He was right. It wasn't that I didn't realize how old things were in Europe, or how far back tangible history stretched, but to be standing in a tower that had been built to keep watch for redcoats - not reading about it or seeing it portrayed on screen but actually standing on the very same stones that Darach and Cameron's ancestors had stood on, looking out at the same hills they had looked out at - it was an almost trippy sensation.
Cameron ran around the turret we stood on, pointing out the sea in the distance as well as various landmarks and telling me their significance. When we went back down again she roped Darach and I into a game of hide-and-seek that mainly consisted of picking a random spot in the heather, lying down in it and hoping the person seeking happened not to step on you. I thought about Darach's question - did I find the open, empty spaces of Scotland boring compared to the big city? The truth was that lying in the heather and looking up at the pale blue Scottish sky while a giggling four year old tried to find me was more fun than any nightclub or trendy restaurant I'd been to. I could feel the whispered beginnings of attachment stirring inside me that afternoon, before I even recognized them for what they were.
We ate smoked salmon sandwiches, cut into neat triangles by Mrs. Clyde, and passed around a thermos of hot tea for lunch. Cameron then led her little pony down to a small stream to let him have a drink.
"She's so good with the pony." I said, impressed that such a small child could have such confidence with an animal so much bigger than her. When I looked over at Darach, lying propped up on his elbows beside me, he chuckled.
"I was just going to say the same thing."
We kept our eyes on Cameron and her pony but I could just feel Darach's contentment, mirroring my own.
"You know she hasn't ever done that before - she wants to impress you," he said, absentmindedly picking a small yellow flower and twirling it between his fingers.
"Really?" I asked, somewhat surprised.
"Aye - can't you see how fond of you she is? She's desperate to win your approval."
When I thought about it I realized that I wasn't, in fact, surprised by Cameron's need for my approval. She had her father's, of that there was no doubt, but her need for a nurturing female figure was more than obvious. It suddenly made me desperately sad. I turned to look at Darach - his expression said he was thinking exactly the same things I was.
"Sometimes I wonder if asking Diane to leave was a mistake. At least if she was still here I could keep an eye on her."
Wary of saying the wrong thing to my employer and of sticking my nose where it didn't belong, I said nothing and Cameron broke the silence by racing back over to us and noticing the flower in the Laird's hand.
"Daddy! Tell me if I like butter!"
She sat down beside her father and stuck her chin out and I watched as he held the yellow flower under her chin.
"Aye, Cameron, it seems as if you like butter very much."
"Now check Miss Robinson! Check if Miss Robinson likes butter!"
Darach leaned towards me and, seeing that I wasn't sure what this game was about, explained:
"You hold a yellow flower under your chin. If it reflects yellow, it means you like butter."
I tilted my chin up and smiled at Cameron, who was watching the proceedings with great attention and let Darach hold the flower up to me.
"Yes! You like butter too, Miss Robinson!"
I was glad of her presence. If she hadn't been there, I may well have failed at keeping my composure as Darach held the flower up to my face, trailing the cool, soft petals across my chin. He was so close to me I could feel his breath on my cheek.
"Daddy! Do YOU like butter?"
Cameron took the flower gently out of her father's hand and held it up to his chin, giving me a moment to catch my breath. It felt so good being that close to Darach. It would have been so easy to lean into his hand, to feel his fingertips tracing their way down my neck...
"Daddy! You don't like butter!" Cameron's voice was full of mock-disapproval.
"It's not true, child, Daddy loves butter, he just forgot to shave this morning."
I didn't allow myself a glance - even a very quick one - at Darach's strong, square chin, covered as it was with about a day's worth of sandy beard growth and looking dangerously kissable.
Satisfied with her survey of our individual tastes for butter, Cameron lay down on her back between me and Darach and, within minutes, was fast asleep. It didn't take long for the warm afternoon and the sunlight filtering through the haze to get to me, either, and I nodded off a few minutes later.
When I woke up I had no idea what time it was - the sun was still high in the sky so it can't have been too much later - Cameron was still curled against me, breathing slowly and evenly in her sleep. Her father, though, was nowhere in sight. I stayed where I was and watched the little gray pony tearing up clumps of grass and chewing contentedly until the sound of footsteps made me look up. It was Darach, walking back towards us with something in his hand.