Read Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle for Free Online Page A

when a car had pulled up in her driveway. Never would she have expected this .
    She stared them down—or tried to—but the worms avoided eye contact. In the lead was Callum, next stood Wulfgar, the tallest Viking, with Desmond the Panther flung over one shoulder. Behind them came Michael carrying Mershan’s flight bag and jacket with the reverence Smeagol would The One Ring. Callum muscled past B.A. and into the empty living room, Wulfgar the Moving Mountain trailing in his wake.
    B.A. tried to stare him down, too. It was hard when she had to look up at him. Did one stare a person up? Sheesh, B.A. grumbled to herself, she’d get a crick in her neck maintaining eye contact with the Norseman.
    “I dunna have a place for him.” She stomped her foot. Michael filed past, ignoring her, then Robbie, Angus, Innis and Ian the Horseman’s brother, all heading with uncanny accuracy upstairs and straight to her bedroom—the only bedroom currently with a bed.
    She went to close the door, but The Cat Dudley—their caboose—bounded up the stairs. Accidentally getting hairs of his tail caught in the door, he squalled and hissed as if she’d crippled him for life. Bouncing sideways, he threatened to bite her. In defense she picked up an umbrella from the stand, opening and closing it rapidly to shoo him. The feline wasn’t impressed. She adored moggies, but Dudley wasn’t remotely like a cat, was closer to Freddy Krueger in a fur suit.
    “‘Tis unlucky to open a brolly inside, lass.” Angus and his cane joined the procession up the stairs. “You’ve caused trouble enough for one day, trying to kill poor Doc and this Viking feller. Now you want to murder the moggie, too? The Marys won’t like you tormenting their kitty.”
    “Me tormenting him? Out, kitty. I won’t have you shred another duvet with your tiny daggers. You ruined my last one.” Too late, she thought. Dudley had bounded up the stairs to follow his new pal.
    Rushing after the cat, she forced her way to the bedroom.
    Unlike the rest of the two-story thatched house, this room was furnished. Panes of pink-veined glass covered the walk-in closet doors, reflecting the perfection of B.A.‘s design. White carpet ran wall to wall, showcasing the George HI platform bed with wooden tester refinished in antique white. No hint of plaid anywhere.
    She loved tartan, but had enough up at the castle. Pulled back to the bedposts, the curtains along the canopy matched the blush-pink duvet. A sensual room designed for a woman’s taste, B.A. intended Rose Cottage to be Falgannon’s honeymoon lodge. She’d live here only until renovations were completed to Lady Cottage in the castle.
    “Stand aside, lass.” Michael yanked back the comforter as they placed Desmond down.
    “Eegit, you can’t dump him here,” she fumed.
    “Stand aside, lass.” Callum pulled off Desmond’s short boots. “You half kill the man, you can bloody well tend him for the night.”
    “Ever suffer nosebleeds, B.A., from the high altitude of this parade ground you call a bed?” Michael bounced on it, testing its firmness. “All this pink gives me insulin problems, like I’ve overdosed on candy floss. The mattress is verra bonnie though—I like the pillow-tuft top.”
    “Why can’t Doc care for him?” She edged toward the window, reluctant to be nearer The Panther Desmond.
    “Some daft lass went and coldcocked Doc. We took him to the Marys and propped him up on the rollaway bed with an ice pack on his pointy chin.” Ian, one of the Fraser twins, took her hand and placed an aspirin bottle in it. “No alcohol or pain pills—just these. Cold compresses for the goose egg. Wake him every two hours and look into his eyes, lass. If his pupils get squirrelly or he gets a pain in the tum like he might blaw, give a ring.”
    “On what? MacGyver of the East dinna fix the blower.” B.A. stood helpless while the group filed out—fled, the cowards—leaving The Panther dozing on her satin