It was Friday morning when the Laird made his first appearance since our conversation at the train station. He strode into the kitchen where me, Cameron and Mr. Clyde were all filling ourselves with the bacon and eggs Mrs. Clyde had prepared for us and made an announcement:
"The Treacle-Eater's Tower. Today. Right now. What do you two ladies say to a ramble on the moor and a picnic?"
Cameron saved me from the embarrassment of my own over-enthusiastic yes and leapt up from the table screaming:
"Daddy! Yes! The Treacle-Eater's Tower! A picnic! Yes, Daddy!"
I smiled and nodded when Darach asked me if I would accompany them - I was on-duty, after all, although I would have gone anyway, and I spent the rest of breakfast trying to hide the hum of excitement inside me at the prospect of more time with him. Obviously not very well, because when I went to put my plate into the big old Victorian sink Mrs. Clyde was washing dishes in she gave me a little wink.
"Aye, you be careful with the Laird, Jenny. He's a charmer."
"I'll be fine," I said, projecting what I hoped was an unruffled tone to the housekeeper, "I'm just there to watch Cameron."
Chapter 7
I waited outside the castle in the gardens until Cameron appeared on the back of a small grey pony with a black riding hat on her head and her father beside her, holding the pony's reins. He gave me a nod and a smile as Cameron excitedly told me the pony's name (Marshmallow) and the various things he liked to eat (carrots, apples and, as Cameron adorably called them, 'sugar lumps').
It was a warm day and there was a faint haze in the air that gave the rolling hills of the estate a gauzy, softened look. Darach was so sexy - so masculine and tall standing next to his daughter's little pony in a pair of jeans and a lightweight gray sweater that skimmed over every muscle. The sense of ease I felt walking along beside them almost embarrassed me.
You're his employee. Remember that. Don't make a fool of yourself.
"So Jennifer. What do you think of Scotland, then? You've had a little time here now, is it very boring to a girl from the big city?"
Darach had this habit of looking directly at someone when he was speaking to them. Whenever he did it to me I had to make a conscious effort not to shyly avert my eyes like some besotted schoolgirl.
"Boring? No - not at all. I love it but I still, I don't know, it still doesn't feel totally real to me."
"What do you mean it doesn't feel real?"
If it had been anyone else asking me those questions I would have been able to answer them easily, but it wasn't anyone else. It was Darach. The need to impress him somehow, to be interesting and smart and all of those things you want to be around certain men, was flustering me in a way I hadn't experienced for a long time.
"Uh, I just mean...there's nothing like this in America. I keep thinking I've traveled back in time," I looked out at the views of the Highlands stretching out around us, "I mean, look at it, it looks like the set of a romance movie. I keep expecting to see men in kilts fighting the redcoats."
Ugh. A 'romance movie'. Why did I say that? I looked away from Darach so he wouldn't be able to see the look on my face as I rolled my eyes at my own comment.
"Aye, men in kilts. Is that something you'd like then, Jennifer?" Darach was grinning at me, blue eyes sparkling like jewels in the sunlight and clearly enjoying himself.
It took over an hour to make it to the Treacle-Eater's Tower and it was an odd but lovely experience chatting and laughing with Darach and his daughter as if we'd all known each other for far longer than we actually had. I knew I was his employee. He knew I was his employee. Cameron knew I was her nanny. So why couldn't I stop the cozy feelings of familiarity bubbling up inside me? Why did it feel like reaching out and intertwining my fingers with Darach's would be the most natural thing in the world? My memories of that afternoon have a certain idyllic quality, as if it happened in a dream or a book my grandmother read to me as a child. It was one of those perfect days, and there hadn't been many of those for me recently.
Cameron carefully tied her pony to a small tree at the base of the tower and then all three of us made our way up the narrow stairs that wound their way to the very top. It hadn't looked that tall from a distance but once we emerged at the top the wind was incredibly strong, whipping my hair violently around my face. It was a small tower, only about fourteen or fifteen feet in diameter. Darach told me it had been built in the 1700s as a way for the McLanalds of the time to keep a lookout for the English, which blew my mind a little.
"You North Americans are so funny. I'm convinced you spend every moment in Europe marveling at how old everything is. We do exactly the same thing when we go there, except we're marveling at how new everything is."