“Dear, dear, how right you are, Miss Reid,” responded Fiona, and allowed a servant to help her rise. She thanked him, and went on pensively, “I do hope I don’t expire of old age on the way back to the castle. So outré.”
“Yes,” agreed Janet, with poison in the sweetness, “I hope so too.”
As their group slowly made its way toward the horses and donkeys, Janet gaily darted about, joking with Duff MacDermott, flirting with Alasdair, hanging heavily on her father’s arm. Then she danced off to a low stone retaining wall and jumped onto it. As they advanced, the wall rose steadily higher until Janet was nearly over their heads but easily she balanced upon it, arms held out wide, her skirts fluttering in the breeze and displaying (for those who were interested) quite a bit of her shapely legs in elegant silk stockings.
“Janet!” called Mrs. Reid, a little nervously. “Do come down, darling!”
“Yes,” added her father, “go back, puss, to where the wall is lower.”
“I don’t believe in going back!” answered Janet, laughing. “I’ll come down at once.” And fearlessly she jumped, landing on her feet with the agility of a rope-dancer.
There were screams from some of the ladies and Duff MacDermott cheered, exclaiming: “Ach, the spirit of the lass! As bold as Scáthach herself!”
At this comparison of Janet Reid to the legendary warrior woman of Gaelic lore, Fiona said nothing, only looked on thoughtfully as a crowd gathered around Janet, praising, remonstrating, admiring, congratulating. Fiona went past them to where Alasdair Penhallow supervised the grooms as they made ready the horses, the donkeys, and the carts. He himself was checking one horse’s billets and girth, but straightened when she came close and quietly said:
“Laird.”
Alasdair looked down into the slender face of Fiona Douglass. Her eyes, he noticed, were now gray and grave.
“Aye?” he said neutrally.
She paused. “How do I say this tactfully? I’m not certain that Miss Reid selected the ideal horse for her abilities, especially since she’s now in a very—ah—high-spirited mood. Perhaps you might keep close to her on the ride back, as you did on the way here?”
He had had that very thought, but said, silkily, “And perhaps you might wish to ride on the other side of Miss Reid? Not only could you supervise her, you could continue to bait her as well.”
To his surprise, in Fiona Douglass’s expression there flickered what seemed to be genuine remorse. “Yes, it was very wrong of me. I shouldn’t have done it. As for Janet, I don’t suppose she can help herself, especially given how monstrously her parents indulge her. And she’s so young.”
“Here again we find ourselves discussing age. Why is that, I wonder?”
Her expression abruptly hardened. “That’s a very good question, laird, and it reminds me. Why aren’t you married? Being well on the way toward middle age, after all.”
“As a wise and mature lady once said to me, Miss Douglass, it’s none of your business.”
“True. Though naturally I’m curious. By the way, do you suppose Janet really will drop a bug down Wynda’s gown? If I were Wynda, I’d watch out.”
Alasdair looked at Fiona Douglass, standing so straight before him, so tall and slim, with that unusual silvery-blonde hair in a fat, shining braid down her back. He was conscious of a feeling of annoyance, and in the back of his mind he took a moment to ponder exactly why he felt that way. Felt bothered. Especially since he’d already made up his mind that she was off his list. In weeks, or even days, she would be gone from Castle Tadgh. Gone forever, and good riddance, and life would resume its easy, enjoyable, predictable course. He answered:
“The way Janet’s been looking at you, she may well drop a black-widow spider in your vicinity. And possibly apple-pie your bed, too.”
Surprising him again, Fiona laughed. She said, “You could be right. I’ll have to be on my guard.”
By now, annoyance was positively rippling through him. “As much as I’d like to stand around here all day chatting with you, Miss Douglass, I should probably go back to checking on this girth.”
“You’re right again,” she replied, unperturbed. “Don’t forget the billet.”
“I won’t,” he said coldly. “When I’m done with it, would you like me to inspect your rig?”
“No, laird, thank you. I prefer to do it myself.” And off Fiona Douglass went toward her big white horse, who greeted her with a friendly nicker.
As the cavalcade wound its way down the steep path, Fiona, from her vantage toward the back of it, swept her glance over certain members of the party. Sitting tall and straight in his saddle, Alasdair Penhallow kept Janet Reid close to him, and she, in turn, seemed to amuse and delight him very much, for very frequently did his laugh ring out.