Moreton's Kingdom by Jean S. Macleod Page A

longer a danger to us, that you’re not the sort of person I think you are.’
    ‘What does that mean?’ Katherine demanded when she recovered her breath.
    Charles considered her through his driving mirror, meeting her challenge with a faint smile.
    ‘It means that you and I think along the same lines,’ he said. ‘You evidently despise me for taking Sandy away from his mother and I feel sure that you intend to trick us whenever and however you can. I don’t believe you were coming to Scotland entirely on holiday at the right moment; I think your sympathies were with Coralie all along.’
    She gazed at his unresponsive back view, aware that her futile anger only amused him, and then she, too, was looking ahead at the house they were approaching.
    ‘It’s completely feudal!’ she declared in exasperation as he drove the car over a stone bridge which spanned the narrow arm of the loch. ‘Your attitude—this place—everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours! If it wasn’t such a nightmare I’d believe it impossible,’ she rushed on. ‘Are we really on an island?’
    ‘Not quite,’ he shrugged. ‘There’s a narrow neck of land at the north end, but I’d advise you not to use it. The bridge is the only way across.’
    Katherine looked down at the shining water surrounding the house as they crossed the bridge and at the belt of pines which sheltered it from the north, aware that she would have loved this place if she had come to it under happier circumstances. The old grey stone kissed by the sun could have seemed welcoming and friendly and real contentment might have blossomed from its stillness and peace.
    ‘It’s your family home,’ she said.
    Charles Moreton nodded.
    ‘I was born at Glassary,’ he said. ‘So was Sandy, for that matter, and my brother, whom you’ll meet very soon.’ A frown creased his dark brow. ‘I wouldn’t say he’s the most hospitable of men,’ he added, ‘but you must work that out for yourself.’
    They were almost at the house, skirting a semi-circular lawn which divided the two carriageways, and Katherine saw the grey facade of Glassary clearly for the first time. A stone canopy supported by stone pillars guarded the doorway between two long mullioned windows which looked out on either side of it, watching for strangers, no doubt, and there were four other similar windows along the front of the house and six above on the first storey, while at each corner stood a round tower crowned with a little turret of grey slate.
    An elderly woman came to the door.
    ‘This is Mrs. Stevas,’ said Charles. ‘She’ll look after you while you’re here.’
    Mrs. Stevas didn’t look at all like a gaoler, Katherine thought as Sandy rushed towards her to be enveloped in a gigantic hug.
    ‘I’ve got a bear!’ he announced excitedly. ‘A little wooden bear!’
    ‘There won’t be any prizes for guessing who made him!’ Mrs. Stevas smiled, stepping back into the hallway. ‘And none for guessing where your first port of call will be once you’ve had your lunch!’
    “To see Fudge!’ Sandy cried. ‘Has he been lonely while I’ve been away, Mrs. Stevas?’
    ‘He’s been eating his head off—with grief, if you like!’
    The housekeeper turned to Katherine. ‘If you’ll come this way, miss, I’ll be showing you to your room,’ she added conventionally. ‘You must want to get settled in after so long a journey,’ she said. ‘I’ll feed the bairn while you’re having a wash.’
    Whatever explanation Charles had offered her about their unexpected visitor, Mrs. Stevas appeared to be the soul of discretion, too good a servant to show her feelings at a first encounter.
    Katherine looked round for Charles.
    ‘He’ll be off to the Stable House,’ Mrs. Stevas said. ‘Mr. Fergus will be waiting.’
    ‘Is—Mr. Fergus his brother?’ Katherine asked.
    ‘His younger brother.’ The housekeeper underlined the relationship as if it was very important.