The Night Side by Melanie Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

female. Her expressed sentiments were very much after his own heart.
    “It is on account of his handstaff not working anymore that he bothers Frances,” George innocently explained.
    “His…handstaff?” Colin echoed again, feeling foolish but still hopelessly adrift. The only meaning he had ever heard applied to handstaff was one that a lady would never speak about, nor a gentleman in her presence.
    “Aye,” George explained. “His pillicock, the baldheaded hermit, his—”
    MacJannet coughed. “If I may? To be delicate, I believe the lad is speaking of Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops of Greek legend.”
    “George!” Frances scolded. “I do not wish to hear of this again. Tearlach speaks enough about such things!”
    “Quite!” Colin agreed, frankly shocked at the conversation.“But I am still rather puzzled. What has this creature’s, er, impotence to do with you?”
    “Nothing! Have I not said so repeatedly?” Frances asked, stomping up the narrow cliff trail, her tiny feet sinking deeply into the loose shale. “If a ghost took away his manhood then he must ask the ghost to bring it back!”
    “Ghost?” Colin knew he sounded startled.
    “The matter is a little unusual,” George explained, breathing heavily as he toiled upward after his cousin. “Now that Tearlach cannot be with a woman anymore, he likes to talk about…things. This kind of speech used to aid him in…well… things. He thinks that maybe speaking with Frances will help him to become himself again and then he can lie with a woman.”
    “I see.” Colin had to admit that if anything could reanimate wilted flesh it would be Frances Balfour. “But the ghost—”
    “But Frances does not care for it, as it is disrespectful,” George went on. “And I do not care for his music. It hurts my ears until I cannot think. That is probably what chased the ghost away.”
    “What ghost?” Colin demanded for a third time.
    “Oh, the one that appeared after my father died. It blamed Tearlach for being alive when my father was dead. Since then he hasn’t been able to um…do things.”
    “What idiocy!” But was it? The pipes squealed again, causing a shooting pain in Colin’s skull. “Why has no one thrashed this creature and taken his pipes away?” Colin demanded.
    “It’s bad luck to hurt a piper,” George explained asthey topped the rise. “And we have no other to replace him. Ranald used to be our piper, but he is dead. And frankly, no one wants to risk any more bad luck. Besides, I don’t know who could kill him, as all the men are—”
    “Ah, merciful Virgin!” Frances swore, a hand laid against the shapely bosom that jutted beneath her silken leine. “He comes!”
    “Aye, but he has his plaid on,” George reminded her. “And he has not said anything to you. Yet.”
    “If he speaks to me of pudendum, notches, ruts, heaping, coiting—”
    “Quite!” Colin interrupted, horrified at the list of indelicate words tripping off Mistress Balfour’s delicate tongue.
    “You are to beat him,” Frances instructed. “I insist upon it.”
    “Certainly.” And he would, too. It occurred to Colin that his original thought that this poor creature might be suffering from more than lameness of staff could be correct, for this belief in impotence-causing ghosts sounded like an extreme weakness of the mind. Still, even the stupidest of creatures could be taught to avoid certain things if the right techniques were applied.
    MacJannet coughed again, warning them that Tearlach was upon them.
    “Leave us,” Frances said imperiously. Her tiny foot tapped impatiently. “I do not want you here.”
    “Now, mistress! Ye ken that a cannae leave ye alone wi’ strange men.”
    “I am not alone. My cousin is here, and these are not strange men. This is Monsieur Colin Mortlock, my Master of the Gowff, and his servant, MacJannet.”
    “A sassun! Clasped at yer bosom?” Tearlach gasped. “Well, most surely I cannae leave ye now. We know