to accommodate yer kin, lass, but ye see we have already purchased our plane tickets and cannot change them without great cost to us, I'm afraid."

"Oh. That is a problem." Edwina frowned. She would not ask anyone to add extra cost when it had been their intention to save money in the first place.

"Well, all is not lost to ye. I shall check and see if there is a way. Ye say me and me wife need to be there by the 20th day o'August?"

"Yes, Mr. Gillespie. That is the correct date. And how is Mrs. Gillespie?"

"She is fine as a bird's feather," he said proudly. "She asks aboot ye."

"Please tell her I am well. I must let you off the line. It is expensive . . ."

"Ye speak the truth. I shall talk to me lovely wife and call again. Soon," he assured her.

"Thank you so much, and please forgive us for the inconvenience. I do hope you can come."

"Aye well, all things work out as they should," he said calmly. "Be off with ye."

And he was gone. Edwina smiled at his curt good bye.

Wandering to the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and took out the chicken. Cecelia must have known last evening what she planned to fix. The least she could do was have the meat cooked and ready to make the chicken salad.

The kitchen, she found, was loaded with traps. She'd opened what she thought was the door to a trash container, but it was the dishwasher, hidden behind a façade. She pushed a button hoping to turn on the light and music came drifting through the air from some secret place. Another switch that might also have been a light opened a drawer with every imaginable kitchen tool. The deep drawer closed when she touched the button again.

Cupboard doors that should have held pots or pans opened to garbage compactors, another to a display of wine. Such contraptions. How did Cecelia remember where every- thing was?

Even the faucet was different. When she reached for it, it came off in her hand, sending a fine mist spray directly into her face, down her T-shirt, and on the half circle decorative window above the sink. Edwina wiped the window clean and dabbed the water out of her T-shirt.

Finally, she found the secret compartment where pans and lids were kept. The drawer could have contained the entire dishwasher, it was that deep and that wide. And finding the dinnerware, a simple fork and a mixing spoon, had been the adventure of the afternoon.

She'd spent nearly twenty minutes hunting down the tools to cook two chicken breasts. Exhausted, she made for the living room. Time for a book before Cecelia came back and started bossing her around again.

Ten pages into her book, Creating Romantic Characters, she heard the key in the door and her sister entered.

They were halfway finished with their chicken salad sandwiches when she remembered the call and told her sister all the details.

"So will they be here?"

"They're going to try."

Cecelia set her sandwich down. "They can't try, they have to be here." Her voice ranked one level below a shriek.

"They are going to check and call back. Don't worry, everything will work out."

"Easy for you to say. My entire career is at stake, not to mention I'll lose the biggest marketing opportunity I'll ever hope to have. It might even open the door to do a few commercials, if I'm noticed, of course."

Edwina smiled. "Oh, you'll be noticed." Then she changed the topic. "Haven't you enough to do?"

"I can do more. Besides, mother travelled, worked as an actress, raised me, and handled my difficult father all at the same time."

"Point taken." Edwina admitted.

The phone rang and Cecelia ran. Actually ran. It looked funny to see her proper sister run through the house. "I should have had a phone put in the kitchen." Her voice evaporated as she disappeared into her dark bedroom.

Not long after, Cecelia was back with a smile. "They're coming at exactly the right time," she said triumphantly.

"Good! How did they work it out?"

"Some good deeder, or whatever they call them, offered to pay for their tickets to fly them over early. All I know is that they have the deal worked out. I am guaranteed. Besides, they said it would give them more time to visit with their son."

"That's good Samaritan." Edwina smiled at her sister's blunder, then clapped. "Wonderful. I'm glad for you, and I'm glad for them. They are really very nice."

"Now that that's done, I'm going to do some brain- storming. Want to come along?"

"I'll do the dishes and join you in a few minutes."

"Don't worry. Set them in the sink. Spencer will be by tomorrow. We need not do the work I'm paying him for."

Edwina shrugged and rinsed out each dish anyway and set them neatly in the triple sink. She could have done her laundry in those sinks.

"Did I mention I've booked us an evening play?"

"What?"

"Don't try to squiggle out. I got the free tickets this afternoon, compliments of a very happy customer."

"I haven't a thing to wear." Edwina thought that was funny. More true than funny, but funny nevertheless.

"I told you to buy something today, but you refused," Cecelia said with a huff.

"You didn't tell me we were going to a play." Cecelia checked her watch. That meant trouble.

"We have an hour and a half to dress you properly. Let's go."

"What? No. I'm tired from shopping this morning."

"You had a nap." Cecelia had her hands planted on her slender hips.

"How'd you know?" She looked around. "The pillow. Look, the hollow from your head is still there."

"Gosh, Cece, do you miss anything?"

Cecelia didn't answer. She was picking up her purse.

Edwina knew it would be useless, absolutely useless to argue. She did feel pretty good after the nap... and it was a play. She loved plays. "So what're we seeing?"

"The Evening Gown. It's a Victorian drama complete with romance, music, song, and dance. Interested?"

"Of course." Edwina picked up her new purse, compliments of her sister, and slung the long handle over her shoulder.
Chapter 25

Edwina was actually happy. They'd found a suitable dress, and for once had agreed on the color and the simple style. But not the price.

"Forget the price, will you, Ed? Just this once? We have no time to squander. Now for shoes."

"Shoes," Edwina mumbled. She'd come to Chicago in her worst possible clothes . . . and now this.

"You can't wear your tennis shoes or the Birkenstocks." Edwina wanted to laugh at her sister's tut-tut. All troubles aside, Edwina found herself twirling in the ankle-length black dress. The cut of the dress fit her body shape perfectly.

"Ed, you look... well, wonderful." Cecelia cocked her head first to the left, then the right, and back to the left again. "Really, you've lost weight, I can tell."

"I really like the dress, Cece.... Thank you."

"Oh," her sister fanned the air with her newly painted mauve nails. "It's worth it to see you so... so pretty. She grabbed a hank of her hair and held it on top of her head. Your hair looks good swept up like that. It's so thick—I'm jealous."

"Jealous?" Edwina swirled and stared at her sister.

"Yes," Cecelia admitted reluctantly. "You have nice hair."

Edwina's thoughts flew back to Bertie's same comment. "Thanks, really . . ."

"No time for foolishness. Let's go. Best seats in the house mean we cannot be late."

For once Edwina enjoyed her sister's bossiness. She felt like a queen, even though she knew she was far from it. It still felt nice to receive a compliment from someone who was so totally different from herself.

Two hours later, Edwina rose from her seat slowly and followed her sister. She heard nothing except the last song as the music crescendo rose higher and higher and the lovers, entwined in each other's arms, sank to the stage floor and died. It was so unexpected, she wanted to cry. She'd thought all along they would end up happily ever after. Wasn't that how romantic stories were supposed to end?

"Well?" Cecelia called over her shoulder as she cut through the crowd.

"It was so sad."

"Merely pathos."

"It was more than mere sentiment... it was dreadful."

"How can you feel things so intensely?" Cecelia had stopped, turned, and now stood staring at her.

"It's a story. It can happen to real people, to us. It's sad, that's all."

"Sad or no, that's not the point. Because of the play's pathos, no one will dare tell the ending, creating a scintillating innuendo. It will draw more patrons, which in turn is more money, which equals exquisite success in numbers and dollars."

"Is that what the play meant to you?"

"Of course. What else? People are just people—it's the success that counts. Why else would someone go to all the work? Just for fun?"

Cecelia's light laugh disturbed Edwina deeply. Her sister was smart and beautiful, but she lacked any depth or understanding of humanity that Edwina could see. And for that she was sad.

"I'll check the numbers tomorrow and let you know. At one hundred eighty dollars a ticket, you can just bet they little more than broke even this first night. But the next few nights should stir enough interest in the community as to double or triple attendance."

"One hundred eighty dollars each?" Edwina could not think past the amount and then realized a very profound thing. She was just as money-conscious as Cecelia. They were at different ends of the spectrum, but both were extreme. Edwina could not imagine why she had not seen the trait in herself before this.

Perhaps it had been the trip to Scotland. She'd experienced something new, fresh, exhilarating.

The ride home in Cece's elegant black Cadillac was silent. Each had a lot to think about.
Chapter 26

Edwina accepted the classy black dress as a birthday gift along with a new pair of black flats with thin straps across the top of her foot, which her sister had insisted upon. She hated heels and refused all of her sister's attempts to force her to buy any. After the late drive back to Niles the next afternoon, she'd not woke early enough to get back in time for church because Cecelia had not wanted her to leave. Strange, since they could hardly occupy the same space before one or the other went nuts... for very different reasons, of course.

It was nearly four o'clock before she hauled the last bag up the stairs. Laundry was the first order of business, then the calls waiting on the answering machine. After the washer was pumping away, she grabbed a pencil and an old envelope to write on and pushed the button. There were six messages.

Two from Cecelia reminding her to write down the telephone number of the Gillespies or "they would be up the creek without a stick."

Edwina had to laugh. Her English sister was forever mixing up American phrases.

The next four were from different people: two employees from work, one friend, and a business acquaintance. All said something about a lady taking her job.

"Taking my job?" The words hung in the air.

"Why would anyone want to do that?" She shrugged and listened to the messages again, bypassing Cecelia's.

Each person sounded alarmed and seemed to want to say more, but didn't. What had happened while she was gone?

The only problem she'd had last week was the woman who'd come in to take her place while she was out. Surely .. .

There was nothing to be done about it now, and worry was not going to be her best friend for the rest of this pleasant day. She settled herself in the soft chair next to the window in her bedroom. The sun would soon be setting, but for now Edwina turned on the little fan on the table nearby, stuck her feet up on the windowsill, and smiled. She would read while the laundry was washing.

* * * *

Six working days later she was fired. It was now Monday morning, and after completing a very stressful week, all sorts of stories were flying about her inconsistency, her inabilities, and her lack of qualifications. So she'd buried herself in work, hoping the problem would go away. It didn't.

She'd sat in the chair across the desk from the man who owned her job. He told her all the things she had done wrong and why they'd had no other choice but to let her go.

"A month's pension should carry you," he'd said. He asked if she had any questions, and at the shake of her head, because God help her, she couldn't think of a single word to say, she got up and walked out of the library.

Even now she wondered if she'd lost her mind. Had what just happened really happened? Or was it all a bad dream?

The job she'd worked so hard for—all gone with the snap of his fingers. She walked home. Tears would not come. Anger would not surface. She felt impervious and totally indifferent. Didn't it say somewhere in the Bible that all things work for good? She couldn't remember where that was, and it struck her to look it up once she climbed the stairs to her apartment.

She got to the door, looked in her hand, and there was no key there. She'd forgotten her purse. Edwina sat down on the step and stared at the trees blowing in the wind. A leaf loosened and came sashaying down, landing a few inches from her feet. She picked it up and fingered the veins, the tenderness of the still-green leaf and stared at it in wonder. If God could make such a beautiful thing, couldn't He..., Her mind would not go any further. There was a walk she had to take.

Back to the library she headed, steam building in her brain as she walked. How dare they accuse her of mishandling funds, losing books, and all such other nonsense. For once in her life she wanted to fight.

Stomping back, she opened the door. No one had locked the entry doors. "I suppose I will be accused of leaving the doors unlocked, right after they requested the keys be turned in to them," she sputtered.

Two employees walked past her and snuck looks, but she didn't pay them any mind. She had a few things she wanted to do.

First, she knocked on her office door and found the woman who'd taken her place. She at least had the decency to look ashamed. The man who'd fired her was sitting there too.

"May I have my belongings?" Edwina said between clenched teeth. She opened her desk drawer and plucked out her purse and a book. "This, this is my book," she said pointedly as she waved it in the air.

"Of course," the man who'd just fired her said politely.

"I... I say this to both of you. The charges you accused me of are totally bogus. God knows it, and I know it," she said and gave them her back. Her ears tuned out everything except her new black flats as they clip-clopped across the polished floors. For the last time.

* * * *

"They what?" Cecelia nearly screamed into the tele- phone. "I'm coming down there this instant."

"No... no you're not. I'll handle this," Edwina said. "Father and I have already talked. He is going to contact a friend of his on the board here in town and look into the charges."

"How dare they!" Cecelia was livid. Edwina was rather grateful for the support, even if it was given in anger.

"Don't worry, Cece. Everything will be all right. There are other towns, other library jobs. It's just that... well, I don't want to move, but . . ."

"What, Ed? You'd actually consider a move?" Cecelia's voice was sympathetic.

"Well, it might be good for me to make a new life some- where else. I love my hometown, but—" She was cut off when Cecelia began talking, and it wasn't to her.

"Ed, look I've got to go. Tenant problem. Sorry . . ."

Cecelia was gone. Everyone was gone. She felt a little like Jonah, spit up on the shore after being in the belly of the whale. What should she do?

Edwina started to gnaw at her fingernails, then sat on her hands instead. "Not going to start that," she said aloud. It was time to find her resume. She got up and fished in a drawer for the folder.

An hour passed. She reworked the old resume and, pleased with the progress, felt like a walk. Down the stairs, across the street, down a deep ravine, and she was in the park by the river. People were laughing, walking their dogs, pushing babies in strollers, and playing Frisbee. Some were fishing off the decks, others sitting in the grass entwined in each other's lives.

Her world had changed in one fell swoop, and although it was frightening, it somehow inspired her to move forward. She had always been so fearful of not being attached to some- thing—her job or school, specifically. She was suddenly and totally. . . free. Free to move, seek a new job, work at a restaurant, manage a McDonald's if she wanted to. This was a time to pray. Pray for God to move her... not that she would move herself, but for a God who loved her to direct her. Prayers flowed, sometimes fearful, sometimes extremely full of hope.

Her practical nature swung into motion. No more ice cream, walk more than drive to save gas, and for sure no long-distance phone calls. These duties were familiar. These were things she could control. Some things she could not. It was a reminder to remember which was which. That was the hard part.

She had a little money saved because she'd wisely refrained from purchasing anything expensive for several years. It wasn't a lot, but she would make do. It was nearly dark. Time to head home. The far-off sounds of children still playing buzzed in her ears.

Something would come up soon. It just had to.
Chapter 27

Her father and Cecelia had taken matters in hand, bypassing her efforts to play her own ball game. They kept going to bat for her. She was up to the plate, but they were always grabbing the bat and swinging for her.

That was the word picture that framed itself in her mind.

"Father, please. It is unfortunate. You've already talked to the council. It's pretty cut and dried. Nothing personal."

"How can you say that, Edwina? Being fired is personal."

"Yes, I know, Father, but maybe it happened for a reason."

"You're right. Certainly. But you need to learn how to stand up for yourself and fight when you've been wrongly accused."

"They wouldn't listen." Her words were gentle.

"Okay. I've given it my best. You're a grown woman. Tell me what you want to do."

"Thanks, Daddy. I was thinking... and tell me if you're not interested, okay?"

"All right."

"Well... I was thinking perhaps I could come up and be your assistant. In exchange you could help me with my expenses, just until I get on my feet. I think I'll go for my master's degree in Library Sciences."

"Honey, good choice. Of course we'll help. Victoria will not mind you living here, I'm certain of it."

"Daddy," Edwina interrupted before he called for the moving truck, "I can't live with you and Victoria, you know that. I'm too used to living on my own. There are plenty of apartments... I'll find an efficiency and a part-time job to cover expenses. I'll need up-front money for my classes and books, that's all. I don't want to use my savings."

"Good decision on all counts. When are you coming? September is barely a month off."

"I know. Let me get my thoughts together. I'll let you know as soon as I know." Edwina put the phone down. Perhaps she should have spent time looking for a job locally before making her decision to further her education. She could always start the second semester. Dipping into her savings was not an option.

For two weeks she pounded the pavement dropping off resumes, dressing for success, and making the necessary appointments. She even made an index card for each attempt. There were two offers, both unacceptable for one reason or another.

Cecelia called and said the Gillespies were due to arrive Thursday afternoon. Would she come and help out?

"Yes, I need a break. You'd think since I'm not working every day I would have all the time in the world, but I've been searching for a job."

"A job? I thought you decided to go back for your master's."

"You've talked to Father then?"

"Mother, but that doesn't matter."

"Well, I'm not sure yet. I might change my mind and find a new job."

Edwina heard the disapproval in her sister's well- educated, well-modulated voice. She believed in a good education too, but it wasn't everything. She was finding out nothing was certain, not even a bachelor's degree and a job she'd hoped to grow old in.

"They'll arrive here at O'Hare on Thursday at 8:30 a.m., so if you want to come on Monday, I could sure use the help. Spencer is on vacation, and the house is an absolute fright. He returns Wednesday, thank heavens."

Edwina's calendar was empty. All loose ends had been tied up long ago, so it was an easy decision. "I'll be there early, so I can clean your already immaculate apartment."

"Oh, you have no idea, Ed—Look, someone's beeping in, and for heaven's sake, Edwina, bring a few nice clothes. We'll be entertaining the Gillespie's, and this production thing just has to be perfect."

"It will be fine." Edwina spoke to dead space. Her sister had already clicked to the other call.

"At least I'll be busy, and I can call home for messages in case I get an interviewing call," she said to the air. Then, "I need to get a cat."

On the way to pack, she stopped in the hall and stared at her face in the mirror. It looked pale. Hooking her thick hair behind her ears, she knew it was time for a makeover. But how should a recently unemployed librarian look anyway?

She rubbed her eyelids and smoothed the skin beneath her eyes. Yes, maybe a new hairstyle would lift her spirits. Her long, straight hair was mostly pulled back with combs or secured primly in a ponytail at the base of her neck. A simple style for a simple librarian.

Edwina shrugged and said aloud, "But I'm not a librarian anymore, so maybe I should consider a new look. . . ." Her thoughts trailed off, already forgotten. She hated to worry about things like style and perms and greasy lipstick, not to mention blush. Why did a female need two pink dots on her cheeks anyway?

"Hmm, a few nice clothes." Those were Cecelia's exact words. Exactly what did that mean? She pulled the black dress from the closet first and packed her new black flats and the Birkenstocks. She had learned from her sister those shoes were more important than gold to the gold diggers in 1849. History, she knew. Style, she didn't have a clue.

Monday morning started early. Up and showered by six a.m. she was ready to pack. Twenty minutes later she was still rifling through her meager stack of skirts. Two were acceptable, but even they were a little outdated. Now tops, she had a slew of those. The local Goodwill store was an eleven-block trek. Every single top she owned had come from that store. Perhaps—she checked her watch. Yep, still time to make it, if she walked quickly.

Today was her lucky day, at least that's how she felt leaving the store. They'd had a new shipment since her last visit, and even she thought her choices outstanding, not to mention prices. Half-price sale day. She'd missed that in the newspaper, what with all the job searching and everything. She never missed half-price sale days.

The best find had been a long flowing skirt. It had a cream background with soft purple pansies and green vines. Then when a cream colored top appeared right before her eyes, she snatched it up immediately. An armful of clothes today—twice the value for half the cost.

She'd walked out laughing and talking with the sales lady. They were pretty good friends, and the woman loved to read.

Humming, she climbed the stairs with the bagful of purchases and unlocked the door. It was an especially beautiful day. First came the sorting of clothes and a gentle wash in the machine.

Rhythm and blues played from the old radio she'd gotten for a mere five dollars. She tuned to a more upbeat station and laid out her clothes. She knew not to pack too many. She would surely receive Cecelia's disapproval on most every- thing anyway and would no doubt be carted off to Marshall Field's, just a few blocks from her condo, to purchase another dress that cost as much as her monthly car payment.

This felt like a small adventure. Not as huge as Scotland had been, but a venture out into something new, no less. And it would be good to see the Gillespies.

With everything folded neatly into one small case, she sat down at the table as the sun was heading downward toward the horizon. A grilled cheese sandwich filled her up after her one excessive purchase that afternoon in town—a small sack of Charlie Chaplain from Veni's Sweet Shop, her favorite corner chocolate shop in the center of town. Chocolate, marshmallow, and pecans. Even now she wished she'd saved a piece.

Edwina noticed that clouds hung heavy in a dark blue sky. "It's going to storm and after such a nice day...," she murmured as she slipped her feet into her old flats. She would keep the well-worn shoes forever. The case came down in one trip, along with her red umbrella and were stashed in the front seat. A breeze stirred the blue-green air that was charged with electricity. She could envision the white streaks zigzagging across the sky any minute.

The white Volkswagen pulled out of the drive and she was off. A sense of gladness at her freedom washed over her. With a push of a miniature button, she searched and found an easy-listening station. It seemed to match her melancholy, yet happy mood. She turned on her windshield wipers. Things were bound to change. She could feel it in her bones.
Chapter 28

The loss of her job had swung her first into a nervous frenzy, then into a strange calm. At least her life was not like it had been for three years running. Exactly the same thing every day, every night, every weekend. The trip to Scotland had been the catalyst that began the change in her present life. She'd been thrown into the situation, wasted her vacation, which she now knew was a gift she couldn't have possibly planned, and finally realized that indeed things had worked out well enough—at least for the present time.

See, things are not that bad.

An hour later and fifty miles behind her, the sun came out from behind the dark clouds. Rolling down the windows, she let the rain blow off the vehicle, the moistness spraying her face and frizzing her hair.

Safely parked in Cecelia's lot space, she drug the heavy suitcase to the elevator, which brought her to the twelfth floor. Setting down her case, she fished in the secret compartment of her purse and found the key. Needing to use the bathroom, she quickly put the key in the lock. Nothing. She twisted and tried again. It would not open.

"Now what?"

A door opened down the hall, and she swung around. A man's head popped out.

"Thought I heard something." He came out the door, a long-handled duster in his hand. "Cece changed the locks. You Ed?"

"Yes." Her face turned pink. More than anything she needed to use the bathroom.

"Come in down here if you don't mind. I'm in the back forty." He swung his arm for her to follow.

She hurried behind him, suitcase bumping behind her.

"Sorry, I should have gotten that for you," he said and dropped the duster and handed her the bag. "Where would you like it?"

"Anywhere's fine." She shot past him.

"Spencer Hallman's the name," he called out.

"Hi Spencer, back in a minute." She slammed the door.

It had taken extra time to arrive because of the weather. Too long.

Sheepishly, she made her way toward the sound of foot- steps in her sister's bedroom.

"I'm sorry. Long drive."

"No problem. Spencer Hallman's the name," he said again and pulled off rubber gloves, sticking out his hand. "Cecelia's housemaid—houseman, if you want to be proper."

"I thought you were on vacation." She caught his eye. "Cece said you were going to be out of town."

"Change of plans."

His smile was full-faced. Edwina liked him immediately. He was probably thirty-something.

"So what brings you here?" she asked. "I mean to clean for Cecelia?"

"Ah, a poor college man with a degree and a dump load of tuition to pay back."

"Sounds familiar." She picked up the glove he'd dropped without noticing.

"Thanks."

"I'm Edwina Blair, Cecelia's sister. Stepsister," she corrected before she recognized the look of surprise that such a beauty and such a plain Jane could possibly be related. She hated the fact that she felt compelled to explain.

"Oh, the sister with the degree and no job."

"How'd you know?" Edwina planted her hands on her hip bones.

Spencer shrugged. "Cecelia talks. You should know that."

"I do," Edwina admitted. "But you should also know she's livid."

"Livid? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did, it's what they did to you." He pointed at her, laughing.

"Me?"

"Of course. Cecelia's a fighter. When she sees a wrong done, she loves a good battle and the thrill of victory. Believe me, she'd like to come to that town of yours and fight city hall with her bare hands."

"She'd win too." Edwina smiled lightly. "I'm starved. Think I'll get out of your way and get something to eat. It's almost two o'clock."

"Hold on. I just cleaned the kitchen. It's perfect, just like Cecelia likes it. You'd better let me handle messing it up again."

"Oh, well... I'll just go out. There's a pizza place not far."

"No need. We can steal a sandwich. I made a bucket of chicken salad for the luncheon. Besides, I could use a break myself."

"If you're sure."

"Sure enough to know I'm starving. Least she could do is share a couple of sandwiches."

Edwina watched while he pulled off his work gloves, washed his hands in Cecelia's elegant pink and crème bath- room, then led the way to the kitchen.

Edwina noticed his slender build, quick step, and blond hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head. Much the way she wore hers.

"You like your bread toasted or plain? White or wheat?"

"Wheat and toasted."

"Good, me too. We'll get along just fine," he said, reaching inside the refrigerator.

"So, you have a degree. What did you study?"

"I'm a chef. A work in progress," he said and shrugged. "Nevertheless, I'm a food connoisseur. Studying under Francois Maxwell—the best."

"The best," she agreed. "Compliments via Cecelia?"

"Of course. She knows everybody, and can sweet-talk any chosen subject to do her bidding. Including me."

"You know my sister well." Edwina sat on the chair he pulled out.

"I'll muss, you discuss."

"Discuss what?" She couldn't help but smile. She certainly had nothing to tell. Her life was too predictable.

"Anything your heart desires. I like to converse when I'm preparing."

"Well... where did you get your hallowed degree?"

"The Cooking and Hospitality Institute here in Chicago."

"Ah, the best."

"Always the best. My parents would never settle for anything less than the best. I'm the only son out of five siblings. They've got me pegged for their major financial provider."

"Oh boy. I pity you."

"You pity me! I pity myself. I am expected to have my own restaurant and a name as big or bigger than Emeril or Wolfgang Puck, whichever is greater."

"Poor thing." She felt humor rising up from somewhere inside.

"You got that right. All my sisters are waiting for me to land the big one, so my parents tell me. College tuition, you know."

"And you must perform exquisitely."

Spencer looked up from the toast he was spreading with a thin coat of butter as though it were a work of art. "Right again."

His face was handsome. And he worked out. She could see the muscles beneath his shirt. Bright blue eyes caught her blue ones for a second. They'd connected. Her heart did a flip-flop. Where had that come from?

"So... what's your favorite meal to fix?" She couldn't let the dead silence keep filling the room.

"Ah, now that's a toss-up. First choice is shrimp cream sauce over linguini. Second choice is pizza, but I never, ever say that on my résumé."

"So now I know a secret about you?" She thought that sounded pretty lame.

"Indeed you do. Now, here's your sandwich, arranged on a simple plate, no garnish—which is just killing me. No pickle, no chips. And for that I sincerely apologize." He bowed low.

Edwina laughed out loud. "Sit down and eat. I'm not fussy. Besides, I could use a few less pounds."

"You look fine. People are too skinny today. We French- trained chefs like to see our customers with a bit of flesh. We know they'll be back for more, and they're usually less fussy when it comes to calories."

"True." She picked up her sandwich and took a bite.

"There, see, that's what I like. Someone who likes to eat."

"Oh boy, I'm in big trouble if you stick around here long." Edwina let down her guard.

"Good. You can be my guinea pig."

"Pig being the key word?" She smiled and knew instantly she had erred.

He looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I was joking. I know I'm... well, not exactly skinny."

"You should never erect walls like that around yourself."

Edwina looked away for a moment so he could not espy her own embarrassment. They were at an impasse if she couldn't think of something to say... but what could she possibly say?

"You're right." Her voice was low.

He seemed to relax, so she empowered her mind to move on. "What did you do to Cecelia's chicken salad? Something is different, and I like it. A lot."

"Well, there is a little secret I use . . ."

"Oh, but don't tell if it's a secret recipe," she hurried to say, knowing chefs rarely shared their ingredients unless it was on national television.

"I won't tell. You'll have to guess without ever knowing the truth."

They both laughed and all was well again.

Finished, Spencer shooed her out of the kitchen. He did not tolerate running to and fro cleaning while bumping into another body. "Go unpack. I just finished the Rose Room. You should find it suitable."

"Rose Room?"

"You didn't know your sister named each guest room?" He turned from his work.

"No."

"There are four of them, all color coordinated of course. The Rose Room, the Yellow Room, the Burgundy Room, and the Green Room. Down the hall, second door on the right. It's one of the nicest."

"Then won't we need to save that room for the Gillespies?"

"No, the Crème Room is the guest suite. It is by far the largest and most elegant. The other four are merely the smaller guest rooms."

"Ah." Edwina swept away before her lack of manners should be found out.

The bell at the front door rang out like a live-playing band. Cecelia's twenty-foot ceilings accounted for the perfect acoustics. Edwina hesitated, but knew Spencer would handle the situation. He was accustomed to Cecelia's way of life—that was apparent. A match for her sister perhaps? But then Spencer seemed too young and free-spirited for her sophisticated entrepreneurial sister. What man could tame her beauty and her drive? Edwina wondered as she lugged her bag. It would be unthinkable to wheel her case along on the thick carpet. Spencer would not approve.

After shutting the door behind her, she slipped off her shoes and concentrated on getting settled in. The room smelled of roses, true to the name and the color. She had not taken time to investigate the entire condominium space when she'd been here before. Everything in the room was rose and cream. Everything. Right down to the switch plate covers. The wallpaper was not quite a print—more like a watercolor canvas. It held a sense of intrigue; its muted colors of roses, creams, and greens the obvious inspiration for the entire room. Edwina leaned close and studied the design, barely visible to the eye. Then she saw the pattern. Roses, vines, and leaves.

Once unpacked, her clothes filled two drawers in the elegant gold and white dresser—the more descriptive word being chiffonier. She had learned that from Cecelia.

After a quick change into whitewashed jeans and an old white cotton shirt, she swept her palm over the wayward strands of her hair and prepared to work.

A tap sounded at her door. "Miss Blair."

She opened it to Spencer. "There is someone here . . ." He started down the hall, expecting her to follow.

Shrugging, she thought perhaps one of Cecelia's busi- ness associates had arrived. Her sister would fly in on her new pumps ready to greet her visitors. Edwina smiled. At least she had something to keep her mind occupied for the time being.

She turned the corner and entered the living room, her mouth open to greet . . .

There across the way stood the Gillespies. And Alex Dunnegin.
Chapter 29

Rarely speechless, Edwina found she could not speak a word for an interminably long moment. Spencer came to the rescue.

"These are the expected guests?" He shot her a side-glance.

"Yes... yes they are.... Pardon me, Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie and . . ." Her brain stopped working.

"Ah, ye've forgotten your knight in shining armor, then?"

And then she saw his eyes look down to the floor.

Her bare toes dug into the carpet. It was no secret to anyone she'd been caught unprepared, for there she stood in work jeans, cotton shirt, and no shoes.

"Ah, as you can see, we... we . . .have arrived early. I hope it will not inconvenience you." Rose Gillespie said.

"We are ready for you," Spencer finished. "I'll take you to your room, and you and Miss Blair can have a visit later. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up. May I?" He nodded toward the luggage, walked over like a practiced concierge, and waited for their answer.

"I'll be carryin' the luggage back." The Scot's voice echoed in the large room. "Ye'll be needing to be at your position."

"I'll assist." Spencer let the Scot choose his bags, then picked up the two smaller ones and led the way.

All the while Edwina fidgeted. She stood aside as they passed.

The Scot had come along too? What was he doing here?

She wanted to flee, first to her room to pack and then back to Niles. Heart beating like a ticking clock in a silent room, she planted her bare feet in the carpet unable to think.

Spencer appeared after settling the guests. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I had no idea they were coming today. Cece said the taping of the show was Thursday."

"Always best to be prepared."

"They're early." She stated the obvious.

"As I can see. I'll clean the last two rooms and get out of here. Can you handle them until Cecelia arrives?"

"I'll have to." She started to bite her nails, then stuck her hands into her back pockets. "What about all the work you had planned for me to do?"

"It'll wait. Guests always come before work."

"Right." She hesitated. "What should we do first? Offer them coffee, something to eat? It's nearly three-thirty." She checked her Wal-Mart watch.

"Guests usually like a half hour or so to rest or refresh themselves, then a bite to eat. They've been in the air for hours, not to mention the taxi ride from the airport. They're probably famished."

"I know I was." She remembered her fainting spell, which occurred after she'd gotten off her long flight. The Scot probably thought she was one of those flighty women who loved to drop their handkerchief off the tips of their fingers, then feign they didn't know a thing about it.

"I'll put the coffee on. I can toss together a green salad to go along with the chicken sandwiches, and I just might have time to whip up my special lemon pudding dessert. I think there's a pound cake in the cupboard."

Spencer took off for the kitchen, Edwina right behind him. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Pull the vegetables out of the refrigerator while I see if we have the makings for pudding."

"Lemons, mayo, lettuce, vegetables, spinach . . ." He called out what he needed, and as quick as she could find them, she stacked the ingredients on the black granite countertop.

"Forty-five minutes from now we'll be sitting at the breakfast nook chowing down some very handsome and tasty victuals. Not to worry."

Edwina laughed. "That sure didn't sound like a professional chef speaking."

Spencer's laughter rolled through the kitchen. "I know all the terms folks use from all over the world to describe food—chow and victuals being only two of them."

Spencer had been right. The food was ready and the table set with Cecelia's gold-rimmed plates. "A bit much, but elegant nevertheless," he said.

"It looks so nice, Spencer. And in just under an hour."

"Now for our guests. While I finish up the dessert, why don't you go back and tap on their doors, let them know luncheon is ready. Don't forget your shoes."

"Oh dear. Should I change?"

"No time. Retrieve our guests now," he ordered. "Everything is ready."

"Me? Why don't you go? I'll stir the pudding."

"Edwina, dear, no one—no one stirs my special pudding. Go get the guests. I won't serve food that has sat one minute too long."

She slipped into her Birkenstocks and tried to act as normal as possible. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened.

"Ye've come for us, then?" He crossed his arms over his chest and actually smiled at her.

He looked happy enough.

"Yes. Dinner is ready. Spencer—I mean Mr. Hillman, our chef, requests your presence." Where had that come from? Probably a movie she'd seen.

"Then we shall be prompt." The Scot's smile spread across his face as he knocked at the other door. "Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie, it seems luncheon is served."

Was he making fun of her? He sounded awfully proper.

The elder couple came from their room whispering happily. Edwina led them to the dining room.

"My sister should be here a bit later. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. Please sit down." She started to pull out a chair for Mrs. Gillespie, but the Scot was quicker.

"I will do my duty." He seated the elder woman first, then pulled out her chair. Mr. Gillespie and then the Scot took their seats.

Spencer winked at her from across the bar, which made her face turn pink. She could have slapped him.

The meal finally finished, her sandwich only half eaten since she and Spencer had eaten an hour earlier, she struggled through the small talk.

"Yer city is lovely, Edwina." Rose Gillespie said sweetly.

"Oh, it's not my city. My sister lives here in Chicago... in this condo. My apartment... home is in Michigan."

"Michigan? Why, isn't that right across the Lake?"

"Yes, it is." Edwina smiled. "About a hundred miles from here."

"We are so excited to be in yer United States." Rose and Edwina fell into a conversation while the Scot and Mr. Gillespie talked. Spencer served them like royalty, predicting their every need.

When everyone was finished, Spencer suggested they take their coffee to the living room. The foursome found chairs while Spencer cleaned the kitchen.

Edwina primly crossed her feet at her ankles and tried to listen to the conversation but found herself checking her watch. When was Cecelia going to come? She couldn't entertain everyone for much longer. She was running out of things to say.

"I must be on my way." Mr. Dunnegin rose.

"Are you leaving?" Edwina asked. She'd barely spoken to him.

"Yes, I have business to attend to."

"Oh... I thought... you're not staying?"

"Never intended to stay, lass. Just brought my friends in from Scotland. Yer sister—Cecelia, isn't it?—will take it from here. Do I understand correctly?"

"Oh yes, she will." Edwina didn't know if she should call him Mr. Dunnegin or Laird Dunnegin here in the U.S.

"I shall return four days hence," he said formally.

"Please be aboot yer business, Laird Dunnegin. We should be finished in four days, we are to understand?"

The question was directed to Edwina by Mr. Gillespie.

"I... I assume so.... I'm afraid I just came down to help and don't know enough about the details to inform you . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Before she could turn back to open the door for his exit, the Scot had gone and she breathed again.
Chapter 30

Her breath still coming in short gasps, Edwina calmed her heart. "May I get you anything?"

"No. We would be about a short nap, if ye don't mind," Mr. Gillespie said.

"Oh yes, make yourselves at home. If you need anything, please let me know."

She was alone.

Tossing her body into the first chair, she felt like she had that day at the airport—tired and ready to faint. Spencer walked in.

"You all right?"

"Not exactly. Look at me. I'm out of my element." She wanted to shout. "Why do I always find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time... and wearing the wrong thing?" Her fingertips nipped at her jeans. "Jeans of all things, and my worst pair." She wanted to cry.

"Why do you worry so much? Life is too short. Enjoy it, Winnie."

"Winnie?"

"Does that offend you?" He took up the coffee cups, that crooked smile plastered across his handsome face.

"No... it's just that no one has ever called me that before. Cecelia calls me Ed, and I hate it, actually." She helped him carry the cups.

Spencer stopped and turned. "Have you told her?"

"No. Why should I? It's her pet name for me." Edwina shrugged.

"So you don't really mind, then?"

"Well, I do, but I don't want to hurt her feelings."

"Ah, I see how it is." He winked and headed toward the kitchen, cups clinking in the saucers.

How was it? Edwina wondered. What did he mean by that? That she was a wimp because she couldn't tell her sister she hated the pet name she called her? Oh now, there I go, reading way too much into a simple comment.

In a minute, Spencer was back. "I have to go to work. You're on your own until Cecelia comes back."

"What? You have to leave?"

"I have those infernal tuition bills, remember?" Edwina heard the slam of the door. She was in charge of the guests. Scooping a deep breath into her lungs, Edwina headed for her room to change her clothes. She wasn't about to let Cecelia catch her in jeans with guests in the house.

Twenty minutes later, she appeared in a pair of tan dress pants and one of her new Goodwill purchases, a V- necked white blouse with light brown flowers. And her Birkenstocks—for about one minute. They would be nearby when Cecelia came.

The library was where she wanted to be at the moment. She needed a comfort book. Down came two or three volumes from Cecelia's limited resources; her library was still being assembled. The History of Modern Scotland was a start. Guilt assailed her. She should be reading about her Irish heritage.

She sat in a straight-backed chair—very uncomfortable for reading... she would have to inform Cecelia of that—and held the book on her lap.

The doorbell sounded again after a mere hour. She'd just gotten into the depths of the book. Cecelia wouldn't ring. Who could it be? Maybe the Scot had returned.

Smoothing her hair now set free of its ponytail, she grabbed the knob and pulled.

"I forgot my key, again," Cecelia whined. "Spencer called, said my guests have arrived. Are they comfortable? Did you get them coffee? Have they eaten?"

"Whoa," Edwina raised her hands. "They're all taken care of. Spencer was here and made a late lunch, even dessert, and they are resting in the Crème and Rose room—or what- ever you call it," she said proudly, glad to see her sister.

"Good, then all's well? They arrived early."

"You're telling me."

"Did they say why?"

"No, actually they didn't."

"I'm sorry, Ed. You and Spencer must have been horrified, right in the middle of cleaning . . ."

"To say the least." She decided not to tell Cecelia that she dined in her jeans.

"Well, thank you. It's very important. To my entire career, for that matter." Cecelia was already going into production mode. "I'm going to change into something nice and comfortable. I'll take it from here."

"Would you mind, then, if I took a walk? I could use some fresh air."

"Not at all. The sun has come out again and it's really beautiful outside."

Have you got dinner plans?"

"Of course. Reservations at the Brown House. Eight o'clock. Spencer was able to get us in this evening."

"I'll get out of your hair then. Need me to do anything while you're gone?"

"Well," Cecelia unbuttoned her navy blazer, "you could drop off something at the cleaners for me. I want my new suit to be perfect for the show."

"All right. No problem. Just let me know where."

"Great. I'll get everything together." Cecelia was off at a run.

Edwina took the opportunity to dash to her room and change once again. She'd never spent so much time changing clothes in a single day. She decided on a pair of black jeans, a light blue sweater, and Birkenstocks. Ah... comfort clothes. She sighed.

"All right, here's the suit. Please don't let anything happen to this outfit, Ed. It's expensive, even for my tastes."

Edwina's eyes widened. "Are you kidding? You'd admit that?"

"You know I hate wasting money. But this is not a waste of money. It's an investment in my future success as a female business owner, not to mention my new show. After all, I'm going to be seen by millions of viewers. This is my one chance to look the part."

"You're right." Edwina had to agree and made it a point not to ask the price. She'd probably figure exactly how many months of rent she could have paid in exchange for the extravagant suit she now held in her hand.

"I'm off then." Edwina headed out the door with instructions in hand.

"Beware of thieves. Go straight to Gwin's first. They're the best cleaners in town. They know me. It's only a few blocks away, and don't set the bag down, whatever you do, Ed."

"I won't." Edwina wanted to stick her tongue out. How hard could it be to deliver a suit to the cleaners?

She had taken a few steps when she heard another ques- tion. "Have you got your key?"

"Yes, but it didn't work, Cecelia." She stopped, glad for the reminder.

"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. I had the locks changed again. Let me get you the new key."

Edwina waited. With the new key tucked safely in her secret purse compartment, she was on her way. She stepped out into a glorious early evening. Raindrops glistened and shot rays in all sorts of directions. If she squeezed her eyes just so, rainbows appeared in the myriad puddles.

She pulled the torn slip of paper from her pocket to read the directions to Gwin's when a gust of Chicago wind burst around the corner and sent the paper flying faster than she could run. It was gone out of sight.

Now what? Ask directions. Simple. She'd just call Cecelia's cell. Reaching into her pocket, she realized she had not grabbed her phone.

She looked up and saw a phone booth. She'd call from there. She brought the suit inside the booth with her and carefully shared the small space with the precious cargo.

"I've lost the address," she complained. "The wind."

"You still have my outfit, don't you?"

"Of course, it's right here with me. I just need the address again." Cecelia repeated it slowly, and with one more admonition to be careful, let her go.

"Jeesh, you'd think the Taj Mahal was in here." Carefully, Edwina lifted the Marshall Field's bag and clamped her fingers around the handles. She would deliver the outfit to its destination.

Twenty minutes later, she had done just that. With the garment safely in the hands of Gwin's employees, she set out for a short walk. An hour later she hurried her step and rode the elevator up, put the key in the lock, and stepped inside saying, "Cecelia, your dress will be ready by . . ."

The Scot and Cecelia were talking animatedly and hadn't noticed she'd come through the door. Evidently they had a lot to say to each other. Edwina watched. They were both beautiful people. Just right for each other. The Scot was a businessman in his own right and her sister, well... they made a handsome pair. A little chunk of her heart slipped through a hole in her stomach.

Shrugging, she placed the ticket for the cleaners on the table under a clear vase filled with fresh white roses, the deed safely done. She slipped off her shoes and instead of leaving them at the door, carried them with her and tiptoed down the carpeted hallway unnoticed.
Chapter 31

"Good morning! Rise and shine. I've tons of errands for you." Cecelia stood in her bedroom, pushing earrings into her lobes.

"I'm up... I'm up." Edwina had slept well in the luscious bedding. "What thread count are these sheets?" She smoothed her hand over them.

"One thousand. Same as the best hotels. What do you want for breakfast? Spencer's here and hasn't slept all night, so make it quick."

"Okay." Edwina hopped out of bed and headed for the bathroom shower, which was conveniently located in the bedroom... just like the best hotels. She made her way to the kitchen.

"Such beauty I have not seen in years." Spencer's humor evidently had no end.

Edwina's hand went to the lush white towel wrapped around her wet hair. "No time to blow dry. Besides, I heard you haven't slept."

"Ah, so ye've got o' bit o' sass in ye, have ye, lass?" Edwina's eyes widened. He sounded just like the Scot. "Ah... so she smiles after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you made it through yesterday's faux pas—"

"Shhh... don't let Cecelia hear you. I never told her I dined with her guests in my jeans." Spencer made a face at her and shook his index finger in the air.

"Worse things have happened, Winnie."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me Winnie," she said through a bite of scrambled eggs.

"Ah, so it's off with me, hmm?"

"These eggs are good. What did you put in them to—Oh I forgot, can't tell right?"

"Yes. And don't think I lost the fact that you were avoiding the topic at hand." Edwina shrugged. "Suit yourself. You want to call me Winnie, go ahead. I won't have to listen to it long. I'll be out of here in a few."

"Oh, and break my heart, Miss Winnie Blair?"

"Yeah." She threw her linen napkin at him, and it landed square in the middle of the pancake he had just poured into the pan.

"You're wasting my time, woman," he scolded. Edwina watched the ruined pancake slide into the sink. "So the big handsome Scot was your knight in shining armor, huh?"

"Who told you that?" But she already knew the answer to that. Now it was her turn to look away. "See how she blushes. Must have been some rescue."

"It wasn't anything like that. I... I just... well, it's a long story... and very boring."

"A Cinderella-meets-the-handsome-prince story? And you call that boring."

"It was nothing really." She leaned over her plate.

"I have a few minutes. Need to clean up this mess in the sink... so tell me your story, Winnie."

Edwina gave him a look. He wasn't going to stop until he heard it. "I landed in Edinburgh... I'm sure you know I took Cece's place on her trip when her father died. She had to go to Italy. I went to Scotland in her place. That's all."

"That's all? That tells me nothing. Get to the point. He didn't call himself your knight for nothing."

"Well, if you must know, my plane was late and my hotel room was taken—and the Scot took me to his castle for the weekend."

"Castle?" Spencer howled.

"Shh... everyone's asleep."

"Those rooms have extra thick walls just like—"

"I know. Like an expensive hotel," Edwina finished for him.

"Right." He chuckled again.

"Jeesh, does anything get past you?" She got up and carried her dishes to the sink.

"Not a thing. Even when I've worked sixteen hours straight."

"Why don't you let me stack the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher, and you get some sleep."

"Not a chance. I get paid for this and believe me," he looked around," your sister pays me well. I'm thinking of starting a cleaning business."

"Stop it! Trained chef's don't start cleaning businesses. After all, they have that truckload of tuition to pay. You'd better use your education, after what it must have cost you to get it."

"You have no idea."

"Exactly my point," she shot back and left Spencer to his work.

"Thanks for breakfast." She turned and stuck her head around the corner.

He nodded her off, a smile still on his face. He is fun, Edwina concluded. Fun to be around. She headed for her room.

"Cece, I'm dressed and ready to help. What do you need done?"

Her sister came around the corner and handed her a hundred dollar bill. "Go get my suit at Gwin's, and don't let it out of your sight."

"Right. I'm off."

Ribbons of yellow taxis colored the view from every angle as they slipped in and out of traffic. Horns honked, people were talking, families walked about the great city. And the sun was shining like a new spring day. The temp read 72 degrees. Perfect weather for an August day. Humming, she felt free. Free from her everyday world of whispering all day long so patrons could study and making dull decisions like which shelf should be moved to the front and which to the back of library. Who cared anyway?

Shocked, she realized her heart had been a bit lighter since she'd come to Cecelia's. She knocked the thoughts out of her head when a car swerved, nearly hitting a pedestrian. Her hand flew to her mouth to scream. The car barely missed the older man. Several people went to see that he made it across the street.

Life was over so quickly. Perhaps Spencer was right. Life was too short. She should live her dreams. Dreams? What dreams did she have? A person couldn't live out a dream if they didn't have one.

While she was trying to decide the one thing she really wanted in life, she walked right past Gwin's.

Rushing back, she took the ticket from her pocket and gave it to the attendant. She was gone an extremely long time it seemed, so Edwina waited in the lush chairs near the window and watched people from all walks of life hurry past Gwin's.

"Miss, we have no such item here in the store." The young woman looked exasperated.

"What do you mean?" Edwina was on her feet at the counter.

"We cannot find a match to this ticket."

"Oh no—yes, you can. I brought the suit in last evening. It was supposed to be ready by now. It says so right on the ticket. It's a suit, red with satin lapels. A size six. There were gold buttons on the cuffs. They were satin too. The cuffs were satin." Edwina repeated.

"No. It's not back there." She shoved the ticket across the counter.

Edwina shoved the ticket back to the woman. "You can't possibly know what kind of trouble I'm in," Edwina said. "I need that suit. Can I come back and look? I can find it. I know I can."

"You can't do that." The woman looked shocked.

"But you see, I know what it looks like. You've no doubt just misplaced it." Her stomach started to twirl.

"It's against store policy." The woman was finished with her.

What would Cecelia do? Her frantic mind tried to think, her finger rubbing her temple, tears about to form in her eyes.

"I would like to see your boss." Her hands shook, and she knew her voice did too.

"He's not here." The woman looked over her shoulder.

"Yes, he is. You just don't want to bring him up here." Edwina felt her ire rise a level. "You see, this is my sister's suit. She is to appear on Oprah, and they are taping the show today. Today. She needs this suit." Perhaps reasoning with a calm voice would work. "Her name is Cecelia Giatana. You know her. And you have her suit."

"I must ask you to leave. I have searched. We do not have it, I will be forced to call security."

Edwina grabbed the ticket off the counter before the woman had a chance to take it. Time to call Cecelia.

She stepped out the door of Gwin's and stood on the sidewalk, tears coming down. What would she tell Cecelia?

"Ah lass, we meet once again."

Her heart took a leap. The Scot. She gave him one shoulder and pretended to fish for something in her purse... like a tissue to wipe away the dratted evidence on her face.

"Think ye the Starbuck's menu will help again?" he teased.

"This is not funny this time... sir." She forced a slight smile.

The Scot's face turned serious. "Ah, I see that it is not. What troubles ye, lass?"

"I... I came here to get my sister's suit. She said it cost a fortune, and she has to wear it today for the show. They're taping it today. And they said they don't have it. . . ." She stopped, half angry, half humiliated.

"They don't have it? An expensive suit disappeared into the moors? Have ye the ticket, lass?"

"Yes, but they said they'd call security. . . ."

A look of determination settled on the Scot's face. His handsome chin dipped and his mouth firmed. Oh boy, there was going to be trouble.

"Come, lass. We'll see to the matter."

She followed him inside and stood next to him. When the woman came around the corner and saw her, she started to pick up the phone, but the Scot spoke—loudly.

"This lass has lost a suit. And you have it. Give her the ticket." His eyes never left the woman's face.

Edwina slid the ticket across the counter.

"I've already checked. I told the young woman she must be mistaken."

The Scot looked at her. Edwina shook her head ever so slightly.

"Aye, and the Scots are Irish too! Would ye know anything aboot the suit, or is there a need to call for assistance... an attorney perhaps?"

The woman's face turned fiery red. She excused herself and went to the back.

Edwina gasped as the suit appeared covered in clear plastic. "It seems it was just hung on the rack... only recently finished." She shot Edwina a look.

"The bill?" Mr. Dunnegin pulled out a credit card.

Edwina didn't even try to pay. Shocked to the bottom of her Birkenstocks, she stood like one of the dummies in the store windows.

"Now for my suit." He passed his own ticket across the counter and stared at the woman. "Freshly hung, just now I'm sure." He tossed the words at her back like a handful of peanut shells tossed to an elephant.

She came around the corner, angrier than before, laid the suit across the counter, rung up the price, and held out her bejeweled hand for his card.

"Charge both to my card." He stared her down. "No tip."

They eyed each other for a moment. Edwina snatched up her package.

When he had his in his hands, he started for the door, turned, and said, "Ye will hear from my attorney."

Edwina gasped, snuck a look back, and blinked. The woman was livid.

"How did you do that?"

"Blasted Americans will steal ye're shirt from ye're back." He stalked down the street, Edwina in his wake.

"Do... do we... do that all the time to Scots?"

"Aye, a Scot loves to save a dime as well as the next lad, but he'll not lie right to his blessed face to do it."

Edwina stepped quicker to keep up with him. "I'm so thankful you were there. I didn't know what to do. Cecelia said it was the best place in town."

"Ye're sister may well be right, lass, but I'll never darken their step again."

"That's why you went there too? Because it was the best in town?"

"So she said." he mumbled.

She walked beside him quietly. He was in no mood for conversation. She thought to change the mood.

"Where are you off to today?"

"Business." He was still mad. Maybe Scots stayed mad longer. She

shrugged. Suddenly her conscience whispered.

"Mr. Dunnegin . . ."

"Call me Alex," he said gruffly.

"I am glad you were there. Thank you." He escorted her to Cecelia's door and left.
Chapter 32

"Cecelia, you're not going to believe what happened." Edwina told her sister the entire sordid story.

"So... he came to your rescue once again," she said to the mirror as she pulled back her hair.

"Well, I guess you could say that. I'm so embarrassed, Cece. It was awful. But he helped me get your suit. Otherwise . . ."

"Don't think about it. There's no time. It's here now and that's all that matters. However, I am going to speak to Mr. Dunnegin's lawyer. You did say he was going to sue?"

"Well, he didn't exactly say that. Just that he would be contacting his attorney."

"Sometimes that's a ruse to let people know you mean business. They meant to steal my suit. It's expensive, and somebody down there knows it."

Edwina could see that her sister's anger was starting to burn. "Don't think about it now. You've got to be at the recording studio in two hours. Are the Gillespies ready?"

"They've been ready for an hour. They're sitting calmly in the living room discussing plans to visit their son when production is over. I think this will be just the thing I need to get international visitors to stay at my place. And if we are overrun with guests, I'll just have to find another architectural wreck and redo it too."

Edwina's head tipped. "You love this, don't you?"

"You bet I do. Every bit of it." Cecelia glossed her lips. "Aren't they going to do your makeup?"

"Of course, but I never go out in public without gloss."

"I'll leave you to your ministrations."

"Ministrations? What kind of word is that?" Cecelia's chuckle hung in the air.

"It just means giving care. Guess I'm reading too many books, huh?" Edwina patted Cecelia's shoulder. "Hope all goes well today."

Her sister's dreams were coming true right before her eyes. Edwina ambled away still wondering what her dreams were.

Perhaps a bit of reading, maybe something romantic. She threw caution to the wind and walked to a small downtown secondhand book shop. The entire afternoon was hers to do with as she pleased. Everyone would be busy producing the show today. And it was Spencer's day off.

For two days Edwina read and sipped tea. The most she did was prepare dinner two evenings. Production days were long, and the Gillespies came home and went to bed after dinner. Cecelia usually ate and retired to her room to write down what she wanted to say for the next day's taping.

Edwina was bored. What was it she was looking for? She'd prayed and asked God for an answer. Surely there was something to do in a world full of needy people. She'd already decided a master's degree was not what she wanted, and as soon as she got home, she would call her father and try to explain why she didn't want to further her already acceptable education.

Sensing a feeling of loneliness, she decided a walk was what she needed. Cecelia had insisted she take two hundred dollars for two days' help. Edwina had balked at first, before realizing that she needed to accept the gift her sister offered.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she dashed for one of the hundred dollar bills, and on a whim took a taxi to the nearest park. Children were swinging, throwing sand in each other's hair, running and falling in the grass. Where had her childhood gone? Had she had one? Of course, but it had been a rather serious one.

Isn't there something, Lord, that I can do? Something that won't make me better, but that will make someone else better?

Why was she feeling so melancholy today? She'd not even had the sense to grab a book, so here she sat on a park bench with nothing to do but think.

Up to this point, she'd thought her career in Library Science was the focus of her life. She wanted children, but doubted her ability to draw a man into her boring life.

Tears formed and fell into her lap. She worried that someone might see her crying. But who cared anyway? No one knew her.

Cecelia's life was already mapped out. Her father and stepmother had their lives. She was on her own, and right now it felt lonely.

Tired of thinking, she pulled her cell phone out and called the taxi company. One thing she could do was remember numbers. Never had to write a single one down. Once she'd dialed it, it had gone straight to her mental phone book.

She felt even lonelier, if that were possible. Who cared that she could remember numbers?

The yellow taxi pulled up at the park and she got in.

"Would you stop at 213 Baker?"

"Yes, ma'am," the driver said and pulled a U-turn.

"Whoa, sorry about that. I forgot we were headed in the wrong direction."

"We mean to please." The cabbie smiled at her in the rearview mirror as he pulled up to the curb.

"I'll be right back." She might as well use some of the money for chocolate. She needed it tonight. A quick visit to the counter and she was back.

"Best in the country."

"What?"

"That chocolate you're eating. You out-o-towners seem to know about the place."

"That we do. Would you like some?" She handed the driver a square of chocolate pecan bark.

"Thanks. Don't expect any discounts," he teased. Edwina looked out the window, a smile forming. He was flirting with her. It was nearing midnight when she let herself in the condo.

"Edwina, is that you?" She heard her sister's sleepy voice in the darkness. "Yes, what are you doing out here in the dark?"

"I fell asleep on the sofa. It's been a long, long day." She yawned. "Did everything go well?"

"Perfect." Another yawn.

"Want some chocolate?"

"Chocolate? At this late hour? It makes my skin bumpy."

Edwina shrugged. "More for me."

"What's going on, Ed?"

"Oh nothing. Just trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life is all."

"Do I detect a bit of gloom and doom?"

"Didn't take a rocket scientist, did it?" she mumbled.

"Sit down. Talk to me."

Edwina sat but didn't know what to say. What could possibly be said about a boring life?

"You've got a meeting in the morning, and I need to get back home. We'd better get off to bed. I'm sorry to keep you up."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Alex wanted to see you. He took the Gillespies to the airport tonight and was quite upset when you weren't here."

"I'm sorry I missed sending them off." So they were already on a first-name basis.

"They send you their best wishes and will see you again."

"See me again? I doubt that," she mused. "I wonder why Mr. Dunnegin wanted to see me."

"Something about a position."

"Position?"

"That's all I can remember. Besides, he asked me out."

Cecelia smiled through sleepy blue eyes. "Oh."

"Is that all you can say? The man's a hunk, or haven't you noticed?"

"How could I not?"

"Well, you've had your turn. He's been your knight in shining armor twice now. It's my turn."

Cecelia's voice was meant as teasing, but Edwina wasn't up to the banter tonight.

"I hope you guys hit it off, really. He's a nice guy... and... I need to go to bed. I'm tired." Edwina picked up her shoes.

"Good night. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Yep, good night, Cecelia."
Chapter 33

The condo was quiet the next morning when Edwina woke. A headache sent her crashing back down on the pillow groaning. "Not today. Errrrggghhh." She covered her eyes with her forearm.

Half an hour later, she pulled her body out of bed, head still pounding. Why was it when one part of her life broke down she inherited a headache? Probably from all that worrying. Her conscience was working again.

She needed a cup of tea and dragged herself to the kitchen. Everything seemed to echo too loudly. Even the clinking of teacup against saucer irritated her.

Fifteen minutes later, she felt a little better. Mother had always said a cup of weak tea was the best medicine for a weary soul. Thoughts of her mother crept in, sending her into a deeper funk. She missed her and was just about to start feeling sorry for herself when the phone jingled slicing through her nervous system with a vengeance.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Are ye ill, lass?" Oh no, the Scot.

"Yes, I am." That ought to send him running to Cecelia.

"Ah, then I'll call later tonight. I'm flying home in two days and need a bit o' yer time."

"Tomorrow then?" She put him off.

"Aye."

Mr. Dunnegin hung up. For some reason, strange to her understanding, she felt sad. Her knight in shining armor had dumped her for her beautiful sister. Cinderella's story didn't end like that.

At that moment, Edwina knew something she had not realized until this minute. She had romantic feelings for the Scot. How absurd, she scolded herself. Now that was a Cinderella story. She almost laughed.
Chapter 34

Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of the Palmer House Hotel. "What are we doing here?" Edwina asked Alex Dunnegin. He had come for her.

"Come up. I want to talk with you. Don't worry—my secretary and three employees are there even as we speak. They'll be reworking contracts all night long. I need some quiet. It's been a very productive day."

A strange smile appeared on Alex Dunnegin's face, something like the cat caught with the bird in his mouth.

"Don't protest, lass. If ye don't want to stay after we've talked, ye can go."

The Scot turned his keys over to the valet and came around to open her door. She followed him into the beautiful lobby.

"Evening, Mr. Dunnegin," the doorman greeted him. "Your employees are in your room, as you requested."

"Thanks, Mac. Another Scot," he said proudly.

Once at his room, he unlocked the door, and she reluctantly followed. They were met with greetings from several people right away. Shoulder claps, high fives, and congratulations were flying.

Finally, he turned to her. "Closed a deal today."

"I see." She also noticed the elegant furnishings in the large hotel room.

He announced to the group that they were to take over the dining table and finish their work, but he and his guest were not to be disturbed.

One woman gave Edwina the evil eye. She counted it as jealousy. And who could blame the woman?

"We'll sit in the front room." Edwina followed nervously. "I would like to propose an idea to ye. A business idea."

Oh no, not another business proposal...

"I couldn't possibly..."

"Lass, if ye'll quiet yourself, I'll explain." He sounded tired. "What I would like more than anything is a companion for dinner. We have worked for two years on this contract, and tonight we have finished it. Would ye be willing?"

"What about...,"

Alex Dunnegin put up his hand. "I would have asked Cecelia if I had wanted her company."

How did the man know what she was thinking?

He had helped her so many times. She knew her answer.

"Yes. I'll be your companion, but just for tonight." She felt her face grow warm.

It was almost like a dream. Companion to her knight. Perhaps she could be of assistance to him one last time before he started dating Cecelia.

"I'd love a nap, but I can go to Cecelia's."

"Nay, it would be better if ye did not."

"Why?"

"Do ye have a change of clothes?" he asked gently.

"No. So you see, I will have to go to Cecelia's after all."

"Well, I'd rather ye didn't."

"Why not?"

"It was my unfortunate duty to turn down a date with your sister this evening because I thought we would still be negotiating the contract. As ye can see, that did not happen. I do not wish to explain."

"I see." Edwina smiled. No one liked crossing Cecelia.

"Now, off to a nap for ye. I'll get ye a dress at Marshall Field's."

Edwina stood. No thank you. My sister just recently bought me a black dress. I will take a taxi, it's just a few blocks and be back before you know it. I'm assuming we're going to a nice restaurant?"

"Of course, lass. We'll be celebrating."

"Then I'll be on my way. What time should I be back?" She grabbed her purse before he could change his mind. He was so chivalrous she feared he might insist on driving her."

"I'll drive you myself. A lady needn't be out alone."

"I'm used to the area, Mr. Dunnegin. Really. Besides I hate shopping and could not allow you to spend money on a dress I would hardly ever wear. As you know, I already have one. Be about your business." She said with a smile.

"The very words I would have spoken." His lopsided grin, which she had never seen before, caused her heart to flip-flop.

Edwina dashed for the door.

"I'll drive down and pick you up at..." he paused and checked his watch, "seven-thirty."

"Seven-thirty," she repeated on the way out.

Within minutes she was crashing through Cecelia's door and heading for the shower. Tonight she would watch for nuances of the Scot's personality. The hero of her story was at her beck and call and it would likely be her last chance to observe the man closely. Besides she needed the diversion.

Thankfully, Cecelia was out celebrating with her friends, since her date with the Scot had been broken. She had seen her sister's disappointment. Cecelia was unused to being cancelled.

The black dress fit well enough. But her hair. It took extra long to dry and caused her a moment's worry when she heard the clock in the living room chime seven times.

The hair dryer was working at high speed and she was hustling to get it dry. Time for a shorter haircut.

Edwina's impatience reminded her she was just going as a friend. She need not worry so much. Except that she didn't want to embarrass the man if they were going to a nice restaurant, which she knew they were. And he was celebrating some good business deal. Her duty tonight was to enjoy the time. For tomorrow...

The door bell chimed at a quarter past seven. She ran a brush through her hair and quickly put it atop her head and ran for the door.

"Your dress is nice." He complimented her with a slight smile.

"Thank you. Suitable for the restaurant?" she asked.

"Suitable." He said quickly and fished for his key. "Are you ready then?"

"Yes." Then she remembered. "Cecelia is out on the town with friends tonight, celebrating as well." She could see him visibly relax.

"Ah, well and good, then."

"Not to worry. Cecelia doesn't count me as any kind of competition." Edwina said lightly.

The man's eyebrows went up. She didn't catch anything else for he was opening the door.

"My car is waiting below stairs."

In a moment they were driving down Michigan Street. He said nothing, so she watched people walking along the streets as darkness settled over the Windy City and wondered what proposal he had in mind, now.

She shook the thoughts from her head. It was likely the Scot wanted to know more about Cecelia and used the business success thing as a ruse to cover up his detective work.

Twenty minutes later Edwina found herself in a black plush chair overlooking Chicago's skyline. "It's so beautiful." She mused.

"That it is." He agreed.

"Miss Blair, I leave for Scotland tomorrow. There is a problem I wish to resolve before I go." The Scot was talking. "It is of utmost importance, lass, that our conversation be confidential. Do ye give me yer word?"

Edwina hesitated. This sounded very much like their conversation at the fish and chips shop. What could he possibly want to share with her? Nerves aquiver, she kept folding and refolding the pure white linen napkin as it lay across her lap.

"Sir... I am not in the best situation at the moment. I would rather not... not be taken into anyone's confidence... at this moment. I'm overly tired, and with everything that's happened... I . . ." She couldn't finish. Off went her shoes under the table.

The Scot's eyebrows lifted slightly, signaling the fact he hadn't expected her refusal to listen.

"It'd be quiet ye need, lass?"

"I'm sorry... yes."

"No need to apologize. I could use a bit o' quiet myself."

"Business has been good, then, if you have a new contract for whatever it is you do." Edwina felt the strain lift at the change of topic.

"Business is good, but it is not the only reason I am in America."

Oh boy, here it comes. Edwina wanted to roll her eyes. Instinct told her she didn't need to know so much about the Scot. Her romantic feelings, which had only surfaced recently, would only dig deeper in a heart that could not suffer one more bout of rejection.

A man walked up to the table interrupting Edwina's thoughts.

The men spoke for a few minutes.

When the maitre'd set the elegant salads on the pristine, white table cloth, the Scot motioned for her to go ahead.

Shortly the man left with an apology for interrupting their meal, leaving Mr. Alex Dunnegin smiling.

"Not to worry." Edwina swung her fork. "Salad's wonderful. Better eat. Your food is getting cold."

"Aye," he agreed and picked up his fork.

She enjoyed watching Alexander eat. He had manners. His parents must have taught him well. She wondered about his parents, if he had brothers and sisters, what his life had been like as a little boy. A tall little boy.

For now she limited her thoughts to those subjects. Later, as she drove home, she could think about a story line. The Scot would be home in his castle by then.

"'Ave ye a prospect for a job?"

"What?" How could he possibly know her situation?

"A job. Have ye secured a position?" She shook her head. And left it at that. "Ye don't wish to discuss it?"

"No." She gave him the eye.

"I've a proposal for ye."

"Proposal?" Edwina chastised herself. Wishful thinking.

"A business proposal." He became serious.

"Of course." She wouldn't let him get the best of her.

"I should have liked to have the opportunity to stay in America for a couple more days, but duties call me back to Scotland."

Her nerves started to jingle. Why didn't he just get to the point?

"Lass, I'll get to the point." She stared at him. He'd done it again. "Since you are unemployed you are no longer obligated to a position – as you were before, I would like to ask you to consider my original offer. However, I must confess to you I withheld information that I could not discuss the first time."

Edwina's fork was swinging back and forth between her fingers. She looked at the offending thing and laid it down.

"Sir, you can't be asking me again?"

"I am asking, lass."

His seriousness began to unsettle her nerves. He meant every word he was saying.

"I am so honored that you would ask, but—"

"Don't say nay until ye've heard me out," he interrupted.

She waited. The dinner napkin was wadded up in sweaty hands, and she was squeezing the dickens out of it.

"Miss Blair, my original request to offer for a secretary has now changed. Have you a teaching certificate?"

"No."

"And you like children?"

"Yes."

"If you would consider it, I would like to employ you as a nanny."

"Nanny?" Edwina couldn't believe her ears.

"Let me explain." He put his hands up. "I have a daughter. My wife died when the child was only four months old. She was from America, and I want my daughter to learn the American ways as well as her Scottish ways. Can ye understand?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely audible, even to her own ears. She was still stuck on the fact that he had a daughter, and a wife? Cecelia would not like having a child in the marriage."

"The Gillespies have taken her until I find a replacement nanny. And even then she had to be left with another family while they were here. My daughter is, even now, without a familiar face. It is not what I wish for her. And I will not allow her to run through several au pair while I am away."

He looked away for a moment, then continued.

"I understand, through yer sister, that yer job in yer town... what is it? Niles?... is no longer available to you."

"That's a nice way to describe being fired from your job."

"Ah, I am sorry that ye have lost yer job. But ye see, I have a large library at Castle Dunnegin that ye can make use of."

Like it would pay as much, she wanted to say.

"I will pay you whatever you ask in wages, within reason." He added quickly.

A spark shot through Edwina's heart as she saw the love for his daughter so clearly portrayed in his eyes.

"But I'm not a certified teacher by any means." She almost felt sorry that she wasn't.

"Teaching requires reading and learning. I think ye 'ave those qualities, lass. I've seen ye atop the railing with ye're books."

Edwina allowed herself to smile.

"Will ye think aboot it then?"

"Yes, I will think about it," she promised. "How old is your daughter?"

"She is barely five years of age. She should be in school but alas cannot be let away from the house."

"Has she a physical ailment, then?"

"No. But I cannot explain now. You will have to trust me, Miss Blair." He caught her eyes with his. "Aye. We will speak tomorrow, and then I leave for Scotland. It is regretful I need to know by tomorrow." He was truly repentant.

"I couldn't possibly make a decision about something that important by tomorrow... I'm sorry." It was her turn to apologize.

"Then take the time ye need. For I would not have ye come and leave again. A child requires consistency, and I would have it for my daughter."

"So the position is still for one year?"

"Indeed it is. If ye cannot abide that, do not come." She nodded. The man was driving a hard bargain.

"Mr. & Mrs. Gillespie cook and keep the grounds at the farm, so ye need not be aboot household duties. I would have ye spend time with the child, walking the hills, reading, teaching letters, numbers, a second language if ye can do it, and to teach her about being a woman."

Edwina could feel the back of her neck twitch. She was getting a headache. This was too much, way too much for her tired mind. The Scot had better look for another.

"Look, I can see right now that I could not possibly fulfill all those duties. You had better look elsewhere. I can ask Cecelia. She knows lots of people with better education and social standing than I could ever hope to—"

"Lass, ye are stone-headed."

"What?" Edwina gave him a look. Here she was pouring her heart out trying to explain, and he had called her stone-headed.

"Have ye not heard anything? I want a person, not a professional socialite."

The word socialite coming from his Scottish mouth nearly sent her into hysterics.

"And ye smile at my words?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just overwhelmed." She felt her reasoning crumbling under his eye. He was about to force an answer out of her, she was sure of it.

"I will think about it. That's all," she said, hoping the conversation would end there because somewhere deep inside she wanted to say yes.

Something popped into her mind. "What about Ilana?"

"I already told ye, she was not the woman I thought her to be. We are no longer engaged."

"Oh." She thought perhaps if the Scot would marry . . .

"I have been foolish in trying to find a wife so she can take up duties as my bairn's mother. I am done with that." He waved his arm.

"I see."

He called for the waiter. "Coffee?" He directed the question to her.

"Yes, thank you."

"Will ye think aboot it?"

"Yes." What was she thinking. She never drank coffee.

"That's all I ask. But above all, do not let anyone know of our conversation. I would be aboot complete privacy in this matter."

His no-nonsense tone settled on her heart. This was serious business. It would require her to move to Scotland, give a large portion of her life to a child—the Scot's child. She still couldn't believe he was a father... had a wife who died. She wondered how he was doing as a man with a small child to raise and no wife. Surely it had been difficult.

All these thoughts chased through her mind.

She would live on a farm. The Gillespies nearby. That would be a comfort. And she could walk among the rolling hills, the memories of which she seemed so attached to these days. Of course she'd have to take room and board out of her pay. She would refuse to live there rent-free.

She sipped water while the waiter poured coffee into the white china cups with the gold rims.

Vexed with herself, she realized she was already considering the prospect. She could not just run off, leave her apartment, the possibility of a new job in Niles, or maybe even the chance to further her education. . . .

All of a sudden, Edwina realized she had very little to hold on to. And she had asked God for a job that would allow her to think about someone other than herself. Was the answer sitting right in front of her?

A gush of breath poured from her lungs. "Could we go, please?"

"Of course." The Scot waved to the waiter once again.

Edwina started to lift herself from the chair, but the Scot came around quickly and pulled out her chair. She made sure she didn't touch him. If... if she took this job, there would have to be rules. She would have to tie her heart up like a trussed bird and ignore any romantic ideas she had heretofore. Could she do that?

Silly. Of course, the Scot was not likely to notice her for any more than she was. A plain girl from a little town in Michigan who had the ability to befriend his daughter and teach her.

The Scot would marry someone, no doubt, and they would take the little girl and live happily ever after.

Perhaps she should decline the offer.

Before she knew it, the Scot was putting her in his car. The street lights flashed by like they were going a hundred miles an hour, just like her life, when in reality they were just pulling up to Cecelia's condo.

"Ye will delay your trip home for a day?"

"Yes," she said and hooked her hand into the door handle before remembering the Scot would come around and get her.

They were standing beneath the royal blue awning with gold letters. Cecelia's Place. Edwina could not imagine not coming here. She knew then she could not go with the Scot.

"Aye. I'm taking the evening flight to Edinburgh tomorrow. I leave at half past eight. I'll expect to hear from ye, lass."

Edwina nodded and turned to leave, then turned back. "Thank you for dinner."

"Aye." He waved as he walked around and bent down to get in the driver's seat. She watched as the black car drove up Michigan Street, the red lights disappearing into the darkness.
Chapter 35

Safely inside the condo, Edwina knew Cecelia was not expecting her. They had already said their good-byes. She should have called and explained that she had not gone home as planned. It was late, so she wrote a note and stuck it on the refrigerator. Her sister would find it and her in the morning.

"Ed, I found your note."

Edwina heard her sister's voice from the doorway and lifted herself slightly.

"Sorry I didn't call you and let you know I was coming back. Things happened too fast."

"What things?" Her sister was donning her earrings. "Oh, I'll talk to you later, Cece. I got in late."

"Okay, gotta run. Two meetings this morning, two later

on. Will you be here tonight?"

"No. I'm going home. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Of course, Ed. Why would you think that bothers me?"

"Oh, I don't know... just... I don't know." Her sister disappeared and then was back at the door again. Edwina could smell Cecelia's vanilla perfume.

"You're sounding melancholy this morning," she teased.

"Nothing to worry about."

"Ed, you must look at yourself and see what you want in life. Things don't just come to you, you have to work at it."

"You're telling me," Edwina said grumpily, but again Cecelia was gone. She heard the clip of the door as it shut.

Alone in the Rose Room, Edwina turned to her side and let the tears fall. For some strange and awful reason she felt like crying. So she did.

Where had her resolve gone? Her life had been completely rearranged by some hand out there. God was in his heavens. Had she missed something important He was trying to tell her? What now? How could she accept the Scot's offer? How could she refuse it? And she had until 8:30 this evening to make up her mind.

Suddenly she knew what she had to do. Go home.

Throwing back the covers, she showered, pulled on her comfy black jeans and an old T-shirt, slipped on her Birkenstocks, and set her suitcase by the door.

A quick note of thanks to her sister and she was off, sorry to have missed Spencer. She could hang with him. He laughed. He moved. He made her feel important.

Smiling at the thought of him, she pressed down her woebegone emotions and thought about Spencer. What would he do in her situation? He'd take on the challenge. She knew it. He'd blast right in and start doing... something.

She walked, hit the elevator button, and mused. Perhaps it was what she needed to do. She could march right over to Scotland, meet the Scot's daughter, and make something of her life... or she could stay here and find a job worthy of her skills and make something of her life that way.

Of course, her practical nature chose staying. But those hills and Bertie... they called her like a mourning dove calls its mate. Where did that come from?

Her mind was deviating from making a decision. She could feel the pull. Her practical nature screamed, Don't make waves! Take the sure thing. But her new adventurous spirit, if you could call it that, was saying, Why not?

"I could always stop and come home if it doesn't work," she said aloud as she unlocked the door of her Volkswagen and pushed the suitcase into the miniature backseat. But no that wouldn't work. The Scot said she had to commit to one year.

"Then again, if I never go, I can't be hurt—especially if Alexander and Cecelia get together." That brought some- thing else up. She hadn't realized it until now. The Scot had not wanted her sister to know he'd stood her up. And when would they have time for the date Cecelia mentioned? The Scot was returning home this evening, and Cecelia said she had meetings.

Hmm... something was always cooking in the pot.

What was all this to her anyway? The Scot wanted her services, not her emotions. She knew that well, especially after that comment he made about squashing her emotions or whatever he said. He was not one to mince words.

Actually, that was something she could deal with. Edwina hated it when people walked around the block, trying to relay some problem, but never really stating what it was. She'd rather get to it, so she could apply a sensible answer.

Right at the moment she was powerless to make a decision about her own miserable life. What was she thinking? Condemning others for their lack of life skills when she couldn't even make up her mind about her own life.

Edwina pulled out of the parking lot. She looked at the paper sitting on the passenger seat. The Scot's telephone number, in big bold script. She turned the paper over and looked at it. Even without the bold numbers staring at her, it was still there, waiting for her answer.

Music. She needed music. The oldies station. She popped buttons and turned up the volume. Time to sing. The Bee Gees were singing "Alone Again." Their songs had a peg on life, that was a sure thing. The miles melted away.

By the time she turned into her dirt drive, she felt better. She'd forgotten the paper on the front seat for a time and had just let the wind blow her hair. It was getting too long and heavy down her back. Even pulling it atop her head these days gave her a headache. She needed her friend Peggy to give her a good cut.

Back home, she reveled in seeing the house she lived in. The familiar oak, its branches swaying and shading her kitchen from the morning sun. She stopped under the tree and ran her hands along the bark.

Dragging her case up the stairs, she opened the door and felt the heat hit her face. The late August sun was burning today. After a trip to the bathroom, she plopped in her favorite old stuffed chair, turned on the miniature fan setting on the table and picked up the book she had left lying across the arm.

A classic novel, as usual. Little Women. Louisa May Alcott was another favorite author. She was on her third read. It was an older hardback book. She had access to these older volumes and had begun a collection. Of course.

She stared at the bookcase, which was nearly fainting from the weight, and smiled. She'd read each of the books therein at least three times each. Not to mention all the other stuff she'd read as it came across her desk. Voracious. And insane.

Life was too short. That's what Spencer said, didn't he? Thus far, she'd read about every adventure possible, but she'd never lived one. Except for the unplanned trip to Scotland. And look where that got her.

"Into deep trouble," she murmured and resolved to unpack, make a walk to the grocery store, and then... what?

She called Peggy and made an appointment for early afternoon. Peggy always cut her hair in exchange for the loan of two or three of her books. Today she would pay her.

Stashing away her worries for another moment, she finished the task at hand and walked down the stairs. The grocery was only eight blocks away. Peanut butter, jelly, bread. Nothing more. She had to save money. Money. She had a bit of savings set aside, but promised herself she wouldn't touch it. She rather liked living on meager means just to see how far she could stretch a dime.

Then she thought of the two hundred dollar dress she had just hung in her tiny closet. The black crepe had looked too elegant hanging on the old rod. That dress would never see the Goodwill store.

Edwina came home from the grocery, made two sandwiches, then walked out the door. She wanted to get her hair cut and then take a walk by the river down at the park, so she could think clearly. The hours were going too quickly.

She munched on the sandwich, noting the off-brand peanut butter was not as good as the name brand she'd found in Cecelia's cupboard. She smiled, wondering what Spencer would say about her choice of peanut butter.

He'd probably stick up his nose and give her a big smile.

Memories. Good memories. Right now she wished she could talk the situation over with her mother.

Peggy thinned her hair and gave her a blunt shoulder cut. "You have the thickest hair. Would you like me to put in some gold streaks? It would look nice with your brown-red color."

True to her nature, she declined. Streaking would cost too much.

"Okay, if you're sure." They talked about old times.

Edwina pulled cash out of her pocket. She had to force her friend to take the money. Somehow it had pleased her to pay her friend well for all the times she'd saved her money.

Out the door she went with her fresh haircut and her thoughts. She headed for the river walk.

People smiled as they passed. Some politely, some nodding, some calling out, "Nice day, isn't it?" She acknowl- edged everyone.

As she was meandering by, she noticed a little girl sitting on the old tire sandbox, crying.

She looked around. There were tons of kids yelling and screaming, but all seemed to have a mommy or daddy around. This one didn't.

"Um... are you hurt?" She stood a distance away from the child.

"No."

"Why are you crying?" The little girl's light hair was mussed and her feet were dirty from the sand.

"Cause I want my mommy."

"Where is she, honey?" The child starting crying again, her dirty fists rubbing at her eyes.

"She can't come home anymore."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Edwina didn't know what to say.

Maybe there had been a divorce or, heaven forbid, a death. "Would you like me to get someone for you?"

"Yes," she whined.

"Who?"

"My daddy. He won't come out."

"Come out?"

She nodded. "He's in the house. Over there." She pointed. Edwina saw a light gray duplex across the street.

"Should I go get him?" The girl nodded again.

Oh boy, what should she do? She couldn't leave the child alone crying with no one to look after her.

"Want to go?"

"No." She shook her head.

"I'll go. You stay here and don't go anywhere, all right? I'll be right back." She leaned over and caught the brown eyes with her blue ones. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Edwina walked away, but kept turning back to make sure the little girl was safe. Still within sight, she knocked on the screen door. A man came. He looked tired and sad.

"Sir, your little girl is at the park."

"Yeah, I know. She likes it over there." His eyes looked past her.

"Did you know she's crying?"

"Yeah? She won't stop. Her mother left two weeks ago and she . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know what to do."

Edwina had no clue about children, what they needed.

"I'll go back and talk to her. If that's okay with you," she added.

"I'd appreciate it, ma'am," he said tiredly. "Girls, you know... I don't know how to handle 'em. My wife, well she . . ." He stopped.

"I'll go." Edwina turned back. "Lord, please help me," she whispered, and with a new sense of purpose walked back to the park.

She sat down on the old tire. "I talked to your daddy. He loves you."

"I know." The girl cried.

"What is your name, sweetie?"

"April."

"April, what a nice name. My name is Edwina." The little girl looked up. "Where do you go to school?" Edwina had her attention.

"Northside."

"I went there when I was little."

"You did?" The child's face brightened.

"Yes, and I had a wonderful teacher, Miss Murphy. She was my favorite."

"Miss Dovey is my teacher."

"And is she nice too?"

"Uh-huh. She lets me draw stuff."

"She does? What do you draw?" The girl's face twisted again.

"My mommy." Edwina couldn't help it—she put her arms around the child. She missed her mommy just like the child did. Tears fell on the little head as it lay against her chest. Edwina's hands held the little girl to her, and she rocked. April whimpered and broke Edwina's heart in two pieces.

They sat for many minutes. "I can go home now."

"You can?" Edwina wiped the tears from her own face.

"We moved with my grandma. She can be my mommy, right?"

"She sure can, April. Anybody can be a mommy but only if you want them to." The child seemed perfectly happy to be on her way. "Remember that no matter what happens, God will always love you," Edwina called.

"I know," April said, her blonde hair blowing in the wind as she ran. Edwina sat on the tire until her backside reminded her she needed to get moving. Changed by the episode, she began to wonder what the Scot's daughter looked like and what her mother was like. She didn't even know the child's name.

Chapter 36

"Mr. Dunnegin. I'll take the job." She spoke into her cell phone.

"Aye. Ye'll be a good nanny and teacher, Miss Blair" he said formally, putting their relationship into employer- employee mode.

Edwina was grateful. This is the way it would start, and she could deal with that.

"I will return to my daughter and inform the Gillespies you will be coming over. You'll have to trust the word of a Scot to work out details. You'll be paid according to your wishes, within reason," he added.

"Of course." She didn't want any special treatment.

"I'll wire travel money."

"I can get there on my own."

"Nay, lass, I will do the deciding."

Edwina, contrite, said, "As you wish."

"I will leave cash with your sister, since I assume ye will be coming to say your good-byes and leave from O'Hare?"

"Right." He had worked out all the details.

"How soon can you come?"

"I do need to tell my landlord I'm leaving." Edwina was shocked by her own words.

"Is two weeks enough time?"

"Two weeks?" she repeated. "Yes, it is." If she was going to go, it had to be quick. If the Scot gave her too much time to think, she knew she'd renege.

"Aye, I can see we will get along fine, lass." She didn't know what to say. "Will you have a pet to bring? Anything I need to prepare for?"

"No pets."

"I am going to inform my daughter that you will be arriving two weeks hence." He paused. "I will not go back on my word to the child."

Edwina nodded, even though she was alone. "I will be there."

"Excellent."

"Mr. Dunnegin, what is the child's name?"

"Paige. Her name is Paige." She repeated the name. "Ye have given me a great gift. I should hope to make it worth your while."

"Thank you." She was humbled at the Scot's words.

"My cell will be our means of communication. Should you find a question that needs an answer, you may call me at any time."

"Yes, sir."

"Lass, you will address me differently in the presence of my home and family. Mr. Dunnegin or Alexander, whichever ye prefer. I hope to establish a straightforward communication with you."

"Yes," she agreed, hoping she could live up to the Scot's standards. Her knees began to feel like she was standing in rushing water.

"I'll be off. Reardon will pick you up at the airport in Edinburgh the moment you arrive."

"Should I call you or Reardon or Bertie?"

"You will call only me. I will direct my staff." Edwina's face turned red.

"Of course."

"Welcome to the Dunnegin family," he said loudly.

"Aye," she shot back. The Scot's hearty deep voice boomed in her ear and then he was gone. And her goose was cooked. She had committed herself, and there was no way in the world she'd let the Scot down, nor his daughter.

Chapter 37

"You are going where?" That was Cecelia's response when she'd told her.

Edwina had already talked to her landlord, and not surprisingly, he had another renter lined up. There was a waiting list, it seemed. And with no job commitment to sever, she was pretty much free to do as she liked.

Her father had been called and shocked into silence when she'd told him. He'd always known her to seek his advice before making any big decision. But he had been supportive. "I wish your mother and I would have traveled more. We were too connected to our duties here," he said quietly.

"I know, Father. But you and Mom... you taught me well. And I do want to live. I don't want life to pass me by while I stand here and watch. I'm okay with my decision."

"That's all that matters. You say you'll be near Edinburgh?"

"Yes. Dad, you and can come and visit." She hadn't called him Dad since she was little.

"Then I will come." His voice sounded sure.

"Good, I will be waiting for you." Her voice quivered.

"Edwina... your mother would be proud."

"I know. I have to go, but I'll be in touch. I leave September 15. Will you be at the airport?"

"I'll be there."

"Thanks." Edwina began to pack. Her father approved. That was all that mattered. Those few minutes on the phone confirmed what she always knew. He loved her for who she was. It was a great gift. Perhaps—hopefully—she would be able to love the Scot's child the same way.

There were too many things to take. She needed closure. A breaking of the past for the new and her sensible nature decided that her one allowance would be books. Because, she reasoned, Paige would need to read the classics.

It was easy to pack her clothes—she had few enough of them. Her black dress she left hanging in the closet. It would lie on the very top to keep it from wrinkling.

Trinkets, bedding and dishes were donated to her friend at the Goodwill store. She'd saved many a dollar at that store. It was time to give back. The good-bye had been tearful, yet encouraging. Edwina could see the hope in her friend's eyes.

"Maybe some day I'll have an adventure in my life, too."

Edwina had hugged her and gone walking down the street, tears falling.

The apartment was cleaned top to bottom on the last day. The Volkswagen was packed. She had only her suitcase and books to worry about.

The Scot had called after he arrived home. "Will ye be bringing ye're books, lass?" How did he know she had books? "Yes."

"Leave them behind. I will pay to ship them."

She started to argue, but remembered he was her employer. She'd pay him back at some point in the future.

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Dunnegin or Alexander," he reminded her.

"Oh yes."

She heard his chuckle.

"My daughter's full name is Paige Alexandria Gabrielle

Dunnegin, and she looks just like her mother." Edwina smiled. "Paige Alexandria Gabrielle Dunnegin," she repeated, the words rolling on her tongue.

"Yes, and well said. Ye've picked up the Scot brogue already."

"It seems I have," she admitted.

"We'll be hearing from you then, lass?"

"Yes."

"Aye, twill be good when you are here." He was gone.

Edwina was getting used to the fact that when a Scot was done talking, he was done talking. Saturday morning came too quickly. She said her good-byes to the landlord who had come up to inspect the apartment. The new renter had already dropped off a few belongings that now sat in the landlord's garage. She was to spend today and Sunday with Cecelia and fly out on Monday morning at 6:38 a.m. She pulled the last dress from the closet and packed it on top, just as she planned, then closed her case and snapped it shut. With one last look around the empty apartment, she turned and exited the door and descended the outside steps for the last time. Everyone was at work by now. She stood by the big oak and gave it a pat and stuffed the suitcase in the Volkswagen. She'd sold her car to Spencer. He wanted to get a new paint job and loved the fact that the upholstery on the seats was still like new. Edwina had kept heavy bath towels on the seats, just like her father.

The books had been hauled downstairs and boxed and were even now in the landlord's garage awaiting the delivery service truck.

She had walked the park last evening, setting to memory the St. Joseph River, the way it looked when the sun sparkled on the moving waters. Life was a little like that—always moving, no matter what the weather, no matter what went on in the human race, the river always kept moving.

A thought had struck her just as she was about to leave. She had knocked at the door of the gray duplex and was greeted by an older woman.

"Are you April's grandmother?"

"I am." The woman looked concerned.

"Oh, nothing's wrong, I met April a couple of weeks ago at the park," she gestured behind her, "and we talked. I was just wondering how she is doing?"

"Are you the lady who went to Northside School?"

"Yes, I am."

"The child will not stop talking about you. Would you like to come in for tea?"

"I'm so sorry, but I can't. I'm leaving this morning."

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. April would have loved to see you."

"May I leave her a note?" Edwina thought quickly, but her hands were empty. "Please come in. Surely you have a few minutes. I have paper right here." Edwina stepped inside the house. It was older, but neat inside.

"What smells so wonderful?"

"A ham cooking. We're having a birthday dinner for my son. He's thirty-two today."

"Well, he is in for a treat, that's for sure." She smiled and took the paper.

"Here, sit at the table while I peel the potatoes."

Edwina drew a little picture. Her drawing techniques were not the best, but she drew a little girl's face and made it very happy, then printed April's name with big letters and made an arrow pointing to the picture. She signed it, Edwina, April's friend, and dated it.

Within minutes she'd said good-bye to the grandmother, realizing she hadn't even asked her name, then walked home. Some things did matter. A lot. She sensed what she was about to do would matter. A lot.
Chapter 38

"Okay, enough. Leave." She forced herself to stop driving around Niles, her hometown. The sun was high in the sky already. She'd driven past the elementary school, the high school, the old house where she grew up, and the park. It was time to go. Swinging the steering wheel, she headed for the highway.

Once on the road, she allowed herself to cry. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, not from sadness as much as gratefulness that she had been given such a good life when so many had not. She thought of April. By now April would have read her note. That made her happy.

Cecelia met her at the door, and Edwina walked into her arms. That was totally unexpected.

"What? Are you having second thoughts, Ed? Because if you are, you don't have to go."

Well that was totally out of her sister's character.

"I'm going, Cecelia," Edwina stated firmly. "Right now I could use some of your chicken salad. Do you have any?"

"Do birds fly?" Cecelia shot back. Edwina headed for the kitchen.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." Spencer smiled. He was chopping vegetables at the island.

"What have we here?" She snatched a carrot stick.

"The best chef in Chicago. Hey, now there's a name. Think it would work for my cooking show?"

"You and Cecelia. Between the two of you, you're going to own half this side of Chicago!"

"That's the plan," he said. "Now wash your hands and put that apron on, we're going to make soup."

"Soup? Yum. What kind?"

"My steak and vegetable, of course. Plain and simple, but with two secret ingredients. It'll make you want more."

"That won't be a problem." She laughed and tied the apron around her waist.

Exactly an hour later, the three were eating the best soup she'd ever tasted and chicken salad sandwiches. Cecelia had even taken two hours off for lunch so she could be here.

"So what's this I hear about your knight stowing you off to his castle?" Spencer winked.

"It's not like that. And besides, I won't be staying at his castle, I'll be out on his farm."

"Farm! Are you sure you can leave all this for that?" He waved his arm in a half circle.

"We'll see."

"Ah, the fear factor is about to settle on you."

"No... no it isn't. I won't let it."

"Good, because I want that Volkswagen." Cecelia and Edwina laughed together. "See, I told you he's unmanageable," Cecelia said. After lunch Spencer cleaned the kitchen, demanded the keys to her car, kissed her good-bye, and swinging the keys in his hands, went out the door to work. He had smacked her right on the mouth. She had been taken aback at his soft lips. Right before he shut the door, he gave her a look. She detected a slight sadness.

Oh boy, now her knees were shaking again. She'd been kissed exactly three times in her entire life. Once Billy Bartlett had kissed her at recess when she was nine, and then at her high school prom, her date Jason... couldn't remember his last name. She hated that kiss. And then today. That last one had been the best one.

Shaking her head, she dug into work. Cecelia had asked if she minded changing the bed sheets in the Yellow Room and the Rose Room. "I had guests last night and Spencer has to go to work. . . ."

"Of course, I'll do it."

She hustled to the linen closet, which was as large as her bathroom at her apartment—her old bathroom at her old apartment—and pulled the expensive bed linens into her arms. She made quick work of it and then wandered to the kitchen. The least she could do was fix supper for Cecelia.

The cupboards revealed nothing of substance. Perhaps they could get a pizza. The phone rang.

"Ed, we're going for dinner tonight at Rex's. Did you pack the black dress?"

"Of course I did. I'd never leave it behind," she said quietly.

"Good. I've invited several people from work. We have a very short meeting, and then I want you to join us."

"You sure? I don't mind sticking around here," she tried.

"Not this time, Ed. This is our last night together for a while."

"All right. What time? I'll dress and meet you there."

"You're going to walk?"

"Why not?"

"Well, it's not fashionable to walk around town in dress clothes. Why don't you have the doorman—"

"Don't worry, I'll walk. It's only five blocks."

"Okay." Cecelia gave in, but Edwina could tell she didn't exactly approve.

What had ever happened between the Scot and her sister, she didn't know and didn't want to know. Cecelia, unlike her in every way, had not mentioned the Scot. Perhaps they had a secret rendezvous planned—to fly back and forth across the Atlantic with a huge love affair in the making.

Time to make a list. Such foolishness was none of her business, and the Scot had made it clear. She was the employee, he the employer. She would do well to remember that.

Okay, I'll need to buy my own things. Shampoo, laundry soap, dryer sheets. Did the Scot have laundry facilities at the farm? She certainly hoped so, for as sensible as she was, she loved her washer and dryer. And a microwave. Those things she couldn't live without. At least she didn't want to.

Then there would be a few groceries. How far was the grocery store? Was she responsible for them, or did the Gillespie's take care of the pantry?

Not to mention she would need to find out about health insurance and maybe even a small car. She would have the cash from the sale of the Volkswagen. Her bank account was to remain safely in Niles. She could live for quite some time on the few thousand dollars she had in her possession. Not to worry.

There were so many things she hadn't thought about. And, feeling a bit proud and scared at the same time, at least she had made a decision.

Dinner was elegant, as usual. Cecelia always picked the nicest places. Although her sister had been right about one thing. Walking in the black dress that tickled her ankles was not exactly fun. She'd stuck her Birkenstocks on because they were so soft and carried her good shoes. That had not looked exactly proper, her waltzing down Michigan Street in Tan walking shoes and a black dress, shoes dangling from her fingertips—even she knew that.

Now she had the unfortunate problem of having to carry a pair of shoes for the entire evening.

"What have we here?" Spencer had joined them as a surprise. He was looking under the table.

"Stop," she shushed him.

"You can't wear a pair of shoes for ten minutes without taking them off," he whispered.

"Five minutes... and you're right."

"Of course I am," he shot back. Several people in their fine suits kept Cecelia's attention for most of the evening, which left her and Spencer to talk. "She sure gets around, your sister."

"I know. She does well for herself, don't you think?" He shrugged. "If this is what you want out of life."

"What do you want?" Edwina wanted to know.

"Kids, a wife, good family life."

"In that order?" she teased.

"Of course not." He shot her a side-glance. "What do you want?"

"I don't know.... I just want to mean something to someone, I guess."

"So that's why you took the job with your knight."

"He's not my knight. Stop saying that."

"Looks like it to me."

"Well, he's not. It's not anything like that at all."

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Winnie. Just wanted you to go into this thing with your eyes wide open."

"I am." She felt stubborn.

"I don't think you are."

"What makes you say that?" She was whispering louder now.

"You care for this guy. I can see it in your eyes."

"You cannot see anything in my eyes. He likes Cecelia, not me." Spencer gave her the look. The one that says, You don't know what you're talking about.

"What?" She hated being cornered.

"Take a walk with me." He stood and pulled back her chair.

He leaned over and whispered something to Cecelia. Her sister, stimulated by the conversation, barely noticed they'd left. Spencer had her elbow and was leading her toward the front door.

"We can't just leave and come back in. This is a restaurant—an upscale restaurant," she whispered, skidding to a stop just short of the door.

"We can do whatever we want." His warm hand slid down her arm and took hold of her wrist.

"Come on, talk to me."

"What do you want me to say, Spencer?"

"Tell me you want to go."

"I do." He'd won. Before they'd reached the end of the block,

he stopped, pulled her to him, and kissed her. Right there on Michigan Street.

"I thought so," he said and began walking backward, the wind blowing blond strands into his blue eyes.

She caught up with him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You kissed me back." His smile widened across that pretty face of his.

"I did not.... I'm not used to being kissed. That's all."

"Oh, yeah right. Like you've never been kissed."

"Well, not very many times," she had to admit. Her artless chatter inspired him to go on.

"Nothing wrong with that. I have four sisters, remember? I know what they think of girls who kiss every guy they meet."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. It was true what Spencer said. She had kissed him back... at least she had liked the kiss. Very much.

Why had he done that now? Just when she was leaving. He was so... so like someone she could like, maybe even love, but he was way above her station. Too handsome. She'd never be able to keep a boyfriend like him for long.

"I can see your mind working, Winnie." She smiled and kept walking.
Chapter 39

They had walked until nearly dark. He brought her to Cecelia's door. Edwina didn't know what to say. Spencer had done nothing more than kiss her, she reminded herself.

"I have to go to work," he said, looking away as he shoved his hands in his suit pockets.

"I'm really sorry, Spencer."

"For what?" He turned and gazed into her eyes.

"That you have to go to work without sleeping. I know you should have used these last few hours for rest before you went to your second job."

Spencer shook his head. Was that all? She was always thinking of someone else. Winnie didn't know that he had the beginnings of a wounded heart... he'd only just begun to know her. Now she would be leaving and what could he say? He hadn't had enough time. Not nearly enough time.

"Will you stay in touch?" he asked.

"Sure, if you want me to."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to."

"Okay," she said quietly and unlocked the door.

"Bye, Edwina," he said, and she saw the sadness on his face before he turned toward the elevator. Such goings on twirled her brain into braids. This and that. Twisted and intertwined. Life was so... so detailed. Sunday morning came, and Edwina was up and dressed. She asked Cecelia to go to church with her. They'd never done that before. Cecelia had agreed last evening, but shehad not liked it one bit.

"Cecelia, are you about ready?" Her sister walked in.

"I'm ready. Let's get going, I have things to do today."

"Okay. You look nice." Cecelia had chosen a black suit. Apropos for her mood perhaps?

"I've been to church before. Stop looking at me like that." Edwina smile.

"Like what?"

"You know, like we were going to a funeral or something."

"Are we?"

"How should I know? The only time I've been in church is for funerals," she groused.

"Ah, so that's the reason for the black?" Edwina tried to be playful.

Cecelia looked down at her outfit and then back up at her sister.

Edwina could not hold it in. Her sister's comical look— caught for the very first time, no doubt, not sure if she were properly dressed for the occasion.

"What's so funny? Look what you're wearing. Besides, who's the one with fashion sense around here?" Cecelia's perfect brows went upward in unison.

"That would be you... most of the time... all of the time... except now?" Edwina's chuckle could not be stopped.

Her sister's look pegged her perfectly—like the tail being pinned on the donkey.

Edwina forbade herself to lose control but she couldn't, to save her life, keep the smirk from creeping up on her lips.

"See, you're smirking." Cecelia pointed.

"I am. I can't help it. This is just so funny, Cecelia. Our last day together, on our way to church, and we're fussing about clothes. Who cares how we look anyway?"

"Well, I care." Her sister couldn't seem to find any more words. Then did. "You just never know who you might meet. The mayor goes to church, so does the President of the United States."

"God looks at the heart, sis." Edwina had no trouble speaking; her heart was struck through with love for her sister at the moment.

"Well, I'm sure He sees the outside too," she huffed. "I'll go change. Perhaps God will see the inside, but everyone else will see the outside."

No one but God saw Edwina's tender smile and the two tears that fell down her face.

She was leaving her sister, whom she'd grown closer to lately. And Spencer... that last kiss had allowed a fission of hope into her usually closed heart. Lord, am I doing the right thing?

"All right, how's this?"

"You look beautiful," Edwina whispered, and it was true. Her sister had on a blue flowered dress cinching Cecelia's slender waist. A blue scarf was at her neck. "Where did you get that dress? I've never seen it before."

"That's because it was my mother's. She wore this exact dress when she did Baby Dolls on Broadway."

Edwina walked over and felt the silky fabric. "Really?"

"Yes. I've had it for ever so long and never thought to put it on."

"Well, I'm glad you did. It's beautiful on you. Do you look like your mother did in it?"

"Yes, I have several snapshots from the newspapers. I look very much like she did then."

"Time . . ." Edwina's voice wavered.

"Oh come now. We're not going to discuss such matters. I hate even to think what I shall look like in ten years."

"Oh Cecelia, you'll be beautiful then too."

"Stop. This fluff talk is driving me to distraction. After church we're going to Rex's."

"In our flowery dresses?" It was Edwina's turn to stand there, mouth agape, looking down at her flowery skirt. Rex's was black-tie only.

"They'll let me in," Cecelia stated. "I bet they will. Let's go." The car took them to a downtown church, the closest

one, which happened to be several blocks from the condo. Cecelia looked nervous but trotted along, her white heels

clicking. Edwina settled herself into a pew, and the music started.

Cecelia squirmed next to her until she almost said, "Quit fidgeting." And thought of Bertie.

The time came for the speaker. His words nullified every- thing Edwina thought to use as an excuse not to live her life fully. The man told a story about his son who had worked long and hard hours to be a doctor. He had just received his medical degree and was killed by a drunk driver only three weeks later. He'd died before he could become all that he could be.

Edwina sat motionless. Even Cecelia had stopped her nervous twitching.

The sermon finished and last hymn duly sung, they walked out into the sunshine. Cecelia put on her sunglasses.

"We'll walk back." She started off. Edwina followed. No words were spoken. When finally they'd reached home, Edwina was truly

shocked that her sister had not once complained about her spiked pumps even though they must have walked ten blocks or more.

"What time is our reservation?" Edwina left her flats at the door.

"We're not going."

Edwina didn't even ask why. She thought she might know. Instead, she went to the Rose Room, carefully put her skirt and blouse away, and dressed in her worn jeans.

"Want to make lunch?" She found her sister in the kitchen, which was usually Spencer's territory. She had changed into tan dress pants and a matching sweater, the closest thing to relaxing Edwina had ever seen her sister wear.

"Yes." Cecelia's head was in the refrigerator. "Not sure what we can fix up, but we can give it a try."

"What have you got?"

"Hamburger, lots of it. Potatoes in the bottom drawer, instant ones in the cupboard. And several cans of green beans. Does that make a meal?"

"Sure does. We can make meat loaf. I'll peel the potatoes so—" Edwina stopped.

"So?"

She was going to say, "So you won't break your nails." But that definitely was not nice.

"So you can make the meat loaf, then. It's the worst job," Edwina admitted.

"Why? It can't be that bad."

"It is. Here I'll show you." She threw a chunk of meat into a bowl, added a few ingredients: ketchup, raw eggs, oatmeal, and onion, and then said, "Time to mix."

"I'll do it." Cecelia grabbed a large wooden spoon.

"Oh no, don't get the spoon dirty. Here, you do it like this." Edwina washed her hands and then shoved them into the bowl, squishing the meat and raw eggs between her fingers.

"That's terrible." Cecelia frowned. "Does Spencer do it that way?"

"All good chefs do... I think. You just can't get all the good stuff in the meat if you don't do this."

to."

"Well, I'm glad you did it because I don't think I want

"No, here. Try it."

"No, you're doing a fine job, Ed. I'll peel the potatoes since you've got that in hand." Cecelia was serious and then caught what she'd just said, and the girls laughed.

She took several potatoes out of the bag and said, "Are they always this dirty?"

"Yep. Peeler is over there in that drawer. I don't know how you'll ever find it. You could build an entire house with that drawer load of tools."

Cecelia fished and fished until she found something and came up with a cheese slicer. "Is this it?"

"No, there." Edwina pointed with her messy hands.

"Oh, this little thing?"

"Sis, haven't you ever peeled potatoes before?" Edwina tried to be diplomatic. She just had to know.

"I can't remember."

"Okay, well, let's get the show on the road. Where are your baking dishes?"

"How should I know?" her sister squeaked. She was intent on using the potato peeler correctly.

"Which way do you peel? Outward or toward you?"

"Doesn't matter, whichever works best." Edwina washed her hands and was going through drawers.

Twenty minutes later the meat loaf was in the oven and the potatoes were bubbling in a pot of water on the restaurant-size stove.

"Well, that sure smells good." Cecelia was washing her hands. "But now I'm going to have to see Cynthia this week. I broke two nails doing it."

"I'm sorry."

"That's why I don't do these things."

"I'm going to make a list of things I need to do, sis."

"You go ahead. I'm going to read awhile." Read? Since when did Cecelia read? She attended meetings and read only agendas and such things. Reading contracts, recipes, and fiction were left to the professionals.

When the list was finished, Edwina went searching for her sister. The place had enough square footage you could easily lose a person. When she'd tried everywhere and could not find her, she shrugged and headed for the den. Which is where she found Cecelia. On the loveseat reading.

"What are you reading?" Edwina asked quietly, trying to be nonchalant.

"Emma. It's by that Jane Austen woman. You know she was English."

"I know." Edwina smiled and her heart jumped for joy.
Chapter 40

Edwina's heart was motionless—or at least that's what it felt like. She was standing at the gate, Cecelia at her side, and they were both tearless, at least for the moment. And then Spencer ruined everything when he came running up.

"I thought I'd missed your takeoff." He was still trying to catch his breath. Edwina noted his silky blond hair was hanging loose over his collar a good two inches, and he was Brad Pitt cute today in his tan trench coat.

Her heart skipped a beat, then started again. She remembered his kiss—her fourth. The last two from the same man.

Edwina stood there as though she were going to the gallows. She had made her first substantial life decision and stepped out into the unknown, and these two were standing there looking at her as though she were going to die.

"Look, you guys. Don't make this hard on me. I'm step- ping out here, trying something new. The least you can do, the both of you, is send me off smiling."

"You're right," Spencer said immediately. Cecelia gazed somewhere over her shoulder.

Silence surrounded them. Edwina felt like she was a butterfly in a jar with holes poked in the top. There was just enough air to stay alive.

At that moment the call came over the loudspeaker, sealing her decision. Flight 463 to Edinburgh.

Jumpstarted, she picked up her carry-on. Spencer looked like he wanted to kiss her again, but she kept her distance. The last thing she needed was a third kiss from the same man. And if it was as nice as the last one, she'd surely lose her nerve.

"Sis, I love you."

Cecelia said, "I love you too," but her lips were pressed together.

"You'll visit?" She was looking into her sister's eyes.

"I will visit. So don't do anything foolish or get yourself in trouble, Edwina, because I won't be there to get you out of it."

"I won't. I promise."

"Bye, Winnie." Spencer hugged her, and she squiggled from his embrace as the second call to board sounded.

She made her way down the corridor, barely able to see the floor. She wanted to turn around and throw herself at the two of them, but she couldn't look back. She just couldn't.

Once she was settled on the plane, she fell asleep. It was lunchtime before the male flight attendant tapped her shoulder gently. She thought about Bertie who'd carried the candle into the room that night to wake her softly.

Once the plane landed in Scotland and, tired from the flights, Edwina waited for her baggage. This time, she reminded herself, she was here to stay. The thought over- whelmed her. What had she been thinking leaving her family, her country?

The Scot had called her twice. Once to tell her the flight numbers and times of departure and arrival, and now.

"Yes, thank you. We just arrived. Slight delay in Chicago, but not long. How many bags? Just one and my carry-on."

"One?" The Scot was good at one-liners. "Yes." Edwina thought he might not have heard her. "Reardon will bring you to the farm. I shall meet you

there and introduce you to Paige, leave you instructions, then I must be off. I will return as soon as I can. The Gillespies will see to your needs."

"Thank you. Oh, your man Reardon is here. I'd best be going."

"Aye," the Scot answered and was gone.

Reardon was off a ways, but he had seen her. What should she say to him? She'd had the distinct feeling that he had no use for her.

Well, the only way was to hit it square on. She was on her own. Cecelia couldn't offer a suggestion, and the Scot wasn't here to defend her.

"Miss Blair." He bowed slightly and reached for her carry-on.

"I can take it. Thank you. My purse is inside," she explained.

"As you wish," he stated, then lifted the handle on her bag and led the way.

Uh-oh, he was stuffy. What to do?

She took the seat in the back of the black car. He got in and, sitting ramrod straight as his position required, pulled into traffic.

"Sir," she called from the back. "May I speak with you while you're driving?"

"As you wish."

"Never mind." She said quietly. Edwina rolled her eyes, then hoped Reardon hadn't seen her do it in his mirror. This was not a good way to begin her new life with the Scot's man.

Edwina sighed as she settled into the seat and remem- bered the last time she'd ridden in this car. Had it been only four months? Life sure had strange twists. It had all been a fluke. The Scot standing behind her at the hotel. The castle visit. Now this?

It was evening yet she could still see the hills. Soon she would meet her charge.

She'd packed some children's learn-to-read books in her book box, but they would not arrive for another week, maybe longer. Soon she would be a teacher. A mentor. Someone who would look after a little girl who had no mother.

Her breath came in short gasps at that last thought. She'd be someone's surrogate mother. At least for a time. Edwina began to think of other books she would need. She must first be well read herself before she could teach the child. And teach she would.

If the Scot believed in her, then she would not let him down.

Chapter 41

"Are we to go directly to the farm?" This to Reardon.

"Farm, miss?"

"Where the Gillespies live."

"Ah, you refer to Beaufort Manor."

"Yes, Beaufort Manor," she whispered the words. Didn't sound Scottish, that was for sure.

"Aye. We will be there in fourteen minutes." They had just passed Castle Dunnegin. She missed Bertie and smiled, wondering what the woman was up to, then remembered Bertie was not there. She'd taken a holiday. Hopefully, everything was all right on that front.

Edwina shivered. The temperatures were cooler here than when she'd left Chicago. Soon she would be walking the hills, maybe even learn to milk a cow or gather sheep— or whatever they did with them.

The car slowed and turned off onto a single brown dirt lane. Her eyes widened. They must be here. Scrunching down in her seat, she gazed through the large front window.

Ahead on a hill, the outdoor lighting bathing it in soft yellow, was a blue-gray building made of large round rocks sunk into cement. It seemed cottage-like in style, but a bit larger than what she'd imagined. A wide front porch skirted two sides of the dwelling. Suddenly the long driveway ended, and the car swung onto the circle. It was a perfect O with a small cherub waterfall gadget in the middle. She saw four wide concrete steps that rounded at the sides. Banks of colorful flowers contrasted the green carpet rolling away from the cottage. Ivy cascaded down the stair-stepped brick levels on either side of the steps resembling a waterfall. It looked like a miniature version of the Scot's castle.

Edwina's eyes drank in the view. She waited for Reardon to open the door, she knew some protocol now, and stepped out. Reardon had not offered his gloved hand, but stood aside dutifully.

So he would not be her ally. Thankfully, he was the Scot's man, so she would see little of him.

She turned full circle and for some silly reason felt this was home.

"Mrs. Gillespie will greet you," Reardon said as he perfunctorily carried her baggage, and next she knew she was in the arms of the older woman. "Ye 'ave come. May God bless ye. It is so good to lay these auld eyes upon ye again, lass."

"Thank you." This to Reardon, who only nodded grimly and walked to the car. Edwina heard the crunch of his tires as he left.

"Mrs. Gillespie, it's good to see you."

"Ye look tired. Ye're in need of a wee spot o'tea and a bed." She led the way down a small corridor, narrow in comparison to the castle halls that had been as wide as Bond Street back home. The reddish wood floors beneath her feet reflected their rich wood tones in the low lights. Fireplaces were lit. The house held a tinge of coolness, perhaps because of the rock façade.

"I'm so glad to be here, Mrs. Gillespie."

"'Ere is yer room. Laird Dunnegin will be aboot in the morning to see ya. And the lass, Paige, she is outdoors with me auld man. It's too cold, and late too, I tell them, but they dunna listen."

Edwina smiled. "The room is lovely."

"Aye, with a cup warm tea, ye will sleep like a bairn." A few minutes later Mrs. Gillespie left the tea tray on her side table. She poured a cup and let the fragrance drift into her nostrils, the warmth in her hands made her sleepy.

Alone, she gazed at the quaint room, and walked about. It was small and yet cozy. Sipping tea, she pulled back the heavy drapes and squinted through the wavy-glassed window. The room was at the back of the house, for she could barely see the low rising mountain dotted with white sheep from where she stood. Several outbuildings stood at odd angles. Edwina wondered how old they were. She wanted to walk through and smell the hay or maybe straw. She had no idea, but it was all there for the taking.

Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, so she finished the tea and set the cup down. Turning to the room, she let her eyes take in the space. The bed, a four-poster with gauzy white material pulled back at all four corners, required a step to mount. Edwina stuck her toe behind her heel and off went the shoes with a bang. They landed on the wood floor with two loud clunks, missing the rug that lay beside the bed. She'd have to be more careful. Is this my room or just a guest room? she wondered as her eyelids fluttered shut. She was in Scotland. Was this all a dream too?

It was not a dream. The sound of roosters crowing told her so.

Chickens? Was it morning? Oh my.

Grasping for the covers, she realized she still lay atop the bed in her clothes, except a heavy quilt had been thrown over her. She threw it back and ran to the window, pulled the curtains aside and watched the movement in the grass. A little girl running with a dog snipping at her skirt. Every time she took a few steps, the dog tripped her and down she went. Still the child laughed, the echo barely heard through the thick glass at the windows.

So this was Paige. She wanted to meet her and then remembered she was to be introduced by the child's father. And he had only a short time, Mrs. Gillespie knocked and came in to remind her. She quickly changed. This time she dressed in her navy skirt and white blouse. This was her offi- cial first day; she meant to start out right.

There wasn't time for a bath. She found the bathroom behind a little door, complete with claw-foot tub, sink, and toilet, and washed up. The walls of her room were a soft creamy yellow. The furniture, bed, dresser, and closet, all walnut, was a dark contrast. The sun invaded the two windows making perfect squares on the hardwood floors.

"No time to dawdle, Edwina. Get moving." She reached for the handle and pulled hard, the door was heavy. She let herself out and made her way to the foyer, then the kitchen.

"Ah, I see ye've found me," Mrs. Gillespie said sweetly. "The child and her dog are playing, even before the wee lass has had a bite to eat." She wagged her head. "Will ye have a spot o' tea?"

"Oh yes, thank you. Is Laird Dunnegin here yet?" She pulled out a chair and sat at the white wood table.

"Yes, 'e's in the study, waitin' for ye. But I daresay, a lass can't think in a straight line w'out her tea. Sit for a minute. The laird will wait."

Edwina tried not to show her shock. The laird waiting... not a good way to start the day. She hurried with her tea and thanked the lady. "Which way to the study?"

248

Edwina

"Leave out and go down the hall two doors. On the right."

Edwina stopped at a small mirror and straightened her shoulder-length hair the best she could, glad Peggy had given her a new cut. She looked... not so shaggy. Very prim.

Hands shaking, she raised her fist to knock. "Enter," came the command.

"Good morning." She stepped inside the door. "Would you like me to close the door?"

"Nay. Ye are late, lass. I have been waiting near an hour."

"I'm sorry."

"Be seated then." He gestured, not even bothering to look up from his work.

A full minute later, she was still waiting. If he was in such a hurry . . .

"Did ye're trip go well?" he asked more kindly, his hands folded, forearms resting on the desk.

"Reardon said your plane was delayed?"

"Yes, we left Chicago late."

"I have heard from your sister. It seems ye also forgot to call her and let her know ye arrived. And she mentioned Spencer, I believe. He wanted to know you'd made it safely across."

"Thank you." Oh boy, two offenses and they hadn't even talked about her duties yet.

"The hour is late, and I must be aboot my business. The lass is out of doors.

She is nearly five years. She has been under the care and tutelage of Mrs. Rudeski since she was four months of age. Mrs. Rudeski was let go because of her stern ways. I do not wish for Paige to be constrained in any way. She is to know peace and to have control over what she does and when, except when she is in classes. Then she will be expected to sit quietly. I have already informed her."

He stopped and waited. When she said nothing, he continued.

"I do not wish for her to leave the premises." He held her eyes, making sure she got the point. "Never, Miss Blair, is she to leave this farm."

Edwina nodded, her eyes serious.

"Ye are not to speak of her when ye are out on your business. Not under any circumstances. You may say that you're my Secretary, which will be truth for I will have you keep records." He paused again meeting her eyes with his stern ones. "No one is to know there is a child on this farm."

Edwina nodded, but her hands twisted in her lap.

"The lass may speak of her muther, but she is not to become melancholy. I want her to learn to stand on her own. I will be away often these next months. Mrs. Gillespie will know how to reach me. If ye have any concerns, ye are to speak with her. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Have ye any questions?" Questions? Of course she had questions. What did he want her to teach his daughter? Had she any formal teaching already? Did they have a room set aside? What was she to do with free time? Might she wander the grounds? Those were only a few.

"Ask the questions, lass. I must be going." He checked his watch.

Her frustrations were starting to leak out.

"Sir, where do you want me to teach? Is there a room? What subjects—"

"Don't call me sir. I am Mr. Dunnegin, which I insist you call me in the presence of my daughter."

"Yes—," she almost said "sir." So the Scot didn't include his former offer to call him Alexander. Her comfort zone was diminishing quickly.

"Am I to assume I may choose my classroom?"

"As you wish."

Then he stood and disappeared without another word.

In a few moments he was back with Paige, who stood next to her father in the doorway.

"Paige, this is Miss Blair. She will be your teacher."

The child curtseyed slightly and with a scorn greeted her, "Miss Blair."

"Miss Blair, my daughter Paige."

"Paige. It is nice to meet you." Edwina almost curtseyed, then stood straighter.

Once the formal introductions were made Paige flew from her presence and Edwina heard the door slam.

"It is unfortunate I do not have more time to be aboot the farm. But as it is, I must leave soon."

Edwina looked at him.

Just like Reardon. What had happened to the Scot? The one whose booming laugh shook the castle walls? It was obvious he hated this place or something . . .

"Spend time getting to know the lass. Your books should arrive next week. I received notice today. Until then, see that Mrs. Gillespie answers any questions. I trust that you know why you are here?"

Edwina knew her facial features twisted because he leaned across the desk. Was she about to get a dressing- down—already? "Yes," she answered simply, hoping he wouldn't ask her to repeat the reasons aloud. She couldn't do it if her life depended upon it.

"It is late. I shall return two weeks hence and hope to talk more then. And to see improvements in my daughter."

She wanted to ask what improvements. In what area of her life? But she dared not. The Scot was stomping across the wooden floors toward the front door. He bellowed, "Mrs. Gillespie, I'm aboot my business." And the door slammed. Edwina wondered if it were possible to shake the rocks loose on the front of the house and make the entire structure come crashing down.

251

Edwina

"Well, I daresay I am glad you are not to be aboot the place for two entire weeks." She copied his words and turned on her heel.

"Well, Mrs. Gillespie, I'm at my post, but I could do with something to eat if you're up to it."

"Lass, I am the keeper of the house. I am up to it, as you say. I'll have warm scones and soft butter in the shake of a lamb's tail."

Edwina smiled. "Can I help you?"

"Oh no, lass, ye must not be seen doing such things. The child'll tell her father, and ye'll be set down."

Edwina could see she was serious. So the child was a tattletale?

Twenty minutes later, just as she set her empty cup in the saucer, Paige appeared. Her almost five-year-old body stood in the doorway, hands on hips, lips pouting. She was dark-haired like her father, but she held Edwina's eyes with her dark brown ones.

"I don't take naps," she said smartly and whipped her long hair like a horse's mane.

"Neither do I." Edwina picked up her teacup and pretended to sip.

"And I don't like to practice piano. I like to be out of doors."

"Me too," Edwina agreed but never looked her way. Paige disappeared. Mrs. Gillespie looked after the child and turned, whis-

pering, "That's the way, lass. The child has become a spoiled bairn these last few months, if I might say so."

"I can see that. We will have to work on both numbers and attitude."

"Ah, lass, be ye careful what ye say in front of 'er father. He has been too indulgent since Mrs. Rudeski left," she whispered then went back to work.

Edwina knew the woman thought she'd said too much.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gillespie."

"Lass, it would be nice if ye'd speak me name. Rose, it is."

"Thank you... Rose."

"Rose. If you wish." Now she sounded like Reardon.
Chapter 42

"I don't like porridge." The child's voice irritated Edwina first thing the next morning.

"I don't either. Let's ask Mrs. Gillespie to make us pancakes."

"Griddle cakes?" The child's eyes widened. "Are they flat and you pour syrup on them?"

"Yes. You ask." The little nose turned up. Edwina felt a game coming on.

"No, you ask. Mrs. Gillespie will like it better if you ask. She doesn't know me."

"Yes, she does." Paige hesitated.

"No really, she doesn't. I've just arrived, and Mrs. Gillespie has known you much longer."

The little face changed countenance several times. Edwina could see her mind working.

"No, I don't want to."

"Okay, no problem. We'll eat porridge."

"No."

"Then what shall we do?" Edwina tossed her hands up and feigned alarm.

"I'm a wee lass. I do not know." The little arms folded across her narrow chest.

"I'm an American, and I'm not from your country."

"I'm a Scot. My daddy's a Scot, and my mommy was an American."

"I see." Edwina gazed nonchalantly around the room. "See there, we are all related."

"No we are not. Everybody is not related. Especially Mrs. Rudeski. She was from Russia. And I hated her."

"Ah, so do you hate everybody?"

"No, just her."

"I see."

"My father said she was not a good teacher."

"Oh."

"I won't eat," Paige said, shoving away her bowl.

"Me either. Let's go to class." The child's eyes widened again. Surprisingly, Paige rose from her chair and stood waiting. Edwina took the clue and said, "We will choose a class-room today." Evidently the child knew to obey her father. As soon as class was mentioned, she seemed to change her attitude.

"I'd like it out of doors."

Edwina raised her eyebrows and stuck her finger on her chin, thinking.

"Okay," she said. "Where are your paper supplies and pencils?"

"In here." The child ran, and Edwina caught up to her. She hadn't even had a tour of the house, so she was at loose ends. Which she did not like. Order was her forte, and she would have it today, without firing a single shot.

"Oh, what a large room you have." Edwina knew she stood in the child's bedroom.

"It's too little. I like the grass and hills better."

"All right. Gather your papers, and we shall be off then."

The child covered a small smile. Her new teacher had yielded.

Edwina stopped to pick up paper and pen from her room. They would not be outdoors long.

"Where is your favorite place to study, Paige?"

"Mrs. Rudeski called me Miss Dunnegin."

"I shall call you Paige," Edwina stated flatly. Surprising, even to her, the child shrugged. After what seemed like a half mile, the child flopped on the ground beneath a huge tree.

"Finally. I thought we'd never get here."

"You Americans don't get enough exercise." Well, informative little gal, wasn't she? Edwina's breathing finally stabilized, and she took a seat on the grass next to the child.

"Take out your paper."

The child obeyed instantly. "Do you know your letters?"

"Yes."

"Good, write them down." While she wrote, Edwina listed several ideas for the remainder of the day. She'd find out where the child stood and go from there. But first she wanted to know how she fared as a little girl.

Several minutes later, Paige handed her the paper she worked on. The wind caught it and sent it flying. Before she could say a word, two little legs had run to retrieve the paper.

Edwina pulled strands of hair from across her face for the umpteenth time. They would have their first day of class outdoors after all. She gazed at the neat row of letters. Every one perfectly formed. Two little smudge marks remained where she'd erased and rewritten.

The thought sliced through her brain, Hope I can stay one step ahead of her.

"Now what?" Came the child-like voice out of the wind.

"Well, how about numbers?"

"I can go to one hundred," she said smartly. "My father says I am a quick lass."

"I bet he's very proud of you, Paige."

She shrugged small shoulders and leaned over the paper held to her knees with small hands.

The afternoon passed quick enough. After letters and numbers, Edwina allowed her charge to play. To do anything she wished. She observed her movements and made notes.

Child loves to run. Too serious. Very smart. Sad. Lonely. Not quite five years old.

Very much like my own childhood, she thought as the wind played in her hair.

Edwina jotted a few notes down. She wanted to start an itinerary with play each day first, then work. It was obvious the child was spirited and used to getting her way, yet was aware of her abilities. She should be riding horses, playing with dolls, and putting puzzles together.

A call sounded through the wind, like someone yelling down a steel pipe.

"Dinner." Paige ran toward her, grabbed her papers, then ran—but not toward the house.

Edwina gathered her things, then waited to see how far she would run. Was she playing a game of getaway? Edwina started toward the house, the wind wrapping her skirt around her legs making it difficult to walk. Lesson one: never wear a full skirt out of doors on the Scottish hillsides.

"Where is the lass?" Mrs. Gillespie espied her coming.

"Isn't she here?"

"No. She's up to her shenanigans again," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I'll go for her," Edwina offered.

"She won't come, lass. She'll barely come for her Rose. Heads to the barn and insists on talking to her lamb, she does."

"I'll set the plates then?"

"Nay, that'll be my duty." Twenty minutes later, the table set, dinner past due,

Edwina thought to take matters in her own hands. Surely an adult could make a child come to dinner. She went to her room and threw her pink sweater over her shoulders after changing into jeans and headed outdoors to find the child.

The barn sat on a small knoll. A worn dirt path divided the grass leading to the ancient outbuilding.

"Lass, ye need to come to dinner," she called out using the familiar word.

No response. She stepped inside the black hole. Sunlight filtered through the weathered boards above. Dust particles danced. The smell of animals and hay assaulted her nose. Never once in her life had she been inside a barn.

"Come, lass. Mrs. Gillespie waits dinner for us."

"I don't care. I want to pet Silsee."

"Who is Silsee?"

"She's my very own lamb."

"Ah, she is a pretty one." Edwina knelt down. "She is?"

"Yes, don't you think so?" Paige didn't answer. She was still pouting. "Think your lamb wants you to come and eat?" Edwina

tried gently. "No, she doesn't." The child raised her voice. "I'd be about warming your backside, if your father—"

She stopped. "I'll tell if you do."

"I'll tell your father if you don't come in this house and eat, Paige Dunnegin," she spoke calmly yet with a firm voice, standing and walking gingerly, watching her step, as she passed each stable of lambs. One stuck its nose out, but frightened at her approach, ran and hid.

That had not worked—the child hadn't moved a muscle. Perhaps a bit of kindness would do better.

"Why do they run and hide?"

"They're scared of you," Paige said quietly. "I see. Are they always afraid? Your little lamb sits on your lap."

"Silsee is her name, Paige reminded her. She's mine and only mine."

"Silsee. What a beautiful name. Is it Scottish?"

"No. I made it up."

"Well, I like it. Will Silsee let me touch her or only you?"

"Only me."

"Okay, I don't want to scare her. Do you think she's hungry? She's been sitting there a long, long time."

Paige looked up. Edwina knew she was considering her comment.

"She might want her mommy too." Edwina could have kicked herself.

"Like me?" Paige whined.

"Yes, like you," Edwina said softly, kneeling next to the child. "Your lamb will run to find her mommy, if you let her go."

Paige's arms opened, and she let the animal go. It stood and toddled away.

"Well, that was nice of you."

"It wasn't nice. I just wanted her to have her mommy." Edwina cringed, then headed for the door. Paige followed.
Chapter 43

Two weeks passed. The books arrived, and the business of school began. Mostly outdoors when weather permitted. Edwina could see the child needed to play, and her preference was always outdoors.

Edwina was gentle when it came to commanding her student to perform. When she did make demands, the child would stir up some sort of game, promising to tell her father. She knew about girls and their fathers. Nothing or no one should come between them. The relationship was too important. Little girls who did not have the love of their fathers did not fare as well. She'd studied that in psychology class.

Mr. Gillespie reminded her that the laird was due in on the morrow. He had weeded the gardens and told her earlier, "I've chosen the best vegetables for the stew the missus will simmer this eve."

Edwina acknowledged his words with a smile and decided a good long walk and a few prayers were in order. After school it was the general practice to leave Paige to the care of Mrs. Gillespie for two hours. They were usually in the kitchen, Mrs. Gillespie giving the child unofficial baking lessons.

"Ah, I thought I'd find you two here." She smiled. Paige had white dust all over her face, hands, and hair. "You will need a bath." She laughed.

"No, I won't," Paige said.

Edwina noticed the child stood on a crate to reach the counter surface. She was rolling dough in her small hands.

"Ye'll not be greetin' yer father looking like that, lass." Mrs. Gillespie was in no mood for sass, the way it sounded.

"I'm off for a walk." Edwina waved.

Halfway down the long dirt lane, Edwina saw a car. Reardon was coming, no doubt with the Scot. They passed her without stopping. Was that common in Scotland?

She didn't know whether to continue walking or to head back to the cottage. She chose the latter. If the Scot was about and she wasn't, the little lass might start telling stories.

Edwina started back, conjuring up questions she'd kept in the back of her mind. Like, was she allowed to leave Beaufort Manor? When would the child go to regular school? She walked faster. It would not do well to be late this time.

Reardon was pulling out, and nary a look or wave was to be seen from him. Voices came from somewhere near the back of the cottage. She slipped up to her room and changed her clothes into something more suitable. Now she knew how Cecelia felt—different occasions required different outfits. She had not worried about such things in her simple life back in Michigan. Librarians were not supposed to be fashionable, just well read.

She couldn't help humming as she redressed herself. Already Paige had pulled at her woman's heartstrings, and temper or not, she could visualize improving the little girl's childhood.

With such thoughts, she conjured up the questions, mentally aligned them in her memory, and sought the Scot.

He found her first. They crashed as he rounded the corner, his tall body slamming into hers. She found herself looking into those green eyes again. Stern today. Oh boy. Her thoughts flew away like so many chickens at the sight of a circling hawk.

"Ye are aboot the place then?" he barked, pulling at his shirt cuffs.

"Yes." She waited for instructions.

"I am off on a ride. We will talk tomorrow. Seven-thirty tomorrow morn—sharp."

Edwina nodded and was standing alone again. She shrugged and went to the kitchen.

"There ye are, lass. Has Laird Dunnegin seen yer face?"

"He's seen it all right. We ran into each other in the hall."

Mrs. Gillespie flinched. "Ah, did he hurt ya, lass? He is a tall one to be sure."

"No." Edwina laughed. "Now if he'd knocked me on my backside, I might have something to yelp about."

The older woman actually chuckled. "The likes of ye aboot the house is goot."

"Well, thank you. Now how can I help?"

"Shoo, shoo. You mustn't be in here. He'd 'ave a fit. The teacher cookin'. Ah, best not take me job neither." Her head gestured toward the door. "Be out with ye. I'll send Mr. Gillespie when it's time. But don't get off too far, ya hear?"

"I hear. I'll be in the library."

Curled up in a chair, she gazed around the small library room. The Scot, or more likely Paige's mother, had good taste. Even though not as lush as his castle, the cottage was warm and well decorated to be sure. A small fire burned in the grate. The house was silent. Certainly Paige was out riding with her father. She'd never seen the child ride. Perhaps she'd best check on her.

She stuck her head in the kitchen doorway. "Mrs. Gillespie, Paige is with her father?"

"Aye. The lass rides only when her father is aboot."

Something else she needed to note. Now wishing she had taken her walk, she wandered about the house, the smells from the kitchen calling her. Her stomach roiled, whether from hunger or from the insufferable apprehensiveness she felt every time the Scot was about, she wasn't sure. This was only his second visit, the first revealing a side of him she'd not seen, or perhaps not noticed before. But then she had only been at the castle for two days. How could she possibly know the man?

Why so worried? She asked herself, pacing back and forth.

Because you want to please him, came the reply from within.

What? Please him? I'm here to please his daughter, not him.

Pleasing his daughter will please him.

There, that was settled. She was here to teach his daughter and that would please him. What of it?

Her thoughts came to a halt when she heard voices. The front door banged open, and they bounded in. She could see from the library, but she stood still so she could observe. The Scot was laughing. So was Paige. She had not heard the child laugh like that before, and she'd been here more than two weeks.

A smile crept across her face. So, the father and daughter did have something special.

She heard Mrs. Gillespie announce dinner and rushed to the dining room. Mr. Gillespie carried the turkey to the table.

"No wonder it smells so good in here." Edwina complimented the cook and then shot a look to the Scot. She'd done that once before and received a setting down.

"Indeed," he agreed. Edwina relaxed. "Paige, did you enjoy your ride?" Paige ignored her.

"Lass, Miss Blair speaks to ye."

"Yes," Paige said and quickly placed her hand in her father's.

Ever the gentleman, he seated her, then Paige. "Come." He indicated the Gillespies. "We shall eat together this eve."

"Oh," Mrs. Gillespie rushed to decline, when her husband gently nudged her toward a chair. "My apron," she said and untied it, took it off, and nervously laid it aside.

"Who will—"

"Don't worry yer pretty head now, Rose," Mr. Gillespie soothed. "The man asked us to his table. We must not fuss."

"He did at that." she whispered, still upset.

What was all the foolishness for? Edwina couldn't help but wonder what it had been like before she came. When the Scot and his wife... it seemed strange to say it—she couldn't imagine him wooing a woman, let alone having a child. Any romantic notions she had of him were gone the minute she walked into the cottage. He had changed. Or maybe she had changed, because she had never really known this man.

Within minutes there was much talking and to-do over the special occasion, Edwina having no idea what it could be.

"Miss Blair, I see that Mrs. Gillespie has not informed you?"

Edwina set down her fork and placed her hands in her lap. Here it comes. I'm out of here. He doesn't like me . . .

"It seemed yers for the telling," Mrs. Gillespie said, her voice serious.

"Of course. And right you are."

Edwina saw Paige look down. She was disturbed. What was wrong?

"It seems I shall be in America for a few months. Chicago and... other places."

She could tell he did not want her to know. Edwina shook her head and smiled. What was she supposed to say?

"I shall return in the spring."

So he was off to see Cecelia. That's why he did not mention his business. "Then I wish you traveling mercies."

"Mercies?"

"Just a saying. wishing you safe travel." He nodded. "Paige, I will be back before you know it. Be a good lass and learn as much as you can from Miss Blair. I shall test you when I return to see what you have learned."

What fluff was that? Learn as much as you can? Jeesh, couldn't the man see he was breaking his daughter's heart? Scot or no Scot she was going to talk to him this evening if she had to stomp her foot and raise her voice—which she had seldom done before. Her nerves tingled.

When Paige asked politely to be dismissed in her sad little girl voice, her father patted her head and sent her off. Edwina wanted to run after her, but it wasn't her teacher she wanted.

"Mrs. Gillespie, would you bring me the posts? There should be several... forms... waiting for me." Alex Dunnegin asked.

She ran for the mail and laid it on the side table. The Scot had a few words with Mr. Gillespie about the gardens and the repair of the barn.

Mrs. Gillespie put her apron back on and waited for her employer to leave. It must be some pretense of manner; she couldn't clear the table in the Laird's presence.

The Scot pushed back his chair, picked up the large stack of mail, and headed for the door.

"Mr. Dunnegin, I would have a word with you, if you have a few minutes," Edwina said.

He checked his watch. "My office, half past the hour."

Edwina gazed at the clock. She had twenty minutes. If he had to get up in the morning and had yet to say his good-byes to his daughter and meet with her, it would be late before he got off to bed. She'd better have her speech ready. Off to the library.

Paper and pen in hand, she slipped off her shoes and sat at the small library table.

"Miss Blair," she heard from the doorway sometime later. "It's past time."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was . . ." Her toes sought the shoes, hoping he wouldn't notice.

She followed him nervously. "Sit down." He indicated a chair. "What is it?" Zap, her thoughts left. Just as though lightning had struck her. "Well, first, is there anything you wish me to do... for Paige? Second, may we take a shopping trip to Edinburgh?"

"Shopping? Edinburgh? Why would ye ask such a thing? I thought I made it clear she is not to leave the premises."

"Okay. I just thought—"

"You are not here to think Miss Blair. You are here to teach my daughter and protect her—" He winced slightly. "You may go to Edinburgh, if you must, but my daughter is not to leave this farm. You may arrange for her to stay with Mrs. Gillespie, if you must go."

Edwina felt her face muscles tighten. Oh boy, now she really felt free to visit Scotland's capital. How could she talk to this stubborn man? He was so... so hard, immovable, and unkind.

"You knew yer responsibilities when I brought ye here, lass. I meant for them to be carried out. Especially now that I will be out of the country." He paced.

Evidently he was worried, for some reason unknown to her. Perhaps she should trust the man. Her instincts said she should.

"I will watch over her. She will not leave."

He seemed to relax. "Continue as you were. Paige seems to like you. Except she said you would not allow her to play outside, which she loves. Is that true?"

"No, sir, it is not. We go out every day. In fact, I have allowed her to hold our classes out of doors, when weather allows."

"I see. She also says you are mean."

Edwina's lips turned up in a half smile. "I imagine she thinks that at times. I make her behave during class time."

"As I informed you she should." He had actually agreed. "Is that all?" He looked up and straight into her eyes. "No... no, it isn't," she stammered.

"Well, out with it, lass. I've work to do this evening."

"You did not notice your daughter's sadness at the table this evening?"

"Sadness? Why, she is happy. We rode together."

"And you think that settles everything?" she shot back.

"Say what you mean, lass." His tone turned menacing.

"Okay. She needs you to... to... talk with her, listen to what she has to say. She loves you so much and you . . ." Edwina felt tears sting her eyes. Oh brother, now she was going to make herself look the fool.

"I talk with the lass."

"Not like that. I mean, really talk to her."

"How?"

"For instance, perhaps you could go to her room and talk about her mother, how she feels about Silsee and Mrs. Gillespie's cookies, things like that. She needs to know you love her."

Edwina saw the slow burn begin on the handsome face.

He stood. "I will not 'ave the teacher teaching the child's father to love his child, woman."

"Be that as it may, sir, you asked the question, and I answered it." Edwina felt a strange new emotion—stubbornness. And she knew exactly where she'd learned it.

"Ye can be sure, I am most distressed. I shall now have to leave the country with my daughter in your care."

Edwina relented. "Sir, you need have no concern. I will follow your instructions and teach and protect the child. You have my word."

He seemed to understand. "As it should be." He tossed a pen down and stood. "If there is nothing else . . ."

Dismissed. She would not say another word. Her motives should be clear to the man. And the entire episode had taken its toll on her nerves. The muscles in her neck began to scream. She rubbed her neck. "Mrs. Gillespie will know your whereabouts should your daughter need you?"

"Of course," he said between clenched teeth. Well, she had to ask. What if something happened?
Chapter 44

After a warm bath, she was toweling her hair dry and wondering if Bertie could come to the cottage for a visit. She'd been here over a month and still hadn't seen her. Fact is, Edwina didn't even know where she was or how to get back to Edinburgh should she need to go.

She'd been foolish to lock herself into this deal, assuming she'd have full run of her life. She would go to Edinburgh at least once. She hadn't come this far . . .

But she reminded herself, You were the one who agreed to the terms.

Ah, the conscience. Guilt pinched her spirit. He was right to be angry with her.

A knock sounded. Surely Mrs. Gillespie had gone home, and the Scot was in bed. Perhaps it was little Paige in need of comfort.

Edwina went to the door and cracked it. The Scot. And her in her robe, hair mussed and wet.

"I apologize. I neglected to hand you these while you were in the office."

He slid two letters through the crack. One from Cecelia, and one from Spencer.

"Thank you. And—"

He had already started to walk away, but he stopped and turned slightly.

"I'm sorry if I upset you. I agreed to the terms. I will see to them."

"Aye," he said.

Edwina shut the door. At least she had cleared her conscience.

Quickly she tore open Cecelia's letter and read. She'd bought a new complex, small but very good location. Made an obscene amount of money on the sale of a building she'd redecorated. And the Scot was coming to see her.

So she'd been right. He was interested.

Edwina put the perfumed envelop up to her nose. Cecelia.

Spencer's letter was hilarious. He'd raised his price to clean Cecelia's condo, and she had agreed after a short burst of utter frustration that he should dare do such a thing. But he had reminded her she could get someone else to do her dirty work, and she had acquiesced instantly. In addition, he was to become her partner in the acquisition of this new venture.

Spencer? He was not serious about money. It seemed he had negotiated a deal that would allow him to set up his own restaurant on the entire second floor of Cecelia's new apartment building. Tenants would have their own restaurant, and it would be open to the public as well. They would split the profits in exchange for rent-free space.

Another feather in Cecelia's cap. Edwina was proud of her. Giving the entire floor to Spencer meant giving up a good income. Perhaps the message that Sunday at church had touched her.

It had certainly brought Edwina to her senses. Go and live or wait to see what happened. She'd had to overcome some things, given up a little to gain a lot, she realized now.

Paige needed her more than she thought possible. The little girl didn't realize it yet, but Edwina did. Especially now that her father was to be gone for several months. How could he leave his child for that long and not feel anything? What was so important that it would keep him away from his daughter?

She shook her head. It was none of her business. He paid her well to do a job, and she would do it.

Smiling, she went to bed, thinking of Spencer and Cecelia.

The smell of ham frying wafted to her nose. Tossing the covers back, she dressed quickly and headed for the kitchen. She walked in calling, "Rose, what smells so wonderful? Are you trying to put more weight on me? I've just lost a few pounds walking these lovely hills and now you—"

The Scot and Mrs. Gillespie came from the back of the kitchen where they'd obviously been talking. Serious, from the look of it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She turned on her heels and shot out of there. Off to the hills with you and your mouth Edwina Emily Blair. She shut the door quietly and started down the long drive.

Lord, I always seem to open my mouth at the wrong time.

She'd made it to the end where the drive intersected with the main road and started back. The black car drove slowly past her.

She took a detour and wandered out around the barn and listened. Was that bleating of the lambs... or sobbing? She hurried inside. Up the ladder to the hayloft she went. It was Paige.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" she cooed, dropping to her knees.

No answer. Edwina waited. "Father's leaving and won't take me with him."

"Ah," she smoothed the soft hair. "Your father can't take you."

"Why?" she sobbed. "Why can't he?"

Edwina had walked herself right into that one. "Well, he would if he could, wouldn't he?"

The child's crying slowed.

"See, now there's the answer. He would, but big people must make decisions that their children don't understand because they're not old enough. That's why God gave little ones, like you," she tickled her ribs, "a mom and dad."

"My mom's not here. Where did God put her?" She'd walked into another one. "Well, God is even bigger than our moms and dads, and He has even more love than they do."

"Oh."

It must have made sense to the little girl in her because she stopped crying.

"Should we go and see your father off? Wouldn't it be nice if we were smiling as he left, so he won't think we're mad at him?" Edwina tried.

"Aye." The child rose.

Edwina gently pulled the straw from the mussed hair and took Paige's hand. Together they walked to the cottage and through the back door.

"Run and wash your face and hands," she encouraged.

"How did you get her to come down, lass? She wouldna budge even for Mr. Gillespie."

"We just talked, Rose."

"Ah, ye have a gift with the lass." Edwina smiled. Her calling became more certain at that moment.

"There now." Edwina inspected her charge, then knelt. "Check my hair for straw, please."

Edwina, on her knees, bent her head and noticed two black shoes in the doorway. Caught again.

She waited, face red, while Paige dug through her hair, then looked up.

The Scot was not angry. Her breath came again. All she needed was to send him off angry at her foolishness. It would not bode well.

In fact, he looked away as soon as her eyes had courage enough to meet his. "I'll be in my office," he said quietly.

She and Mrs. Gillespie exchanged a look. What was there to do but go on about their business?

Her chopping knife working viciously, Mrs. Gillespie said, "We are to meet out front for the send-off at nine sharp."

"We'll be there, right Paige? Right now, let's take a walk. The sun is shining through blue skies and white clouds today." She tried to lift the spirits of the little heart that was surely still breaking inside.

Craning their necks to view the sky, Edwina finally decided it was time to lie in the grass, dresses or no. "Come on. We'll look at the sky this way." She lay down first, tucked her skirt beneath her and Paige scrambled to copy.

"Look there, an elephant sure enough, with two trunks." Edwina pointed.

"Aye, I can see it." The child laughed. "And a horse with two tails!"

Thus they lay until they heard Mr. Gillespie's loud whistle signaling them to come.

Edwina picked the grass out of Paige's hair and said, "Now we're going to smile. Even if we feel sad. Right?"

"Aye."

"You're just like your father, Paige. Strong." Edwina picked up her pace. "We'd best not dawdle."

"No, or Father will raise his voice."

"That he will." Edwina laughed out loud.

Alexander stood watching them from his office window laying in the grass, laughing. Something turned mushy in his heart. He'd done the same as a lad. The closer they came to the cottage, the harder he made his heart. This was not a trip he was going to enjoy.
Chapter 45

True to her word, Paige waved and smiled. What broke Edwina's heart was the fact that her mouth smiled, but the brown eyes mourned. She wanted to pick the child up and hug her to her breast and make everything all right. But she couldn't—and that broke Edwina's heart again. It was not her love and acceptance the little girl was seeking.

Together the foursome watched the black car grow smaller and smaller, the dust clouds the last sign of the man who held all of them together.

"Come lass, I have baked yer favorite. Oaty crumbles." Mrs. Gillespie's eyes were skimmed with tears, but her voice was soft and kind.

"What are those?" Edwina wiped her own eyes with the backs of her hands as they turned. She snuck a look. Not a tear in the little girl's eyes.

Twice Cecelia called saying she was coming over and twice she called to cancel. Business deals. Spencer wrote about once a month, too busy opening his new restaurant.

In his last letter he had enclosed a sketch of the restaurant's sign that would hang beneath the navy blue awning with gold lettering, Cecelia's signature colors. He had named the restaurant Winnie's.

Cecelia, he had said, liked it much better than her own suggestion, Ed's.

She shook her head. They must miss her very much if they'd named the entire second floor of the new restaurant after her.

Her father, too busy with his wife's career, had elected to call instead of write and faithfully on the first day of each month checked on his only daughter.

Everyone was about their lives, and Edwina was about hers. There were never enough hours in the day. Once the weather became cold, she discussed moving their classroom inside.

"Paige, be aboot the house, and find yourself a class- room. We will make it our own," she stated one morning. "It is very cold in these hills. You may choose where we will learn, but here are the needs: the room must be big enough for two, there must be a writing surface both for you and for me, and...," Edwina lay her finger at her chin, "there must be enough light for reading and writing. Be off with ya."

For two days Paige researched the house. Three requests, just enough for the five-year-old to comprehend, but that wasn't hard. Paige was above her station when it came to knowing things. Sadly though, Edwina thought her a bit too grown up, just as she had been as a child. She'd tried hard to inspire the child's imagination with games, dreams, and pretending along with her normal learning. Paige wanted to dance. She wanted to learn ballet. Edwina had already checked into classes, but it would require her to leave the premises, which she was forbidden to do.

She added that to her ever-lengthening list of things she would confront Mr. Dunnegin about. If there was a perfectly good reason she could not leave the farm, because Edwina's practical mind knew there might well be, then he should hire a teacher from Edinburgh to come and teach the child dance. Heaven knows she could never teach that. She had learned to appreciate the arts early in her childhood, but had never been encouraged to participate.

Edwina had two secret desires of her own, besides writing a romance story. And both were simple enough. She wished she'd learned how to dance and to play the piano.

There was one thing she could do, and that was to begin her story. She'd faithfully kept the pad she'd started the last time she was in Scotland. It was time to write. She could do that while the child did her lessons.

Paige chose her father's study.

Oh boy, so much for letting her choose. The office was locked. It wasn't possible in the least. Edwina would never allow herself inside the Laird's personal chamber.

"Paige, dear, it is impossible. That room is your father's private space. What is your next choice?" she said brightly.

"That is my choice." The little body had stood, feet together, arms folded across her chest.

Edwina took care not to look into the determined child's eyes, or she would have succumbed immediately. She stared over her shoulder deep in thought. Impasse. What to do?

"Lass, I will consider your request, but you need to look for another."

"We will see." The child ran off to the kitchen.

Exactly one week later Rose and Edwina were setting up the new "schoolroom." Mrs. Gillespie was certain it would be all right, since the Laird would not return for some time.

Available space was minimal. As Edwina was sizing up the situation, Paige began carrying books from the book case to her father's large desk.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making us two desks." Her tone was serious.

"So does that mean you're taking over your father's space?" Edwina was sure they should not be moving Mr. Dunnegin's papers about.

"Yes," the child explained. "This is my side and this," she pointed, "is your side. See, there is the wall."

Edwina looked to Rose for support.

"Aye, so it is. I'll stack the Laird's papers here." Rose carefully gathered up stacks of important looking documents and set them safely on a side table.

She showed Edwina, should there be need to find them if Mr. Dunnegin returned unexpectedly, which was likely, Mrs. Gillespie said to Paige.

The desk aptly divided equally, for the child made sure, Edwina brought her papers and pens from her room.

"I will be writing and preparing lessons while you finish your work," she told her student.

Edwina, back from her second trip, stood in the doorway and watched the little girl work. Just like Cecelia, she seemed to have the knack for decorating. She had used the books she could reach, nearly clearing out the entire first row of her father's book shelves, to make her wall. Her little girl thoughts were pretending because Edwina saw her lips moving as she worked. For that she was happy. She had instilled at least a modicum of imagination in the serious child.

"Now we need chairs."

Paige looked over the situation and ran. She came back carrying her own small chair, sat it on one side of the desk, and began piling books on it. Then she climbed up the precarious tower and seated herself. Edwina reached out twice to catch her if she fell, but she did not. Triumphant, she said, "See, I shall be tall like you. Maybe I will be a teacher too."

"You would make a good teacher, Paige." Edwina patted her head, then watched nervously as the short legs maneuvered the climb down. Successful.

"Miss Blair, you sit there, in my father's chair," she ordered.

Edwina did.

"See, you can sit there, but only until he comes back," she warned, hands on hips.

"Indeed." Edwina felt small in the huge black leather chair. It swiveled and offered the comfort of a high back. "I could take a nap in this." She smiled.

"It is not time for a nap. It is time for school," Paige insisted and climbed up on her seat.

"So it is." Edwina checked at her watch. "Have you brought your letter book down? We need to practice tracing your letters."

"Again?" Paige whined. "I want to try something new."

"Okay." Edwina thought a minute. "Okay, let's try writing a story. I will write it while you tell it to me."

Paige eyed her for a minute, then agreed.

"I will make the story about a mother," she said and looked away, the story beginning to form itself in the young mind.

Edwina quietly took a pencil in hand and her yellow- ruled pad and waited.

Ten minutes later the little lady was still talking, her teacher writing as fast as she could.

"Should I end it now?"

"Most certainly. Many words do not necessarily make a good story." Edwina rested her writing hand.

It was time to begin the work she'd thought of doing so long ago and decided at that moment that she too would begin her story. A romance... sweet... about a handsome Scot and the beautiful lady he met walking over the Scottish hills, her gauzy dress whipping in the wind.
Chapter 46

Alex Dunnegin called the first Monday of every month to talk to the Gillespies, to Paige, and once to her. In November he had called as usual, then asked for her. New instructions. Winter was coming, and Edwina was to be sure Paige learned to ice skate and sled.

What a strange request, she thought. And a difficult one, she decided, since she had done neither. She and Paige found Mr. Gillespie in the barn.

"Well, we shall learn to skate. And we're going sled- ding." Her announcement caused Paige to jump up and down while screaming at the same time.

Edwina asked, "Where can we learn to ice skate?" This to Mr.Gillespie, who had covered his ears and motioned for Edwina to follow him.

"Lass, ye have not seen the grounds. There is a pond in the woods. The child has never seen it. Her father feared she might . . ." He couldn't even say the words.

Well, swim she knew how to do. Her parents had been members of the local community center. Every Saturday they swam, played basketball, played all sorts of board games, and ate pizza.

"Are you sure we ought to show her now?" Edwina winced. "Is the pond frozen over hard?"

"Aye, tis, for I have been walking upon it meself," the older man said and winked.

"Then, with the laird's permission, we shall try it out. Have we skates aboot the place?" Edwina sighed, the Scottish accent more present.

"We have."

"Tomorrow we will go," she announced to her charge. It was late December. Christmas had come and gone. Edwina remembered the day well. Gifts piled high were sent from America. Paige had received everything she could ever want, except the thing she wanted most—her father.

And for the Gillespies, Mr. Dunnegin had sent two tickets to Boston to see their son. And two weeks off to make the trip. Rose had cried like a baby. She thought never to go to America again.

"Ye know it was Laird Dunnegin that brought us to Chicago early, else we couldna have come," she said through tears.

"I didn't know that, Rose."

"Aye, tis the truth of it. He paid the extra funds and came right along with us. We were scared as little children." She caught her husband's eye.

"That was nice," Edwina said, and meant it. Mr. Dunnegin was not all bluff and bother after all.

"Now open ye're gift." Rose had handed her a package.

Edwina had eyed her name on the small package the first day the gifts arrived by post. And she had wondered every night what the Scot could possibly know about her to send a gift. Then she struck her head with the heel of her hand. "Of course, he would ask Cecelia."

It was a book. She turned the heavy volume over in her hand and read the gold writing on the front of the burgundy hard back. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. She already owned Emma and Sense and Sensibility. Indeed, he must have talked to her sister. Otherwise how could he possibly have known she was collecting the works of her favorite author?

Edwina wanted to cry. The gift was more personal than she cared to admit.

"Can I see?" Paige had snuggled up next to her, still in her red flannel pajamas.

"I will read it to you on your tenth birthday," Edwina said happily.

"You will be here then?" Paige studied her face.

Did her eyes flinch? She hoped to be here. She did want to see the little girl grow up. How foolish, though, to have made such a statement. Always talking before you think, Edwina. She could promise nothing to the child. It was not in her hands.

She had changed. Her practical nature still existed, but the caterpillar had turned into a butterfly and above all things it wished to skip from place to place. These thoughts were born from somewhere deep inside. Edwina knew not where.

She made an announcement that Christmas morning. "I want to go to Edinburgh."

"And ye shall, lass. Ye've waited long enough. Laird Dunnegin said ye were to go," Rose said nodding.

"Can I go too?" This from Paige.

"Lass, ye are not auld enough," Rose answered. "Besides, the lass here needs some time to herself. And ye and I are going to be busy sewing."

"Sewing?" The girl's eyes lit up.

"It is so, dearie. It is time ye were learning a few stitches. Ye'll have to sew for yer man." She slid a look at Mr. Gillespie.

Christmas day had ended with old dreams gone and new ones born.
Chapter 47

It was time to learn to skate. Mr. Gillespie presented the bladed shoes, and Edwina gave him a look. The Scot had sent two pairs of beautiful skates for Christmas... and the right sizes? Cecelia must have told Mr. Dunnegin her shoe size.

He thought of everything, that was sure. Well, most everything. At least Paige never lacked for material needs.

Paige and Edwina's first attempts at skimming across the frozen pond had the older couple consumed in sidesplit- ting laughter. Even though she'd lost at least ten pounds on her daily walks with Paige, she still fell a dozen times, hard enough to cry out. Her backside hurt for days. And learning at age twenty-eight was not easy.

Paige had long legs like her father and skated like a pro almost instantly. She loved the new sport and dreamed of being a famous figure skater one day. Edwina helped her visualize what it might be like to skate to beautiful music and hear the people clapping. Her outfit would be long and whip behind her like a flag in the wind. The boys would look, but she would not look at them, Paige had said solemnly.

One day early in March the call came. Mr. Dunnegin would be delayed another two months.

Paige had been devastated. At Edwina's request, they had marked each day off with a red crayon until her father would come home. They were within days of his expected return when the news arrived. It would be May or even June before he came home.

The Laird had spoken with the Gillespies, leaving them to tell her and Paige the news. "It couldn't be helped," he'd said.

Already late March, Edwina had put off her trip to Edinburgh. Paige's fifth birthday had come and gone. Calls had arrived from her father in America along with several new gifts. Clothes from fancy stores. Books for school. Puzzles and paint supplies, via Paige's request.

If the truth were known, Edwina grew less understanding of the man day by day. She had the privilege of teaching and mentoring his little girl, but that gift belonged to him.

"Lass, be on ye're way to Edinburgh. Ye've put it off long enough. And now with her father not coming home for two more months, why don't ye go off yerself? The lass and I will be fine for a few days."

After much planning and talking, Mrs. Gillespie, having already talked to Laird Dunnegin, called Reardon and told him to come for Edwina.

"Miss Blair," Reardon had greeted her without eye contact, placed her small bag in the back, and waited while she settled in the car. He had been so friendly at first, was it because he didn't like her? She knew the answer, so she did not try to make conversation on the way, just enjoyed the view. She'd been here since mid-September and April was just around the corner. It had not seemed that long. She was content.

"You have reservations near the Royal Mile." Reardon's voice broke into her reverie. "Laird Dunnegin gave me instructions to see you were well placed."

"Thank you, Reardon," Edwina spoke softly. "When will you come for me?"

"Three days hence, miss."

"I shall see you then." The black car drove away. Edwina sighed. The next three days were hers. She had money. Most of it had gone into the bank account she set up via telephone. She mailed her checks faithfully, required very little cash, and Mr. Gillespie brought that to her when she needed it.

Now she wanted to withdraw enough money to purchase several gifts for family members back home. She had not sent gifts at Christmas, telling her father, Victoria, Cecelia, and Spencer she would haul something home in her suitcase for them if they'd be patient. The postage would have cost more than the gifts themselves.

Rose had told her about a play. The first day was set aside for gift shopping and moseying. The second day there would be visits around Edinburgh's shops and restaurants; she wanted to absorb the culture, get to know the people; and finally see the play in the evening.

During her gift shopping, Edwina did the most foolish thing. She stopped in a bicycle shop and ordered two bikes. One for her, one for Paige, and even more foolishly, told the man at the counter she would make arrangements to come and get them. Did the Scot's man have a truck?

She called the cottage. Indeed, there was an old truck at the farm. Rose had laughed.

"Imagine Reardon driving that!"

Edwina knew she'd make no points for this. But then, he barely spoke to her anyway, so what harm could it do?

Besides there was no one else to do it? Mr. Gillespie had no time for such things. And Reardon was the Scot's driver.

The next day she spent finishing her shopping duties, then walked up the Royal Mile, turned left onto George IV Bridge, then finally to Chambers Street to visit the Museum of Scotland. Its historic storytelling was so informative she could not leave. The visit to the library would have to wait for another day.

With a new respect for the people and the country, she walked among the ancient artifacts reading their history and understood something on a deeper level. God had started it all. Every race, every color, every person was a unique gift with a job to do.

Sitting alone in the dark room, excited to see the play entitled, Exit Stage Left. The marquis left much to be desired, so she didn't know whether to expect a musical or an Italian Renaissance drama. She settled herself into the soft seat and hoped for a romantic comedy or something historical.

A sense of loneliness swept over her as the play ended sadly. She hated books and movies that ended badly. She could now add this play to that list. Indeed the beloved character, after spending much time making the audience love her, exited the stage in death.

Why hadn't anyone told her it ended tragically? She would have rather gone to the library. Tomorrow that's exactly what she planned to do. There were several libraries located around the city. She'd check into some Scotland history for her own story, which, of course, would not end sadly.

The day broke with sunshine. Edwina showered and dressed casually. Her heart beat furiously as she stepped into the small black European cab, where it drove her, at the cabbie's suggestion to the Fountainbridge Library. She exited, gazing at the tall building, paid the cabbie and instructed him to return at 4 p.m.

At the appointed hour, she bade the library a sad fare- well, wishing she'd spent the entire time there. Photocopies of noteworthy places, and notes enough to fill a small volume were in her purse. She found several ideas for classroom activities for Paige as well. All in all it had been the best day.

The following morning she packed her things and waited to meet Reardon, collect the bikes, and head back to Beaufort Manor.

Everything ready, she checked her watch. Fifteen minutes early. She sat in the waiting room of the hotel and looked for the black car, then remembered she should be looking for an older truck. But what kind, what color? She'd never thought to ask.

Straining her neck at the window, she felt a light tap. "Miss Blair, if you will come with me." Reardon's face was red. That was strange. The man never

seemed to have any visible emotions. If she had her guess, he had some now.

He reached for her case, heavier now by a few pounds of notes and papers, and the bag of gifts. She carried her purse and a small package and followed him. They walked outside and kept walking.

"Where are you parked?" she finally asked. He didn't answer. When Reardon stopped next to the red rusty beat-up

truck with little strands of hay sticking in the window cracks, she fell apart.

"You drove this?" She could not stop laughing. Her emotions were out of control. She bent over with the trying to hold it in.

The side panels were crashed in like someone had used the door for softball practice. The bed of the ancient thing was sitting crooked on the wheelbase. No wonder Reardon had parked way out here.

Without a single glance in her direction, he lifted her case and bag and put them in the bed of the rusty truck, then seated himself.

"Where would the bicycles be?" he asked, staring out the filthy front window.

She walked around the front of the truck and opened the door, which creaked loudly, and let herself in. Apparently Reardon forgot his gentlemanly duties. She gave him directions. Right in the middle of town the truck backfired, sending her into fits again.

"I, I'm so sorry," she sputtered. "I don't mean to—"

"Miss Blair, it would be good for me ears if you were quiet."

"Yes, it would," she agreed and pressed her hand tighter over her mouth.

Bikes safely set in the back on an old blanket he had brought, they bumped and backfired all the way back to Beaufort Manor.

When they pulled into the long drive, Reardon drove around the back, straight across the grass to a little garage. It must be where the truck had been housed. She had never noticed it before. Reardon's white gloves were filthy too. He kept smacking them together, raising a dust storm. Even Mrs. Gillespie would never get all that dirt out of those gloves.

"Please don't tell Paige about the bikes," she said to Reardon. "It's a surprise."

Amazingly, the man's eyebrows lifted upward slightly. Had she made a good impression by chance? Doubtful, but then she had given him quite an awful day for a valet used to performing more sophisticated services for his master, rather than an American woman with foolish ideas.

After the bikes were stowed away in the barn and the truck backed into the tiny garage, she saw Reardon pull off his gloves and drop them into the trash can. He did not bid her good-bye, but walked to up to the manor, dusting himself off as he went. Soon, the black car drove slowly down the lane. She was sure he'd never forgive her.

Edwina broke into laughter again as she trudged back to the house with her packages. Her suitcase and bag had been taken out of the truck and left. Reardon had forgotten all about it. When Mr. Gillespie saw her dragging the heavy suitcase across the grass, he came stalking to her and took the handle. "Miss, what ye be doin' such work with a man aboot?"

"Time I learned to take care of myself," she said. "Besides, Reardon was too busy." She smiled.

"Aye, the man can't dirty his hands, tis sure. But he was born to it." The older man wasn't even breathing hard.

"I guess you're right. We're all born for something different aren't we, Mr. Gillespie?"

"Ye'd be right aboot that. And call me Leith, lass." Edwina smiled, "Thank you, Leith." Paige came running out. "You're back. Can I see what

you bought? Can we go on the bus when my father comes home? I'll be old enough by then."

"Lass, stop asking me questions." Edwina fell into the Scottish ways again. "I have some trinkets for you, but you're going to make me forget where they are." They entered the kitchen.

Paige's eyes lit up, and she danced around, making a pest of herself.

"Sit yerself down, child. Ye are aboot to make this old woman wish she had stayed abed," Rose fussed at her. "And ye haven't had yer bath. Tut-tut."

"I know, but it can wait, right Edwina?"

"It'll wait, all right—about five minutes. Take your bath and we'll talk. I'll come to your room."

"Ye will?" Paige hugged her, then ran off.

Edwina's heart skipped a beat. She had missed the child.
Chapter 48

The weeks passed quick enough for there was, again, the hope of the Laird returning to the manor. Paige was becoming more active, ready for the new spring days that hinted of summer eves to come. Especially since Edwina had revealed the new bikes. She was anxious to ride, but the days had been cold and rainy.

Edwina created her romance story, furiously writing in longhand. Day after day it seemed to roll out of her mind like a ribbon rolling off a spool. Deep in thought, she gazed out at the familiar knolls. The sun was high in the sky.

"Shall we take a walk?" Edwina stood from the Scot's chair and stretched.

"Can we?" Paige looked up from her work, eyes shining with anticipation.

"Of course. We'll make it a science project and check the dirt for new blooms. Today we will not take paper. We'll learn to memorize. First we will sight a flower, then call out the name and spell it correctly."

"I can spell daisy," Paige said smartly as she put her pencils and crayons in the cup. "And I can spell flower too."

"Yes, you can. And today you will learn more."

"Can we ride our bikes yet?" Paige knew the answer, Edwina could tell. "Just as I thought," she said, lips pursed.

"You are not a child, you are an adult." Edwina mussed her hair.

"No, I'm not. I don't want to be one," Paige dove under the desk to retrieve her shoes. Indeed her teacher had taught her a bad habit—she kicked her shoes off each time she sat down.

"I'm going to run," Paige declared, and after a nod from her teacher, she ran down the lane.

"Not to the road," Edwina cautioned.

Several times the girl stopped, pointed wildly, and shouted, "Flowers, Miss Blair!" Then off she would go.

If all went as scheduled, Mr. Dunnegin would return in four weeks. Paige had wanted to figure hours and minutes, but it would have been confusing for a five-year-old, so she suggested they go by days. A new color, black, was used to mark the x's on the calendar, signifying that was how many days her father was late.

The Gillespies were kneeling in the soft dirt freshened by the recent rains. They planted new seedlings and rearranged the flower beds, which brightened the front of the manor with new color. The spring newness shone in the sunlight; the blades of grass glistened, the pink, white, yellow, and purple pansies blew in the soft wind.

They looked up when Paige shouted about something and waved. Edwina could see the love for the child in their eyes. Soon they would fly off to Boston again to see their son, compliments of their employer. He had promised to release them for a holiday as soon as he returned.

Edwina longed to attend a small church somewhere nearby, but she could not leave until Mr. Dunnegin came back. She could make arrangements then since she would surely be allowed some days to do as she wished.

Whatever business had kept him from his daughter's Christmas and birthday had better be worth it, she thought grumpily one day.

It was Saturday and rain had saturated everything. Even now the rain gushed over the windowpanes. She and Paige laid out a thousand-piece puzzle, all daisies and sunflowers. What confusion. She liked simpler puzzles, but the small female had declared they could do it together. And together they did. At least Edwina tried to concentrate on the slight variations in color.

"That doesn't go there," the five-year-old voice cried out.

Edwina shook her brains to waken them. A sort of melancholy had settled in. She missed her father, her sister, and even Spencer's funny smile. How was the restaurant going? Were they getting along, the two entrepreneurs? Was Mr. Dunnegin even now in Chicago taking Cecelia to plays and pronouncing her beautiful?

Musing, she excused herself. Paige barely noticed. She was too busy finding all the edge pieces.

Time to write the finale. It had taken nearly two months to write her dream story. And for some odd reason, Edwina had neglected to finish the ending where the hero and heroine get together after all the crisscrosses and hardships. Perhaps it was the end of a dream she once dared to believe about herself.

Knowing she would have no more scenes to visualize, no more conducting her characters at will, something—she couldn't think what—a sort of conflict settled over her. The upshot of the whole writing thing had her stumped.

Shaking off the sense of disparity, she returned to her novel. Should she make the ending sweet and fulfilling? Or a true to life it-ain't-gonna-happen thing?

Suddenly her pencil began to move across the page, and two hours later, her heart rising and falling with emotion, the story ended. Antoinette, the beautiful heroine, won the Scot's heart with the drama due a romantic story. Misty- eyed, Edwina put her pencil down.

The yellow pads lay stacked up before her. Story finished. Edwina wanted to cry. She had no idea why. Of course no one would know the story was about her beautiful sister and the handsome Scot. She had changed their names, but it was their story nonetheless.

Conflicting emotions battled in her head like two swordsman. One the good guy, one the bad guy. Her sister deserved a good man. Edwina wanted one too and smiled at the thought of Spencer. He had kissed her and called her and even said he wanted to come with Cecelia should they ever be able to hire someone to watch over their new business venture. But that would take a year or more.

But Edwina knew it couldn't possibly last. She was too practical, Spencer too full of risk. Perhaps she should consider her present calling as her life's work. There could not be a better reason to stay. Paige. Except in a few months her year would be up and Cecelia would take over.

Chin resting in her hand, Edwina tapped her pencil on the pad. The dark-haired, dark-eyed girl had stolen parts of her heart she thought she owned. Like fear for the five-year- old's safety. Knowing now the importance of a father and mother to a child. Caring about what man Paige would grow up and marry. And whether or not she would be there for her wedding.

The phone jangled, skyrocketing her heartbeat instantly. She'd been daydreaming, and foolishly. She scolded herself as she untangled her feet from the chair and reached across the desk.

"Spencer." She smiled at the sound of his familiar voice. A blast from the past—and just in time, it seemed.

"Yes, I'm doing well. How's the restaurant?"

"Really? I'm glad."

"What? Are you kidding? How can you afford to get away so soon?"

"But Spencer, you just started the restaurant. Well, I guess it has been a few months."

"I know, it's just that I've been busy. Paige requires a lot of energy." She laughed lightly. "Yes, I know. She told me. Has Mr. Dunnegin proposed yet?"

"Sorry, I was just asking. They went to South Carolina?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"So, what's new with you?" She changed the topic, and Spencer didn't seem to notice. "What? Two chefs already? It's growing that fast?"

"Whoa, you've paid your school bill off, eh? The struggling student finally receives his reward."

"Yep. I'm happy too, but we're talking about your success, not mine."

"Well, anyway, congratulations."

"Yes. I plan on coming back. Some day."

"Well, what do you want me to say? I really don't know when. Paige has school, Mr. Dunnegin has not returned yet, and well..." She didn't want to talk about him right now.

"Look, I need to get going. Thank you so much for calling. It's good to hear your voice. Tell Cecelia I'll call her tomorrow. Sunday rates are cheaper."

"Thanks. No, don't you dare. Spencer, if you come here, you'd better let me know a month ahead of time," she warned.

"You are hopeless." She laughed and the conversation ended with good-byes.

Sunday arrived sunny and bright. During breakfast Paige pleaded her case until Edwina finally gave in.

"Okay, okay, it's a nice day. We'll get the bikes out."

"Aye, you are my favorite teacher." She flailed her arms wildly and started running for the barn before Edwina could finish her breakfast.

"See there now lassie, ye've got yerself in high waters." Mr. Gillespie espied her over his half-glasses. "I've got to see to the lambs and then I'll join the lass out front."

Mrs. Gillespie rolled her eyes and continued peeling the carrots. "We'll be aboot having stew if I keep at it." She wiped the countertop clean and pulled out the cabbage and celery to slice. "And an apple dumpling, if I'm left in me kitchen alone. . . ." She gave her man the evil eye.

"I'm going on me way, missus." He put on the old fedora and winking at his beloved, slipped out into the first summer- like day of the year.

Edwina heard her name being called from afar. "I'd best answer the child before she breaks in here at full speed," she told Mrs. Gillespie, who chuckled.

"Ye're the one who bought the bikes, lass."

"Not very farsighted am I?" She sprinted out the door, wiping her hands on her jeans. What a perfect day for a bike ride across the rolling hills of Scotland.

A quick learner, Paige easily gained her balance, and Edwina sent her off on her first bike ride. The teacher was a bit shakier than her newly taught rider. Paige had the gift of strength and a definite athletic bent. Soon enough the two were riding up and down the long, serpentine lane. Edwina watched as she rode, the little red hat, a tam-o'-shanter she learned, perched upon her head. Mr. Dunnegin had given it to her the day he left. It had belonged to her mother.

One of the finest things he had done, to Edwina's way of thinking. She wondered what Paige's mother looked like. There were no family pictures about the manor.

The child was tireless. She shot past several times, once in a while nearly losing control. "You've just started. Slow down or you're going to tip and hurt yourself. Then what would your father say?"

"He'd have to come home then," she stated stubbornly, also like her father.

When they'd nearly reached the main road, Edwina forced her charge to stop and listen to her speech. "Now lass, see here, you are not to go out to the road. You hear?"

"I hear."

"Look at me, Paige. I mean what I say. Cars cannot see little girls on their bikes. You are too small. Come, we'll go back. You may ride up to that tree," she pointed, "and no farther."

"Okay, that tree?"

"Yes, that tree." Edwina pointed again, confirming her directive.

They started back and Edwina heard her name. Mrs. Gillespie was calling.

She hurried along and left the bike leaning against the front porch and ran inside. "Paige, stay near the manor," she called over her shoulder.

"I will, Miss Blair."

"See that you do." Edwina hurried to the kitchen. "What is it Mrs. Gillespie?"

"The phone, dearie. From America." She winked and walked outside, leaving Edwina to her call.

Edwina's heart fell to her feet. Was Mr. Dunnegin coming home?

She answered, and Spencer began talking before she had time to think clearly. "What? You can't come. I'm not ready. Vacation? You just started your business, Spencer, you can't leave it."

"Well, if you want to..."

From a far off distance, Edwina heard the sound of a car horn and then screeching. Something hit her hard in the stomach.

"Paige!" she shouted and ran, dropping the phone.

Certain she would see the little girl riding in the circle, her eyes darted around and then her heart sank. She wasn't here. Screaming her name again and again, she knew deep in her heart something was wrong. She ran for the road.

Cars had stopped. People gathered. "Oh God, please don't let it be her. Please God, please," she begged, but her heart felt the pain already. She knew.

Running until the breath was out of her and still running, she cut through the gathering crowd of people and saw Paige lying on the concrete, face white and skin peeled from her chin. Then she saw her leg. Bones were sticking out.

She gagged and turned away, squeezing her eyes shut. But she saw the same horrible scene. Paige's leg. The bicycle lay crumpled near a bush. Paige had been on it. "Oh God, help her."

In that instant she took hold of herself. "Has anyone called for help?" she shouted.

Several ayes called back. She knelt next to Paige and took her hand. It looked all right. She leaned over and whis- pered, "I'm here, Paige. Hold on, mommy's going to help you."

"Mommy?" Her voice was weak.

"Yes, mommy's here. I won't leave you. I promise. Remember you are loved, Paige. No matter what, remember you are loved."

"Okay," came the word, barely audible.

Edwina wanted to scream. And thought she had, but it was the strange sounding wail of the ambulance. Before she could do anything, she and Paige were flying toward the hospital.

Everything seemed otherworldly. The medical people talking to Paige, to her. She spoke, but couldn't remember what she said. She could only say, "God, please help her." Over and over.

Had the Gillespies heard anything? They needed to call Mr. Dunnegin. Now. He needed to be here. Oh God, she had bought the bikes and now this. . . .

As soon as the gurney passed through the doors, Paige was taken away from her. She wrung her hands and found a nurse. "I need to call someone."

The nurse, attentive and gentle, led her to the phone. Edwina picked it up, but couldn't remember the number. She dropped to the floor sobbing. Someone came along and took the phone from her hand, put it back, and persuaded her to sit down.

"What can I do for ye?"

"I need... I need to call Mr. Dunnegin," she whimpered. "His little girl . . .oh God," she sobbed again.

Bent over and sick to her stomach, she wanted to vomit. Wanted to think this was a dream and surely she would wake up and Paige would say something smart to her.

"Lass, do ye know the number ye need to call? I'll do it for ye. Calm yourself and think." The gentle words reached her wretched brain.

"Yes... I must... think. It's . . ." She gave the attendant the number and was handed the phone.

"Mrs. Gillespie," she broke down. "It's Paige. She's... she's been hit by a car. Call her father." She wanted to shout.

She heard the woman's sharp intake of breath. "Lass, I'll call him, and we'll come."

Edwina handed the phone back and put her hands over her face. They would be here, but how was she going to look them in the eye? She had not been careful and Paige had ridden off all alone while she was on the phone talking. She should have called them to come and watch Paige. Now it was too late.

Alone and terrified, she prayed. Her body was heavy with sorrow. Terrible thoughts stabbed at her heart and mind. Would Paige be all right? She wished someone would come and tell her.

What if... No, she would not think it and asked God over and over to spare Paige's life. She would do whatever He wanted, if only He would spare the little girl's life. She felt someone's presence and opened her eyes. Two white shoes. Doctor's shoes. She couldn't look up. If she did, she might see . . .

"Are ye the child's mother?"

"Yes. No. Yes, I am." Edwina lifted her eyes. She was the child's mother... at least for now.

"You must not show the wee lass that you are worried." The man took her arm and lifted her. "Both legs are broken, one more severely, and we'll be watching for signs of internal injuries."

Feet like bricks, she walked with him. The man stopped at the door. "Wipe your eyes, she needs you to let her know she'll be all right. She's afraid."

Edwina couldn't help it. She sobbed, her forehead against the wall, then took several deep breaths and tried to calm herself. Panic rose up inside her.

A familiar voice sounded from far away. "Where is the wee lass?"

She ran into Mrs. Gillespie's arms. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. . . ."

"Calm yourself, child. There's nothing to be done aboot it now. Hold yerself up now and do yer duty," she ordered.

Edwina did. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and allowed Rose Gillespie to take charge of her. "Now the good doctor says the lass is needin' ye. Go in and let her know she'll be all aboot the manor in no time. Go on wi' ye."

The door opened slowly, and Edwina nearly lost her nerve. She couldn't let Paige down, not now. Swallowing hard, she followed the doctor and found herself next to the bed. Looking down at Paige's beautiful dark hair splayed on the pillow, her face bruised, chin scraped... she would not allow her eyes to look at her legs. Thankfully, they were covered with a sheet.

"Here she is." The doctor sounded confident as he looked to her.

"I'm here, Paige. I'm here. I won't leave you."

"Mommy?"

"Yes, your mommy's here." Edwina saw her try to lift her eyelids.

"She's been given something to relax her. We'll need to set the legs later, when the swelling goes down. Is her father on the way?" he whispered.

"Yes, I think so," Had Mrs. Gillespie called?

Paige would not be left alone. She had called her mommy, and Edwina had answered to it. She pulled up a chair.

Head in hands, she prayed. God knew what to do. For once in her life, she was totally helpless.
Chapter 49

Hours passed. She felt hunger jabs and dizziness. Had she slept? The doctors came and took Paige somewhere. She was told to sleep on the cot and wait. She lay down but could not close her eyes. She watched the door. They would bring her back in. They had to.

Sleep must have overtaken her for she felt something against her face. Fabric. Her eyes shot open. Nurses were passing by, their skirts fanning her face. They worked around the bed. Edwina sat up and rubbed her burning eyes. It was morning.

Paige was back. "Is she okay?"

"Aye, she is much better now. The legs have been set."

"Both of them?" Edwina's whispered words came out in a whimper.

"Aye, one worse than the other but both were broken. But the lass is strong. She'll mend. Just ye make sure ye let her know all is well."

"Aye," Edwina agreed and rose up on legs that felt like overcooked noodles.

"Are the Gillespies here?"

"Aye, they've not left." The nurse smiled. "Would ye like them to come in?"

"Oh yes, please."

"Your husband is on the way," one nurse assured her. "He will be here soon." Edwina looked at the nurse, and started to correct her, when the thought fell over her heart like a rock. She felt no assurance whatsoever. She had yet the hardest job to do: face Paige's father.

The Gillespies came in and embraced her. "The lass is doing well," the mister encouraged.

"Aye, she is like her father. She'll mend." Mrs. Gillespie said the words, but Edwina saw her worried eyes.

"Go aboot now and get yerself something to fill yer stomach, else ye will be lying in the bed next to the lass." Mrs. Gillespie said and gave her a push. "Go on now. We'll stay. We'd like some time wi' the lass too," she added for good measure.

Edwina made her way out of the room, weak from lack of food and sleep. Her back to the wall for support, she took a deep breath. The first full deep breath she'd taken since the awful accident. It was there she was standing when Mr. Dunnegin came through the double doors.

He hesitated, then without so much as a by-your-leave, walked right past her and into the room. The emotions were written on his face. Fear. Dread. Quiet panic. And she'd caused it all.

Truthfully, she didn't blame him for not wanting to speak to her. She pushed herself away from the wall and started walking. Faint, she took a chair in a quiet hallway where Mr. Dunnegin would not see her.

her.

"Would ye be needin' the chapel?" A woman sat next to her.

"Yes."

"Come, lass. We'll go."

She took her arm, and Edwina let her.

The woman held the door, and they walked into a dark- ened room with several short pews. Edwina fell into one and tried to pray, but no words would come. How could this have happened? And so fast. It seemed like she'd just watched Paige in her little red hat flying by.... Oh Lord, I cannot think of it. She sobbed into the hands covering her face.

The woman patted her shoulder, and handed her a glass of water.

Hymns played quietly in the background. Paige drank the water. Slowly her heart began to hope. Prayers fell off her lips in faith. Somehow Paige would be all right. Her job was lost, but that was nothing now.

An idea planted itself in her mind. She must see Bertie. "Thank you." Edwina rose and faltered. "Would ye like a quiet room to sleep?" The woman gazed into her eyes. "Aye."

"Follow me, dearie."

When her head hit the pillow, she slept. Paige needed her father, and he was here.

Edwina woke with a banging headache. The room went round in circles for a few seconds as she pulled herself up. She was alone in a room barely larger than a corridor. Fresh flowers stood on a square table next to the narrow cot, along with a clock, a Bible, an empty glass, and a pitcher of iced water. The little door must lead to a bathroom, which she needed immediately.

Trembling, she sat on the cot, took the empty glass and filled it, then drank. Back to the bathroom for a face washing. Toweling dry her red eyes, she felt ready to go. Slipping out into the hospital halls, she asked for the exit and walked until she saw the red words, giving her the out she sought.

The sunshine in her eyes burned mercilessly. She had just begun to walk when she heard her name.

"Miss Blair, you are aboot the hospital?"

"Yes." She could not look into Reardon's eyes. He would accuse her too. She feigned tiredness and gazed over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"I want to see Bertie." She tried to keep her voice steady.

"Come, lass. I'll drive you."

"What... what about the laird?"

"He'll not be leaving today, I expect. I'll take you on to the castle and return for him." He took her arm. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and weep.

"You know... what happened?"

"Aye. I know."

"And... you're not . . ." He said nothing, and Edwina couldn't find it in her soul to speak another word, grateful to God for giving her an out. He put her in the car, gently this time, and shut the door. She was safe within the familiar black car and leaned her head against the window. Tears would not come.

"The child will be all right." Reardon said over his shoulder. His kindness was her undoing. She wept quietly now, hands over her face. The tears flowed, bringing the balm of release her soul craved. Bearing her duty, for she had erred greatly, she knew there was nothing that could change what had happened. She would visit Bertie and be gone before they brought Paige home from the hospital.

That would solve everything. Mr. Dunnegin would be home with his daughter, and she would be where she belonged.

Which was where? Her thoughts scattered. "We have arrived, miss," Reardon informed her. "Thank you, Reardon. I will never forget your kindness,"

she whispered hoarsely as he gave her his gloved hand. "Aye, lass. Ye did not mean for it to happen." Edwina sobbed and did the most foolish thing. She threw

her arms around him and put her head on his shoulder. At first he stiffened, and then she felt him relax. His arms came up and surrounded her.

"Now off to Bertilda," he said sharply.

Such a sight for a broken heart. She tossed herself into the woman's arms, but not before seeing the tears running down her face.

"Oh, Bertie."

"Come, lass. We'll have a spot of tea. Ye look as though the ghosts have trailed ye through the moors."

"Ye must eat, lass. Ye are faint from the looks o'ya."

"I'm not hungry, Bertie. Perhaps just some tea?" After tea Bertie hustled her up the stairs so familiar to her, and landed her in the bath with rose scented warm water.

"There now, lass. Soak all the sorrow out o' yer body, and we'll be having ye a long sleep."

"But—"

Bertie waved her arms, choosing not to listen.

She did not deserve such care from Mr. Dunnegin's staff. First Reardon, the Scot's own man, now Bertie. Edwina knew she would accept their love for today, and tomorrow she would be on a plane home. She would ask Bertie tonight to help her make the arrangements.

Darkness fell over the Scottish hillsides, and Edwina was glad. She could not bring herself to pull aside the heavy window hangings and look upon the beautiful scene. She would be leaving it behind. Again.

On her knees by the bed, she prayed for Paige.
Chapter 50

Up early since sleep had come in short spurts during the night, Edwina slipped out of the house as the sun was making its pronouncement of a beautiful spring day. The birds dipped and lifted on the winds as she walked away from the castle. She needed to think. Before she left she had to face Alex Dunnegin. Her conscience would not allow her to leave without doing so.

Her feet felt the green cushion of carpet, now very familiar. Off came her shoes in favor of letting her toes curl into the softness.

Words formed in her head, things she would say, then she would veto them. What could she say? She'd been neglectful. She hated the sound of it, but it was true. The child she had learned to love... dear Paige... and she had allowed her to be injured.

More than anything she wanted to see her one last time. Could she possibly?

She'd bungled things. "Face it, Edwina," she admonished and turned toward the castle.

While still a long way off, she saw the black car snake up the long drive. She wanted to run, but stayed at her position.

Reardon parked in the circle right next to the entry, and Mr. Dunnegin got out. Alone.

Paige was still in the hospital. Oh she hoped all was well, then thought this might be a good time to see Paige one more time and explain she would be leaving. But without Mr. Dunnegin's permission? She'd done enough damage already. If she had any grit, this was the time to use it.

Edwina slipped her feet into her shoes and purposely made her way up the hill to the castle.

The acceptance of Bertie and Reardon and her prayers to God, who loved her no matter what she'd done, drove her to knock at Mr. Dunnegin's door. She laid her knuckles soundly against the wood and heard, "Enter."

Her heart fell to the bottom of its cavity, and she righted it again with a sharp intake of a wobbly breath and stepped in.

He was on the phone and did not see who entered. He waved, his back turned to her. He was angry. He spoke short, quick responses to the caller.

She did not need to be in here and turned. "Miss Blair," came the dreaded words. "Yes?" She turned and watched as he lay the phone in its place. Standing behind his desk, he said, "Sit down." She did. He sat and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. Edwina flinched when he looked her full in the eye.

"Mr. Dunnegin—"

"Miss Blair," he interrupted. "My daughter is going to be all right."

Visibly shaken, she didn't know what to say. "Thank God," came out.

His look softened for a moment.

"I am so sorry." She talked to her lap.

He nodded and the phone rang, breaking the brittle atmosphere.

He picked it up, turned his chair, and soon stood and waved her off.

"We'll talk later."

Edwina felt her duty to Mr. Dunnegin finished. She'd faced him. What else could she say to him? Now it was time to pack her things at the manor and leave them to their lives.

An hour later, duly fed and appropriately admonished by Bertie for her decision to leave, Edwina asked Reardon if he might make the fourteen minute drive out to Beaufort Manor.

He hesitated for a moment and checked his watch. "If we hurry on." And he was gone.

She and Bertie said their tearful good-byes. "Will ye be back, lass?" Edwina could not answer and shrugged, her eyes on Bertie's. "Then Godspeed, child," she said and put her arms around Edwina.

"Godspeed, Bertie," she said, and before her fragile emotions broke again, she walked away. Reardon was waiting by the car and put her in. Exactly fourteen minutes later, she arrived at the manor.

The house was empty, the Gillespies at the hospital. Why was he at the castle anyway? He'd said she was going to be all right. Still, why wasn't he with his daughter?

She'd settled in enough that packing was not as easy this time. And with all the gifts she'd bought for family, it took longer than expected.

Besides that, the house was as they'd left it that Sunday morning after breakfast. Paige's schoolwork was on the desk. She'd made a picture of her teacher with long hair and blue eyes with outrageous eyelashes. The words "I love you" were printed at the bottom in perfect form.

Edwina held the paper to her breast and cried. Cried for Paige, for herself, for the loss of their relationship. It would never be the same again. Misery overwhelmed her spirit. Why had God sent her here? Why, if this was what happened? Had she made an error in coming?

There was only one answer, but when had she failed?

She picked up the pads that contained her story, all five of them, and tossed them into the trash can. It was only a reminder that perhaps life wasn't as beautiful as Cinderella's. It was more like the dreadful plays she'd witnessed on the stage in Chicago and recently, Edinburgh.

In the midst of her confusion, she heard the front door open. Wishing to see no one, she shut the office door and gathered her teacher tools into a bag.

She reached for her stapler, and the door swooshed open. Mr. Dunnegin stepped in and stopped frozen, his eyes scanning the room.

She looked where he was looking and gasped. They'd turned his office into their classroom, and it was chaos. Stacks of books formed separating walls for teacher and student. Paige's papers sat stacked in several places on the lower near-empty bookshelves.

Edwina's face colored brightly, and she tried to explain, "Sir, we turned this into the classroom. Paige wanted... to be near you, I think." She could do nothing but shrug slightly.

"As I see." He spoke cautiously, but looked very tired. His movements were slow and meaningful. "I need some papers. Do ye know where the things were on my desk?"

"Oh yes. Mrs. Gillespie put them all here." She walked past him. "Here."

He seemed relieved.

She finagled her way out of the corner and tried to straighten up the office. His head bowed over the papers with a look of deep concern, his forehead wrinkled in thought. What could possibly be so important? she wondered again.

Suddenly, he looked up from the papers and said, "I hear ye are going back to the States."

"Um, yes. I thought you'd—"

"Don't think for me, lass," he interrupted harshly. Edwina could not open her mouth. "Sit down, lass. Tis time ye heard the whole story." There was no place to sit. Paige's conglomeration of books with her small chair atop was the only other spot. Both sets of eyes looked at the chair. Edwina's eyes formed tears. Mr. Dunnegin just stared. "She sat up there?" The hint of a smile touched his lips.

"Yes. She could not abide lifting her arms so high to work on her papers." Edwina relaxed.

"Did she learn well?"

"She is bright. And already knows her colors, letters, and numbers. She's good at spelling, and her memory—she bypasses me in detail every day. I had to work hard to keep up with the lass. She . . ." She was running on. "I'm sorry."

"She is bright. Like her mother."

Edwina felt her lips lift, surprised she could find it in her to smile, as a bit of calm settled her raging emotions. "May I go and visit Paige before I leave?"

"I insist upon it," he said and then added, "Leave the room as it is. I would like to speak with ye. Meet me in the sitting room. I'll be there in a moment."

She left the room feeling lighter of heart. At least they were talking, and he had said she could visit Paige.

"Oh Lord, thank you. Thank you for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself," she whispered.

Oh what a difference when the heart was heavy with sorrow—and when it was lifted up in hope.

But, her practical side cautioned, be careful not to hope for too much. He probably wishes to release me, for he is a kind man. She'd witnessed a few of his works of kindness, but they were also present in the loyalty of his staff and most of all, his daughter.

Edwina chose a chair near the fireplace. Several minutes passed. She could hear his voice on the telephone again. He sounded frustrated. When he finally did come, he looked distressed as he sat, elbows on knees, head hanging between his shoulders, his hair mussed.

"I have to go to the States. Tonight."

"Why?" Edwina could not understand. "What about Paige? She needs you."

"I know that." He looked up, pain in his eyes. "Ye don't think I know it?" His voice strained.

"Then stay with her." Edwina was on her feet. "She only wants you. Her father. She needs no one else but you." Her voice cracked.

"Sit down, Edwina," Mr. Dunnegin commanded.

She had never heard her given name on his lips. Not once.

She sat.

"If I don't go back now, I will lose my daughter," he stated flatly.

Edwina's eyes widened, but no words came.

"Say nothing, lass. I will tell you all, but you must give me your word not to speak of this to anyone." He eyed her.

"Maybe I shouldn't—"

His hand went up to stop her. "You are involved. And it is right you should know what is happening. Else . . ." Edwina's nervous system shot into first gear. She felt like she was flying in a jet airplane with no protection. What did he mean involved?

"My wife's name was Elizabeth Avril Halstead. She came from Beaufort, South Carolina. She loved to dance and was performing in a ballet here in Edinburgh when I met her." His eyes softened.

"I called her Beth. We married against her father's wish, and she suffered for it. He is the tobacco king of the Southern states and a very rich man. And a very vicious man. He expected Elizabeth, his only child, to take over his billion dollar business, and she refused. She married me, and then Paige was born. Four months after her birth, Beth went back to work. It was too soon. She . . ."

Edwina saw his throat working. She stared at her knee- caps and waited, the room full of oppressive emotions.

"She loved to dance. At rehearsal, she fainted and fell off the stage."

Edwina's hand went to her mouth to hold back a gasp. She wanted to get down on her knees at the man's feet and comfort him like a child.

"Her father blamed me." Edwina pressed her fingers to her lips. "Beth's father never knew about Paige. And for three years it worked; we kept her existence a secret. But Mrs. Rudeski, whom we thought unaware of the dire situation, gave out information, and Beth's father contacted his powerful attorneys. He has been trying to take her away from me and turn her into the business mogul his own daughter would not become. The trial, if you can call it that, is nothing but a pack of money hungry vultures looking for a place to land. And my daughter is their dinner."

Edwina could not sit. She stood and paced the short distance behind her chair.

"Is that why you came to Chicago?"

"Yes. I needed powerful attorneys. Cecelia set me up with hers and several others. We have a good team, but it's touch and go. The man has money, he has power, and he has his men working all sorts of under-the-table deals. When you called... about Paige's accident—we were about to be called to testify against him."

"I'm so sorry." Edwina stopped pacing.

"It is unfortunate timing, but if I don't go back . . ." The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

"Go back. I'll stay here... if you'll let me."

"I need you to stay, Edwina. She needs you. She keeps calling for mommy. She said when she did, you answered so was it was all right to call you mommy."

Tears formed in the handsome eyes, and Edwina wanted to throw herself at his feet and beg his forgiveness for everything that had happened.

"I told her she could call you mommy, as long as she remembered who mommy really was." He looked up.

"Right." She nodded her head and thoughts flew like wild birds in a cage. "Have you any pictures of Elizabeth and Page together?"

"Yes, but they are in the safe where no one would ever find them. We kept them hidden to keep Paige's existence from her grandfather."

"Well, now that it's out could I... I mean, would you allow me to take pictures of her mother to her?"

"Of course," he said and rose to his feet slowly. "I'll get them."

Edwina paced the entire room, stopping to gaze out the windows at the beautiful scenery. But she saw none of it, only knew that Paige's life was about to be changed if some- thing wasn't done. And she wasn't about to let that happen.

He came back, the pictures in a small shoe box. He set it down on the side table and pushed his hands through his hair again.

"I need to get back tonight. Can ye go up and be with her? The Gillespies need to come home for a day. They're worn to the edges."

"Yes, I'll go. Will you tell them it is okay?"

"They already know I came back for you."

She nodded. "Then go. I'll be here until you tell me to leave."

"Not likely, lass."

His voice was barely audible, but Edwina knew she had heard right.

Empowered by his words, she made a suggestion. "Might Reardon drop me off before he takes you to the airport?"

"That would work. My flight leaves at eight o'clock. I've got two hours and need to get some papers together. I do not plan on stopping to say good-bye to Paige. We already said them, and I don't want to upset her further."

"Sir—Mr. Dunnegin," she remembered.

"Call me Alex, Edwina," he stated, brooking no sass.

"All right. Does Paige know about her grandfather?"

"No, and I do not want her to know anything until it's settled. I pray to God it works out. The man is trying to destroy my reputation as a father, and he could well do it since I travel so much, leaving Paige with others."

Edwina bit her bottom lip. What to do? "I can testify for you," she offered.

"They'd crush you in a minute," he shot back. "You don't know the kind of people, if you can call them that, that we're dealing with. Best if you stay with my bairn and let me handle this. But thank you otherwise."

Edwina nodded. "Have you eaten anything?"

"No."

"I can put something together in the kitchen."

"Yes. Do that. I can't remember when I ate last, and I need to be at full brain power for these next few days." She headed for the kitchen, her heels clicking on the wood floors. Her intent was to get the Scot on the road and vie for the child's care until he could return and give it to her himself.

Edwina knew where Mr. Gillespie kept his vegetables. She chopped on the wooden board until she realized she was chopping the head off the man who called himself Paige's grandfather.

She boiled a chicken in a large pot, added the overly chopped vegetables, and sliced the homemade bread. There was no meat for sandwiches, so she made grilled cheese on bread.

"Coffee?" she asked when Mr. Dunnegin appeared in the kitchen.

"Tea. Smells good."

"Sit, I'll get everything." She clanged bowls onto the wooden table meant only for the kitchen help. No one cared to dine at the fancy table in the next room.

He sat at the old table, his suit jacket hanging over the back of the chair. He looked like death warmed over. She remembered the times she had been unsympathetic. Had she known... well it was too late now.

She ladled the soup into his bowl, laid a sandwich on a saucer, and pushed it toward him.

"Aren't ye going to eat?"

"Sure, if you want me to . . ." He reached over and set the extra bowl in front of her, placed a sandwich on a saucer, and pushed it toward her. There had been a twinkle in his eye. Edwina smiled for the first time in days. "I am starved," she admitted.

"Then eat," he ordered.
Chapter 51

"Thank ye for dinner, lass. I shall not forget your assistance," Mr. Dunnegin stated before she exited the car at the hospital.

"Not likely. You'll have to pay through the nose for it," she teased and took Reardon's offered hand. She leaned down and said, "I will pray for you." Mr. Dunnegin's eyes caught hers.

"Thank ye, lass." He handed her the box of precious pictures. Edwina took the box and with a look told him she would care for them with her life. Reardon waited by the door until she was inside the hospital.

Lord, I walked out of here dejected, and you've brought me back with a job to do. Please, Lord, help Mr. Dunnegin to win. Help Paige to get better. And, Lord, please forgive me for the mess I've made.

Edwina's shoes clicked as she skimmed across the floor toward Paige's room. She needed to put her arms around the little girl. Heart jumping wildly in her chest, Edwina put her hand over it.

She knocked first and opened the door slowly. At first glance she saw the Gillespies each in a chair, each with a weary look. Their faces brightened, "Then ye've not gone, lass?" Mrs. Gillespie hugged her.

"Nay, and I shall not until the... until Laird Dunnegin tells me to go," she said forthrightly.

"Now there'd be a bonny lass." This from the older man.

"I am to give you orders from your employer." They gave her their attention. "He has given me the word that both of you are to go home and sleep. I am to stay with Paige." Their bodies relaxed slightly. Edwina knew they had kept the secret of Paige's grand-father well; she had never heard a disparaging word from either of them.

"Ye're sure, lass?"

"Would Mr. Dunnegin tell you anything but the truth?" She teased lightly, hoping to encourage them.

"Aye, he would not," came the reply. "Come missus, we shall be aboot our duty."

Edwina walked them to the door, whispering, "I will stay until you have rested, and then of course, you should return."

Their smiles of gratefulness told her she'd spoken well.

"Now Paige, it's you and me," Edwina whispered, smoothing the covers that lay over the small body. "I have a surprise for you when you wake up. We shall talk about your mother. I have pictures."

She couldn't fill up her eyes enough with the patient whose soft brown eyes were hidden in sleep. Her heart leapt at the second chance she was being given.

Edwina found a chair and dozed. Her nerves had settled down, and she wanted to be awake when Paige woke. There was so much to tell her.

She had not thought to call Cecelia or Spencer about the accident. They were busy, and besides, she was a grown woman and should take charge of her own life. Perhaps Mr. Dunnegin had told Cecelia before he left. He did say Cecelia had helped him locate attorneys.

An hour passed in sweet relief. She was where she should be. Awake now, she held Paige's hand and waited. A tap sounded at the door.

The lighting low, it was difficult to see who approached.

"Ilana," Edwina whispered.

"I've come to assist." She gave Edwina the evil eye. "Where is Alex?"

"He left for America."

"When?"

"Several hours ago." Edwina saw her veiled reaction. The woman was a

coiled snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Besides, how did she know about the accident? And why wasn't she surprised to see her here?

"I have only just heard about the child's accident. You may go. I will stay with her."

She didn't move. Edwina formed her words carefully. She didn't want to cause any more trouble. "I cannot."

"You may leave." Ilana's dark eyes bore into hers.

Edwina remembered what Mr. Dunnegin said. Ilana was not the woman he thought her to be. This was not a good thing. And she was not confrontational. If someone dismissed her, she usually went.

"It would be good if you left, Ilana. I think perhaps you should call Mr. Dunnegin and speak with him." Edwina would not allow her eyes to drop to her kneecaps. Not this time. She stood to her feet.

"I'll do just that, miss. And you will find yourself relieved of your position." She turned and sashayed out the door, her gold dress shimmering as she passed through the low-lit room.

"You are beautiful, Miss Ilana, but you are not kind," she whispered.

Her heart was not racing, and Edwina was surprised.

Paige began to waken. She mumbled "mommy" several times. Edwina stepped to her bedside and murmured, "I'm here, Paige. I'm here."

The child tried to lift her arms, but plastic lines held them captive. "Don't try to move, sweetheart. I will come to you." Edwina climbed up next to her and lay carefully so as not to hurt her.

"Can I have mummy's hat?"

"Sure. It's here on the table across the room. I'll get it and come back." Edwina moved off the bed and retrieved the cap.

Climbing back on the bed, she lay it in Paige's hand. "There it is in your right hand."

Her eyes struggling to stay open gazed at her right hand. The smile on her face was Edwina's reward.

For the next five days Edwina and the Gillespies took turns feeding, playing, and sleeping in the same room with Paige. Each day she began to move about more. The first few hours sharing her mother's pictures had been Edwina's joy. She had introduced the child to the one who had borne her and loved her for the first four months of her life. At times Edwina wept for the mother who would not raise her own child. What a gift Elizabeth had given them all.

And for the next five days they wrung their hands. They had not heard from the laird. How had Mr. Dunnegin fared in court? Would the grandfather come and take Paige away from them? Edwina could not fathom even the thought of that. What would Mr. Dunnegin do? And the Gillespies.

And what had happened to Ilana? If that woman knew of Paige's whereabouts, maybe others did, too She knew now why Alex Dunnegin had been so concerned about Paige's existence.

"Do you think Bertie would like to come?" Edwina asked Mrs. Gillespie on the fifth day.

"Nay, she barely knows the child. She has to keep the castle running as though she serves only the Laird. She never visits the farm for fear of being followed."

"Is that why Mr. Dunnegin moved Paige to the manor? To hide her away?"

"Oh yes. Even when the laird married the young Elizabeth, he kept her at the manor. Her father had spies looking for the lass. Not because he loved 'er, mind ye, but because he needed her to come back to run the company. She'd been the nicest lady amongst all those wolves, ye know. And when she left... well, don't ye know the good folks didn't like 'er auld man. He needed 'er back."

Edwina was beginning to understand everything now. And her conscience smarted. She'd judged so wrongly. Why had she assumed things were as they seemed? She made a choice that day never to disregard the fact that people need to do things sometimes that others may not understand—and that did not give her reason to judge them.

Walk a mile in their shoes, came to mind.

When it came time to release Paige, the Gillespies signed her out. Oh, how Edwina wished Mr. Dunnegin would call. What was keeping him so long?

She'd already broken the promise she made not to inter- fere. God was in his heaven, and everything would be all right.

Six days after the accident, Paige came home. Edwina and the Gillespies played nursemaid to their patient. Her every wish was granted. Until the fourth day.

"I want to see Silsee," she whined.

"Aye, ye'll not be getting off that bed yet, lass," the older woman said. "I'll bring ye fresh pillow covers now and brush out your hair."

Edwina smiled as Mrs. Gillespie walked out of Paige's room. "Out in the barn and two broken legs... ach."

"You'll take me won't ye, teacher?" Edwina knew she was being discreetly lambasted.

"I'll not," she countered. "But I'll get the puzzle we were working on, the one with the daisies."

"I don't want it. I want to pet Silsee. She needs me. I'm her mommy."

Edwina saw her need, but could not grant it. She had stopped calling her mommy so often, and she was glad. The child did not need to confuse her real mother with her teacher.

"Be a good lass. You'll be out there soon enough. I'll go out and pet Silsee myself and tell her mommy's coming out in a few more days, okay?" She mussed Paige's hair.

"Okay, but she won't like it."

"Like what?"

"You're not her mommy." Paige tilted her head just so.

"You're right. And I'm not your real mommy either, but know what? Your real mommy can't be here, so I'll be here for just a little while longer, just like Silsee. She'll have her mommy back—you!"

Edwina thought herself clever on how she had just explained the mommy situation when she heard, "Yes, but my mommy isn't coming back."

Edwina's hopes crashed at her feet. So much for trying to explain why death took her mommy away. Forever.

There was no good explanation, Edwina decided. "You're right, sweetie. It is true."

Paige pouted for a long time. Edwina let her. She needed to grasp the truth and to grieve. All would come in due time.

"I'll be gone for a while. Why don't you take a nap? Then you'll be rested because we're going to stay up late tonight."

Paige's face brightened, but Edwina could see she was tired.

"Go to sleep now. I'm off to the barn to pet Silsee and tell her her real mommy's coming in a few days."

Paige never answered, her eyelids already fluttering.

Late into the night Edwina played games with her charge. During Monopoly she challenged Paige to make decisions, count money, and learn how to sound out names on the board.

The Gillespies long off to bed, she pattered to the kitchen in bare feet and robe looking for a treat for the two of them and returned with two frosty bowls.

"Ice cream!" Paige shouted from her bed. "Do you like ice cream?" Edwina played the fool.

"You know I do... don't you?"

"Of course. Silly girl. I love it too, remember?" Edwina pulled her into conversations to keep her awake and active so as not to notice her bedridden state. This was not going to be easy.

"When is father coming?" She slurped from her spoon.

"I'm sure I don't know, ye wee lass."

"You're not Scottish!"

"I know, I know." Edwina slurped her ice cream and made the child giggle. "You mustn't do this when people are about, Paige."

"I won't. And you won't either will you, Miss Blair?"

"Oh no, it wouldn't be nice at all." Edwina slurped loudly.

They fell over laughing.

The phone rang, startling both of them. Edwina untangled herself from the bedding and ran to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Miss Blair?" It was Paige's father.

"Yes."

"I am coming home—"

"Is Paige—?" She knew she interrupted.

"Yes. She's safe with me for now." Edwina clapped her hand over her mouth. She wanted to cry.

"Thank God."

"Thank God, indeed." He sounded tired. "Is she doing well?"

"Yes, very well. We're playing games right now."

"This late into the eve?"

"Yes, but I'm also holding classes at the same time. And helping her forget she cannot run yet." She was whispering.

"Ah, ever the lass who would be aboot running, eh?"

"Yes." Edwina smiled.

"Reardon is bringing me now. I should be there in a few minutes."

"Now?" Edwina wanted to shout.

"Aye. Is that a problem, lass?"

"Ah, no, of course not. I have to go." Alex Dunnegin was left on the line. Edwina had already run to Paige and said loudly,

"Your father's coming. I'll be back. Don't move, Paige, please don't move."

The child looked at her as though she'd grown donkey ears.

Down the hall she went. She looked like a hooligan with her hair tied up in knots, sticking out all over her head. She had shoved it into a rubber band and forgotten it, not to mention she was in her raggedy pajamas. Not suitable clothes for teacher, nor a woman about to see her employer. Tossing off her robe and ripping her pajamas off at the same time, she danced around, heels pounding on the floor as she tried to remember where she'd put her pants. Rifling through the closet, she finally found something to wear. Not exactly formal, but what did the man expect at this hour? It was well past midnight.

Where was her brush? She always kept it in the same place, but of course it was not to be found. She heard the front door open.

There it lay where she'd put it earlier. She pulled out the rubber band, jerking strands of hair with it. "Ouch." She combed through it quickly, washed her face, and took a quick peek in the mirror.

It would have to do.

Hauling in a deep breath for good measure, she eased out the door and made her way slowly down the hall, listening. Mr. Dunnegin and his daughter should have some time together alone.

"Father, you should see me ride my bike. Miss Blair bought it for me, and... and . . ." Her face fell as she remembered. "It got broken."

"Yes, it did. But ye're all right, lass."

Edwina couldn't help but draw closer to see them together. Was he hugging her? Telling her how much he loved her?

She stepped closer and clamped a hand over her mouth. The big Scot was crying. Not so his daughter could see, but Edwina could see through the crack in the doorway. He held her in his embrace, arms around her narrow back. She turned away, angry that she had been so nosy.

She realized then that she was still barefoot—thankfully. They would never know she'd seen. She tiptoed away to her room, put the things away she'd thrown in her hurry, then got down on hands and knees looking for those infernal shoes.

That's how Mr. Dunnegin found her. Payback. She had not shut her door.

She looked up and saw he was standing there with a smirk.

"Lost yer shoes?"

She looked at him with side-glance. "How did you know?"

"Cecelia says you never wear your shoes when you're supposed to. But that I already knew."

"She did? You do?" Edwina liked hearing her sister's name. She missed her dreadfully this minute, suddenly feeling like the third wheel.

"Aye. She told me other things too."

"Oh boy." Edwina sighed.

"Tis a good sister ye 'ave." And beautiful too was sure to follow, but it didn't. She scolded herself for being so jealous of her sister and the Scot. They'd had plenty of time together, Spencer reporting that the two had gone together to South Carolina. She waited for the next sentence to be, "We're getting married, Edwina."

"We're getting married, Edwina," she heard, and her head popped up. She tried to stand and caught her toe in the hem of her other pant leg.

"I knew that." She dusted off her hands, glad the truth was out.

"How'd ye know, lass?"

"Well... I just knew," And heaven forbid, she didn't know what came over her next, but she told him. "I even wrote a story about it."

"Aye, and will ye show it to me then?"

"No... you don't really want to... it's a first draft. Nothing a guy would want to read anyway." She pooh-poohed him, her heart breaking even though she should be happy for her sister.

"I would read it."

Oh boy, the stubborn Scot came out. Why had she opened her big mouth? Then she thought of something. And it was true. "I threw it away." She smiled.

"Ah, then I shall have to hear you tell me the story." He didn't sound too angry.

"Oh, it was nothing. Did you and Paige have a good reunion? Everything is okay, then?"

She was talking too fast and too much. "Ye changed the topic... again." She tossed him a gaze, but couldn't think of a single retort. He was much too comfortable standing there, shoulder against her door jamb, strong arms crossed over his chest, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.

"The lass sleeps. She is glad to see her father. I'll be in my office."

Oh no... the trash. Her novel was in the trash. She had to think of a way to get it before he set eyes on it. Edwina's mind raced. How embarrassing would that be? If he found it, it would be easy to see that he had been the hero and Cecelia his beloved. It shouldn't matter now after his declaration of intent to marry Cecelia... but it did.

"Sir... I... would like to go in and clean up before you try to work on the desk. The books are piled so high, and Paige's chair needs to be disassembled."

"It's late. Go to your bed," he ordered.

What now? Her mind screamed for a reasonable answer, but none came. She would have to cause a diversion. "I think my shoes are in there, under the desk. May I?"

"Of course." He set out on her tail. This was not going to be easy. Barefooted she walked in nonchalantly but set her eyes upon the yellow pads in the trash can. Her goal was to grab all five of them and get out quick. She busied herself putting away the books and eyed him to see which way he was going to take. If he went behind the desk, she could scoot the trash can her way while she pretended to look for her shoes on the floor. If he took the notion to go to the chairs near the windows, that would give her the chance to slip down to her knees, pull the trash can to her, and run with the goods.

She put a few more books away, waiting for him to take his position in the room. She watched hawkeyed and saw her cue. He seemed knee-deep in thought, standing near the windows, reading the papers he'd gathered. She slipped to the floor, grabbed the trash can, and pulled it to her slowly. Not even a squeak. She was almost home. Carefully reaching for the pads, she started to pull them out and noticed some- thing move.

Shoes. His shoes were off to the left. Surely he wasn't... drat. Red-faced and feeling foolish, she slowly looked up. She felt hog-tied for sure.

"Ah, the story." He leaned over and took the pads from her hands. She held on for as long as she could, but he pried them from her.

"Look, you're not going to read that are you?" She stood up and dusted off her pants to keep from looking at him. He could surely read the humiliation in her eyes.

When he didn't answer, she snuck a peek at him. He was staring at her blouse. What was up? He continued to look, so what else was there to do but look down? Had she forgotten to button up her blouse?

Her eyes followed to where his looked. Her blouse was buttoned all wrong—one tail was longer than the other one. She shook her head. This was so painful; it felt like she might die of something akin to mental appendicitis.

"Ye dressed quickly?" He stated the obvious.

She wanted to say, "Duhhhh." What else could possibly go wrong? And this on top of everything that had happened to Paige. It was a wonder he had any patience at all with her.

The hilarity of it all struck her like a Chinese gong. She started to giggle like the day Reardon brought the truck bumping and backfiring all the way home with those bikes in the back. She'd started, and now there would be no stop- ping . . .

"Did you know," she broke into hysteria again, "that your man Reardon drove me home in... your truck... the rusty red one out back... with the bikes in the back?" She fell over at the waist, tears coming from her eyes.

The Scot had a huge smile on his face, almost in relief it seemed, but she could barely look into his face without cracking up again.

"We... we... he... there was hay sticking out from all over... and his gloves . . ." She broke up again. "His gloves... he threw them in the trash can... they were that dirty."

Now the Scot had taken a step back and stood, feet apart, with his arms crossed over his chest. He smiled and was almost laughing with her.

"I've never heard ye laugh like that," he stated.

"I only have once... when Reardon . . ." She couldn't finish.

"He drove the auld truck, eh? Into Edinburgh?"

"Yes... and... back." She tried to cool her raging red face by fanning it. She'd totally lost control.

"You have been through too much, lass. You're losing your mind."

"Wouldn't you if you'd been through all this and then—" She stopped.

What now? She was going to cry? She was out of control.

"The lass was chasing her mother's hat. It had blown off, and she was chasing it," he said quietly.

Edwina looked up into the tall Scot's eyes.

"That still doesn't—"

"Shush, Edwina," he ordered. She clamped her mouth shut and clasped her fluttering hands together in front of her waist. When the Scot took a step closer, she just about died.

This was too much. She turned and stalked away, her bare heels banging on the floor. She had to get away.
Chapter 52

Had Edwina run from him because she feared him, or had she run because she had feelings for him? The question burned in his mind for a long time. But then everything happened with Paige's grandfather and all else had taken second place in his life. His first priority: to save his daughter from being swept out of his arms just like his wife had.

He hated God for letting his beloved wife die, and finally realized he'd forgotten that he had a daughter. When she was almost taken away, he confessed his wrong and made peace with the One who had brought Elizabeth to him in the first place. And to have given them a daughter... he'd been twice blessed. Sure, her dying wasn't planned, but neither had their meeting been a mistake. He knew that now.

He'd come to terms with himself and rested in the fact that God did know what He was doing and that He'd given him his daughter back. And He'd sent Edwina.

Twice this very evening he'd hinted to her, but she seemed not to have noticed. First the "We're getting married, Edwina" statement. She hadn't even blinked at that. Evidently she hadn't read his face. Hadn't she seen the desire in his eyes to hold her in his arms... to kiss her?

Apparently not because she had missed the point both times. He smiled, now at his desk, the yellow pads forgotten... at least by her. He'd had to pull hard to get her to release them, and he knew she'd remember he still had possession of them, just about the time she was crawling into bed. He chuckled and settled into the chair by the window, snapped on the lamp, and read. He'd best get started because once the lass realized she'd left without her manuscript, she would be back making trouble soon enough.

He read for an hour, turning page after page. She must have fallen asleep because there was no noise about the manor.

Eyes tired, he put the papers down and went to check on Paige. He looked down at his child, dark hair and eyes like her mother's. He wanted to weep. For the loss of Elizabeth. For the fact he still had his daughter. For Edwina who kept his spirits dancing while his heart was breaking.

Paige's grandfather had made too many enemies, and for that reason many of them testified against him—employees, former business partners, neighbors, even family members. Thankfully the judge had been sympathetic and understood. The billionaire's shenanigans and reputation for treating people unkindly had preceded him. Even his money couldn't buy him honor. Not this time.

He heard a noise. She was about. He turned to head back to his office to intercept the woman.

"Oh, by the way Mr. Dunnegin, Ilana came to the hospital."

He stopped smiling. "When?"

"The day you left. She came looking for you. She told me you'd sent her to take care of Paige."

"What?" His temper flared.

"But I sent her away."

"What did you say to her, lass?"

"I, well, I don't exactly remember." Her finger was at her chin. "I think I asked her to leave and to call you. I knew you could handle her."

"She is not handle able, as you say," he growled. "She is a vicious woman. I told you she was not the woman I thought her to be."

"I remembered that." Edwina raised her voice. "That's why I told her to leave. I knew you didn't want her there."

"Well done, lass. Now what're ye up to?"

Oh boy, his hands were on his hips and a strange smile rested on his face.

"Needed a drink of water." She yawned. She held it up for him to see.

The Scot eyed her.

She had gone to bed, then remembered the manuscript. She had to get out of bed, dress again, and think of a way to get it back. She'd done it all right, when he went in to check on Paige, and it lay safely underneath her bed. He'd not heard a thing.

"Well, good night, then. You should be getting to bed. It's the middle of the night," she said sleepily, sure the man would go to bed and forget.

She sidestepped him and padded down the hall, locked her door, slipped on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. This had been one long day.

Five minutes had passed before she nearly jumped out of her skin at the banging. "Shh... you'll wake Paige," she called.

"Open this door, lass." His teeth were clenched, she could tell. "I have the key, woman." Oh brother, what use was it? He had the key. She grabbed her robe, wrapped it around her, unlocked the door, and opened it a crack.

"Get it."

"What?" She feigned sleepiness.

"You know what."

"Please, I'm very tired . .. . and you've just been on the plane for what? Twelve hours?"

"Don't change the topic, lass. Ye're aboot to get a Scot mad."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" She thought to make light of it and tried to shut the door. She found herself sitting on her behind. He had pushed the door hard enough to toss her backward. "Well, of all the—"

"Where is it?" She sat there dumbfounded. Why would he care about her little story? She verbalized her thoughts.

"Because, lass, I want to know how it ends."

She started to laugh now. "Is that all? I can tell you how it ends," she offered.

"I want to read it for myself." His eyes darted around the room looking for it.

"This is the silliest conversation I've ever had. And it's late."

"Ye can go back to bed, but I'll be aboot reading tonight."

"Okay. Okay. Will you leave me alone then?" Mr. Dunnegin had the decency to look embarrassed.

Surely he had not thrown a childish fit like this before. She'd never thought he'd do such a thing, but then again she'd known him only when he was under great duress.

So this was what he was really like? Well, let him have it. She would deny it all and say he was reading too much into the story to think it was him. She'd laugh and play it off as foolishness.

Still sitting, she got to her knees, crawled over to the bed, and pulled the yellow pads from underneath.

"Should have known." He grabbed them. "I'm still ye're employer, and ye'll do well to remember it, lass."

"Well, whoop-de-do," she said to his back, getting up off the floor. She had never said such a thing in her entire life.

Hope you enjoy it, you stubborn Scot.

She has a bit of a temper, the lass does.

He straightened the pads and put them in order, pushed off his shoes with his toes, found where he'd left off, and read. It had taken two more hours, but he was satisfied the lass had written the story about him. His ego flared just a little. So she thought of him as her handsome hero.

It had ended happily. He intended to make her dreams come true.

Now more than ever, he knew he'd been looking in all the wrong places. He'd entered business partnerships making money, traveled, met beautiful women—many who would have taken the position as his wife. But not a one had told him whoop-de-do when he reminded them of his station.

And not a one had gone barefoot everywhere either, losing their shoes at a moment's notice. Not to mention the lass didn't know how to button her own blouse.

But she could write. He'd not been able to put the manuscript down, so entangled was he in the telling of the story she wrote.

Cecelia and Spencer were coming tomorrow. Cecelia had forbidden him to tell the lass. She should have minded her business and gone to bed early. He shrugged. Right now he was so elated that the legal problems with Paige's grand- father were settled, he could not think of sleeping.

He slipped into his daughter's room and looked down at her for a long time. Soon they would be a family again. That was sure—if the stubborn one would take the cues he was giving her. He smiled. There would be trouble aboot the castle if she was afoot, that was sure.

Chapter 53

Edwina heard voices. She must be dreaming. Cecelia's laugh. She shook the sleep from her dazed head. The Scot had kept her awake too long last evening with his foolish demands. What did he care about her silly novel anyway? It was only a story.

She lifted her head off the pillow. Could it be?

On came the dress pants and blouse... buttoned correctly this time. Edwina flew out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

"Cecelia!" She threw herself at her sister.

"Ed." They embraced.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"I know. I made him keep it a secret. Spencer's here, too. They're out walking."

"Oh my." Edwina sighed. "Have you met Paige yet?"

"No, she's still sleeping. Alex said you'd kept her up late last evening, playing games and eating ice cream?"

Edwina shrugged. "Aye."

Cecelia eyed her sister. "So you've taken up the Scottish accent?"

"Oh that." She laughed. "It's very hard not to."

"Aye." Cecelia laughed.

"I hear Mrs. Gillespie about the kitchen." Edwina grabbed her sister's hand and ushered her into the kitchen.

"Cecelia, Mrs. Gillespie. Mrs. Gillespie, you remember my sister Cecelia."

"Indeed. We have such fond memories of Chicago and your hospitality, my dear. It was a most memorable time."

Edwina could see the older woman's emotions floating to the surface, and changed the topic.

"It is good to be here Mrs. Gillespie." Cecelia's voice was soft.

"We'll get out of your kitchen so you can be about your work."

"Well, lass, it is good to see your family here in bonny Scotland. Ye are welcome to walk aboot the house and the grounds, making yerself at home. Would ye like pancakes this morn?"

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," both girls chimed at once. Mrs. Gillespie winked and hustled away.

"Here they come," Cecelia announced, "back from their wanderings." Spencer strode in and went straight to Edwina.

"Hey, Winnie. You look good." He held her at arm's length.

"You've changed, Spencer."

"How?"

"You look more... more sophisticated." She eyed him. "You've cut your hair. Nice. You look really good!"

"Thanks to your makeover sister. She's not happy with having a degree in Architecture and Design, she has to mess with people too."

Alex Dunnegin laughed. The kind of laugh Edwina remembered at the castle.

Hearing the commotion and new voices below, Paige called from her room. "Father, Miss Blair, who's come to visit?"

Mr. Dunnegin went up to his daughter. Edwina lagged behind, giving them a few minutes alone.

"Is she all right, Edwina? Really all right?" Cecelia's sympathy nearly undid her.

"Yes." Tears sprang into her eyes. "Thank God because... well, things could have been worse."

"I know, but they aren't. Everything will turn out the way it's supposed to."

Edwina drew back. This was not Cecelia talking. Cecelia made things happen—she didn't believe in letting God, or anyone else for that matter, decide anything she could control herself.

"You're right, sis. Very right."

"Come on, do we have time for a walk?"

"Would you mind waiting until after breakfast? I'd likeyou to meet Paige."

"Okay."

Cecelia waiting... that was interesting too.

"Did you know the Scot has a castle too? It's fourteen minutes away."

Cecelia stared at her sister. "You call him 'the Scot'?"

"Yes. Well, not to his face I don't. It's just how I think of him, I guess. He has all sorts of titles—mister, laird. I got so mixed up, I just called him the Scot in my mind. Does it sound disrespectful?" she wondered.

"No, I'm just surprised that's all." She changed topics. "Have you had time to talk to him, Ed? Since he got back, I mean?"

"Not much. We... well, never mind."

"You what?" Cecelia had picked up on her ambivalence.

"We actually got in each other's way. It's nothing." Mrs. Gillespie called and, in effect, saved her. "I'm so hungry."

"I'm starving, but you aren't going to get out of it that easy, Ed. We're going to talk later."

Edwina pretended not to hear and dashed off to the kitchen.

"Lass, since we have guests, we will eat in the dining room."

"Oh, right."

"The lass is used to eating with the help," Mrs. Gillespie explained to Cecelia.

"Does she wear shoes?"

"Nay," came the curt reply. Cecelia laughed. Edwina could not remember her sister laughing. Perhaps the Scot had drawn her out. If that was the case she wished her sister happiness.

The Scot seated the women first, insisting the Gillespie's eat with them.

Mrs. Gillespie nearly had a heart attack. In her day things were not done like this.

Edwina gently reminded the woman that the year was 2008, and it certainly was not improper to eat with one's employer, most especially if they were invited by him.

"Aye, there is little respect for station and class in this manor," Mr. Dunnegin said and gave Edwina a look.

Her eyes widened. She didn't like him talking like this in the presence of her sister or Spencer. They would think her childish and not able to take care of herself.

Everyone started talking at the same time. Even Paige. Mr. Gillespie had rigged a chair for the lass and carried her down. She seemed so happy, and Edwina nearly cried when she looked around the room. Her loved ones were around her again. And Paige was here too. The only person she missed was her father.

"How are things with my father, Cecelia?"

"He and mother are doing fine. They paid off a huge chunk of their condo and are thinking of coming to visit this fall."

"If I'm still here," she reminded her sister. Indeed it would be Cecelia who stayed with the Scot. And then there would be no need for her, since the agreement ended in September.

Every head at the table turned. Edwina started to squirm. What had she said? Cecelia looked at her like she was moldy bread, then said the strangest thing to Spencer. "She doesn't know," she whispered under her breath, but Edwina heard it with her own ears because she was sitting right next to her.

So there was an engagement to be announced. She was probably the last to know.

Chapter 54

"Alex tells me you've written a novel." Cecelia effectively changed the topic.

"Oh... yes. In my spare time. While Paige was working on her school papers, I wrote a story."

The Scot looked as though he enjoyed watching her squirm.

Spencer smiled at her. She felt her face warm slightly at his gaze. She was so glad he'd come along. Perhaps he would fly with her back to the States. And probably make some crack about her dauntless knight in shining armor. Well, what would he think when the engagement was announced? That'd show him.

Before breakfast was finished, Paige wanted her father to bring the wagon up to the manor and asked Mrs. Gillespie to get some quilts. She wanted to be outdoors.

Mr. Dunnegin and Mr. Gillespie went for the wagon while Mrs. Gillespie gathered old blankets.

"Edwina, would you take a walk with me?" Spencer held out his hand, and she took it. From the sound of things, they would be paired up. She gathered her shoes at the front door and walked with Spencer.

"There is a really pretty place I'd like to show you." She pulled him ahead. They walked in silence for a long time, the beauty before their eyes taking precedence.

"You're looking good, Winnie," Spencer whispered, rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand.

"You don't look so bad yourself." She mussed his hair. "I like the spiky do. Did Cecelia do the cut?"

"Yeah, she insisted." He shrugged almost shyly.

"She's good at everything she does," Edwina said happily.

"Not everything."

Edwina glanced sideways. Was this conversation turning serious?

"Cecelia is predictable. You've changed, though. You're not the same woman." He sounded so serious.

Edwina laughed lightly. She didn't want to hurt Spencer's feelings. "Why? I'm not different."

"Yes, you are, Winnie. You're happier. Your practical nature is still there, but you've become...," he stopped to think, "freer."

"I was always free, Spencer. I just didn't know it." She smiled.

"Well, it looks good on you." He kissed her cheek.

"Thank you. Now enough of this serious talk. Tell me about your restaurant. I couldn't believe you named it Winnie." She laughed. "Why in the world would you want to do that?"

Spencer couldn't believe his ears. How could she not have noticed he cared for her? He had kissed her twice before she left. Apparently she hadn't noticed. Now it was too late. He had lost her to her Scottish knight. He had seen the way the Scot looked at her, but Winnie was naively indifferent to it all because she never thought anyone would love her.

"Cecelia says she wants to buy another building."

"Oh Spencer, how wonderful! Can you believe how far you've come, just since I left? It hasn't even been a year. I'm so proud of you," she gushed and picked up their pace. "There's a beautiful spot I want to show you. You can see for miles."

"Father, can we go down the lane?" Paige asked from her perch in the wagon he pulled behind him. "Can I get another bike?"

"Whoa, lass, one question at a time." He looked at her, then answered, "Yes to both."

"I was scared you wouldn't let me get another bike," she said happily. "Now I don't have to be scared anymore."

"Right, but no more chasing hats in the wind—or anything else for that matter. You always look both ways and never cross without looking twice."

"I know Miss Blair told me already. I forgot," she admitted.

"Yes, I know, and see what happened to my wee lass?" He did not want to make it too big of an issue. Life was short, so recently proven to him in more than one way.

Paige chattered happily, her little girl voice mixing with the winds.

He saw movement from the corner of his eye. Edwina... with Spencer standing on a knoll. A piece of him wanted to go, but his better judgment forbade it. Things would turn out as they should. He would not hurry nor push.

Still his eyes did not leave the two as they walked... hand-in-hand... he could see now. Was it possible Edwina had feelings for Spencer? He had written her letters. He noticed them in the post.

Perhaps he had assumed too much. Edwina did not play with emotions. That he knew. She had plenty of opportunities to grab the position as his wife, yet never once posed as anything other than what she was. And he liked what she was. He had read enough in her face and by her comments, not to mention the novel, that she thought Cecelia was more suited to him.

He'd not thought from Edwina's viewpoint. He and Cecelia had been together in Chicago and South Carolina... had worked with the same attorneys. He could see how she might derive from those things that they had become a couple.

That meant... she might have feelings for Spencer. And they were out together alone, holding hands. Maybe he had been foolish in not declaring his own intentions. Twice he'd hinted at them, but they had been apart so much, he was not sure she would accept any forward attempts to reveal his heart.

Warring with his thoughts, he headed back down the lane toward the manor. There was no way he was going to lose this woman.
Chapter 55

"Father, you're going fast!" Paige held onto the sides of the wagon and laughed. "I like it," she said as she bumped along. Alex smiled. He was on a mission.

"Do ye miss yer mommy?" he blurted out.

"I didn't know her. You did," Paige said quietly. He stopped and fell to one knee.

"Ye are right. Did I ever tell ye what she was like?"

"No, but Miss Blair did. She showed me pictures and everything."

"Everything?"

"Aye, she said mommy was pretty and you loved her. Did you, father?" The brown eyes wide with anticipation, waited with childish innocence.

He thought his heart would break. "Yes, I did love her. So much we had you."

"That's what Miss Blair said." Paige squirmed. "Can we go now? I have to go to the privy."

Alex stood. So the bairn knew all these things. "We're goin', lass."

"Hurry, father," she called from behind.

"Aye." Alex picked up his pace. So this was what he would be doing these next years. He liked the idea.

"Mrs. Gillespie, we are taking our guests to dinner tonight. Ye and the mister are coming along," Alex said as he stuck his head into the kitchen doorway.

"Ach, go along with ye. Me and the mister have plans o' our own."

He looked his housekeeper in the eye. "And so that is the way of it, is it?"

"Aye. It is. Go on, have ye're fun. We would be aboot being alone here this eve if ye don't mind. And," she crooked her finger, "leave the bairn wi' us. Lass needs some rest, and her father out pulling in a wagon all day, bouncin' 'er like she was a sack of potatoes. And her wi' two broken legs. Unfit it is."

"Paige didn't mind," he said stubbornly. "And what does a bairn know, I ask ye?" He left Mrs. Gillespie to her work. He could not argue

her point. Stomping off to the barn, he fed the animals along- side Mr. Gillespie. "Laird Dunnegin, it is goot to have ye aboot the place again."

"Aye, it is good to be among my family and my lands."

"It is the way of the Scots."

"Aye. 'Tis the truth." He clapped the man on the shoulder, and pulling on his knee-high boots, helped put the animals in the barn and clean the stalls.

"This is no work for a laird." Mr. Gillespie could not abide his employer working in the stalls.

"Well, I say a man who owns a place can work it same as anybody."

"Suit yourself, lad."

They worked several hours without talking. Alex realized he hadn't worked up a good sweat in a long time. Dabbing his forehead, then resting his arms on the rake, he saw her coming.

She had on jeans and a pink T-shirt and was headed their way. He watched from the darkness of the barn. Her hair whipped about her face. It had gotten longer and she now possessed a confident gait.

When she was almost there, he went back to work. Best to let things lie for now. He needed to think and had come out here to do it. And here she was. Working in a back corner, he hoped to watch.

She went to Silsee's stall and sat and petted the lamb, talking and playing with it.

He revealed himself. "Oh, am I in the way?" She started to get up.

"Sit, lass. Ye have duty to pet and play mommy to thelamb?" Edwina couldn't help but notice his green eyes as they teased her. She looked down at her kneecaps.

"Aye. I promised."

"The lass is clever indeed."

Edwina couldn't help but laugh and agree. "Is she sleeping then?"

"Aye."

"Cecelia tells me we are to go out and celebrate your return and the good news, about Paige," she added.

"Aye. Will you be free?"

"You're my employer. Tell me I have to go." She smiled.

"Good lass. Clever like my own bairn."

"I'd better go find Cecelia." She stood and wiped the dust and hay from her clothing.

"Lass, in your hair . . ." He reached for a piece of hay and tossed it off.

"Thanks." She headed for the manor. Her heart hurt right in the middlemost part.
Chapter 56

"Great!" Cecelia and Spencer said at once.

"I'm in need of a commendable restaurant," her sister said excitedly. "Just like at home."

"And I want to meet the chef, check out the Scottish cooking style," Spencer chimed in.

"Then off we go." Alex Dunnegin said. Edwina was surprised to see him dressed so casually.

The man lived in a suit. He wore navy dress pants with a tan knit shirt.

Cecelia had on a print dress—casual, yet elegant. Edwina had chosen her flowery skirt and matching cream blouse. Spencer sported a black suede jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans. With his spiked hair, he looked like a hip movie star. The girls would be turning their heads tonight.

The foursome fit well enough, although tightly, in the Scot's black car. Reardon had to share the front seat with Spencer. Edwina wondered if he had ever done that before. Then she remembered Reardon and their fanciful experience in the rusty red truck and almost threw herself into a fit of laughter again.

The Scot ended up in the middle, the two sisters on either side of him. Cecelia had not been able to keep herself from talking about the thorn between two roses. The Scot had said glancing each way, "One rose and one daisy." She guessed immediately she was the daisy, Cecelia the rose. It was true enough.

She stared out the window, not because she was jealous, but because the truth was so apparent to her now. But God had given her a gift. The gift of freedom. She had learned so much since leaving her hometown and stepping out. She no longer needed to have everything in perfect order, nor did she need to know where she was going next. Something would work out. Her only regret would be the missing of Paige. Especially after the accident.

But then, everything happened for a reason—she was sure of that. She was no longer afraid to try new things, to laugh a little... a lot, if the situation called for it. She smiled at the thought. Then that would be what she would do. She'd be off to try something new when the time came to leave.

Reardon slowed, pulled under the portico, exited, and opened the doors, bowing slightly. He took out Cecelia first, then came around to get her. She smiled as he held out his gloved hand. To her amazement, he caught her eye and winked.

Reardon had winked at her.

They were being seated, and she still couldn't get that off her mind. Then he didn't think badly of her anymore? She was relieved. The man had character, and she had always liked him.

She sat smiling like a cat with milk on her whiskers.

Cecelia and Spencer took off to check out the restaurant. They were going to take a long walk pretending to look for the restrooms and in so doing, subtly view the presentations on clients' plates, decorations, cleanliness, and all other things restaurateurs look for.

Meanwhile, the Scot was sitting across from her, a smile resting easily on his face.

She kicked her shoes off, and one hit the table leg. She looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed.

The Scot lifted the tablecloth and looked underneath. She pulled her skirt over her knees and whispered, "What are you doing?"

He sat up straight and gazed at her pink face. He loved those blue eyes. Her saucy smile when she was irritated and the way she looked away pretending he wasn't there.

"Edwina," he called, but she refused to turn her head.

Cecelia and Spencer came back to the table, much to her relief. They began talking about all they'd learned. Edwina and Alex sat in uncomfortable silence. What did the Scot want anyway? He'd been acting strangely ever since he read her story. Had he some joke to make or something? He kept his eyes on her most of the evening.

If she had committed some faux pas, she wanted to know about it. She cast her eyes about wildly trying to avoid his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying her misery. And for that she was going to pay him back.

Suddenly she felt a kick. She pretended not to notice. Then it happened again. She did not want to be rude, but who was... It was the Scot! His face was telling. Footsie under the table, it was then, eh? She'd show him.

She scooted back and wound her stockinged feet around her chair legs where he could not reach them. Such goings on in a nice restaurant. And with Cecelia sitting right here.

Edwina could see he was trying not to let anyone notice, but she saw right through him. He was trying to find her to kick her again.

The meal came and right on time. Suddenly talk turned to other things, and she was able to eat in perfect peace.

Her employer paid for the meal. Cecelia and Spencer wanted one more walk around, and they promised to be back in ten minutes. The Scot rose, so she followed. She dug her toes around seeking her shoes. Sneaking a glance under the table, she couldn't see them. Panic. Where were they? She was still bending this way and that trying to lay eyes upon the shoes.

"Looking for these?" Mr. Dunnegin showed her the shoes, then stuck one in each back pocket.

"Give me those. Sir." She remembered her manners.

"Not a chance, babe," he said smartly. Babe? Edwina's eyebrows rose high enough to nearly touch her widow's peak. So he wasn't going to give them to her. Well, she'd show him. She'd walk right through the restaurant without them and hope she embarrassed him. That would serve the stubborn man right.

Cecelia and Spencer joined them. He ignored her feeble attempts to get next to him so she could rescue her shoes from his pockets. Now she was getting mad. It was time to go and no shoes.

The Scot led the way. She followed Cecelia and Spencer, face red as a Michigan apple as she made her way through the patrons, knowing they were staring at her shoeless feet.

"Give me my shoes, you Scot." She sidled up next to him and whispered loudly.

"For a kiss, lass."

Edwina sputtered. "How dare you?"

"Ye dare a Scot?" He sounded menacing.

"No... it's just that . . ." She looked around lest Cecelia should hear such talk.

"They took a walk," Mr. Dunnegin told her.

"What... so you think you can play games with me?"

"No games, lass." His green eyes turned greener. Edwina didn't understand anything about this whole affair. What had happened to the serious Scot... the one who made great work of his station? Who hardly ever smiled or left work long enough to come home for more than a few days? She scolded herself. He had been concentrating on keeping his daughter from being swept away by an evil grandfather. That's what he was doing, Edwina. There you go judging people again.

They were at the car. Reardon was not there. The Scot opened the door and commanded, "Sit."

She got in and then he said, "Turn, put yer feet out here."

Edwina turned on the seat, her legs dangling out of the car door. "So, you've decided to let me have my shoes, have ye?" She was not even near the forgiving point.

"Aye." He reached for her ankle. His hand was warm. His fingers resting on her skin felt like a caress. She shivered.

"Cold?"

"Yes. No. It's okay... just give me my shoes." She shot her hand out. Perhaps it would be better if she put them on herself.

"Quit fidgeting, lass," he said, the strangest smile on his face.

Edwina felt the shoe being put on her foot. He was so slow about it. She thought she'd die of embarrassment if he didn't get to it. Not to mention the shivers going up her leg at his warm touch.

Then he reached for her other ankle and put that shoe on so slowly she thought she was going to scream. "Would you get up?" she said looking around. "People will think this is all very strange, you kneeling like that," she whispered and pulled her feet into the car.

He remained there. Edwina could not imagine his purpose. He just kept looking at her. She started to wonder if her clothes were buttoned up wrong and snuck a look.

"What?" She finally squeaked.

"Do ye see I'm on one knee, lass?" She looked down.

"Aye, so?"

"Do ye see anything in my eyes?"

She looked. And looked away. Her heart had jumped from its safe position in her chest. He looked... like... she saw love there. Surely not for her. . . .

She gazed over his shoulder looking for Cecelia. Surely he . . .

He continued to look at her, the stubborn Scot that he was.

Her nerves were jingling. "Look at me, lass." She could not. Her eyes darted about. "Ye cannot get away."

"I... I... would have you know . . ." Just then she saw his face coming closer. Before she could say another word, he was kissing her. Her. Her arms flailed.

"What if Cecelia sees us?" She pushed him away, righteous anger sputtering from her mouth. The Scot sat back on his haunches, giving her a chance to catch her breath.

His tone serious, he said, "I've noticed ye honor beauty and skill. I would have chosen ye're sister if I admired those attributes."

He sounded sad.

Edwina's heart began to crack. Tears crept up and attempted to gush out in a flood.

"Lass, I've chosen you."

"Me?" she was truly shocked.

"Ye lass." For once in her life, Edwina did not know what to say.

"It is ye I love." He made the point clear, for by the looks of it she wasn't listening. Then he was kissing her again. Softly his lips moved across hers. So it was true, then. No man could kiss a girl like that and not mean it... at least she hoped above all things that it was true. She could feel her boneless arms trying to reach up and put them around the man's neck.

He helped her. She felt his warm touch on her forearms as they were lifted up.

When the kiss ended, Edwina could barely stand the chill she felt when he moved away and got on one knee again. "Will ye marry me, Edwina Emily Blair? Me and Paige, lass?"

Edwina hesitated and wished more than anything she could hear him say it again—just to be sure. But no, he had said it. His eyes told her it was true.
Chapter 57

As suddenly as the words were spoken, Edwina began to doubt. How could the Scot care for her? Love her? She had no illusions. The man could get any woman he wanted and had proven that to her the minute she'd met him. He had been hurrying home to meet the woman he was to marry, his fiancée.

So what had transpired from then until now? She could not allow herself to be taken in by foolishness. Her practical spirit rose and argued with her romantic heart.

He was watching her face as two pink dots formed on her cheeks, evidence of her fearful thoughts.

The man was even now on his knee awaiting her answer.

Cecelia and Spencer rounded the corner, and she breathed as they stopped a ways off smiling.

So they knew? How could they know and she not know? Was this a game? Her mind was frantic with fear. Surely he meant to ask Cecelia, not her.

Yet he was waiting. Sick with guilt and denial, she heard herself laugh.

"Ye laugh, lass?"

He was standing now.

"No... I just . . ." She shook her head and sought his eyes again. She saw the look of pain there.

"I mean . . ." She needed to see the look of love she thought she saw only seconds ago, but it was gone.

The Scot stepped back and glanced at Reardon, made a sign, and walked around the back of the car.

Cecelia stepped forward and then put her arm in front of Spencer who also looked at her as though she'd grown purple ears.

What was with everyone? Didn't they know what just happened could not have possibly been meant for her? Tears popped up. This was too much.

Reardon held the door, as Alex signaled for Cecelia and Spencer to join her in the backseat. He sat in front.

No one spoke. Cecelia tried to make light conversation, but her words dropped like a rock in water. Edwina wanted to shout at everyone. What was the matter with them? If this was a game of survivor, she didn't like it.

Lord, help me to understand. Her thoughts bounced back and forth like a ricocheting bullet. Maybe she was supposed to act faint and go along with the charade. This man had eyes. Couldn't he see she was plain and practical? Not anything like Ilana? Or Cecelia? Maybe he just wanted a mother for Paige, someone he could trust to be the closest thing to a mother the child would have.

Even that was honorable. Why had she balked? Edwina answered her own question. Because she would never be all that man needed. Not now, not ever.

As soon as Alex stepped out of the car, he was gone and Spencer with him. Cecelia waited until she saw them disappear and said, "What happened, Ed?"

"What do you mean?" Edwina fidgeted and slipped her shoes off, the ones the Scot had only put on. Her face burned at the memory. "Nothing happened."

"I can see that." Cecelia's hands were waving about. "Can't you see that he loves you?"

Edwina stared at her sister. "He can't love me." She waved her arms, put on her shoes and exited the car.

Before she'd gotten two steps, Cecelia grabbed her and turned her around. "Give me one good reason why you are acting this way, Ed."

The words were menacing, and Edwina knew she'd crossed her sister, something she rarely did.

"What way? This is all so silly. Everybody knows you don't just decide to get your child a mother and pick the first one who comes along," she sputtered.

"Comes along? Don't you know Alex has had feelings for you ever since you arrived the first time?"

Edwina laughed. "Yeah, right."

"That was Ilana. Alex told you that." She calls him Alex. Edwina sterilized her heart and said the words.

"It's you he cares about, Cecelia. You're his type, I'm not."

"Oh, you are blind. Blind as a ball bat." Her sister threw up her hands and stepped out of the car. "You have a man, a good man, who cares about you, and what do you do? Toss him off like yesterday's stock prices."

"It's blind as a bat, Cecelia. And what do you know? You're the one who is right for him, Cecelia. Not me."

"And why not you?"

"Look, I'm a librarian, for goodness' sake. He's laird of a castle. And, if you haven't noticed, he's about the handsomest man I've ever met. What would he want with me?

"You spend way too much time putting yourself down. Are you that small that you base everything on looks?"

Cecelia was pounding her fist in her palm. This was not good.

Edwina clamped her mouth shut. Did she?

"See, you can't answer. I thought you had more sense." Her sister turned on her heel, her flowered dress swinging in the aftermath. And Edwina stood there alone. Hot tears formed and fell.

She had grown as a person, stepped out of her comfort zone, made a move across the Atlantic Ocean, and taken on the care of a young child. Didn't that count for something?

It seemed that everything she did failed. It must have been that story. She was going to tear it up. All this fluff about romance, dreams, and foolish frippery. The only thing she had going for her was her practical nature, and up to this day and hour it had served her well enough.

Maybe she would be an old maid. But at least she wouldn't have to look into the eyes of a good man and see him suffer for making a wrong decision. There was only one thing she wanted: to be in Paige's life. But that did not mean her father had to give up his right to happiness. Edwina stomped her foot and headed up the stairs to her room.

Maybe everybody else was blind around here, but she wasn't. The man was giving up his life to make his daughter happy. Well, she wasn't going to be party to that! Best to pack her things and head right back to her safe place. Another small city, another small-town library.

She slammed the door for good measure. All good intentions, but not aimed well. Edwina threw her shoes at the door, remembering him standing there in the crack talking to her one evening. What in the world had happened?

The bath water was running and so were her eyes. Edwina squirted rose-scented soap into the water—and then an extra dose for good measure—and watched the bubbles rise. She slipped in and sobbed until her eyes could not possibly squeeze another tear from them.

A knock at the door sounded, and she jumped. Who could be about this hour of the night? It must be well past midnight. Then she heard the slight creak of the door. Someone was coming in.

"Lass, I'm coming in." came the familiar voice.

"Oh Bertie, you frightened me," she said through her stuffy nose. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Aye, and I think ye have become a bairn." She stood in the doorway.

"A baby?" Edwina wanted to cry again.

"Tis so." Bertie began picking up her clothes, all the while muttering from the bedroom.

"What are you doing up, Bertie?" she asked quietly.

"Seeing to the laird." She was back in the doorway. Edwina stared at her, too tired to try and figure out what the woman meant.

"Get up out of there." Bertie held out the cherry pink towel. Edwina got up and allowed herself to be wrapped. "Tis a fine lass that turns down the laird." she snapped.

"And a foolish one."

"He wasn't asking me to... to marry him. He just needed a mother for Paige," she said quietly. "I admire him for that, but I would not saddle him like that for anything."

"Saddle?"

"Yes, you know, tie him down."

"Ye mean with ropes?" Bertie looked askance.

"No." Edwina giggled and popped a tissue from the box and blew her nose. "I just mean . . ."

"There now, lass. Tell Bertie all about it." Edwina allowed Bertie to put a soft white robe around her and stepped up on the box, throwing herself across the huge four-poster bed.

"I'm so confused, Bertie. Nothing's going like I planned. Everybody's mad at me, and I don't know what I did. I'm just trying to understand why a man like... Alex," she whispered his name, "would ask someone like me to marry him."

Bertie, sitting on the end of the bed, waited.

"I mean, I know why he asked. Paige needs a mother and—"

"Wait, lass. Ye think the laird asked ye for the bairn's sake?"

Edwina nodded slowly, feeling like a teenager after her first broken heart.

Bertie's hand hit the bed. "Ach, the American is a bairn herself."

No words came out of Edwina's mouth. She knew it was true. She was a baby. A big baby.

"Have ye no brains up in yer noggin?" Bertie pointed to her temple. "I'll not have the laird pairin' up with the likes of ye. Mark my very words," she sputtered and stomped away.

"Bertie—"
Chapter 58

There was no sleep that night. Edwina tossed, turned, cried, and tried to make sense of it all. How had everything so wonderful turned out so badly? Cecelia and Spencer were here, she had made a success of the relationship she and Paige had forged, and best of all, she'd done it all on her own. Stepped out of her comfort zone and done it. What more could they ask of her?

Just because the Scot was a true gentleman, that didn't mean she should take advantage of him. Didn't they see that? There were so many other woman who would make him a good wife.

Morning broke and with it came a downpour, matching her mood. The thunder rolled and echoed across the hills. When the lightning turned the room blue, she hid her head under the covers.

Her hair lay thick on the pillow. It had soaked up many a tear the last few hours. What now? Go down to breakfast and act like everything was okay? Obviously she could not take Cecelia and Spencer outdoors for a walk in the beau- tiful countryside. And after everything that happened, she doubted she'd be welcome at the castle. Not even by Bertie.

Lord, I'm confused. I'm overwhelmed. Please help me to know what to do. I don't really know what happened, and I don't know how to fix it.

Besides that, her face was red and her stuffy nose accounted for the fact that she decided to stay in bed.

Hours passed and in misery, she fell asleep for a couple of hours and awoke with a huge headache. Someone pounded on the door.

"Winnie, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Spencer, I'm not in the mood for company."

"Are you decent?"

"Yes, but—" She heard the door open.

"Hope so, cause nothing could keep me out." He stepped into the room. Edwina sat up and pulling the covers up to her chin, ran her fingers through her hair. Spencer looked so concerned that she wanted to cry.

"Look, I'm a mess. I really don't feel like—"

"Feel like it or not, you're going to listen," he said and landed on the bed at her feet. "Cecelia tells me you've turned your knight in shining armor away."

"Stop saying that."

"Why? Can't you believe what you've seen with your own eyes?"

"What? What have I seen, Spencer? A man trying to show his gratefulness by marrying me?" She held her hands up as though to protect herself from Spencer's words.

"Gratefulness? Winnie, you've taken one too many college courses."

She cringed.

"Get this right. I'm only going to say it once. The man loves you."

Edwina paused. "He couldn't... how could he? We've been employer/employee, that's all. Why, he's never even said my name aloud, well, except once or twice." That should prove my point.

"So what's that supposed to mean? Scots pay a lot of attention to titles, you know. It means nothing. If you can't tell the man loves you, you're not the person I thought you to be."

"You too? Everybody is frustrated with me. I'm trying to do the right thing, and all I get is sorry looks and angry comments."

"Take a look around you, Win. You've got your story- book prince, and you don't even know it."

Edwina pulled the covers up higher.

"You just don't want to face it. Cecelia's going to wring your neck if you mess this up."

"What?"

"She's changed, too, in case you haven't noticed."

"I have noticed. She's sweeter. See, I'm not as bad as you all think I am."

"Have you also noticed that she loves you? She wanted to go after Alex, but when she found out he had feelings for you, she backed off, just like that." He snapped his fingers.

"She did? Have feelings for him?" Her voice faltered.

"Yeah, have you opened your eyes lately? The man's kind, thoughtful, well enough off and good-looking—or haven't you noticed?"

"Looks are nice," she admitted. "Yes, I have noticed how his eyes turn greener when he wears... but that's beside the point. I'm not his type. Look at me, my hair all over the place. I'm not saying I'm awful, Spencer. I'm saying I think he deserves better."

"Oh wow, we are humble now, aren't we? Since when did you decide who belongs to whom? And that the man doesn't know what he likes in a woman? Ah, the gal has lost her mind." His hands whipped the air as he jumped off the bed and began to pace.

Edwina shrugged. "Everything will work out. Just let it rest, will you?"

Spencer stopped and turned. "Ah, so you think this will all fall in place. I can tell you one thing—that man won't be coming after you. You'll be doing the going, after the way you laughed at him."

"I didn't laugh at him."

"Yes, you did. I saw you. And believe me, it takes us guys a lot of guts to ask a woman to marry us. But laughing... that's out of line, Winnie." He wagged his index finger in the air.

Edwina looked down, ashamed. "I didn't mean to laugh. I just couldn't imagine him asking me instead of Cecelia. That's all."

"Well, does the guy know that? I mean, talk about insensitive."

"Insensitive? I'm trying to save the guy from making a mistake."

"Mistake?" The voice came from the doorway.

Spencer stopped pacing and turned. "She's all yours. Try your hand at her." He saluted the Scot and stalked out the door, his heels hitting the floor hard.

Edwina pulled the covers tighter under her chin, horrified that the man stood in her bedroom doorway and she in bed, red-eyed and in disarray.

"Get dressed and come down to the library. We're going to talk," he said.

She heard the door click shut quietly, and her head pounded even more.

"Okay, let's get this taken care of. I'm sick of everybody telling me what I ought to think and say and do," she mumbled, dragging her body from the bed.

Lord, I'm trusting you to give me the words to say.

Edwina checked her face in the mirror. This ought to seal the deal. She was a mess. Face splotchy from crying, nose red, hair a wreck from lying in bed. A brush pulled out the tangles. She cleaned her teeth all the while talking around the toothbrush. "I don't know what everybody wants from me. And Paige, dear thing, is in the middle of all this."

Pulling on her oldest blue jeans and the pink T-shirt, she slipped into her flats and clip-clopped down the hallway. He would hear her coming. Good enough, for this was going to end right here, right now. She was going home. He would have to find another wife—one he loved, not one he needed as a mother for his daughter.

She wanted to cry at the thought of leaving Paige, but once she'd made up her mind, she was as stubborn as the Scot. When had she become so stubborn?

Edwina took a huge breath and pulled in her courage. She knocked.

"Enter, lass."

See, he's already back to calling me lass... just as it should be.

Edwina stepped inside the man's office and was met face-to-face. Before she had time to say her piece, she found herself being pulled by the elbow. "Where are we going?"

"Out."

He grabbed her umbrella from the stand as he opened the door. "Here."

"But it's raining. We can't walk."

He pulled another umbrella out and once outdoors, opened it. She could do nothing but open hers and follow him.

He started down the hills toward the outbuildings, sloshing through the water. She followed, but his long legs outpaced her.

"Keep up." His voice brooked no arguments.

"Where are we going?" She cringed as lightning snapped across the way.

He didn't answer. Besides, she was too busy sidestepping the puddles.

They arrived at the little barn where the rusty red truck was parked. He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door for her. "Get in."

She did.

He installed his umbrella in the truck bed, and Edwina almost laughed. The thing would probably fall through the holes at the first bump.

The Scot looked so big in the small truck, but he bent down and turned the key in the ignition. It puffed and struggled, then fired to life. It backfired once, and Edwina clamped her hand over her mouth.

The gears squawked like a mad goose, and the rusty red bucket jerked forward. He leaned down to see out of the dirty window.

She didn't dare speak. They bumped over the yard until they reached the main road, and he put the accelerator to the floor. She could see the road passing beneath them through a small hole. They were moving along.

After a silent ten minutes, he started to talk.

"Ye know this truck belonged to my grandfather. He drove me in this thing when I was but a lad. And he never once treated me the way ye did the other day."

Edwina swallowed, opened her mouth to justify her meaning, and shut it again.

"We used to go fishing, and he taught me to drive when I was but ten. Aye, we spent many a day at the market pulling boxes of strawberries off the back of this auld truck."

Edwina began to relax a little as he told her about his boyhood. "I had an older brother. He would have been the keeper of the castle, had he not been killed. He drank like my own father and between the two o' em, they made my mother miserable and me as well.

"I, the second son, was never intended to inherit my grandfather's land, but when my foolish brother was killed in a drunk driving accident, he left my parents to mourn their lives away to their deaths. I swore I'd never drink, and I never have. I married the woman I loved, and Paige came along. Then I lost my wife . . ."

Edwina felt her throat tighten.

"And I never thought to marry again. After a time I began to see Paige needed a mother. Someone who could teach her womanly things—to dance like her mother, to have tea parties, and enjoy life. I began to look aboot and made a fool of myself many times over women who seemed interested when all they wanted was the title, the money, or the castle. I never knew which."

Edwina swallowed past the lump in her throat. "But I have never had a lass laugh at my proposal."

Her voice croaked. "I'm so sorry. I was foolish.... I never meant to have it sound like it did."

"Are ye sure, lass? Ye think I make a mistake in asking ye? I heard ye say it." This time she thought carefully before answering.

"Yes, I do."

"Why, lass?" He turned his eyes to her for a moment and then back to the road again. How could she explain? What was her reason anyway?

She'd totally forgotten. Thoughts flew from every direction, but not a word came out of her mouth.

"Have ye lost ye're tongue? I won't be stopping until ye answer."

"You might run out of gas." She tried to be funny.

"Aye, and that's fine w' me, lass. We'll be out in the hills, you and me, with no way to get home. Then what will ye say?"

Edwina stiffened. She didn't like the sound of that.

"Look, I can't even give you an answer. Isn't it enough to tell you I'm the wrong person for you?"

"What? State yer reason, woman. Ye are confusing me."

"You need a mother for Paige... and I appreciate being thought of... but I'm not... not the woman for you."

"Ah, so ye know what I'm needin' in a woman then?"

"Well, no. Yes. I... oh I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just know it's not me."

With that Edwina felt the truck slow down. He pulled off the road under a clump of trees and turned off the ignition. He sat staring out through the windshield.

Edwina thought she would die if he didn't say something. The quiet rain washed countryside lay before them like a treasure, yet her heart was heavy, afraid of something. It was the inaudible gulf between them.

The rain stopped. "We'll walk."

He came around for her and offered his hand. She accepted, but her traitorous legs felt weak. He took her hand in his and led her across the hills, pulling her along through the wet grass, saying nothing.

Where were they going? And how much did this man think she could take before falling head over heels for him? She'd guarded her heart, even choosing to write the story instead of thinking about him. Now they were alone on the hills... and after he'd kissed her like he did. She was only human. Lord, help me to be strong.

"Slow down, you're going too fast." She caught her breath.

"Aye, it is true."

"What?"

"I am going too fast." He dropped her hand and stood staring over the valley that lay before them. Edwina turned her eyes to where he looked. Breathtaking beauty lay in bright green and golden splendor. Had eyes ever seen a more heavenly place? She gazed smitten with gratitude that God should allow man to view such grandeur.

"Ah, ye see it too, don't ye, lass?" She could not form a word in her throat. "It is my homeland. My place of birth. See that little cottage there?" He pointed. "The brown stone one with the little windows?"

She followed his finger. "That's where my grandfather was born."

"It's beautiful. He woke up every morning and saw all of this." Even her whisper seemed intrusive in the tranquil surroundings.

"Aye. That is the truth. He lived in a run-down cottage, took water from the stream, had barely enough to eat, yet was one of the greatest men I knew."

The Scot paused and so did Edwina's heart. He was sharing the deepest part of his life with her.

"He saw the beauty before him. And even though his family possessed little, they were privy to all of this."

Several minutes passed before she heard his voice again.

"I have before me, lass, another beautiful creation. The one I speak of thinks she possesses little, but she has all of this." He waved his hand to include it all.

Edwina heard the words, and slowly she realized what he was saying. Afraid to move lest she be wrong in her assumptions, she stared out across the land, her lips quivering.

A warm, masculine hand slid along her jaw, and she broke. Sobbing, she turned into the arms that awaited her.

"Ah, lass, let it out. Ye have kept yer dreams inside, wrote them in a story, but never allowed yerself to possess them. I would have ye be mine, if you would have me."

Edwina sobbed into his shirt and felt his gentle hand at the back of her head. He cradled her between strong shoulders, offering her his love. So it was true then.

God had brought her back. She could let go, she could accept this man's love. She pulled back, fearing yet knowing she must see his eyes.

Green, and full of love, he shared with his look what she needed to know. It wasn't her imagination or a made-up story. Her heart was afire with love for the man she'd tried not to love, the one she tried to put away from her for his own good. But he didn't want to go.

Suddenly her heart sank. Now that she loved him, she feared already that should she lose that love, she would die. But there was no turning back. Love required walking on the water... she knew that now. And if it meant walking on water, she would have to do it or die trying.

Lord, help me to love him and Paige the way they need it most.

"Lass, ye are thinking too much. I have asked ye twice."

Edwina looked up. "Will ye be my wife, Edwina?"

He looked down at her from his height, and Edwina heard herself say, "Aye, Scot, I'll be your wife."

"I'll not ask ye again." His words softened as his lips came down to hers. And for the first time, she kissed, really kissed, the man she loved.

Afterward he reached down, slipped off her shoes, put them in his pockets, and pulled her alongside him, the wet spring grasses tickling her bare feet.

Edwina looked at the green, green hills and knew she was home.
Epilogue

Days and nights of blissful happiness passed for three years, Edwina in her castle, a man in her heart, a mother for Paige, and another wee one on the way.

And her name on two books. She had loved and been loved enough to write more romance tales. Alex read them all and kissed her silly after she finished each one, saying he would never have known the love of a barefoot woman climbing on the ladder had she not been researching her first book.

She'd climbed that ladder ten dozen times, all except for the last nine months. Alex had forbidden her to go traipsing up and down the thing until the lad was born. He insisted he would father a son.

Twelve days after the due date, a son was born. The first of three. Paige was the only girl. She paid dearly, for as she grew, her brothers made it their life's work to give her callers as much misery as she could stand. A bit more, them being stubborn like their father.

Exactly twenty years after their marriage, and on the same day as her own wedding day, Edwina did see Paige become the bride. That had been one dream she never thought to realize. But Paige's white gauzy dress blew in the wind as the knight came for his bride upon a horse... right on these very hills.

Thank you for reading Edwina. I hope you enjoy her journey.

Other books by Patricia Strefling.

Cecelia

Beyond Forgiveness

Ireland Rose

And soon Rose's Legacy
