Part 24 (2/2)

”You sure?” she asked him.

”Not at all,” he a.s.sured her.

”Well, then...”

”Hey! Someone remember to pay the bill!” Gina said. ”And don't take more than a couple of hours. We'll meet at the pub at the base of the hill at four, okay?”

They all started out in their different directions. Ryan and Gina headed west, in the direction of the village square. David and Kevin went no more than a few feet before being caught by a store window, and Thayer and Toni headed east, slightly up a hill, toward the kirk and the surrounding graveyard.

Thayer seemed distracted. Toni set a hand on his shoulder. ”You all right?” she asked him.

He flashed her a smile. ”Aye, fine, why?”

She shook her head. ”You've just seemed.. .not you, lately.”

”Since our bubble was burst?” he asked.

”I guess.”

He smiled, and pointed toward the kirk. ”I can give you some local history. It was begun in the twelve hundreds, and the current structure and form dates back to the fifteen hundreds. Naturally, it was built as a Catholic church, and is now a part of the Church of Scotland. It has some remarkable stained-gla.s.s windows. It also has some beautifully carved tombs on the interior-- Italian artists were brought in to honor various statesmen, poets, knights and ladies, and so on. In the truly dour days of Cromwell, the reverend was a plucky fellow who managed to hide most of the treasures, so little was destroyed.”

She smiled at him, impressed. ”Have you seen it, then? I thought you'd never been in this area before we arrived.”

”Never been in it in m'life, cousin. I looked it up on the Internet. They've actually got quite a decent Web page.”

Toni laughed. ”Great.”

A small stone fence surrounded the kirk and the graveyard, and there was a white picket gate, which Thayer swung open for Toni.

When they entered the kirk itself, she was awed and amazed. For such a small village, it was really phenomenal. The stained-gla.s.s windows surrounding the length of it were in blues that would have done Tiffany's proud. Picking up a flyer at the rear as they entered, Toni read that the pulpit had been carved from a single huge oak in the 1540s, and she walked to it, marveling at the intricate lion designs that graced it.

”Incredible workmans.h.i.+p, huh?” Thayer whispered to her.

She nodded. ”Gorgeous.”

”Come see some of the MacNialls buried here,” he said.

”I thought...” For a moment she hesitated. ”I thought that they were buried in a crypt at the castle,” she said.

He shrugged. ”I'm sure some are. But come here. Look.” Pointing, he showed her a fairly modern tomb that occupied s.p.a.ce against the western wall. ”Our MacNiall's grandfather, or a great uncle, certainly. 'Colonel Patrick Brennan MacNiall, RAF, born April 15, 1921, died June 8,1944, on distant sh.o.r.es, serving G.o.d and Country. May he fly with the angels now.'”

”He must have died just after the D-day invasion in World War II,” Toni said. ”How sad.”

”Very. For thousands of men,” Thayer commented. ”Look, here's an older one. 'Laird Bruce Eamon MacNiall, a great protector of men and honor, born October 4,1724, and gave his life for right and freedom, Flodden Field.'”

”They had a tendency to be on the wrong side of a battle, huh?” Toni murmured.

”History always decides the wrong side of a battle,” Thayer murmured.

Toni nodded. ”Quite true. And we have a tendency to romanticize many a lost cause.”

”Shall we wander around outside? Or did you only want to look for MacNialls?” Thayer asked.

Toni was startled, but when she looked in his eyes they seemed guileless.

”I'd love to wander around outside.”

”What's your fascination with cemeteries?” he asked her, and grinned. ”I did this with you in Glasgow, too, remember?”

”The art, I think. And the poems and epitaphs.”

”Like at the theme parks? 'Dear old Fred, a rock fell on his head, now he's dead, dead, dead,' or something like that?”

”Not that bad!” Toni protested. ”The problem is, time erodes stone, lichen sets in and they're often difficult to read.” They were outside now. The graveyard was the kind that always fascinated, with beautiful marble funerary art and huge stones rising at awkward angles created by the pa.s.sage of time. ”Here's one!” she told Thayer, rubbing the mold from the stone to read it better. ”'Justin MacClaren. Once I ran, fast and hard, had a wife, ignored the la.s.s. I gave all strife, ne'er went to ma.s.s, and now, lonely to this grave, I am cast.'”

”Hmm. That's almost as bad as dear old Fred with the rock on his head,” Thayer said, making her laugh.

”But that s just it--they really give a little slice of life, as it was,” Toni told him and smiled. Two young women had just entered the cemetery, wandering as they were, one a pretty redhead, her friend a brunette.

”h.e.l.lo,” Toni said pleasantly. ”Good afternoon.”

”Ta!” the redhead said cheerily. ”You're American then, are you?”

”I am,” Toni said. ”Thayer is from Glasgow.”

”I'm from Aberdeen myself, but I've taken a cottage here for a while,” the redhead said. ”I'm Lizzie Johnstone. And this is my friend, Trish Martin, up from Yorks.h.i.+re to spend her holiday with me.”

”Lovely,” Toni murmured.

”Ah, the English are invading again,” Thayer teased. He offered a hand to Trish first. She was very pretty, with large dark eyes, long pale hair and a beautiful peaches-and-cream complexion. He was, however, equally polite when he turned to Lizzie, who looked far more Irish with her wild red hair, spattering of freckles and bountiful smile.

”Thayer Fraser here. And the American invader,” he added teasingly, ”Toni Fraser.”

”Ah, a couple are you then?” Lizzie said, obviously a bit disappointed.

”A pleasure to meet you,” Toni told them. ”And no, we're not a couple. We're cousins.”

”Ah!” The young woman looked at Thayer with renewed interest.

Thayer smiled. It was a slightly awkward moment in which body language was too easily read. Lizzie liked Thayer. Thayer liked the blonde.

”So you like poking around old graveyards, too?” Toni said.

”You'd think I'd tire of them, but I never do,” Irish said. ”Much more interesting than the ancient sites that everyone is all atwitter about these days! They're nothing but rocks in the ground, while these old places...”

”They tell stories,” Toni said.

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