Page 13 of Unveiled

There was a knock at the door, and an apologetic Louella peered in. “Sorry, Connor, she got away from me. I didn’t mean for her to wake you.” She entered the room and picked up her daughter. “Come on, little mischief-maker, let’s get you your breakfast and leave Connor to get dressed. He has a room full of anxious people downstairs waiting to hear his speech this morning.”

Connor groaned. “Well shit, are they all up already? It’s only…” He looked at his watch on the bedside table and sat up abruptly. “Fuck me, it’s eleven o’clock. I’d better get my arse out of bed.” He’d forgotten Alicia was there and chastised himself. “Sorry, Louella, I slipped up. I do apologise.”

Louella let out a peal of laughter, her brown eyes flashing in merriment. “If you think either of us is going to be scandalised by your language, think again. Until you’ve heard Max and John having an argument about the right way to mend a fence, you’ve heard nothing that will scar an innocent mind. I had to explain to Alicia what a…” she leaned over and whispered in his ear, “wanking tosspot was.”

Connor couldn’t help but join her laughter. His groundskeeper and farm manager were always at odds with each other about something yet put them in a room together with a pint of beer, and they were the best of friends.

“Well, I’m not accepting carte blanche to say certain words in front of young ears, so my apology stands. Now, out, both of you, so I can get up. It seems I have a story to tell.”

Connor showered and in no time walked into the sitting room. The room was warm despite its stone walls, thanks to the innovative and exorbitant underfloor heating that ran throughout the castle.

Outside it was overcast and gloomy, the threat of rain looming. A typical mid-November morning in the Highlands, he reflected wryly. I’d love more sunshine sometime soon. Perhaps a visit to Tuscany, to the land of Chianti and olives, is on the cards.

He pushed that entrancing thought to the back of his mind and poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. People were already seated, nursing similar cups and looking well-fed. Clearly he’d missed breakfast.

No matter. He was sure Louella had kept him a plate of homemade sausage patties, black pudding, and homegrown tomatoes. His mouth watered thinking of it, but he had a job to do.

He raised his coffee cup to his clan and inclined his head. “Good morning to everyone. I hope you all slept well enough despite the disturbance last night. I’m sure you’re all dying to know what went on, so I’ll tell you plainly.”

He took a sip of his black coffee. “Early this morning, Fraser and I went to investigate what looked like a fire in the valley. I’m pleased to say there was no fire, which is a blessing, but there was an unlikely occurrence we still can’t explain, and we’ll be doing our best to figure it all out.”

Across the room from where he perched on a side table next to Laird Allaway, one of the young men of the clan, Fraser gave him the thumbs-up and mouthed, “Going well.”

Connor ignored him. “It seems we have visitors from elsewhere. A whole village appeared in the valley last night, with a population of around forty people, and we and they have no clue how or why yet.”

There was dead silence as everyone absorbed his words. “They aren’t aliens. They’re human,” Connor stated firmly. “So, please, no conspiracy theories along those lines.”

The room came alive with people talking, trying to get their questions in.

“Not aliens? Then where did they come from?” Graeme Scobie, Connor’s chief farmhand, turned to him, looking perplexed.

“How can this be? Surely, you’re mistaken. They must’ve been there all along.” A scoffing Briar Wilson, Connor’s main gardener, who only believed in the land around him. Soil was his passion.

“This is awesome. When do we get to meet them, First?” Laird, of course, ever the enthusiastic one, a seventeen-year-old Connor had rescued from an abusive clan.

Connor lifted a hand. “Stop.” His voice echoed through the crowd.

The room fell silent. His pack turned toward him, some of them in trepidation, others with excitement, and still others seemingly accepting.

“Laird, I’ve asked you not to call me First when we’re at home. First is an old-fashioned address more for an old King like my father. You call me Connor when you’re under my roof.” Laird flushed but Connor was resigned to the fact he’d still have to encourage the young man to cease using the term.

“Secondly, I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll tell you a little more if you hold on to them and hear me out.” He took another gulp of his coffee and then told them everything he knew about the people he’d met so far. He left out the bit about the village being magical. He’d rather find out a bit more about that before he told his clan.

Someone muttered something, and Connor turned toward the sound. John Galbraith, his farm manager, leaned against the wall, a grim look on his face, his mouth open as if he had something further to say.

“Did you want to say something, John?” Connor said quietly, knowing his farm manager wasn’t a man of many words.

John tightened his lips and crossed his arms. “It’s Brigadoon all over again,” he muttered. “Who knew that story was real?” He waved a beefy hand about. “It’s a fairy tale, surely. It can’t be true.”

“Aye,” Angie Janson, assistant housekeeper and kitchen witch, murmured. “It sounds a little out there. But we all know sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.”

Connor sighed. “I saw it. It’s true, all right. What we need to ask now is what we do about it.”

Laird, who’d been seemingly enraptured by the conversation, raised a tentative hand. “It’s Glengáill,” he whispered, as if the name he was speaking was sacrosanct. “Alicia drew it. I saw the pictures.” He ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “I was baby-sitting her the other day, and she was hell-bent on finishing her drawings.”

Fraser looked over at Connor, and together they turned to stare at the younger man, who was nodding his head like a bobbing toy on a car’s dashboard. “Look, I’ll go get them.” He turned and sped toward the stairs.

Louella was sitting on the couch looking dazed. “What does he mean, she drew them? How can that be?” She ran a hand through her dark, curly hair. “Gracious, I think I need a drink. This is all too much for a Sunday morning.”