something. Is it a sexually transmitted disease? Is that why you can’t say?”
I made some sound—something between a snort and a chortle.
“An STD? Oh, no!”
“I apologize if I have insulted you,” Gordon said. A smile played on the corner of his lips, reminding me yet again of Colin. Was he a descendant? What were the odds? I supposed there were a lot of Scots named Anderson.
“Did you ever have an ancestor named Colin Anderson?” I asked, completely off topic.
“Colin Anderson?” he repeated. “Well, yes, Laird Colin was my tenth great-grandfather.”
I caught my breath and stared at him. Colin’s great-great, and then some, grandson! I couldn’t believe it, and yet looking at him, I could. But that Colin’s descendent should be the one to pick me up on the road? What were the odds of that?
“And Beth?” My voice squeaked. “Was he married to a Beth?”
“Aye,” Gordon said. “Elizabeth Pratt Anderson. Yes. They had four children. I am descended through Alexander, the eldest son.”
So Beth did have her baby, safe and sound. And three more besides. I couldn’t wait to tell her when I got back. A sudden thought struck me.
“Wait! Are you the current earl?”
He nodded, if a bit sheepishly.
“Aye, I am titled the Earl of Halkhead. Though I don’t use the title overly much. It comes with little but a castle and some land. There is no fortune with it. I suppose I am lucky that we kept the land. My eleventh great-grandfather allowed men to fight at Culloden. That would normally have forfeited castle and estates.”
“Yes,” I said, somewhat dazed. “Do you own Gleannhaven Castle?”
“Aye,” he said, a broad smile lightening his face. “Don’t tell me you’ve heard of it?”
“I have,” I said. “I have. Did you just come from there?”
“Aye, I did.”
It seemed likely that a road had been laid in from the castle to this small stretch of highway somewhere other than the old horse-and-cart trail along the banks of the river, because Gordon had come from farther south.
“Somehow, I feel we have strayed from the more urgent subject,” Gordon said. “Where shall I take you, and how can I help you?”
“You said your sister is a doctor. Can I see her?”
“She is a neurologist. Do you think she could help?”
I bit my lip. I wanted to blurt out that I needed a doctor who could help me with typhoid fever, but I dared not.
“She can prescribe antibiotics, can’t she?”
“I imagine so,” he said. “I can’t say for certain. I’m willing to take you there.”
“Oh, thank you!” I said with relief. I pushed against the sides of my hoop, which threatened to spill over onto the gearshift. He noticed the movement.
“Have you been to a costume party then? A ball?”
“Something like that,” I said. I felt awful taking his help and withholding explanations to my appearance in the road and my clothing, but what could I do? We drove on through the darkness, and I asked a question that had been nagging at me.
“Have you ever heard of a James Livingstone?” I hadn’t wanted to ask but could not resist. I held my breath, awaiting Gordon’s response.
He seemed to think for a moment before speaking.
“I’m sure I have heard of or met someone named James Livingstone in my time. It is not an uncommon name in Scotland. Mine is common as well. It comes from the old clan system, where many people took the name of the clan.”
Not the answer I wanted.
“I mean, historically. A peer of your tenth great-grandfather’s.”
He shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
“Lochloon Castle?” I prompted.
“Lochloon Castle?” he repeated. “Nooooo, I don’t think I’ve heard of a Lochloon Castle. Where is it?”
“Somewhere nearby, on a lake. You have to take a boat to it.”
“Well, here I am, a Scotsman, and I don’t know of a local castle. I’m a disgrace, aren’t I? I cannot say that I’ve ever heard of Lochloon Castle.”
I took several deep
I made some sound—something between a snort and a chortle.
“An STD? Oh, no!”
“I apologize if I have insulted you,” Gordon said. A smile played on the corner of his lips, reminding me yet again of Colin. Was he a descendant? What were the odds? I supposed there were a lot of Scots named Anderson.
“Did you ever have an ancestor named Colin Anderson?” I asked, completely off topic.
“Colin Anderson?” he repeated. “Well, yes, Laird Colin was my tenth great-grandfather.”
I caught my breath and stared at him. Colin’s great-great, and then some, grandson! I couldn’t believe it, and yet looking at him, I could. But that Colin’s descendent should be the one to pick me up on the road? What were the odds of that?
“And Beth?” My voice squeaked. “Was he married to a Beth?”
“Aye,” Gordon said. “Elizabeth Pratt Anderson. Yes. They had four children. I am descended through Alexander, the eldest son.”
So Beth did have her baby, safe and sound. And three more besides. I couldn’t wait to tell her when I got back. A sudden thought struck me.
“Wait! Are you the current earl?”
He nodded, if a bit sheepishly.
“Aye, I am titled the Earl of Halkhead. Though I don’t use the title overly much. It comes with little but a castle and some land. There is no fortune with it. I suppose I am lucky that we kept the land. My eleventh great-grandfather allowed men to fight at Culloden. That would normally have forfeited castle and estates.”
“Yes,” I said, somewhat dazed. “Do you own Gleannhaven Castle?”
“Aye,” he said, a broad smile lightening his face. “Don’t tell me you’ve heard of it?”
“I have,” I said. “I have. Did you just come from there?”
“Aye, I did.”
It seemed likely that a road had been laid in from the castle to this small stretch of highway somewhere other than the old horse-and-cart trail along the banks of the river, because Gordon had come from farther south.
“Somehow, I feel we have strayed from the more urgent subject,” Gordon said. “Where shall I take you, and how can I help you?”
“You said your sister is a doctor. Can I see her?”
“She is a neurologist. Do you think she could help?”
I bit my lip. I wanted to blurt out that I needed a doctor who could help me with typhoid fever, but I dared not.
“She can prescribe antibiotics, can’t she?”
“I imagine so,” he said. “I can’t say for certain. I’m willing to take you there.”
“Oh, thank you!” I said with relief. I pushed against the sides of my hoop, which threatened to spill over onto the gearshift. He noticed the movement.
“Have you been to a costume party then? A ball?”
“Something like that,” I said. I felt awful taking his help and withholding explanations to my appearance in the road and my clothing, but what could I do? We drove on through the darkness, and I asked a question that had been nagging at me.
“Have you ever heard of a James Livingstone?” I hadn’t wanted to ask but could not resist. I held my breath, awaiting Gordon’s response.
He seemed to think for a moment before speaking.
“I’m sure I have heard of or met someone named James Livingstone in my time. It is not an uncommon name in Scotland. Mine is common as well. It comes from the old clan system, where many people took the name of the clan.”
Not the answer I wanted.
“I mean, historically. A peer of your tenth great-grandfather’s.”
He shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
“Lochloon Castle?” I prompted.
“Lochloon Castle?” he repeated. “Nooooo, I don’t think I’ve heard of a Lochloon Castle. Where is it?”
“Somewhere nearby, on a lake. You have to take a boat to it.”
“Well, here I am, a Scotsman, and I don’t know of a local castle. I’m a disgrace, aren’t I? I cannot say that I’ve ever heard of Lochloon Castle.”
I took several deep
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