Murder at a Scottish Castle: A Scottish Cozy Mystery (A Scottish Shire Mystery) by Traci Hall | Character Guest Post and Book Excerpt

Q. How old are you?

A. Twelve

Q. Do you have a best mate?

A. Aye, Edwin. And Wallace. Wallace is the best dog ever.

Q. Do you have a girlfriend?

A. Cheeks flush crimson. No.

Q. Yer mum owns a yarn shop. Do ye knit?

A. No. That’s fine for her, but I’m not interested.

Q. What do you want to be when ye grow up?

A. A star footballer!

Book Excerpt

Sorcha’s lips twitched in a smile. Lissia must be an ally. “And where were you, my pet?”

“Outside, saying a wee prayer that it willnae rain us oot today.” Lissia scrunched her nose and told Paislee and Grandpa, “Robert’s in a snit aboot Jory and Clan Cunningham winning last year. The only thing that will make it right is for him tae regain the title as champion. Doesnae matter that we’re all in the band—he takes it personally.”

“Robert is the earl,” Cinda said, as if that forgave everything.

“Clan pride,” the dowager countess proclaimed.

Lissia twirled her finger in the air. “The Grant clan will not let the fans doon.”

“You’re in the band?” Brody inched closer to Lissia. “A bagpiper?”

“Naw.” Lissia smiled at Brody and tapped invisible drumsticks to the counter. “I play the snare drum.”

Brody, thoroughly impressed, gave a wistful sigh. “That’s amazin’. I want tae be a drummer!”

“Do you play? I was a bairn when I first started, wasnae I, Mum?” Lissia turned to Sorcha, who nodded.

“You were. Following in your da’s footsteps.” Sorcha patted Lissia on the shoulder. “He’d be proud.”

“Brody wants tae be a footballer.” If he wanted to try a musical instrument, Paislee would support that. Better the drums than the bagpipe, to her way of thinking. The music was fine, but pipes could be screechy if not done properly. She’d been a screecher, and never pursued it.

“I’ll show you sometime,” Lissia offered. “Right now, I need tae confer with Robert over a bit of timing on the roll at the beginning attack. It would kill Robert if Jory and the Cunninghams won two years in a row. Where is he?”

“Robert’s in the music room,” the dowager countess said. “I thought I’d give the Shaws a tour of the property after we finish here, if you want tae find us. Consignment okay with you, Paislee?”

It was a leap to leave the expensive items without pay but worth the risk in terms of a new income stream. “Aye.”

Lissia left, along with the maid. Cinda showed Brody and Grandpa toys, trinkets, and a calendar with castle photos going back to the original wooden structure, while Paislee filled out paperwork for the items to stock. She overheard her son ask Cinda about battering rams.

Before long, Sorcha straightened. “Well, I believe that’s it. We’ll both profit by this arrangement. Robert doesnae like tae discuss the cold fact that running a castle takes money, especially as we change with the times.”

“Shannon says the same,” Paislee said.

“She’s a dear friend who has helped me bring ideas tae fruition, on a larger scale of course, than her estate.” Sorcha rounded the counter. “Care tae see the grounds?”

Paislee checked her watch—not even an hour had passed. A private tour by the dowager countess was not something she’d turn down. “If it’s no bother?”

“None at all. Cinda, if you dinnae mind pricing the items?” Sorcha gave directions to her employee in a firm tone.

“Aye. So nice tae meet you all!” Cinda headed to the counter while they exited.

Brody raced out with Wallace as if he’d been cooped up for years. Paislee bit her tongue from telling him to calm down. He’d been very engaged and well-behaved so far.

Sorcha’s long legs in brown pants easily covered ground. She wore a plaid red-and-beige shirt tucked in, and a narrow brown belt revealed a slender waist. “You can tell by the scent that we have cows, horses, and sheep. Lots of deer. Fish in the river. The trees are harvested for firewood. We’re almost completely self-sufficient, except for electric. Robert has a conniption each time I suggest solar panels.”

A dark-haired man on a horse followed by two hounds sped by them to the barn and out of sight.

“Who was that?” Brody asked. “He’s so fast!”

“My other son, second child of three, Lord Patrick Grant.” Sorcha’s voice held pride. “He’s provided the meat for our barbecue later.”

“Does he play in the band too?” Grandpa asked, tam once again on his head. The sky was overcast, the morning cool but at least it wasn’t raining.

“No. Patrick is no musician—I’m not either. We do other things, like hunt and manage the accounts,” Sorcha said in a teasing tone. “We all know our duty here at the castle.”

Sorcha crossed to the greenhouse and opened the door. Inside a man with a weathered face, as if he lived permanently outdoors, bowed over a row of greens. A knit cap covered black hair threaded with a hint of silver strands.

“Finn McDonald, groundskeeper, and gardener.” Sorcha entered fully. Steam frosted the glass panels of the greenhouse from their breaths.

“Hi!” Paislee said.

Finn looked up and tipped his head. He might have smiled but it was hard to tell. “Hello. Shall I leave…”

“Dinnae go,” Sorcha said. “I’m just showing the Shaws around. Paislee will be a frequent visitor now that her items are in the gift shop. Are the stands already up for folks tae watch the performance?”

“Aye.” Finn pinched a green leaf and pocketed it, moving on to the next plant. “Me and the lads did it this morn.”

“It was pouring!” Brody said.

“If I was tae stop an activity because of a sump o’ rain, I’d never get anythin’ done,” Finn remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Thank you, Finn.” Sorcha turned and gestured them back outside. “Finn is my right-hand man on this place. He knows each blade of grass. Patrick manages the cattle and horseflesh while Robert tends tae the castle property. Lissia and I manage the inside, like the kitchen and staff. We are a well-oiled machine here at Ramsey.”

There was no mention of Cinda.

They left and Sorcha headed toward the trees. Evergreen, firs, chestnut, oak. Paislee recognized everything except for something that resembled very tall bamboo.

“What are those?” Grandpa asked.

Sorcha saw what he pointed at. “Giant Reed.”

“Giant Weed?” Brody repeated.

“No.” Sorcha laughed good-naturedly. “The name is Giant Reed. It’s been grown for use on the bagpipes since the first records in the Ramsey Castle logbooks.”

“What for?” Grandpa asked, giving his beard a scratch.

“The reeds. I dinnae play,” Sorcha raised both hands, “but Dermot, and now Robert, insist that the natural cane reed makes the warmest sound.” She briefly brought her finger to her lips. “I zone oot when they go on aboot them. I’ve asked him tae put them in the gift shop along with the clan history. He’s not behind it yet but he’ll see that every wee bit of income helps.”

Paislee nodded, understanding that very well.

They reached the edge of the forest, guarded by tall reeds and pine trees. Grass was springier beneath her feet. Wildflowers grew in pink and yellow clusters. Moss covered the trees.

Wallace strained against Brody’s hold to chase a fat red squirrel waving his tail like a matador teasing a bull. “Brody!” Paislee warned. Too late. Wallace got loose, barking ferociously after the wily squirrel.

Brody darted for the trailing leash grip but missed and followed Wallace into the forest. The trees covered him from view as they ran. Paislee’s blood pumped with adrenaline—she hated not being able to see her son, or their dog.

“Stay here a second.” Sorcha strode after them while Paislee and Grandpa waited. The three returned within moments that felt like a lifetime.

Sorcha had Wallace’s lead in one hand, and her other on Brody’s shoulder. “Those squirrels are excellent foragers,” she said. “They get nuts. Berries. Mushrooms. Even the poisonous ones.”

“They could die if they eat them!” Brody said, his eyes round with worry.

“Nope. Squirrels can digest the poison, but it would make your pup sick.” Sorcha handed Brody back the lead. “Need to be careful, is all.”

Wallace, panting, lowered his head when Paislee gave the terrier the stink-eye. “Did he get into something poisonous?” She had the veterinarian, Dr. Kathleen McHenry, on speed dial.

The dog’s black muzzle was flecked with dirt and grass. The gloating squirrel chittered from the treetop.

“No. Wallace was just pawing at the tree tae get tae the squirrel. Let’s stop at the barn so Wallace can get a drink from the trough.” Sorcha moved away from the forest.

“Thank you,” Paislee said. “Brody learned about mushrooms on a field trip when he was eight. Do you remember?”

“Not really,” Brody said. “So, I just stay away from all of them. Yuck.”