Fiona knew why the cookies made Prentice broody.
Isabella used to send him cookies from America, not to mention make them weekly for him when she was in Scotland. He’d told Fiona that when he told her about Isabella.
What Fiona didn’t understand was, if Prentice had “moved on” as he’d told Dougal he had, why the cookies would make him broody at all?
That day Isabella didn’t make them for Prentice, however. She made them for Annie and Dougal’s guests.
And the minute those guests (at least the villagers, Sally and Jason ate around a million of them and Prentice wasn’t far behind) found out she’d made them, they avoided them.
Pointedly.
Not only that, one villager, Hattie Fennick, actually made a point to take a bite then spit it out right when Isabella was watching her. Hattie had always been a cow, especially around Fiona who Hattie made no bones about not liking. Then again, she didn’t like pretty much everyone including Prentice, who Fiona had known for years Hattie had a raging crush on even after she hooked up with her husband Nigel but Prentice had never shown an interest or shown that he knew she existed at all unless he was vaguely irritated by something she’d done which made her act even more of a cow.
And that wasn’t all.
They made nasty comments, some of them loud, most of them when Isabella was in earshot.
They at least shielded Annie from it; she didn’t hear a word for which Fiona was grateful. They’d also been careful around Jason and Sally (Sally was oblivious, as usual; Jason had overheard a few things, which pissed Fiona off). The rest of the time they ignored her, cast her dirty looks or walked away when she approached.
Although they shielded Annie, they hadn’t any qualms about doing their worst in front of Fergus, Mikey, Dougal or Prentice.
Which made all four men livid even Dougal, probably on Annie’s behalf.
The picnic had started at two o’clock. It was now ten. Eight hours of torture for Isabella.
At first, Fiona had been shocked at how she coped. She acted for all the world as if she didn’t give one whit and spent her time talking with Fergus, Mikey, Annie, Sally and Old Lady Kilbride who wasn’t capable of hating anyone and had always stuck up for Isabella, unpopularly saying, “We don’t know. There are always two sides to every story.”
Isabella even spent time with Jason which was surprising since Hattie also commented loudly within Isabella’s (and Prentice’s) earshot, “God, the nerve of the woman. Fiona’s children. Jason. Who’s been devastated. The absolute nerve.”
But as the hours slid by, it had begun to wear, her façade slipped, as anyone’s would, and Fergus, Mikey, Dougal, Jason and, most especially Prentice, noticed.
Fiona was back to not hating her. In fact, she felt sorry for her. She had no idea what she would do if she’d been alive at the picnic rather than dead and haunting it but she hoped she wouldn’t have done that.
Of course, she did realize that, as a ghost, she had access to information that the villagers couldn’t know, but still.
They hit the great room and Isabella turned immediately toward the hall.
“I’m going to call it a night,” she said softly, her hands still fists.
Prentice opened his mouth to speak but Sally got there before him.
“Will you read me a story?” Sally asked, her voice tired.
“Sally –” Prentice began but Isabella talked over him.
Without hesitation, she switched directions, unfisted a hand and held it out to Sally, saying, “Of course, honey.”
Sally took Isabella’s hand and they walked up the stairs. Prentice’s eyes followed them, his face tight.
“Dad –” Jason began when the two females disappeared.
Prentice looked at his son. “Not now, mate.”
Jason wasn’t to be denied. “I heard some things –”
“It’s late, go to bed,” Prentice ordered.
Jason stared at him, defiance written in every line of his body.