Before I could sputter “Gunplay?” the oak doors swung inward and two men entered the room. The first was tall and beefy, with short red hair and a freckled face. His eyes were pale blue, and he was dressed casually, in khaki trousers, a striped rugby shirt, and track shoes. He looked as though he might be a few years younger than me, in his late twenties or early thirties.
The second man was more interesting to me, in part because of his bearing, but mostly because of the jagged scar that ran along his left temple and back into his hairline. He was older than the red-haired man—in his mid-forties, at a guess—not quite as tall, and trim rather than beefy, but he radiated an air of command.
He was dressed in dark blue blazer, brown twill trousers, polished brown leather shoes, and a light blue button-down shirt that fit his tapering torso like a glove. His dark hair was clipped short and flecked with gray, and his face was as lean and weathered as a mountaineer’s. He had a straight nose, a strong jaw, and a pair of piercing blue-gray eyes that shone almost silver in the sunlight. He seemed to have no trouble making the transition from darkness to light. His intense gaze moved from one end of the parlor to the other before coming to rest on me.
“Ms. Shepherd?” he said. He had a lovely, deep voice, and his accent was that of an educated, middle-class Englishman. “I’m Damian Hunter, and this is my colleague, Andrew Ross.”
“Hullo, Ms. Shepherd,” said the red-haired young man. He spoke with an unmistakable Scottish lilt. “I’ll be looking after your sons during your stay on Erinskil.”
The twins swiveled around on the window ledge to peer at Andrew Ross. He smiled and gave them a friendly wave, but they didn’t return it.They stared at him appraisingly, as though they were reserving judgment until further evidence of his good intentions surfaced.
“Hullo, lads,” Andrew said. “You look just like your snaps.”
“Who showed you our snaps?” Rob demanded.
“Sir Percy,” Andrew replied. “He’s keen on photographs.”
“We’re keen on drawing,” Will informed him loftily.
“So I’ve heard,” said Andrew. “Sir Percy’s stocked the nursery with paints and colored pencils and stacks of paper. I could take you up there now, if you like.”
Will pointed at Andrew. “Is he going to be our nanny, Mummy?”
“Is he a man-nanny?” Rob added doubtfully.
“My name’s Andrew,” Andrew growled, glowering, “and that’s what you’re to call me. If either of you mentions the horrible word ‘man-nanny’ again, I’ll dangle you by your heels from the castle walls!”
Andrew Ross couldn’t have thought of a better way to win the twins over. Nothing tickled them more than outrageous threats. They stared at him wide-eyed until he grinned again, then chortled with glee, scrambled down from the window seat, and ran to him, giggling wickedly. I think they were half hoping he’d follow through on his threat.
When Andrew went on to inform the boys that Sir Percy had packed the nursery with surprises, they couldn’t wait to leave. I, on the other hand, wasn’t about to entrust my babies to anyone without asking a few questions first.
“Have you worked with children before?” I inquired.
“I’ve had a fair amount of practical experience with the male sort,” Andrew replied cheerfully. “I’m the oldest of nine boys.”
“Good heavens,” I said faintly.
Sir Percy stepped forward. “Andrew’s also had specialized training that fits him for the job. Damian and I will tell you all about it after Rob and Will leave.”
“Okay,” I said, getting the message. I gave the boys a hug and a kiss apiece, reminded them to be on their best behavior, and promised to inspect their rooms as soon as I’d finished speaking with Sir Percy.
They each took hold of one of Andrew’s large, freckled hands and marched off with him into the dark corridor, bombarding him with questions about the surprises that lay in store for them in the nursery.
When they’d gone, Sir Percy led Damian Hunter and me to the nearest cluster of armchairs. Sir Percy and I sank comfortably into ours, but Damian sat rigidly on the edge of his. He was also careful, I noticed, to select the chair that gave him the broadest view of the room.
“Right,” said Sir Percy, after we’d taken our seats. “Time to get down to brass tacks. I’ve hired Hunter and Ross to act as your bodyguards while you’re at Dundrillin, Lori. Andrew has been assigned to guard the twins, and Damian will keep an eye on you.”
“Bodyguards?” I said doubtfully. “Percy, we’re in a castle on an island forty miles from the Scottish mainland. Why do we need bodyguards?”
“You may not need them,” Sir Percy said, “but as a wise man once said, it’s better to have and not need than to need and not have.”
“Seems like overkill to me,” I muttered.
“Ms. Shepherd,” Damian said quietly, “has your life ever been threatened before?”
“No,” I said, “but—”
“Have you ever come face-to-face with a madman intent on murdering you?” he broke in.
I eyed him uncertainly. “Well . . . no, but—”