Free Moreton's Kingdom by Jean S. Macleod Page A

dressing in haste, she pulled open her bedroom door and hurried towards Sandy’s room.
    ‘Are we awake?’ she asked before she saw that the bed was empty.
    The curtains had been drawn back to their fullest extent, letting in the morning sun, but Sandy and his small tartan holdall were nowhere to be seen. Katherine ran to the window to look out. The hens were gathered in a squabbling clutch around some scattered corn, but the yard itself was deserted. Her heart seemed to miss a beat. They’ve gone, she thought. Charles has taken Sandy and double-crossed me!
    When he had discussed Glassary so freely the evening before it had all been a tremendous bluff. A vague disappointment struggled with the anger she felt as she hurried down the stairs to the hall below. Someone had cleared up the debris of the evening before and the sound of voices came from the snug, Sandy’s high-pitched treble and a deeper masculine voice which she realised with a surge of relief belonged to Charles.
    She found them both seated at the table supping porridge from white, blue-banded bowls.
    ‘You must have been up very early,’ she remarked, trying to keep the sound of relief out of her voice.
    ‘Sandy had to feed the hens.’ Charles rose to his feet. ‘Do you take porridge?’ he asked formally.
    ‘I will this morning,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose it’s the change of air that makes one feel so hungry.’
    ‘After London,’ he said, ringing the bell on the wall by the fireplace, ‘fresh air and an appetite comes as a surprise.’
    Katherine looked at her watch.
    ‘I thought I might be up before anyone else,’ she said.
    ‘It’s quarter to eight.’ He pulled out a chair for her. ‘I’m going to take another look at your car—and don’t put sugar on your porridge!’ he warned in a tone he hadn’t used before.
    Sandy greeted her thoughtfully.
    ‘This is the way you take it,’ he said, dipping his spoonful of porridge into the small side bowl next to his plate. ‘It’s—’ He hesitated before a word he had heard often enough. ‘Trinishinal,’ he declared on a note of triumph.
    ‘I must remember to be traditional!’ Katherine laughed, sitting down beside him. ‘You’ll have to show me how at first, because it seems I’ve been away from Scotland for far too long!’
    A young girl in a flowered pinafore came in with fresh porridge.
    ‘That’s Kirsty,’ Sandy announced, spoon pointing. ‘She helped me to feed the hens.’
    ‘So I did,’ Kirsty beamed a shy smile in his direction. ‘And now you’ve eaten all your porridge you can have an egg.’
    Sandy laid his spoon in his empty bowl.
    ‘Will I drink the rest of the cream?’ he asked obligingly.
    ‘As much as you like!’ Kirsty laughed. ‘I’ll bring some more.’
    Sandy looked up from his bowl as Emma Falkland came in. She had evidently had her breakfast and no doubt she had tidied up in the lounge after she had finished.
    ‘I’m going down to the studio,’ she said after she had greeted Katherine with a brief nod. ‘Would you like to come?’
    Sandy was on his feet in an instant, taking her hand, and Katherine was quick to recognise the affinity which existed between them.
    ‘What about that egg?’ she asked. ‘Kirsty was going to bring you one.’
    ‘I’ll wait till you finish,’ Emma promised, sitting down on the window-seat. ‘Did you sleep well, Miss Rivers?’ she asked.
    ‘Very well, and I thought I was up first this morning, but evidently I was last!’ Katherine wanted to be friendly. ‘Can I come to the studio, too?’
    Emma looked surprised.
    ‘There’s nothing much to see.’ She hesitated. ‘Come if you like.’
    ‘There’s the bear with the funny nose,’ Sandy interjected as he battled with his boiled egg.
    ‘I’ve done something about his nose,’ Emma laughed. ‘Eat up your egg and then you can tell me how much improved you think he is!’
    Sandy led the way through the garden to a makeshift shed where Emma evidently worked