Page 13 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
“An owl could be a complicated project, depending on what you would like it to do,” Stayme said. “Extended wings, perhaps?”
“I should like to try. I think the effect would make everyone stare,” the boy said eagerly.
“Why would Gyda object?” asked Niall.
Harold’s face fell. “Ailsa said owls are spirits of the dead. She thought it might be Lord Charles, hanging about after Gyda.”
“That’s just superstition,” Niall told him.
“You don’t think it could be Lord Charles?”
“I would think it highly unlikely. Lord Charles was a curious, intelligent man with a keen interest in creation. Finding himself in the afterlife, I can only imagine he would set out to explore and investigate everything, not hang about the priory.”
Harold looked much struck. “You are right. He would. In any case, I spotted the owl several times in the trees over the queen’s dig. It was eerie. Like it was watching all the activity.”
Harold referred to the Bronze Age burial site that had been discovered deep in the woods on Niall’s new estate. He had invited experts from the Hunterian Museum in Glasgow to take over the excavation, but everyone from the priory frequently wandered over to watch the process.
“I thought it might more likely be the spirit of the lady buried at the dig,” Harold mused.
“You know, there are other superstitions surrounding owls,” Stayme said. “Some people believe they are protectors. When I was a boy, one of the grooms in my father’s stables told me that if you walked around the tree an owl was perched in, it would follow you, watching. The bird’s head would go around and around until it wrung its own neck.”
Harold made a face. “Who would want to do that to an owl? I had heard about them turning their heads full circle, though. That could be an interesting feature.” He looked to Niall. “You don’t think Gyda would be upset?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then I think I will start to design it,” Harold said with satisfaction.
“You’ll want to do some research into the different types of feathers a long-eared owl possesses.” Niall gave a chuckle. “I imagine you will be forging a great many feathers.”
“Mr. Blondel might know about that. Or he might know how I canfind out.” Harold frowned. “It seems like the sort of thing a naturalist would know. Can I come with you to your meeting with him?”
“He would be disappointed if you did not,” Niall assured him.
Harold pulled a notebook from his pocket and began to sketch design elements. Stayme went back to his file, but when they reached Bluefield, he offered to help the boy search the library for references.
Niall hung back to direct the servants in the unloading of the carriage. He watched Harold stride into the house, talking fast. Stayme had a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and it reminded him of his own youth. He had always been over the moon when the viscount came for a visit. One of his earliest memories was laughing as Stayme bounced him on his knee. He had many other such recollections—kites, fishing, long walks, gruff talks. Stayme had always seemed so mysterious, strong in a completely different way from the Highlanders Niall had grown up with. Elegant, sharp steel versus heavy, thick iron.
But now? Niall watched his mentor slow to climb the steps into Bluefield and found him… not frail, but perhaps fragile. When had he begun to age so quickly?
The thought dredged up an image in his mind. Stayme, grinning, while a dark-haired child with Kara’s eyes laughed up at him.
Niall nearly gasped at the resulting swell of visceral longing. Yes, of course he had assumed he and Kara would have children, but this sudden feeling of yearning urgency was entirely new.
He looked to where Turner was giving orders to the footman. The butler was growing older, too. How much joy would it give him to see Kara with a family of her own? To help raise and teach the next generation at Bluefield Park? It would mean everything to Turner—and to Kara, as well.
Niall was seized with a sudden longing for his wife. He wanted to take her upstairs and make tender love to her. He wanted to see her belly grow, wanted to watch her with the curve of an infant’s head reflecting the swell of her breast. He wanted to lie in the great bedupstairs with a sleeping child between them, smiling at each other over a slumbering form.
Harold would dote on a baby. Turner would watch over it with care. Stayme would indulge it. Gyda would teach it every manner of mischief.
Oh, how Niall wanted all of it.
He was heading for the stairs inside when he heard the turn of wheels on gravel. Kara’s carriage? He spun on his heel and headed back outside.
Now. Now was as good a time as any to begin.
*
Warmth surged throughKara as her carriage pulled up before Bluefield Park. She loved the priory and their staff and friends in Scotland, and honestly, she thought she could be happy anywhere, provided Niall was by her side and the friends who had become family surrounded them. But Bluefield Park was where she had grown up, and for some reason, her mother was on her mind today.
