“Well, I am,” he retorted.
“Are not,” Mrs. Truman shot back.
“Am too,” he roared on a forward lean.
“All right!” Abby cut in loudly, standing and facing Angus. “Why don’t you,” she stopped and turned to Jenny, “or maybe, Jenny, it should be you who tells us why Angus is here.”
Angus didn’t catch Abby’s hint.
“I’ll be hunting the ghost who wants to murder the true love of a Scotsman, that’s why I’m here,” Angus declared.
“Oh my,” Fenella said again.
“Um…” Abby began then was uncertain how to proceed so she went for the most obvious point, “I’m not his true love.”
“Balderdash!” he shouted.
“I’m not,” Abby insisted.
“I’ve seen the pictures, lass. That boy loves ye, make no mistake,” Angus decreed and Abby’s eyes went to Jenny who made a slight grimace and shrugged.
“Scones!” Angus boomed, “Jam! Cream! The only three things the English could ever do right.” Then he pushed forward toward the plates of food while the women tensed for The Truman Detonation to End All Truman Detonations.
They didn’t get it.
Instead, Mrs. Truman asked calmly, “Mr. McPherson, would you care to desist eating my food before you tell us how you’re going to make Abigail safe?”
“Don’t you worry, I got my ways,” Angus replied, cutting open a scone.
“Why don’t you share your… ways?” Mrs. Truman suggested but without it sounding even a bit like a suggestion but an awful lot like a demand.
“Can’t,” he returned, flipping open his scone, “family secret.”
“I’m afraid we’re not ready to rely on, nor pay for I might add, any ridiculous and likely ineffectual family secrets,” Mrs. Truman proclaimed.
Angus loaded cream on his scone. “Oh, I’ll not be expecting payment, woman. I’m doing this for a fellow Scot,” he boomed out the word “Scot” and all the women jumped except Mrs. Truman.
Then Cassandra murmured, her eyes on Angus, her voice strangely filled with awe, “Oh my Goddess, you’re The McPherson.”
Angus slopped an enormous spoonful of jam on his scone but his head turned to look at Cassandra and his loud voice had gone quiet when he replied, “That I am, lass.”
“I thought The McPhersons were a myth,” Cassandra breathed, still staring wide-eyed at Angus.
At her comment, Angus chuckled, “No, love, we’re real.”
“What’s this?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know.
Cassandra continued staring at Angus then she sat back, glanced at Mrs. Truman then her eyes moved to Abby.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she informed Abby.
Abby looked at Angus, who had straightened and was consuming his scone, unabashedly getting cream and jam all over his mouth. Then she looked back at Cassandra.
“Really?” Abby asked, not convinced.
Cassandra nodded. “Really. The story goes that the McPhersons have been hunting ghosts successfully, very successfully, for generations.”
“Twelve, to be exact,” Angus put in, mouth full.
“Twelve generations?” Fenella whispered.
“Aye,” Angus answered. “Proud. Stalwart. Strong. The McPhersons,” he proclaimed these words like he’d said them a million times before. “Never saw a ghost I feared, and I’ve seen some nasty pieces of work, make no mistake. Started training when I was eight, never looked back.”
All the women stared at him speechless until Mrs. Truman broke the silence.
“So what you’re saying is, this gentleman,” Mrs. Truman made the word “gentleman” sound like saying it caused physical pain, “knows what he’s doing?”
“If the stories are true, which apparently they are,” Cassandra said, “then yes.”
“Been wanting a crack at Vivianna Wainwright since Anthony Beaumaris approached me the week before he died to ask me to have a go at her,” Angus informed them and all the women pulled in breath at this shocking revelation. “His brother wouldn’t let me near the castle after he died, though.” Then Angus finished in an undertone, “Something wrong with that one. Bad seed.”
Abby’s eyes moved to Fenella who, luckily, didn’t appear to hear Angus’s last.
“Fraser’s father asked you to deal with Vivianna?” Mrs. Truman asked.
Angus shoved the last bite of scone in his mouth, nodding, chewing and wiping his mouth before he spoke again. “Didn’t want his woman and son in the castle with Vivianna around. Anthony loved her, intended to marry her, knew Vivianna would take her out.”
Abby stared at the Scotsman. “But I thought that Anthony didn’t want to marry Myra. I thought –”
“Aye, he did, lass, told me himself,” Angus interrupted her. “He was an interesting character, Anthony, not an easy man to like. But he knew what he wanted and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way. Not her illness, not a ghost. He fully intended to take care of her and his boy.” Then Angus shook his head and finished softly. “Shame he never got the chance.”
Abby felt her heart squeeze and her eyes flew to Jenny. “Cash doesn’t know this. I’m certain he doesn’t.” Jenny was giving her a look that said, clearly, it was none of her business, but Abby’s gaze swung back at Angus. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
“I’ll tell him,” Angus offered immediately.
“No!” Abby cried and then put her hands to her mouth, feeling her pulse beat in her throat. Her mind flying in a million different directions, she dropped her hands and continued. “Cash doesn’t know about Vivianna and I don’t want him to know. Not yet,” or ever, Abby thought but didn’t say out loud. “I don’t want him to know about you. I mean, who you are, what you do. He’ll think you’re nuts. He’ll think I’m nuts. If he hears this, he won’t listen to anything you say. Maybe we can find a way for you two to meet that doesn’t involve ghosts and ghost hunting and, whatever, and you can tell him.”
And, if Abby was able to finagle a meeting between Cash and Angus, she might suggest Angus lose the kilt.
Angus shrugged. “However you want to do it, love. Some folks believe. Some folks need to see to believe. Some folks need their loved ones hurled off the top of a castle by a spirit-bitch-from-hell to believe.” When Abby’s mouth dropped open, her racing pulse stopped dead and her breath caught in her lungs, Angus leaned in and gave her a merry wink. “We’ll see that last one doesn’t happen to you.”
Bloody hell, Abby thought.
Abby stood at Cash’s bathroom sink, eyes on the medicine cabinet and she stared at her bottles and tubes which were intermingled with the Cash’s limited toiletry collection.
This vision stirred many feelings in her, too many, both good and bad.
Indeed, she had too many things on the whole to think about, not just feelings, everything.
She tried to prioritise them.
After about two seconds, she realised this was impossible.
Instead, she decided not to think at all. She’d think about everything later. Tomorrow, or the next day, or after she was certain she wasn’t going to be hurled off the top of a castle by a spirit-bitch-from-hell.
So she closed the medicine cabinet door and saw herself standing there, wearing another one of the nightgowns Cash gave her. This one was a dusty-pink satin with ultra-thin straps that went over her shoulders and criss-crossed to hold together the sides of a dipped-low back. The hem fell to just above her knee and the satin hugged her body closely but not uncomfortably, like it had been made for her.
She loved it. It was elegant and graceful and the satin felt like heaven against her skin.