Page 71 of Stealing Sophie
“We can make a start.” She headed toward the ruined interior garden wall with its collapsed gate. “But for today, it will be just the kitchen garden. I will help if you have a rake to spare.”
“The laird would not like that—but if you insist.”
“Good. We can clear the growth and cut back the ivy and the old strawberry tendrils. They are wrapped around nearly everything. The kitchen path could be wider for walking through, too. I would like to fit beds to either side.”
“I can do that. Padraig can help later, too. He likes farming and such.”
As they crossed the bailey, six or seven chickens trotted past in a neat line. When Colla woofed and loped toward them, the chickens scattered and Roderick waved the dog away.
“When the silly birds are out and about, the dogs do not like it,” he said. “Kinnoull trained dogs to leave the chickens be, but the birds do not know that. I will fetch a shovel.” He took off, shooing the chickens away.
Reaching the sagging gate of the larger garden, Sophie stepped inside, surveying as she turned. The once-lovely garden had gone wild, a mingling of old plants, withered and rusty, verging on walls, stones, everywhere intertwining and crushing one another.
Thick brambles and ferns snarled over walkways and along the trunks of small fruit trees. Grass feathered through bushes, and ivy swallowed all it could. Stone steps, heading up an incline, peeked through the vegetation like the pale bones.
She noticed a small pool obscured in the chaos, and a stone bench nearby hopelessly wound in ivy beneath the trees. At the back wall, she recognized apple trees along with cherry and pear and slender hawthorn trees. The garden tangle was so great here that any fruit that grew would fall unpicked to rot in the undergrowth.
Near the curve of the outer wall were briar rose vines. Bare and thorny, they ran all along the wall, arcing and drooping in crazy patterns. She moved toward them, her skirt snagging. She bent to free it.
“The roses here must have been beautiful once.”
She spun. Connor stood behind her, feet crushing a clump of little purple flowers.
“You are stepping on the violets,” she said.
“Oh.” He shifted his foot. “That is a fetching hat, Lady Kinnoull.”
She touched the wide brim. “I hope you do not mind. I found it among your mother’s things. She was truly Lady Kinnoull.”
“It suits you.” He smiled a little. “So does the name.”
She smiled too, felt it rising from her heart like a glow from within.
“I saw Roderick over in the kitchen garden, working like the very devil is after him. He said he has to clear out the old ivy and strawberry vines. I think you terrified the lad.” He lifted a brow.
She laughed. “There is a good deal of work to do there, and I am glad to have such a willing sentinel. But I did not mean to frighten him!”
“I know it distresses you to see how this place has been neglected. But not much can be done to change things here. Plants do not flourish at Glendoon as they do elsewhere. The soil is thin and rocky.”
“They can grow here as well as anywhere, with encouragement. There is new growth, but the plants are choking and smothering each other, and may not thrive for lack of light and air. The soil may be weak, but it can be nourished. Mary Murray said she sowed seeds in the kitchen plot already.”
“The crows took most of those, she said, and the rest did not sprout.”
“We could plant the marigolds indoors first for protection. I will add the other flowers we found, and Mary has herb seedlings to spare. Marjoram, mint, chamomile, she said. We can sow thyme, fennel, and others directly into the ground. I want to add lavender and rosemary, too. Mary does not have time to tend Glendoon’s garden with her home to see to. But I have time.”
“It is a better pastime than looking for an escape.” He quirked back a smile. “Do what you like here. Castle Glendoon belongs to the MacCarrans, after all.”
“It is yours too. And it can be lovely with some effort.” She turned to stroll along the vine-cluttered path toward the collapsed gate. He went with her, taking her elbow as they cleared past tangled plants and negotiated around fallen stones.
“It would need a miracle to bring the gardens back,” he said.
“Not much. Plants need some basics but will thrive with love.”
“Aye, but do not expect much from the ground here.”
“You may be surprised, Kinnoull. I am not confident about most things, but I am about gardening.”
“Not confident?” He stopped, his hand on her arm. “I think differently, madam.”
