Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye
I’d forgotten.’
Without waiting on her, he turned on his heel and began to walk quickly up the slope towards the central staircase. ‘Like someone determined to swallow their medicine as quickly as they can and get it over with,’ Ainsley muttered, stalking after him.
‘What was that?’
‘This may be a monstrosity to you, Innes, but to someone accustomed to a terraced house in Edinburgh, it’s magical.’
Innes stopped abruptly. ‘Ach, I’m like a beast with a sore head. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’
No, it was most definitely this place. Curious as she was, and with a hundred questions to boot, Ainsley had no desire to see him suffer. ‘We could leave it for today. Or I could look around myself.’
‘No,’ Innes said firmly, ‘it has to be done.’ He took her hand, forcing a smile. ‘Besides, you came here thinking you’d be lady of the manor—you’ve a right to see over your domain. I’m only sorry that it’s bound to be a disappointment.’
‘I did not come here with any such expectations. Aside from the fact that I know absolutely nothing about the management of a place this size, I am perfectly well aware that your people will regard a destitute Edinburgh widow without a hint of anything close to blue in her blood as nothing more than an upstart.’
Innes gave a startled laugh. ‘You’re not seriously worried that people here will look down their noses at you, Ainsley?’
‘A little,’ she confessed, embarrassed. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it until I arrived here yesterday. Then your boatman...’
‘Ach! Blasted Eoin. Listen to me. First, if there’s an upstart here, then it’s me. Second, for better or worse, I’ll be the laird while I’m here, and while you’re here, I will not tolerate anyone looking down their noses at you. Third, the state of your finances are nobody’s business but our own.’ He pulled her closer, pushing a strand of her hair out of her eyes. ‘Finally, though I have no intention of playing the laird and therefore there’s no need for you to play lady of the manor, if I did, and you did, then I think you’d play it very well. And on the off chance you couldn’t quite follow me,’ he added, ‘that was me saying you’ve not a thing to worry about.’
She felt a stupid desire to cry. ‘Thank you, I will try not to let you down.’
‘Wheesht, now,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘You’ll do your best, and that’s all I ask. Anyway, it’s not as if you are stepping into a dead person’s shoes. My mother died when I was eight years old.’
‘And your father never remarried?’
Innes gave a crack of laughter. ‘What for, he’d already produced an heir and a spare.’
‘What about your brother. Did he...?’
‘No.’
Another of those ‘do not dare ask’ faces accompanied this stark denial. And Innes would not be married either, were it not for the terms of the old laird’s will. Were the Drummond men all misogynists? Or perhaps there was some sort of dreadful hereditary disease? But Innes seemed perfectly healthy. A curse, then? Now she was being utterly fanciful. It was this place. Ainsley gave herself a little shake. ‘Well, then, let us go and inspect this castle of yours, and see what needs to be done to make it habitable.’
* * *
Everything inside Strone Bridge Castle was done on a grand scale. The formal salons opened out one after the other around the central courtyard with the Great Hall forming the centrepiece, heavy with geometric panelling, topped with rich fretwork ceilings like icing on a cake, or one of those elaborate sugar constructions that decorates the table at a banquet. Massive fireplaces and overmantels rose to merge the two, and everywhere, it seemed to Ainsley, every opportunity had been taken to incorporate heraldic devices and crests. Dragons and lions poked and pawed from pilasters, banisters and pediments. Shields and swords augmented the cornicing, were carved into the marble fireplaces and fanned out above the windows. It was beautiful, in an oppressive and overwhelming way.
The turrets that marked each corner were dank places with treacherous-looking staircases winding their way steeply up, and which Ainsley decided she did not need to climb. ‘They serve no real purpose,’ Innes told her. ‘A whim of my father’s, nothing more.’
* * *
After two hours and only a fraction of the hundred and thirty rooms, she had seen enough for one day. Back in the courtyard, she gazed up at the central tower, which was square and not round, and faced directly out over the Kyles of Bute. Bigger than the others, it seemed to contain proper rooms, judging from the wide windows that took up most of the sea-facing wall on each of the four stories. Ainsley wrestled with the heavy latch, but it would not budge.
‘It’s locked.’ Innes made no attempt to help her. ‘Has been for years. Most likely the key is long gone, for it’s not on here,’ he said, waving the heavy bunch of keys he carried.
Ainsley frowned at the lock, which seemed surprisingly new, and showed no sign of rust, wondering how Innes would know such a thing when he himself had not been here for years. ‘The view from up there must be spectacular,’ she said, looking back up at the battlements.
Innes had already turned away. ‘We’ll take a look at the kitchens.’
‘There must be a door from inside the castle,’ Ainsley said, frowning at the tower in frustration, trying to recall the exact layout of rooms that lay behind it. ‘Is that the dining room? I don’t recall a door, but...’
‘The door isn’t in the dining room.’ Innes was holding open another door. ‘Do you want to see the kitchens? I was hoping to get out to some of the farms this afternoon.’
He sounded impatient. Though this was all new to her, for him it was different. ‘I can come back myself another time,’ Ainsley said, joining him.
‘I don’t want you going up there,’ Innes said sharply. ‘It’s not safe.’
She cast a dubious look at the tower, thinking that it looked, like the rest of the castle, neglected though sound, but Innes was already heading down the narrow corridor, so she picked up her skirts and walked quickly after him.
A few moments later she forgot all about the locked tower, gazing in astonishment at the table that ran almost the full length of the servants’ hall. It looked as if it would sit at least fifty. ‘Good grief, how many staff does it take to keep this place running?’
Innes shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. Even in my youth, most of the rooms were closed up, save for formal occasions, and there were few of those. My father was not the most sociable of men.’
They exited the servants’ hall and entered the main kitchen, which had two bread ovens, a row of charcoal braziers, a stove the size of a hay cart and the biggest fireplace Ainsley had ever seen. Out through another door, they wended their way through the warren of the basement, past linen rooms and still rooms, pantries and empty wine cellars, and then back up a steep flight of stairs to another door that took them out to the kitchen gardens.
Innes turned the lock and turned his back on the castle. ‘As you can see, the place is uninhabitable,’ he said.
He sounded relieved. She couldn’t understand his reaction to it. ‘Is the building itself in such a poor state of repair, is it the cost of restoring it you’re worried about?’
‘It’s sound enough, I reckon. There’s no smell of damp and no sign that the roof is anything but watertight, though I’d need to get one of my surveyors to take a look. But what would be the point?’
‘I have no idea, but—you would surely not wish to let it simply fall into ruin?’
‘I could knock it down and get it over with.’ Innes tucked the weight of keys into his coat pocket with a despondent shrug. ‘I don’t know,’ he said heavily, ‘and I think I’ve