Night Visitor Read Free

being presented with any sort of an alternative here in Scotland. So far, her selection of men included an aging sexton, who wandered about muttering in Gaelic, and some local workers who, though very handsome, were longer on brawn than intellect. Too, they were distressinglyshort on conversation appropriate for a “sassanach lady.”
    Of course, what conversation she could lure them into was fascinating. Her mother had been born a MacLeod of Skye, but her northern accent had faded greatly after years in London, and it had never been as musical as this local dialect.
    Her father would have fits if he knew that she had been socializing unchaperoned, but the temptation to learn a bit of the Scot and Gaelic dialects had proven irresistible. She could now wish people a “madainn mhath” when she rode through the village in the morning, and she had collected a colorful store of Celtic curses, which she didn’t share with anyone.
    Taffy looked up sharply as the sound of pounding brogues approached her workplace.
    “Mistress Lytton!” A heavy fist landed upon the panel door. “It’s Jamesy, mistress. Your father said tae come away sharp. And tae bring your picture box! They’ve found the piper’s body up at Duntrune!”
    Taffy hastily put her plates aside in a leather satchel and opened the carriage door.
    “A body?” she asked with some surprise.
    “Aye! ‘Tis the ghost piper. The joiner’s son found him when they took up the dressing room floor.”
    “Oh, it’s a skeleton then?”
    “What? Oh! Aye, ‘tis just bones.” Jamesygrinned. “But he is missing his hands, so it’s the MacIntyre for certain. Your father was with the bishop when the great stone come up and he sent me tae fetch you and your picture box straight away. I have the pony trap waiting on the road.”
    “I’ll come at once.”
    Taffy, her mussed hair and rumpled dress forgotten, reached eagerly for her camera and tripod, and the box containing unexposed plates.
    A dead body would not have been a pleasant thing to photograph, but a skeleton! That was another matter altogether. She had seen any number of human bones during her years at home and, much to her father’s disapproval, was not distressed by them.
    She was also rather pleased to now discover that her father didn’t consider her such a blot on western civilization that he couldn’t present her to the bishop. She hadn’t precisely been pining for an introduction to the Mapletons, as her interest in religious things was tepid at best, but they were much respected in the neighborhood and a chance to expand her limited society was not to be lightly scorned.
    Jamesy helped her politely into the trap, seeming not one whit disturbed by her stained fingers. The afternoon had warmed up, but she was pleased to discover that there was a gentle breeze beginning to stir off of the loch, which helped cool her flushed cheeks.
    Taffy looked about eagerly as they headed for the large bay. There were some pretty fields on the way to the castle, small and studded with the odd white sheep, which would make for an easy hike if she could gain permission to walk there.
    A stray strand of hair blew across her eyes, reminding her of her slipping coiffure. She quickly set about tidying her locks over her deplorable ears so her father would not be ashamed to introduce her to the bishop.
    The land was not a heavily wooded country anymore and the outlines of Duntrune Castle soon came into view. It was a tall but narrow building of some three stories of piled ashlars, and quite ancient in style, though not a haunted-looking place like Dunnottar or Dunderave. There, the sad ghosts of long-past atrocities clung to the very stones that made up the castles’ walls. Duntrune was not as sad or frightening. Instead, it had about it an air of tired patience.
    After his initial burst of conversation, Jamesy had lapsed into his habitual amiable reserve, staring into the distance as Taffy fussed with her hair. Realizing