Night of the Highland Dragon Read Online Free Page B

wading and a constant source of wariness where children were concerned.
    The village proper was one short street where a few more of the newer buildings stood side by side, though with considerable room between. Mrs. Simon’s house bordered a smaller but comfortable building where—according to the lady—Dr. McKendry lived, now with a friend come up from Aberdeen. On the other side, a pub announced itself as the Old Dragon with an appropriately lurid red sign. Opposite was a store, presumably the domain of young Hamish and his relations, and set some way apart from it, a blacksmith’s forge with a stable in the back. A small stone church capped one end of the street, and at its back was a graveyard, the stones rough-carved and, in many cases, very old.
    That was all—except for the castle.
    Rather than being at the top of a cliff or built against the mountains themselves, both of which would have been quite defensible back when the broadsword and the longbow were the latest innovations in warfare, the castle sat on a small hill a mile or so from the village. From his window on the second story of Mrs. Simon’s house, William could make out blocky towers of dark stone rising above the surrounding trees. For someone standing in the village, the building itself would be harder to see. A veritable Birnam Wood surrounded the place, near-black evergreens mingling with the vivid reds and golds of autumn leaves.
    â€œThat’s quite a forest back there,” William said to the man behind the counter of the general store. By his salt-and-pepper hair, not to mention his luxuriant mustache, William guessed this was not young Hamish.
    â€œHmm?” The man had been ringing up William’s purchases: the latest outdated Times and a packet of biscuits. He looked up without comprehending for a second, in the way of people hearing curiosity about a constant feature of their lives. “Oh, the woods? Aye, ’tis large enough.”
    â€œGood hunting, I’d think.”
    The man frowned. His eyes were very dark, William noticed now, and their shape was almost Indian or Chinese. “I’d not venture verra far in,” the shopkeeper said, “nor yet out by the castle, not without her ladyship’s permission.”
    â€œWorried about poachers, is she?” William asked. “I wouldn’t have thought it would be a problem in a place like this. There must be plenty of game to go around, and you couldn’t ride to hounds out here.”
    â€œNo,” said the storekeeper, “no, nobody’d think of it. Galloping the horses on that ground?” He barked laughter. “It’s bad enough riding down the road to get the post.”
    â€œThen—”
    â€œShe doesna’ want people running about back there without her knowing it,” said the man. “None of the family ever has. And it’s not my place to be askin’ why, lad, nor yours. Now, if I canna’ be showing you anything else this day…”

Four
    The last time that Judith had gone to London, ladies had made their round of calls in carriages, attended by maids. She didn’t have the impression there’d been much change in that regard, which was another reason she was glad to be away from the city. She’d neither the patience nor the fleet of servants needed to have another body tagging along with her the whole time, and she would have liked to see the fine carriage that could handle the road out by the Gordons’ house.
    Instead, she rode astride on a stout dun pony from her own stables, bred over the centuries for hardiness, tractability, and a near insensibility to the smell of large predators. Most animals knew what the MacAlasdairs really were, even in human shape. The elegant horses that the London crowd rode would have shied and bolted if Judith had even put a foot in one of their stirrups.
    That reaction had made for a few awkward moments in her youth. More than