My Anthologie. The Revenge of Feidre Drummond COMPLETED

the Old Wolf and the Waif

                    Epilogue

Feidre Drummond was  happy. 

She was usually happy, now.  Her Pa rarely needed her to finish any unresolved business with her land,  and Uncle Travis had shown startling foresight and a stunning knack for investment whilst he'd been executor of her wealth, that for the forseeable future of the children of Skyrie,  money would never be an issue. 

Uncle Travis had married and had fathered two children, one named for his dead father, the other named for his still living one.

Skyrie and Thomas were precocious boys, and she called  on their mother every other day to ensure she never missed too much of their progression into school-age children.

Pa hadn't married, but Feidre knew it was because of her, and she also knew her father didn't much mind.

He'd given  her hope,  taken her in, and taught her everything Grandpa Skyrie had taught him, and they moved from city to country as the weather demanded throughout the year.

She had the skill, and thus, the stablilty to never be afraid. And she never was.

She opened the old library door in the townhouse she'd first become a Skyrie child, and propped it open with a smartly carved Scottie terrier that Uncle Travis had found on one of his trips up the coast and brought home.

She loved to pet the heavy ironstone carving when she spent time in the library,  stretched out on the floor with her primer or her grandpa's newest recommendation.
Whiskey never went on the carpet, and she didn't have to worry about prizing poultry bones out of his gullet.  It made him an excellent pet.

Grandpa Skyrie sat, enfolded in the windowside wingback, his books read over his lap, the side table, and the floor, snoring gently in the lazy afternoon sunlight drenching the chair.

Feidre smiled, and began putting the selection scattered around her grandfather back in the shelves, preparing the room for the early evening gathering that would be held here.

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I strode briskly  up the wide steps of my home, and home it was, now, not just a huge old house I rattled about in, bumping off Skyrie or Roe.

I wiped my feet and closed the door, shedding my light spring coat and hat as Feidre came out of the library, cat soft, and drew the doors almost to behind her.

"Pa in there?"

She smiled at me, the soft expression dimpling cheeks round and full of healthy color. "You're late, Pa. I was expecting you and Uncle Travis family ten minutes ago."

I sighed. "Young Skyrie lost his shoes." I put heavy emphasis on 'lost', and the smile widened to a grin, her eyes laughing merrily at me over it.

"Found them in the cowyard, under a sheaf of clover?"

I stared. "How did you know?"

The grin became a laugh, and she shook her head, the hair she had caught back from her face shining and smooth.
"Ofeilia was frantic when I called day before last. The little pup had hidden his shoes, because he didn't want to go out with us to the market."

My face must've given away my emotions,  because she pealed like a bell. "I know! Calm, collected Ofeilia, frantic? Understandably hard to imagine."

I snickered. "Was she discomfited by the fact you saw her frantic, or was she upset about the children not being ready to depart when you arrived?"

Pa's voice came muffled by the library doors to us. "Share the humor, son?"

Feidre's face fell. "Drat! I was hoping he could rest until Uncle Travis arrived."