Kestrel looked at Sage. ‘I’m fine with it as long as you are.’
‘Yes, darling, that’s fine. Be gentle with them – let them come to you.’ Sage helped Hal climb over the back of the seat and into the back; she instinctively trusted Kestrel when he said that the dogs were kind.
Kestrel beamed.
‘I think we’re all going to get along famously,’ he said happily, the bottle of whisky clinking as he slipped it into the side pocket of the door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,There is a rapture on the lonely shore,There is society, where none intrudes,By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
Lord Byron,Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
They were on the road for almost two hours. Talking was hard over the rattle of the loud engine, so they all remained companionably quiet. Sage was worrying about her grandparents, praying that Santiago had left them alone. She wanted to speak to Casper to check on them all. She turned on her phone and held her breath. No messages had come through but she wondered how she would manage to speak to Rafe as there was hardly any signal and they were travelling further and further away from civilization by the minute. Eventually, Kestrel turned off the tarmac onto a farm track. Hal and the two dogs’ heads appeared expectantly between the front seats.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
‘Nearly!’ Kestrel replied merrily.
They bumped along for another five minutes or so. The lane was bordered by shortly cropped grass fields on which grazed sheep who wore lustrously thick, white woollen coats over their furry black stick legs. They turned a corner and Sage letout a gasp. Purple, green and orange snow-capped mountains lay like slumbering elephants around a glassy, mirror-like loch. Geese honked noisily as they flew in formation above the car and skimmed over the surface of the water before landing in a flap of feathered white wings. Rays of burnished sunshine burst through the grey covering of low-slung clouds, illuminating patches of earth and the ripples on the water and making them glow like polished gold. Lone drops of rain spattered intermittently onto the windscreen.
‘The weather is rather wild up here. It changes all the time – we might have breakfast in the sunshine, and supper in the snow. Are you hungry? I was thinking we could go out in my little boat and catch some supper, Hal. I heard that you’re quite a proficient fisherman. Shall we let your mumma have a little break and go together?’ Kestrel turned to look at the child’s eager round face between the shaggy wolfhounds.
‘Yes, please!’ Hal said eagerly, a hand on each dog, adding, ‘Can Myrtle and Thistle come?’ His voice had a slight lisp and Thistle’s name came out as ‘Thithle’, making Sage and Kestrel laugh.
‘Well, they love fishing – but maybe this time we’ll leave them to keep an eye on things. Can you swim, sailor?’ Kestrel asked Hal.
‘I can, if someone holds me up,’ Hal replied solemnly.
‘Life jacket it is!’ Kestrel patted Hal affectionately on the head like a dog.
‘And promise that you will do exactly as Kestrel tells you?’ Sage twisted around to make eye contact with Hal.
‘I promise.’
As they rounded another bend, a large, white-gabled house came into view. It sat regally on a small hill, alone in its splendour for apart from some outhouses in the surrounding fields, there was not another building in sight. The house was elegantly proportioned, with dormant roses rambling up its walls and itsextensive gardens leading down to a pebble beach and the loch beyond.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Sage, with a gasp. ‘It’sincredible. What a magical place.’
Kestrel looked at her stunned face in surprise. The garden was still asleep.
‘Have you ever been to Scotland before?’ he asked, driving right up to the house.
‘No, never.’ Sage gazed out of the window in wonder.
‘Welcome to Rasaay House – and I suppose it’s welcome to Scotland too, then!’ Kestrel turned off the engine and held out his arms expansively; he already had his bottle of whisky clutched in his right hand, and it clanged against the closed window as he did so. ‘I wish I could take you to my real home up here but, well, we’re selling it.’ He seemed profoundly sad for a moment. The rain had begun in earnest now, hammering down on the roof and lashing against the windows of the car. He physically shook himself. ‘Let’s make a dash for it. You both go on ahead, and I’ll bring the bag.’
The house was dark and cool inside. The floors were flagstones throughout but Sage asked Hal to take off his wet shoes and slipped hers off too, putting them neatly by the door.
‘Oh, bless you, but we don’t stand on ceremony here, Sage.’ Kestrel flew into the house, dropping their bag at the bottom of the stairs before tramping past them and straight through to the kitchen in his dirty boots. Sage paused and looked around the hall before following him. Weak light was pouring in through large sash and case windows, revealing dust that covered every surface. The house appeared full to bursting with stunning ancient furniture too big for the spaces into which it was crammed. In the kitchen, the green Aga was grimy and had one of its oven doors hanging open, while washing-up stood stacked in precarious piles in the enormous double Belfast sink.
‘Sorry, the place is lacking a woman’s touch at present,’ said Kestrel, surveying the mess as though seeing it for the first time. ‘My nanny, Mrs M, normally keeps things in order but she has been away at her sister’s house in Carlisle for a few weeks. I believe she’s coming back some time today, though. The house was only a hunting lodge really, but now it’s home.’ He glanced at the calendar on the wall, then remembered something else. ‘Oh, and don’t close the door of the stove – Hotchi-Witchi is sleeping in there.’
‘Who is Hotchi-Witchi?’ Hal asked, peering curiously into the warming oven.
Did he really say his ‘nanny’?thought Sage, wondering if she had misheard him.