Page 12 of First Light

Carys stopped the car. “Holy shit.”

Castle. Lachlan’s family had a castle. Apparently.

She pulled in where she saw other cars parked. A red compact sedan, two beat-up Range Rovers, and a pickup truck with a tarp over the bed.

Carys grabbed her purse, leaving her suitcase in the car. She was not making any assumptions about staying in this place. It wasn’t thatfar from town, and she could afford the gas—petrol—to make the half-hour drive back to her very nice, non-manor-like hotel next to the Four Crowns.

She walked across the courtyard, gravel crunching beneath her feet, toward the nearest door that looked like someone might answer. There were multiple doors to the house, but she went to the smallest one on the side and knocked.

A few moments later she heard laughter, and then the door was yanked open and a cheerful-faced woman answered the door. “Can I help you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are ye looking for a tour or something?”

The woman was in her late forties or early fifties if Carys had to guess, and her accent was thick. She had a headband holding back a mass of brown curly hair, an apron around her waist.

“Hi. Maybe I’m at the wrong place.” She looked around, but she didn’t know what kind of car Duncan drove. “I’m looking for Duncan Murray. Or Lachlan Murray if he’s here?”

She cocked her head. “Okayyyy. Yer looking for Lachlan?” Were her eyes a little bit afraid? What was that about?

“Or Duncan, yes.” She stuck out her hand. “Sorry. Hi. I’m Carys Morgan.”

“Why are you coming to the kitchen door, love?” She smiled a little. “If you’re here to visit the laird, ye should be going to the front.” She leaned forward and pointed to the left. “Is he expecting you?”

“Duncan?”

“Aye, the laird.”

“I think so.” Her fingers closed around the note. “He left me a note and?—”

“No worries, my girl. I don’t need to know the details.” She nudged Carys toward the path. “Go on then. Mary will meet you at the front. Just ring the bell.”

Carys pointed to her right. “At… the front door?”

“Aye, the front.” The woman seemed amused. “I’ll go ahead andput the tea on though, so thanks for giving me the heads-up.” She winked at Carys, then closed the door in her face.

Carys stepped back and then started down the stone pathway that ran along the front of the house. She passed immaculately kept formal garden beds and some stone statuary before she came to a set of grand stone steps that led to a pair of massive carved wooden doors.

She saw a bell to the right of the door and pulled the chain hanging from it, which produced an echoing, clanging sound inside the house. A few moments later, a younger woman opened the door.

“Miss Morgan?” She held out her hand. “I’m Mary Burris. My husband is the groundskeeper here, and I run the house. Duncan told me to expect you this morning, and Samantha already shouted from the kitchen.” She opened the door wider. “Please come in. Welcome to Murrayshall House.”

“Thank you.” Carys had never been on a Scottish estate, but she’d watched movies, and Duncan’s house looked like a movie set. There was a wood-paneled sitting room to the right and a large dining room to the left with a collection of armory hanging on the walls.

“Please have a seat in the front room,” Mary said. “I’ve already started a fire. This house is magnificent, but it’s an ice box this time of year.”

“Right.” She had never been more grateful for her cozy cabin in the woods, because Duncan’s housekeeper was correct. She could nearly see her breath in the air. “I think I’ll keep my coat for now if that’s all right.”

“Perfectly.” Mary smiled and pointed to her wool sweater. “But we do have plenty of good wool jumpers if you’d like to borrow one.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Duncan was out with Andy this morning,” Mary said. “That’s my husband. He should be in shortly. Would you like me to keep you company while you wait for him? Or would you like a tour of the house? We usually only do them in the summer months for the tourists, but I’d be happy to give you the brief version if you want to keep moving.”

“Uh…” She looked around the big empty sitting room. It had large windows and comfortable-looking couches, but Carys didn’t like the idea of waiting for Duncan by herself. “Sure. That would be great.”

“Excellent.” Mary smiled. “Let’s start in the dining room. How much do you know about swords?”

However much Caryshad known about historic arms, she knew more after Mary’s tour, which covered the building of the four-hundred-year-old house by the ancestral owner of the land—the Laird of Murrayshall—of whom Duncan was the current iteration.

It wasn’t a royal title, according to Mary, but a traditional Scottish one that had passed from Duncan’s father to him on the old laird’s death a few years ago.