"The girls are making wreathes," announced Colin MacKenzie, walking into the large kitchen of the old Castle - also known as the Institute for Higher Celtic Thought (or the Commune to the islanders).

Seated at the long wooden table were Garreth Warren, Colin's second in command and their guest, Professor Sandra Marsden.

"We take them up to the Castle for the Christmas Night party," he added by way of explanation to the guest. "It's traditional - the poor crofter's gift to the Laird. Although I must say, even after three years, it still seems a bit strange to be the one carrying the wreathes and not the one receiving them ... "

He was silent for a minute, turning his back on them as he poured himself a mug of steaming tea from the pot that was kept reading throughout the day. He was handsome in a boyish way, with thick sandy hair, and a tendency to flush when he was angry, upset or even just concentrating particularly hard.

When he turned again he was smiling, a slightly forced smile. "Christmas wreathes," he said by way of explanation to Sandra. "Not funeral wreathes. They're made gay by berries and ribbons - and we used to hang them over all the fireplaces in the Castle. One year one fell down and set the hearthrug on fire. My mother was furious and wanted to ban them, but Father wouldn't let her. Such an old tradition, he said. Showing the fealty between Laird and islander."

His face was a little flushed. He rarely talked about his lost inheritance, or what it meant to him - although it was notable that he avoided Castle MacKenzie and his cousin when he could. The Christmas Night party, however, was something that could not be avoided - nor could other Christmas chores.

"Ah well," he said, as though mentally accepting this. "Will you be wanting to go out to the digs this morning, Professor, or do you both fancy a trip to the Castle with me? I have to take the Yule log ... If Davis has been around to get the lorry going. Have either of you seen him yet this morning?"

Garreth smiled, apparently not noticing his friend's unease, or perhaps just used to overlooking it. " Davis said he expected to have it done today," Garreth explains. "Of course that doesn't say when today."

"I'd think that the Doctor's holes in the ground can wait a day or three. When else does she get to visit the home of a Laird, eh? And the digs'll be snow covered by tonight anyway, at least that's what Morgan's joints have been saying, if you can believe them."

"I think I can be lured from my digs for a snow storm and a Christmas meal," Sandra said with a bit of forced cheerfulness. "The sites I've been looking at..." She shook her head. "I suspect at least one of them has already been dug at by amateurs. A pity, really. But the cold won't hurt the sites, and as long as the snow is cleared away before the thaw there shouldn't be any problems."

Davis MacKenzie entered the kitchen as well nodded to the old Laird and to Dr. Marsden, and headed directly to the stove. He'd been outside recently, and he was stripping off gloves and pocketing them as he approached the source of warmth.

"Oh, aye, Morgan has the right of it. You can smell it when you're on the dunes. Your lorry will be running when you need it, Sir, a'though I'll feel better if'n I were driving. I'm not so sure your lads Sean and Ian ken how to drive on snow. 'Tis something of a pity we don't have the old solid tyres. You're running low on patches for the pneumatics."

Sandra poured Davis a cup of coffee into a mug and handed it to the mechanic. "Here... to warm your hands and your insides. Thank you for looking at the truck in this weather. Will you be coming up to the castle with us for dinner?" she asked politely.

"I shan't be up at the Castle unless they break something, and even then you'll most likely not see me, Dr. Marsden. The castle folks do invite us for a Christmas party, but it's no' their supper. I imagine most of my kinfolk would be scarit out of their wits to be invited to eat a meal with our betters from the castle."

Garreth laughed, "You'll need more than stories about Cairo to eat at the Laird's, Doctor. Perhaps a mummy if you could get it to scare the starlets and such."

"I'm up for the trip if ya need me Colin," he added.

Sandra's attitude suddenly became frosty. "Yes... a mummy should do nicely to impress the nice titled people, shouldn't it?" she asked coldly, glaring at Garreth. "I'll remember to bring one with my credentials next time," she snapped, turning away to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"It's not you, Doc," Garreth says, not having meant to offend their guest. "It's the Laird and all those American actors and such. Theatre people, you know. It was an attempt at humour, mixing your knowledge with their whims."

"I know all too well," Sandra said with a touch of bitterness. "After all.. who do you think pays the salaries of the staff of the museum? The Patrons, of course." She stirs a little sugar into her coffee. "They would rather have glamorous exhibits like Tutanhkamon's, rather than the patient, boring tedious work it takes to really learn anything about the past."

She turned back around and brought her coffee to the table, sitting down. "So there are American actors staying at the castle?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"There's always American actors at the Castle these days," said Colin, setting his mug down on the side with perhaps excessive care. "My cousin ... the new Laird ... he was brought up mostly in America . And his wife was ... I think they say 'in vaudeville'. Music Hall.

" Davis , could you give us a hand to take the Yule log to the Castle? And Professor Marsden, if you come too, you might see some of these actors for yourself."

"Honestly... I'd be more interested in the castle itself," Sandra said wryly. "Or perhaps the records stored there. They'd be helpful," she mused.

"Of course, Sir. Anything for the Laird."

Davis drank his coffee, holding the warm coffee cup tightly in his weathered hands.

" Davis ... I've told you a dozen ... " began Colin. Then he broke off and shrugged. "I'll go and see if Sean and Iain have got the log ready for loading."

He turned and left the kitchen. It was clear that being referred to as the Laird troubled him.

Davis looked after the man as he left, neither avoiding any questions from the remaining folks in the kitchen nor inviting them.

"That's not a good omen," Sandra said quietly. "Do... many on the island still think of Colin as the Laird?" she asked Davis thoughtfully as she turned her own coffee cup in her hands.

"Titles, Dr. Marsden, are not light things. They mean something, especially to those who grant them. The Laird's father was... not loved, but respected. He did right by the people of this island. He kept the old arrangements between islander and Laird.

"You have a title, Dr. Marsden, granted one presumes by a University that cares deeply about who calls themselves 'doctor'. Could you sell it? What would you think of someone who bought a doctorate in archaeology?"

Davis placed the now-empty cup down. "Really, though, it's simpler than that in general. Most of the people of Verrisay aren't very sophisticated, Doctor. Things here are they way they are and have been for many a year. There's no room in their experience for the idea of an ex-Laird. 'Tis a transition that takes place on the death of the Laird. The Laird will be the Laird until he dies."

Davis smiled. "We're a stubborn lot, we MacKenzies. That's in the blood."

"Apparently so," Sandra agreed mildly. "What... are the old arrangements between the Laird and the islanders? Does it have to do with property arrangements?"

Garreth looked to the MacKenzie, also. The majority of his experience with Laird Colin was since he had abdicated whatever rights he once had.

"Well, he always gets the best fruit from Elsie in the Village. I think that's a pretty good bit."

Davis looked at Garreth. "Oh, Aye, Dr. Marsden. It has to do with property arrangements."

At this juncture Colin walked back in.

"Sean's got the engine going," he said, "and the Yule log's aboard. We'd best be setting off for the Castle."

Sandra pulled on her red woolen coat as she walked out to the lorry. A few weeks of Verrisay weather had begun to acclimate her to the dank chill that seemed to pervade everything.

At least she was more than comfortable to gather firewood for her own room, which she kept a bit warmer than was comfortable for the regular inhabitants of the commune.

"Should we be taking the wreaths over now? Or do we do that for the party later?" Sandra asked Colin as she prepared to climb into the cab.

"We take them with us to the Christmas Night party," he said, and then smiled a little bitterly. "Tradition."

"I see," Sandra said, not unkindly. "Well... we'll take over some lovely ones, then. I'm sure the girls will be very creative in their decorations," she said with some amusement as she climbed into the cab.

"Always creative the girls are," Garreth chuckled more to himself and Davis out the window than any of the others.

The lorry was not the most comfortable form of transport, especially with four people slightly squashed in the cabin. Colin let Garreth drive - this seemed a fairly common arrangement between the two of them.

Davis MacKenzie again rode on the driver's side running board, both to give the passengers more room and to be in a better position to watch the cargo.

If this choice caused Garreth to drive more slowly and carefully, that would only have been considered an advantage by the Verrisay native.

The breakfast parlour of Castle MacKenzie, home of the Laird of Verrisay, was, like all the rooms in the Castle, quite hideous. Originally a fourteenth century Keep, it had been 'improved' virtually out of all recognition in the Victorian era by Robert Adam MacKenzie, a Laird with a passion of all things tartan and a deep love of Scots Gothic that equalled that of Queen Victoria.The cold dead hand of his influence was to be seen throughout the Castle.

Today the breakfast parlour was quiet - for only one person was present - the Laird himself, Mr Douglas MacKenzie-Brown. Although there was a goodly - not to say 'vast' - array of silver dishes arranged on the sideboard (set on chafing dishes to keep the food warm), it seemed he had availed himself of none of these. Instead, set before him was a half-drunk cup of black coffee and a half-eaten roll - or rather a rather bready scone - the closest thing the Castle cook could manage to a bread roll.

The Laird was reading a two week old copy of the Times. The vagaries of newspaper deliveries and the ferry combined to ensure that this was the most recent reading material in the house. What more recent news they had was gleaned from the radio (when the reception allowed).

He looked up as his wife entered, and tilted his head back that she might plant the appropriately wifely kiss on his cheek.

"Are any of our guests stirring yet?" he asked, a little querulously.

"I suppose you'll be busy with the arrangements for this party for the island tomorrow night," he went on, rustling his paper irritably. "I suppose it has to be done. Traditional. Well, this will be the last time, thank God. We'll be instigating some new traditions in the New Year."

A pair of brisk raps sounded on the door frame. " Douglas , don't you ever wonder why the opium trader didn't have a wife with better taste? Tartan in one place is certainly an acceptable way of showing Mackenzie pride, but this looks almost like the aftermath of an accident at the dye factory. Is the decor one of the new traditions you were just mentioning?"

Adrian Quinn, Laird Mackenzie's cousin, appeared obnoxiously cheerful for somebody awake at what the peerage would be almost certain to describe as an ungodly hour of the morning. Already dressed in an aged tweed two-piece suit, his grooming was complete for the morning. "I trust you both slept well? It looks like we're going to get hit with a rather nasty storm sometime today, and the winds that go with get a little loud on the second and third floors sometimes - or, at least, that's what I remember from being on the island as a child. Does that sound about right, Douglas?"

Covering the distance from the door to the sidebar in the long strides for which he was known, he paused long enough to add, "Selina, the only time you've appeared more radiant was at the wedding reception."

Selina, wearing a lacy baby-pink velvet robe and her lovely smile, leaned down with another kiss for Cousin Adrian. "You are just the sweetest thing. I'm so glad you're here. I'm glad everybody's here!"

Her well-trained actress's voice hid any discontent -- but the words nonetheless held a tinge almost of desperation.

At that moment, the Earl of Eversham entered the room, and gave a brisk look around the room, touched with a very slight smile. "Good morning, Douglas , Selina. Everyone."

"Such a lovely morning," Selina said automatically, though the sky outside had gone slate-grey and even the cozy little breakfast-room felt chilly.

"Lord Eversham." This from Adrian Quinn, accompanied by a nod of the proper depth.

In two of his long-legged strides Lord Eversham had reached the sideboard, and he began helping himself to bacon and tomatoes.

"I hope everyone else slept as well as I did last night," he said over his shoulder.

"Did -- did everyone have enough blankets?" Selina fussed, and ran on without letting anyone answer. "It's just dreadful to be in a strange bedroom without enough blankets. Like a poor crescent moon all alone in the sky, when it's too cloudy to see any stars."

Seated at a table, Adrian responded whilst stirring the requisite milk, sugar, and lemon into his tea. "You did fine Selina, at least in my room. Can't vouch for anybody else, though."

She looked at her husband, to gauge the effect of this sally. Her lips trembled for a moment. "I suppose no one walked past my brother's bedroom, heard whether he's awake yet? Willie can be such a -- such a slug-a-bed when it's cold."

"Depends on where he's sleeping. I was going to ask one of the maids to check in on Emma when I finished eating; since it seems like everybody else - or close to it - is up, I didn't figure the roust would be horribly out of line." At this, he dolloped clotted cream onto a pair of scones, stirred some maple syrup into the bowl of oatmeal in front of him, and dealt promptly with two strips of bacon.

"Send someone up," said MacKenzie-Brown to his wife in a tone that permitted no argument. "After all, who would possibly want to stay in bed on a lovely day like this?"

The sneer in his voice was almost palpable.

Selina did not flinch, but her blue eyes misted over as she turned them toward the door. "Yes, Douglas ," she said in a low, chastened murmur.

At that jucture the door opened and Rendell, the soft-footed English butler entered.

"If you please, sir, Mr Colin has arrived, with the Yule log."

MacKenzie-Brown looked at him sharply. "Mr MacKenzie, would that be?"

The butler gave a half-bow. "With so many Mr MacKenzies on the island, sir, one does fall into the habit ... "

"Well, don't!" said MacKenzie-Brown shortly. "Have him take it into the Hall or the Armoury or wherever these things generally go ... " He seemed about to return his attention to the meal when he was struck by a sudden thought. "Oh - have him meet me in the library after he's done. I need to talk to him."

He glanced at his wife, and suddenly smiled - a not particularly pleasant smile.

"And I believe my wife has further instructions for you too ... "

Selina pasted on a suitable smile. "We'll discuss it outside, Rendell," she said, and fled the room.

She stayed in the hall a pair of minutes after Rendell had gone off on his errands, returning with renewed sparkle in her eyes and vivacity in her light movements. "It shouldn't be a minute before Emma is here, Cousin Adrian," she said brightly, taking a plate for herself and filling it with fruit and well-sugared oatmeal. "Isn't she a lovely girl, though? We'll have *such* fun today! I've found the decorations for the tree, and I've a whole stack of sheet music for caroling -- does she play, Cousin? -- and I'm trying to talk the kitchen into a taffy pull, but we'll just have to see if they..." She chattered blithely and inconsequentially, the tail of one eye ever on Douglas MacKenzie.

"I believe that she and Evelyn both have some rudimentary skills at the piano, if not so much as my mother or Douglas'. Myself, I've the ear to appreciate music well-done, but no capacity for the making thereof myself."

Lord Eversham, seated now across from Mr. Quinn, glanced at Selina MacKenzie-Brown, and then turned his attention to breakfast. He had no expression, as such, but there was, in the way that he moved -- salting his eggs, reaching for the sauce -- a distinct, tightness of limb and sinew, as though some presence in the room were a complete nuisance.

"Do you enjoy the season, Mr. Quinn?" he asked, his tone utterly void of irony.

"I tend to prefer the summer and autumn months, actually. Hiking is my preferred form of recreation, and the winter snows aren't particularly conducive to it. Winter also tends to be slow professionally, since the weather isn't construction-friendly, either."

From some distance down the echoing corridors could be made out the clear, verbose complaints of one Lady Amelia to her maid. As she neared, one could only just make out that it was something to do with a soiled shirt. It ended with a very sharp, "Well, see to it, then," from her Ladyship, whereupon her footsteps sounded her approach.

She whisked into the room, beaming, and said gaily, "Good morning, all! Good morning. Everyone get a good rest? Oh, Mrs. MacKenzie-Brown, is there to be a Yule log this year? Bellmore used to have one, but dear Uncle Richard turned so awfully sour on Christmas when I was nine, because of the endless disasters that year. On top of everything else -- imagine the tree toppling over and nearly crushing him to the floor! Nearly sixteen feet of pine wood and limbs and all those glittering ornaments ... All that saved him was that Beatrice had over-waxed the hall floor and he slid out of the room, landing head-first on the carpet in the next room -- just as the whole thing crashed thunderously behind."

It was only with great effort that Mr. Quinn managed to swallow the tea he had in his mouth before his laughter at Lady Amelia's story would have sent it spraying all over the table - and her brother.

"Since then, I've always had a dear, deep wish to have a proper Christmas, again. All Uncle Richard would permit, from that year after, was a very tiny tree in the school room, and some tinsel over the front door -- and nobody could so much as speak of the holidays in his presence."

"Oh, dear, how perfectly awful!" Selina exclaimed, pathetically grateful for the conversational rescue. "Well, this year you're to speak of them to your utterest heart's content, Lady Amelia. We are to have a Yule log, aren't we, Douglas ? And all the other traditions everyone's been telling me about. Really, the islanders have all been so delightfully kind -- I do want everything to turn out perfect, my first Verrisay Christmas!"

"The Yule log is being delivered even now," said MacKenzie-Brown. "If you can bear the exceitement, doubtless you'll find them setting it up right now in the Great Hall."

"Really?" Selina squealed excitedly. "Well, I just *must* go and see! My lord, my lady, Cousin, would you like to come with me?" She left her half-emptied plate on the sideboard and hurried to the door, the tail of her velvet morning-robe sweeping dramatically along the floor behind her high-heeled, tuft-toed slippers.

"I think I can bear the wait, thank you, Mr. MacKenzie-Brown," Lady Amelia said, her smile freezing a little. Turning again to her hostess, and warmth seeping back into her manner, she asked, "May I ask if there are any more expected?"

"I'll pass as well, for now, Selina," said Adrian Quinn. "A Yule log isn't that big a treat for me; I've even kept one at home while I've been on my own."

But she was too late ... for her hostess was already heading off in quest of the Yule log.

Selina, however, was stopped in the doorway by Rendell, the English butler.

"It appears," he said, "that the guests from the ferry have now arrived," he said astringently. "They are in the courtyard, watching the unloading of a lorry that appears to be delivering firewood."

Selina hurried from the room.

Just then Will St. Pierre came downstairs, slightly rumpled, and looking vaguely amused at the excitement into which he was walking.

"Good morning, then," he said. "Is there any breakfast left? Or at least a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, Willie! The Yule log is here! I have to go see it!" and Selina tripped gaily past him toward the Great Hall, leaving a kiss on his cheek.

"I suppose we follow her, then?" said Lady Amelia. "Wouldn't it be rude not to?" She cast about her for anyone who would meet her gaze, or answer her question. She managed to not look at Mr. MacKenzie-Brown, and yet without making it a pointed gesture.

In a moment, St. Pierre followed after, but Lady Amelia, who had considered joining them, instead strode over to the sideboard, and began dishing up.

"Well, it is a tradition," she murmured, "but until it's lit, it's only a piece of wood, I suppose. And in the meantime, the breakfast will get cold."

With a plate heaped in tomatoes and toast, and with this, too, a dish of oatmeal, her ladyship joined her brother's side at the table, casting a furtive glance up at Mr. Quinn, and then concentrating on her food with almost exaggerated care.

Lord Eversham was wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and looking interestedly in MacKenzie-Brown's direction. He said, " Douglas , are you planning on leading a tour of the castle? Else, some of your guests are liable to get lost."

"I, for one," announced Lady Amelia definitely. I was going back to my room from a trip to the bathroom, last night, and accidentally made a wrong turn into that tower room ... that round library in the corner of the house, with the mosaic on the floor -- what is that, anyway? The Hydra? very fierce and dragon-ish and aquatic, very odd choice, I thought -- well, in any event, that's where I ended up, instead."

"I'll have my wife subject you to the full guided tour," said MacKenzie-Brown. "She loves that sort of thing. I have other business to attend to - if you'll excuse me."

He rose, threw down his serviette, and left the room.

"Oh, Alan!" exclaimed Amelia, "our host has perfectly frightful manners, hasn't he?"

"Now, Amelia, that's hardly polite," her brother rejoined. "One's own manners should never exceed one's host's. If he throws down his serviette and scrambles from the room -- I see no reason ...," and here he rose, "why, if we're through with our own breakfasts," threw down his serviette, "we should not do likewise."

"Well, it seems a trifle silly ..."

"Have you finished eating?"

"Um. I suppose, yes."

"Then, let us go, and join our host downstairs." He did not wait for her reply, and instead turned on his heel and departed the room.

Lady Amelia sighed.

"Tell me, Mr. Quinn," she said, "is it really necessary for men to continually show each other up, in this fashion?"

"I've never seen the point of making an ass of oneself, if you'll pardon my language," responded Adrian Quinn. "I'm really not sure what's happened to Douglas . With our mothers being sisters, we saw each other fairly frequently until he was six or seven, when they went off to America . He really was a very pleasant young boy."

As they drew up to Castle MacKenzie, Colin became quieter. Finally he said to Davis and Garreth, "Will you help me get the log out? I don't want to ask the Castle people."

It was clear he felt uncomfortable about troubling those that had previously served him as Laird.

They pulled in through the gate to a stone courtyard. The walls of the gate were only just wide enough to allow the lorry entrance, but the castle that rose around them on three sides was impressive. Colin jumped out and went to the back of the lorry, letting down the tailgate and throwing back the tarpaulin. The Yule log was impressive - a good six foot in length, and broad.

"No problem in the hearth in the Great Hall," he said. "And it'll make a good blaze for the Christmas Night Party. Let's get it out."

Davis vaulted athletically over the high side of the lorry into the bed by the cab. He stooped down by the end of the yule log and waited for Garreth to get into place.

Sandra climbed out after Colin and looked up at the walls of the castle.

"It is rather run down, isn't it?" she commented to no one in general.

"Oh..." she looked over at the trunk and the men preparing to handle the log. "Which door... that one?" she asked, moving toward the nearest castle door to hold it open for the men and their burden.

"The main door," said Colin, moving to help Garreth. "It's closest to the Great Hall." He indicated the door that bissected the angle of the castle. "Thank you, Professor."

In fact, as Sandra reached the door, it was opened by an rather austere butler in formal attire.

"How may I help you?" he asked with an air of hauteur, as though he was unaware of the three men struggling with the great log.

There were a couple of other servants in the courtyard now - Davis and Colin knew them - but neither made any move to assist the carrying of the Yule log. Indeed, they looked towards the butler almost apprehensively.

"Don't, Davis ," said Colin quietly, before Davis could ask (or order) them to help. "Dinna ye hear that the Laird nearly turned off old Jock when he helped young Sean get the lorry out of the ditch? He said Jock was in his employ now, and no mine. We'll do this ourselves."

"Tis a good thing for me that I am an independent craftsman then. And a scandalous lack of charity at Christmastime for them to watch us struggle. I believe my fees shall be rising for the Castle trade in the new year."

Davis straightened his back and raised his voice. "Ewen, my best to your Ma. Rabbie, how is your Da's ankle? We miss him at the Session." If there was reproach in his tone for their not helping carry the yule log, it was buried well.

"I'll... just be holding the door open," Sandra told the butler with a wry smile. "No need to worry yourselves on our part. Just dropping off the yule log for the party tomorrow," Sandra told the formally prim gentleman as she took the door knob and pulled the door open wider for the men.

The butler sniffed. "Very good, Ma'am," he said. Then he stiffened as a large shooting brake drew up in the Courtyard alongside the lorry.

"If you will excuse me," he said, and disappeared into the depth of the Castle.

The Yule log was heavily - but Colin, Garreth and Davis were all fit and strong - largely as a result of their physical work on the island, and they had little difficulty in lowering the log from the lorry - although manhandling it into the Castle looked to prove slightly more difficult.

"Would you gentlemen care for a hand?" Sandra asked half helpfully, half jokingly. "I'm sure I can help Garreth with his end if I can just find someone else to hold the door for us?" she said with a slightly louder tone.

The shuffle-click shuffle-click of a woman scurrying in high heels came to Sandra's ear from within, and a minute or so later a pretty blonde woman hove into view, wearing a pink, fur-trimmed morning-robe over something white and filmy. "Oh, my! Is that it? It's simply immense! I hope there are no dryads on this island -- they'll plague us just forever!"

Then Selina took note of who held the door, and the servants lounging about. Her eyes widened. "But -- this isn't -- well, really!" She stamped one foot and pointed an imperious index finger at the loungers. "You and you, get out there at once and help those poor men with that tree-trunk! And you, keep the door open until they're in! And *you*, I want a pot of something hot to drink -- cocoa or tea or whatever there is -- brought to the Great Hall right away!"

She stepped daintily toward the woman holding the door, oblivious to the effect of her orders. "Do come in, my poor dear; you must be freezing. I'm Mrs. MacKenzie-Brown -- but you will call me Selina, won't you?"

Given a direct command, the men sprang forward eagerly to assist in carrying the log, grinning in some relief at Colin, Davis and Garreth. Carrying the log in would now be quite easy.

With an economy of words, Davis positioned the two men on the end of the log. "Rab, Ewen. Your Ma will be right proud of you, you being so helpful an' all." Davis moves to the midpoint opposite Colin and gets a good grip. "Ready, sir." He turned back to the lads on the end. "If she asks you, you may tell her 'twas our insistence on carrying it ourselves and we only gave in on her say. I'll back you, as 'tis the plain truth."

As they approached the doorway, Rendell appeared again.

"The Master would like a word with you in the library when you've finished here, Mr MacKenzie," he said to Colin as they manhandled the log past him.

Colin flushed slightly but said quietly, "Tell him I'll be happy to oblige."

Garreth seemed like he would have laid a friendly hand on Colin's shoulder, if his hands weren't filled with wood at the moment. He accorded Sandra a knowing wink for her wonderful acting in the performer's home, and tried to focus on moving this behemoth of a log. He was only slightly distracted by the Mistress of the Castle.

Sandra half returned Garreth's grin as she turned to the lady of the manor. "How do you do, Selina?" she said. The dark haired woman pulled off her glove and offered shake her hand. "Sandra Marsden. Dr. Marsden of the British Museum . It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, more sincerely than she thought she would have several moments ago.

Selina took the proffered hand in her own soft, carefully-manicured one.

"Oh, dear, you *are* an icicle, Mrs. -- that is, Dr. Marsden. Come in, come in! Is it really Dr. Marsden, Dr. Marsden? How terribly clever you must be! I don't quite see why they need a doctor at a museum -- but I'm sure they know what they're about."

"Well..." Sandra expression was a cross between amusement and amazement. "I'm actually a doctor of archaeology. I dig up ruins and bones and such of ancient peoples," she tried to explain.

She manoeuvered Dr. Marsden into the castle and out of the way of the
Yule log with a dancer's awareness of space and motion.

Will noted Garreth's distracted look. Selina did have that effect on people. Well, on men. There were an awful lot of people coming into the Castle suddenly, along with the block of wood. That could be interesting. Not the wood, though Selina seemed pleased...

"When we have the Yule Log situated, where can I find some coffee?" he asked again.

"Why, Willie, I'd no notion you followed me!" said Selina. "This is Dr. Sandra Marsden. Dr. Marsden, my brother, Will St. Pierre."

"How do you do, Mr. St. Pierre?" Dr. Marsden asked, offering to shake Will's hand.

With so many new volunteers, the great log was soon laid in the hearthplace of the Great Hall - a hearth so vast that the log did not look out of place. Everyone gathered to inspect it - not only those who had brought it from the Institute and Selina, but Zap, Josette and Major Bastable too.

"It'll give a grand light all evening for the party," said Colin with satisfaction as they stood in the Hall surveying it, and drinking the hot tea that Selina had ordered.

"Considering our guests will be here for an hour and a half at most, it seems a little overly-ambitious," commented his cousin, Douglas MacKenzie, coming in at this juncture.

Colin turned, his face flushing slightly.

"What do you mean, Dougie? The party goes on till the early hours!"

"Not this year," said MacKenzie-Brown with distaste. "Oh, I know that everyone will insist on dragging their ghastly wreathes to my door - but then they can have a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie and be on their way."

Colin's colour deepened. "But ... the people look forward to it!"

"The people, as you call them, take advantage," said MacKenzie-Brown. "You might have let them batten on you like leeches ... I have no intention of doing so. Of course there will still be a party - for our own kind. I'm simply saying there's no need to invite every last idle scrounger on the island to glut himself or herself at my expense.

"Now - perhaps you'd vouchsafe me a few words in private. I want to talk to you about some changes I'm proposing to make."

Garreth looked to Colin, something that said, "Let it go, Colin. He's not worth it," without ever saying a word. He timed the look for when Douglas turned and as quickly as Colin saw it, it was gone.

He glanced around the room - and his eye alighted on Major Bastable. "Ah ... Bastable. Glad you could make it. I need to talk to you about that proposal of yours. I'd say it's a no-hoper, frankly, from what you've sent me. But perhaps you have other ideas to back it up with? We'll talk."

He looked at Davis next. "Ah, good. MacKenzie - bring your fiddle tonight. I daresay some of my wife's guests will want to try out some Scottish dancing.

Davis nodded his head respectfully and says "Sir." Those who knew him well, Colin and Garreth, could hear the flatness of tone.

"Selina, my angel, some of your guests are clamouring for a tour of the Castle. Arrange it."

And then he was gone, ushering Colin into the library.

"Bastable?" Garreth asked. "As in Bastable Textiles?"

"That's me." Bastable admitted proudly. "I do hope that makes you a loyal customer." He smiled.

"Actually, a shareholder," Garreth answered with a mischievous grin. "Garreth Warren ." The man snapped off a salute, before offering his hand. "Once Captain Warren, 85th Squadron, RAF."

"But -- Douglas -- " Selina stammered weakly, to no avail. She stood motionless a long minute, staring after Douglas MacKenzie-Brown with the wide dark eyes of a tragedienne.

"Dr. Marsden..." William St Pierre took the hand and gave it a properly firm shake. The woman was attractive enough, though not at all his type. And archaeology wasn't a field he knew much about, though he probably knew more than Selina did. "What brings you to Verrisay?"

"The old Roman and Celtic ruins," Dr. Marsdan replied promptly. "There are several significant sites on the island. I'm doing an informal survey to see if it's worth organizing a proper dig for a future season," she explained.

"That sounds... interesting," he said. At least it made sense to him. He wondered how Douglas felt about having archaeologists poking about his property, but before he could ask anything more, Selina took Will by the upper arm and drew him aside with a sweet, apologetic smile to Dr. Marsden.

She made no attempt to quiet her agitation; everyone in the Great Hall could hear her. "Willie! Douglas is breaking up the party! He can't do that, can he? Everybody here will hate me forever! What are we going to *do*? I'm -- " Suddenly her voice sank. "I'm scared to fight with him, Willie."

"I'll take care of it," he assured her. His eyes were grave; 'scared' wasn't actually a word Selina used very often. She was a game little thing, it was one of the things he admired most about her. "I'll talk to him. He's bound to feel indulgent; it's your honeymoon after all, Seelie." he said, and smiled at her.

The conversations were going on in the Great Hall when suddenly a louder voice was heard from the library.

"Damn it all, Dougie! You can't be serious!"

It was Colin MacKenzie.

A lower voice could be heard answering him - the words indistinguishable. Then Colin again - loud ... and angry.

"This isn't the bloody nineteenth century! You can't do that to the land! People have rights!"

The low voice again ...

"I don't give a damn what your bloody lawyer says! This is Verrisay, damn it, and you can't do this!"

The door of the library was thrown violently open in time for Douglas MacKenzie-Brown's response to be heard. "Oh, I think you'll find I can."

Colin MacKenzie was standing in the doorway, his face scarlet with anger, his hands clenching and unclenching. He stared around the Hall blindly, as though not registering who was there or if he knew them. Then he seemed to recognise Garreth, and he nodded curtly.

"Get the lorry started. We're going home."

"In a manner of speaking," drawled MacKenzie-Brown, who had followed him from the library.

Colin turned on him furiously. "Understand this! I'll see you dead before I let you do this!"

MacKenzie-Brown smiled. "Threatening behaviour before witnesses? I think I'll see you in court before then."

Without another word, Colin made his way to the lorry and climbed in.

"As your cousin's legal counsel, I advise you to think such actions over, carefully Dougie. Dragging anything into the courts could, and would be a horrible way to start your marriage to such a lovely woman," Garreth said.

He turned to Bastable. "Major," he says with a nod.

"Doctor, if you will? I fear your carriage is leaving," he says looking to Sandra.

"Yes...." Sandra gave Selina and her brother a nod as she joined Garreth to leave the hall.

"My goodness..." she said quietly to Garreth as they walked to the lorry. "Do you have any idea what that was about?" she asked quickly before they were close enough for Colin to hear.

"I fear the Laird wishes to make some changes to the local customs. Off the top of my head, I can't speculate as to which, but Colin's sense of decency doesn't seem to agree with them." There's no question in Garreth's voice as to who he's supporting in this manner.

"I'll talk to him, but it's best to give him some time," Garreth suggests, opening the door to the lorry for her.

Sandra nodded silently to Garreth as she climbed into the lorry.

Davis did not speak, but was alert and watchful as the party left. He walked at Colin's side and perhaps a step behind, and this time rode on the passenger side of the lorry next to Colin as the lorry left the castle for the institute.

Having assured Selina that he'd take care of it - and now hoping that he could - Will went in search of his brother-in-law...

He ran him to earth in the library; MacKenzie-Brown appeared to be studying estate books.

" Douglas ... if I could have a word?" Their familial relationship had gotten off to a poor start, certainly, what with the whole walk-in-on-the-man-in-flagrante situation, but so far MacKenzie-Brown had been reasonably cordial...

"Of course," said MacKenzie-Brown, looking up with his lizard-like smile. "What can I do for you?"

"It's about this party. I understand that Selina and I are new to Verrisay, and that you're more familiar with the customs and so forth, but... she's really eager to do well here, to be a proper sort of wife to you, and she's aware that that includes her role as... well, patroness of the island. She doesn't want everyone to hate her - she thinks that will reflect badly on you and create problems for you down the road. And... like most women, she loves to be a good hostess, to show her husband and home off properly..."

MacKenzie-Brown was watching him. "So," he said. "She wants to be a good wife, does she?"

"Of course."

"But to which one of us, I wonder," said MacKenzie-Brown.

"Excuse me?"

MacKenzie-Brown gave a short laugh. "Oh, I think we can be honest with each other now, don't you? You can tell me all about your marriage - and I can tell you about the private detective I've had checking you out in the States for the last three months."

Willie took in his breath. Stay calm, he told himself. "You married her. Brought her here as your lady. What do you plan to do now?"

"That depends," said MacKenzie-Brown. "I could expose you both. Or I could let you retire into obscurity. A divorce ... with your sister, of course, as the guilty party."

And no settlement. Not a cent. And that... would be the safest course. The better path. It was, potentially, a nightmare. "Did you have a timetable in mind?"

MacKenzie-Brown appeared to be considering.

"I think I'll decide on that," he said at last. "One thing though.

Willie held very still. The trick was not to give away more than absolutely necessary. "And what is that?"

"Tell your 'sister' about this - and the arrangement's off."

"I know how to play a lone hand when I need to. Certainly where her safety is concerned."

"Good," said MacKenzie-Brown. "Then I'll doubtless see you at the party."


 

End of Chapter 3

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