Enraptured (Mockingbird Square 2)

“I disagree.”

The voice made both men start and turn. Olivia had crept up on them. Rory saw that her cheeks were flushed from the climb up the stairs, and wisps of fair hair curled about her temples, but her gaze was a determined blue as she spoke.

“Is knocking the tower down the only way?” She must have been listening from the turn in the stairs.

“The expert here says it will cost too much to repair. Because it is not just this tower that needs mending, so I must use my funds wisely.”

The man in question nodded, eyes on his boots.

“And yet you would prefer to save the original stonework,” Olivia said, and it wasn’t a question. She turned to the mason. “We’ll consider it.” Then, with a glance at Rory, perhaps thinking she had overstepped the mark, “My husband will consider it.”

The man bowed and shuffled away back down the twisting staircase.

Rory reached out and ran his hand over the inner wall, where the stone was pitted and crumbly. Some of it came away. “He’s right,” he said. “The place is dangerous. It should have been attended to years ago.”

If I’d had the money. The words went unspoken.

“The whole place could be like this if I don’t do something now,” he added, and felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. It didn’t help that it was a weight he wanted and welcomed, and a home he loved.

She was quiet for a moment and he wondered what she was thinking. He felt himself tense, waiting for her to tell him she was leaving, that this was all too challenging for her.

“Rory, will you show me over your home?”

He was almost as shocked as if she had asked to go back to Mockingbird Square. What was she up to? Perhaps it was mere curiosity, or perhaps Olivia was wondering just how bad things were a

t Invermar. If her father was here he would want to know the practical details, and it occurred to Rory that Olivia was her father’s daughter.

“Please.” Now she was smiling and he always found it impossible to deny her when she smiled at him.

The tour took them longer than he’d expected.

Rory had imagined a brief walk through the rooms, a few well-chosen words, but it soon became apparent to him that Olivia wasn’t satisfied with that. She wanted more. She stopped often and asked him questions, and because she seemed genuinely interested, he found himself telling her some of the stories passed down to him by his father.

“How old were you when your mother died?”

They were descending a staircase and he paused, watching her with a frown, but she didn’t turn. After a moment he followed, making his voice light, as if he had not been shattered at the time. He had learned when he was in London that it did not do to show too much emotion.

“About ten I suppose.”

“Mrs Muckleford thought I knew, and I think I should know. Will you tell me?”

She still didn’t look back at him but there was a trace of awkwardness in her voice, and it eased his own.

“She was fragile, and life here was difficult for her. We did our best to look after her but she took a cold and never recovered. After she died my father and I were broken, for a time. And then he rediscovered the legend of the sword. Whenever he considered the weather was balmy enough, and believe me his assessment of balmy was not always mine, we would dive.” Again he hesitated. “But you know the story of the sword?”

“Your father told it to me when we first met, but I’ve forgotten most of it. Tell me again, Rory.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

“The Laird and his men were setting off to fight the English at Culloden. His lady begged him not to but he wouldn’t listen to her pleas, so she threw his sword into the loch, hoping it would make him think twice.”

“And did it?”

“Well, being a hot-headed Maclean he did not think at all. He borrowed another sword and off he went. Unhappily he was killed on the battlefield, and since then there has been nothing but bad luck and trouble for the Macleans.”

“I know your father believes in the legend,” she said. They were in the great hall now, where quite a few buckets were strategically placed to catch the drips when it rained.

“Whole heartedly,” Rory agreed. “He has made it his life’s mission to find the sword and restore our good luck.”