of which caused her father great distress. The fact those objects were disguised as everyday trinkets mattered not. Evil, whether it be hiding out in the open or locked away without a key, was still evil.
Nevan tapped his left forefinger against his chin. “The first time I was speaking with Mother while sitting in the curtained niche under her portrait.”
No harm done there. Nevan had never known the loving, caring Elsbeth, and had every right to pretend he had.
“The second and third times I was stepping out from the secret door in the wall of bookcases and had no choice but to inch back and hide when Father entered the room. And before you chide me for eavesdropping, know I would have had to been deaf not to overhear Father’s godawful rants.”
“Nevan!”
“I’m man of this family, now, Sister. I have the right to say godawful.” He drummed his fingers on the box of wolf teeth tucked next to his leg.
“Proper gentlemen do not speak in a vulgar manner. If you truly are the man of the family now, you must act it.” She didn’t know what troubled her more, how much Nevan was growing up or how much he’d apparently studied their father on the rare occasions the man was home, as Charles Ogilvy wasn’t exactly the epitome of parental perfection. Nevan being exposed to the man’s cursed world was worrisome.
“Fine.” Nevan huffed as he rested his head against the red leather seatback. “I will mind my tongue. For now. But you really must get used to me being a man, Sister.”
Nevan was not a man. Not by several years, at least. And until then, she was determined to try to make her brother’s childhood as normal as was possible. He deserved to be carefree. The mountain of instability left behind by their father was her cross to bear, not Nevan’s.
“Do you think Father was murdered?” her brother asked.
“What makes you say such a thing?”
Nevan leaned forward, his right hand protectively gripping the box of teeth. A look of fright veiled his young face. “I had a dream last night. Not a very clear one like when I dream of my mother. But still, it stayed with me after I woke. In truth, I would say it was more a nightmare than a dream.”
“Why is that?”
He bit his bottom lip before speaking. “It bore a beast. And blood.”
The Ogilvy ‘gift’ was encroaching on her brother. “Most dreams are just our fears and troubles unleashing while we sleep.”
“Father’s dreams were not just his imagination. They stalked him from the outside.”
“True, but not all dreams are as Father’s were. I’m sure you need not worry about yours.”
Nevan shook his head. “I’m not, Sister. The dream wasn’t about me. It was about you.”
Sarina gasped.
With a sudden jerk, the carriage came to a halt, the neigh of horses echoing through the air.
Sarina lurched forward but not far enough that she fell from her seat. She brought her gloved hand to her waist. A cold chill enveloped her.
“Here at last,” Nevan exclaimed, grabbing his damn box of teeth and sliding off the seat. “I do hope Lord Lycansay has a meal prepared and by that I don’t mean a platter of cold meats and stale bread. I’m famished.”
How quickly her brother’s mind shifted from one focus to another, his stomach completely devouring his recent fears of beasts and blood.
A groom appeared at the carriage door and popped it open.
Nevan bent to exit the vehicle, but not before Sarina grabbed him by the shoulder of his gray greatcoat.
He turned back and glared at her.
“What sort of beast was it?” she asked, her hold growing tighter.
Nevan quirked an eyebrow.
“Your dream. What sort of beast did it have in it?”
Her brother shrugged. “Damned if I know, Sister, as it did not leave an impression. I just woke knowing it had existed in my nightmare. Nothing more.” He turned around and wiggled out of her hold.
Uneasiness swept through Sarina’s nerves. She stepped from the carriage and planted her slipper-covered feet firmly on the frozen ground. The grand castle she’d expected turned out to be a weather-beaten Jacobethan manor reminiscent of an extremely large mausoleum. A mausoleum with two arched windows hung above its double front doors, their soot-dusted panes staring out into the cold like soulless eyes studying her.
A chill crept over Sarina’s flesh.
She may very well be an American naïve to the ways of the Scottish Highlands, but one thing she knew for sure was that darkness brushing