They’d since been overrun by McFarleys. There were McFarleys in the kitchen, McFarleys in the stables, McFarleys doing the ironing and the laundry and the dusting. As near as Gwen had been able to count, they’d employed the man’s entire clan of nine children (and spouses), fourteen grandchildren, and she suspected there were a few “greats” floating about.

And though it had soon become clear that none of them had any experience in their respective positions, Drustan had pronounced them all satisfactory because he’d heard in the village that positions were hard to find.

In modern terms, the economy in Alborath was not good. Work was hard to find. And the feudal lord had surfaced, taking responsibility for the McFarleys.

She adored that about her husband.

A sharp knock at the bathroom door jarred her from her thoughts.

“Milord?” Farley inquired cautiously.

Gwen giggled and Drustan sighed. Farley refused to address him by any other title, no matter how persistently Drustan corrected him.

“Mister MacKeltar,” Drustan muttered. “Why is that so difficult for him?” He was determined to adopt twenty-first century customs. Unfortunately, Farley was just as determined to preserve the old ones and had decided that since Drustan was the apparent heir of the castle, he was a lord. Period, the end.

“Aye?” Drustan replied more loudly.

“Sorry to be disturbing you and the lady, but there’s a man here to see you, and I ken ’tis no’ of my business, but I’m thinking I should have you know that he seems a bit the dangerous type, though he’s polite enough as it is. Now the lass with him, och, in my opinion she’s a sweet wee and proper lass, but him, well, ’tis more of an air about him, you ken? I’m thinking you mightn’t hold well with me saying so, being as he looks so much like you, though no’ like you at all. Ahem.”

Farley cleared his throat, and Gwen felt Drustan go rigid behind her. She’d gone rather tense herself.

“Milord, he’s saying he’s your brother, but being as you’ve no’ mentioned a brother, despite the resemblance . . .”

Gwen didn’t hear another word because Drustan shot from the bath so fast that she got a thorough dunking and her ears were filled with water. By the time she surfaced, Drustan was gone.

Dageus had neglected to mention that his brother lived in a castle. Sheesh, Chloe thought, shaking her head, I should have expected it. Where else would such a man have come from? Old World, indeed.

It was an elegant castle, with a great stone wall and authentic barbican, with round turrets and square towers and probably a hundred rooms or more.