The Blue Hackle Read Online Free PDF

to help you. We don’t travel
light.”
    Regaining traction, Jean’s brain recognized
the accent of her own country people. More or less—she guessed
northeast corridor. The appended “already” from the other side of
the door should have tipped her off. “Um, yeah, I’ll call Fergus
MacDonald, the owner.”
    Realization swept the man’s face. “She’s not
a servant, Heather.”
    Heather’s face knotted in suspicion. “Who is
she, then?”
    Jean bit back a tart, Someone who can hear
you just fine , and said only, “I’m Jean Fairbairn, I’m a guest
here, but we’ve got kind of a situation so I answered the door. The
doorbell doesn’t work, by the way. We found that out this aft—”
    “A situation?” Scott demanded.
    Heather placed her hand protectively on the
child’s wool-encased shoulder.
    “Someone’s had a fall down at the old castle.
I need to—”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. How about we just
let ourselves in, okay?” Scott threw the door open and headed back
outside. His hiking boots, so new they squeaked, were already
muddy—black smudges traced his path in and out.
    I’ve already let you in. But that
didn’t matter. Taking two steps backwards, sweat trickling down her
back beneath her shirt, Jean said, “Great. Fergus or his daughter
Diana will be along any min—”
    “We booked a suite,” said Heather. “A
king-size for us, a single for Dakota here.”
    The child spoke up. “Please tell me the
bathroom’s not down the hall. One of my girlfriends stayed in a B
and B and said the bathroom was down the hall and you had to share
with strangers.”
    “It’s all en suite. That is, the bathroom and
toilet’s attached to the bedroom.”
    Two pairs of eyes stared at her.
    “Here, a bathroom can be just that, a room
with a bath, it doesn’t automatically come with a toilet.”
    Through the doorway Jean saw Scott pulling
bag after bag from the trunk of an SUV. Beyond him, headlights
jounced over the ribbon of tarmac that passed for a driveway. Was
that the constable from Kinlochroy? It seemed like twenty hours
since Alasdair called, but it was probably only twenty minutes.
    Yes, the reflective stripe on the side of a
small, square all-terrain vehicle caught the lights of the house as
it drove by. Would the local arm of the law reach as far as the old
castle? The designation “all-terrain” was more hope than fact when
it came to this rough ground.
    “Nice meeting you,” Jean said, “I’ve got
to—oh!”
    A woman swanned down the helix of the
staircase, her feet in their chaste low-heeled pumps skimming the
stone treads, her body swaying like a willow wand in black pants
and white Aran sweater, her blonde hair flowing in satin waves away
from the red roses blooming in her cheeks. An angel descending
Jacob’s ladder would look like a chimpanzee in comparison. “Did I
hear . . . Oh, hello there! You’re the Krum family, I expect. I’m
Diana MacDonald. Ceud mille failte! ”
    “Say what?” Heather’s lipstick had worn off,
leaving only the darker red of the liner tracing her lips, so that
her grimace was that of a cartoon character.
    “A thousand million welcomes,” said Dakota.
“That’s Gaelic. They speak Gaelic here.”
    “Aren’t you a clever lass!” Diana’s smile
cast sunshine throughout the room. “Thank you, Jean, for playing
hostess. I apologize for the broken doorbell.”
    “No problem,” Jean said, backpedaling even
more rapidly. She hated to miss Diana in action, but she hated even
more to leave Alasdair alone in the dark with a—situation.
    “Is that Mr. Krum?” Diana asked.
    Scott tramped in, juggling a matched set of
leather-trimmed bags and suitcases. “Oh, hi.”
    “Leave the luggage,” said Diana, “We’ll
organize it. Your accommodations are in the William Wallace suite,
a double bedroom and a foldaway bed in the sitting room. Drinks are
at half-past-six in the library, and dinner at half-past-seven.
This way, please.”
    “I could use a