Page 8 of Undercover Shadow
Mr. MacLeod stepped around me and pulled the door shut. “Best to keep this locked up tight. The west tower especially—it’s not just the cold, you understand. Structural concerns.” He tapped the doorframe. “We wouldn’t want either of you taking a tumble.”
Tag nodded. “Understood.”
The south tower was “best avoided unless you fancy falling through rotted floors,” though Mr. MacLeod mentioned that his grandfather had hidden whiskey up there during the war and some might be there if we were so inclined.
“You can get to the old cellars through here,” Mrs. MacLeod said, pointing to a door after we returned to the kitchen.
“Dangerous place, that,” her husband added. “There’s a storage area I’ll show you, but don’t be goin’ beyond it.” He shuddered. “My da lost a cousin down there in the fifties when it caved in. We’ve blocked most of it off, but you never know with these old places. I’d avoid them entirely if I were you.”
“I’d like to take a look at the generator,” Tag said.
“Aye, it’s this way.”
The door creaked open, and we made our way down the steep stone steps.
“It runs on diesel, and you’ve got maybe a week’s worth if you’re conservative. It’ll power the essential circuits like the lights, refrigeration, and water pump. The heating system has a separate tank that’s fueled by oil, but can be unpredictable. Some radiators work, others don’t. The ones that do might stop without warning. That’s castle living for you,” he said, chuckling.
He crouched down and ran his hand along the machine with the familiarity of someone who’d done this maintenance foryears. “Been acting up more than usual this winter. Let me have a look while I’m here—see if I can’t coax a bit more reliability out of the old girl.”
Tag and I exchanged glances as Mr. MacLeod opened a panel and peered inside, making thoughtful humming noises.
“These old systems…I’ll do what I can, but no promises. Might run smooth, might give you trouble. Hard to say.”
“Appreciate you taking a look,” Tag said.
“Aye, well.” After a few minutes of looking at it versus doing anything, Mr. MacLeod straightened and wiped his hands on his trousers, though they didn’t appear dirty. “Best I can do for now.”
The supply stores were better stocked than expected, with candles by the box, torches with batteries that Mrs. MacLeod warned might or might not work, and a military-surplus first-aid kit.
There was a shelf of canned goods with faded labels, likely older than me, but according to Mrs. MacLeod, they wereprobablystill edible.
She led us upstairs, with her husband trailing behind us. “The roads will be impassable by tonight. We’ll check on you when we can, but…” Her eyes moved between Tag and me with the kind of knowing look that made me wonder what she saw. “I’m thinking you’ll want your privacy.”
Tag asked a few more questions about security and who else had access to the property.
“You mentioned the area beyond the storeroom. Where does it lead?” I asked.
“Rumor is that you can access the old tunnels,” Mr. MacLeod said almost dismissively, waving a gnarled hand. “It’s Jacobite nonsense, if you ask me. My da said they were used to hide the Bonnie Prince’s supporters. Some even tell stories abouttreasure hidden down there.” He leveled a gaze at both of us. “You’d be wise to heed my warning about the danger.”
I filed that information away, catching Tag doing the same. Our eyes met briefly—we’d be checking those tunnels at the first opportunity.
Mr. MacLeod pulled on his coat and checked his watch. “I’ll need to be getting on. I’ve got two other properties to check before the roads become completely impassable.”
Mrs. MacLeod was repacking her basket, adding a few items from the castle’s stores. “There’s a cottage on the grounds—the old gamekeeper’s lodge. We’ve been using it when we come up to tend the place. I’ll be just a short walk away if you need anything.”
“That’s not necessary—” I said, but she waved me off.
“Nonsense. You’re Mr. Cavendish’s guests, and I’ll not have it said we left you to freeze in a drafty castle without proper guidance. Besides”—her eyes moved between Tag and me with that knowing look—“you’ll want someone nearby who knows which pipes are likely to burst and where the spare candles are kept.”
Her husband pulled his cap lower against the wind that howled through the door he’d cracked open. “Ring us if you need anything urgent. Though service is dodgy in weather like this.” He nodded to Tag, then to me. “You’ll be safe enough here as long as you remember what I said about those closed-off areas.”
“We will,” Tag assured him.
Mrs. MacLeod busied herself at the AGA, setting a pot to simmer as the Land Rover her husband drove disappeared down the drive.
“That’ll be ready for your supper,” she said, jotting a number on a piece of paper on the counter. “The gamekeeper’s cottage has an old landline that still works when mobiles don’t. Like Fergus said, ring if you need anything.”
After she left, bundling herself against the weather and promising to return as soon as she could, the silence returned—heavier than before. With only two of us in the kitchen, it seemed smaller, and the AGA’s warmth felt almost oppressive.
