When they reached the top of the stairs, she stopped Bridget with a hand on her shoulder. “Soon you'll be wanting to find yourself a husband. ”
Bridget gaped, and Marjorie wasn't sure if she'd offended or simply surprised the girl. But she thought of surly Cormac, staring into his mug as though willing life to pass, and her confidence redoubled.
Despite Bridget's cheerful assertions, Dunnottar was a dismal place. Especially when compared to Marjorie's life in Aberdeen. But if the MacAlpins had no known family, Bridget had no place else to go.
“You know you're always welcome to stay with Uncle and me in Aberdeen,” she said impulsively. “Learned men come the world over to study at the university. There's polite society, and gentlemen galore—”
“Bridge has no need for city life. ”
Marjorie startled. Placing a hand on her heart, she turned. Cormac stood right behind her, silent as a wraith.
He'd followed them.
“I think I'm able to speak for myself. ” Bridget rolled her eyes, transformed to her old self again. “I'm loathe to admit it, Marj, but—”
“Marjorie,” Marjorie murmured apologetically.
“Marjorie,” Bridget continued with an easy smile, “but I fear my brother has the right of it. I'm not ready for a husband just yet. And I don't wish to leave Dunnottar. If the crash of waves doesn't wake me, it's the sound of the lads' sparring that does, and I'm afraid I'd be lost without either one. ” Marjorie canted her head, considering. Surely the villagers wouldn't let the MacAlpins stay in the abandoned castle forever. Folk might muster sympathy for a family of orphans, but she imagined they'd be hard-pressed to allow a spinster to live out her dotage there. Dunnottar might be in near ruin, but someday some wealthy clans-man would appear to set it to rights.
Could the girl not even want a husband? Marjorie could certainly understand it. She'd given the cold shoulder to many a suitor, and despite the fact that she was perilously close to spinsterhood, she couldn't imagine ever wanting to encourage a single one. To her, city men were fops and dandies all.
There'd always been only one man for her.
She shook her head to erase the thought, but it clung to the back of her mind. That the man in question currently hovered at her back did nothing to help matters.
“Come on, come on. ” Bridget grabbed her arm.
Furrowing her brow, Marjorie followed willingly, thinking there was more to Bridget than met the eye. Though the MacAlpins had been nicknamed Dunn's Devils, with her black hair and mischievous dark eyes sparkling like the night sky, it was Bridget who might turn out to be the most devilish of them all.
Bridget resumed her brisk pace, towing Marjorie alongside. “I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. ” The thought made her blush. She heard Cormac following behind them; now that she knew he was there, he was all she was aware of. Would he see where she slept?
Suddenly, she needed to know. Did he sleep nearby? “I don't want to put anyone out. Where does everyone else slee—”
“Och, you're putting nobody out. We're giving you Anya's room. ”
They were making their way down a narrow gallery. Squares of watery light pierced the windows. A shadowy cluster of rooms spoked out from the end of the corridor.
The bedrooms. There appeared to be four of them. Which one was Cormac's?
She tallied the MacAlpins in her head. Youngest to oldest: Bridget, Declan, Cormac, Gregor, Anya. Five siblings, four bedrooms. Who sleeps where?
“You keep a room for Anya?” Marjorie asked, her voice hoarse.
“You've seen the place. I'd say we've rooms to spare. ”
Cormac was still behind them. She felt the heat of his body radiating at her back. Marjorie struggled to make conversation. “And how is your sister?”
“Her?” Bridget shrugged. “Anya abides. ”
“And whatever is that supposed to mean?”
Bridget shook her head, stifling an impish grin. “Our Anya… She seems to bear her life in silence, aye? Except when she was married off. ” She beamed admiringly. “Oh, but the fit she pitched when Father sent her all the way down to Argyll! But she seems to have accustomed to married life. Her husband, Donald, he was injured you know, in the wars. Terrible thing. But she has her wee Duncan. Though he's not so very wee anymore. He's… “ She looked over Marjorie's shoulder. “How old is he now?”
“Nine. ” Cormac bit out the word as though pained.
She felt a little flutter of optimism. What was he doing, following and listening? It didn't seem like something a man would do if he wanted to rid himself of you. Perhaps she could convince him to help her find Davie after all.
Marjorie cleared her throat. “Do you sleep up here, too?”