Joe looked sheepish. “Bill and I are meeting Hugh at seven to go over our fishing plans. Maybe we’ll try out a stream nearby.”
Renie looked relieved. “For a moment I thought…Never mind.”
“The ladies may come down anytime after eight,” Mrs. Gibbs informed the cousins. “Breakfast is served from the sideboard in the other part of the dining room.”
When they returned to their room, Judith was too tired to chide Joe about his early departure in the morning. “Just don’t wake me up,” she said, and kissed him good night.
She fell asleep before her husband could start the fire or even begin to undress. Judith had worried that her fatigue might bring on strange dreams, even nightmares, but she slept soundly. When she woke up the only dream she could remember was sitting in a beach tent looking at a gigantic thermometer that registered eighty-five degrees. That was as close to a nightmare as she got.
But of course they’d only been at Grimloch Castle for a few hours.
4
It wasn’t surprising that Renie wasn’t on hand when Judith went down to breakfast at nine o’clock. The food, including kippers, toast, rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs, fruit, and flat, soft rolls was tasty. When Judith finished eating, she couldn’t resist seeking out the kitchen.
It wasn’t difficult. She opened the door Mrs. Gibbs had used, and faced a second baize door. Judith knocked. Mrs. Gibbs responded.
“Aye?” the cook said. “What would ye want?”
“I shouldn’t intrude,” Judith apologized, “but I run an inn. I was curious to see how you manage your kitchen. I serve only breakfast.”
“Come along,” Mrs. Gibbs said with a resigned air.
The kitchen was huge, with an open fireplace and a spit that looked as if it was used regularly. The cast-iron stove had eight round cooking spaces of varying sizes, not unlike the smaller version Grandma and Grandpa Grover had used for years in the family home.
“Wood-burning?” Judith inquired.
“Wood and coal,” Mrs. Gibbs replied.
The counters were made of old, well-worn wood, fragrant from decades of cutting fruit and vegetables. There were two sinks, both enamel with old-fashioned faucets like the ones in the guest bathroom. The big black refrigerator, however, looked new. The only hint of nonfunctional decor was a framed tartan on the far wall next to a glass-covered cupboard.
“You do all this yourself?” Judith said with admiration.
“Aye. That is,” Mrs. Gibbs explained, “except for summer when the regular guests come. I have a daily or two to help.”
“I should think so. What about cleaning? This place is vast.”
Mrs. Gibbs agreed. “Daily help for that, too, in summer.”
“Does your grandson live here all the time?” Judith asked, admiring the heavy cookware that hung from a circular rack.
Mrs. Gibbs frowned as she used a wooden spoon to stir what looked like cake batter. “He’s paying us a visit.”
“Oh.” Judith smiled. “That’s nice. Where does he live?”
The frown deepened. “Close by.”
“Do he and his wife have children?”
Mrs. Gibbs dropped the spoon and bent down to retrieve it. “He told you about his wife?”
“No,” Judith admitted. “But he’s married, isn’t he?”
“Aye.” Mrs. Gibbs wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “They had a wee bairn, Jamie, last November.”
“That’s wonderful. You must be thrilled.”
Mrs. Gibbs didn’t respond. Judith changed the subject. “What are those flat soft rolls? I ate two. They’re delicious.”
“They’re baps,” Mrs. Gibbs replied, “from an auld recipe. Tomorrow I’ll make bannocks. You call them…what?”
“Pancakes or flapjacks,” Judith said. “I remember bannocks from when my cousin and I were in Scotland many years ago.”
Mrs. Gibbs nodded once and stirred the mixture in the bowl. “No lunch. High tea at four, if you like.”
“My cousin and I will probably go into the village to explore,” Judith said. “We’ll eat there. What do you recommend?”
“A tearoom, a Chinese restaurant, a curry house, two pubs, pizza. Take your pick.” Mrs. Gibbs kept her eyes on the dough.
Judith pointed at the tartan on the wall and moved for a closer look. “That’s different from the Forbes and Fordyce green and blue plaid in the hallway. I like all the red. Is that the clan’s hunting colors?”
“Nae.” Mrs. Gibbs still didn’t look up. “That’s my family, the MacIver tartan.”
“Oh.” Judith peered at what she assumed was the clan motto. “Nunquam obliviscar. What does that mean?”
The other woman finally glanced up, her eyes narrowed and her tone bitter. “It means ‘I will never forget.’” She turned back to the dough and gave it a hard thump with her fist. “I must finish this.”
Judith sensed that she was being dismissed. “Thank you.” Without another word, she returned to the dining room. Renie was at the sideboard, heaping food onto her plate.
“I thought you’d run off with Chuckie,” she said.
“I was trying in vain to befriend Mrs. Gibbs,” Judith explained.
Renie was surprised. “If you flunked, she can’t be human.”
“The only thing I found out is that Harry is just visiting, and his wife had a baby boy last November,” Judith said, pouring herself a third cup of coffee. “He lives nearby, which, I assume, given the smaller distances between places in Scotland, could be the village.”
Renie topped her scrambled eggs with a couple of kippers. “So?”
Judith shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.”
“I’m more concerned that our husbands will be arrested for poaching,” Renie said, sitting down and sprinkling salt and pepper on her food. “Land along the UK’s rivers and such are usually owned privately.”
Judith had also sat at the long trestle table. “Joe mentioned that MacGowan had permission to fish in certain spots around here. He’s going to serve as their ghillie, which is what the locals call a guide. Apparently you don’t have to buy a fishing license, only some kind of permit that gives you the property owner’s approval.”
“Good. So what do we do for amusement?” Renie asked.
“Explore the village? We may need Gibbs to row us ashore.”
“You could make it up that hill?”
“I think so,” Judith said. “It isn’t very far, though I couldn’t see much in the fog. I found Joe’s castle layout and a local map. We’re close to several interesting places and not all that far from Inverness.”
When the cousins were ready to leave, they found Gibbs by accident. He was in the courtyard, armed with a trowel and a rake, doffing his cap when he spotted the cousins. “Bulbs coming up,” he said. “Got to make way for crocus and daffodils.”
“Ours are in bud at home,” Judith said. “They should be blooming by the time we get back. Do you do all the gardening?”
“Aye.” Mr. Gibbs straightened up, a hand pressing his back. “Stiff I get, o’ times.” He smiled at the low gray clouds. “Spring’s coming.”
“Also true where we live,” Judith said. “We’re going to St. Fergna. It looks as if the tide’s out.”
“It is,” Gibbs agreed. “Harry can drive ye. Here he comes now.”
Harry Gibbs was coming out through a door on the other side of the courtyard. He was dressed casually, if stylishly, in a black jacket that displayed a Burberry plaid lining, and well-cut corduroy slacks.
“Do ye mind passengers?” Gibbs called to his grandson. “These ladies want to plunder the shops in the village.”
Harry paused to survey the cousins. “Well…why not?”
“We passed muster,” Renie murmured.
“I need to buy warmer clothes,” Judith said, indicating her navy blue linen jacket and white cotton slacks.