The Laird Takes a Bride(65)

“Oh! Do you think so?” responded Isobel, timidly. “That is, I am sure you are right, sir, but in my neighborhood—so quiet, so genteel!—that is to say, my old neighborhood, for I no longer—well! I’m sure that’s not a tale worth telling—so grateful as I am to dear Fiona for—It’s just that one feels so nervous here.”

“That’s but womanly foolishness,” Duff told her, with such genial condescension that Alasdair could only wonder why Isobel didn’t swat angrily at him with her little beaded reticule. “You’d not catch me in a city!” went on Duff, warming to his topic. “Foul, crowded, degenerate places, filled with sloth and vice! Dankness and darkness! Here in the countryside, the air is pure! Clean! Fresh! Nature everywhere, humans and beasts in divine harmony! Where men protect their women, and cherish them, and keep them from harm! Just the way it should be!”

“Speaking of beasts, you have an enormous rent in your shirt,” commented Fiona dispassionately. “Were the wolves after you?”

“Wolves?” echoed Isobel, knocking her napkin off her lap in a convulsive gesture. “Here inside the castle?”

If Fiona had laughed, Alasdair might have also, but when he looked down the length of the table at her, he saw that her expression was cool and remote. Why would that be? Last night they’d parted so amicably. Puzzled, Alasdair only half-listened as Duff spent several minutes reassuring Dame Isobel as to the complete absence of wolves roaming the hallways of the castle or lurking behind a cabinet, deviously waiting for the unwary to come along and be promptly ripped to shreds.

“Although,” Duff concluded, “there was that time a buzzard somehow got into the Great Hall, do you remember that, Alasdair my lad? Devilish hard to capture it. I had to cast that old fishing net just so—” He shot his arm upwards to demonstrate and there was an audible sound of ripping fabric.

“And now,” said Fiona, “the rent is even bigger.”

If it weren’t for the hair everywhere on his face, Duff might, perhaps, have been seen to be flushing self-consciously.

“Sir,” Isobel said timidly, “if you like, I could sew that up for you.”

“Would you, madam?” He looked hopefully at her.

“Oh yes, to be sure! I do love to be helpful! I wonder if I have the right color thread? Yet no matter what color I choose I’m afraid the repair will still be visible—unless I’m very, very careful with my stitches, and I—”

Isobel proceeded in this animated vein for some time, and Fiona, with what felt like superhuman patience, refrained from interrupting and, instead, ate another bowl of oatmeal and had some more chocolate. When finally her cousin subsided, Fiona pushed away her bowl and said in a businesslike tone:

“Laird, will those wagons you mentioned have room for bed linens and clothing? I expect the Sutherlainns will need such things, and badly too. I’ve already spoken with Lister and Mrs. Allen, and we’ve been to the attics as well, to see what’s been stored there. We’ve plenty to spare—if this is agreeable to you?”

Alasdair was looking at her from his seat at the head of the polished oak table. He was looking at her as if she was a mystery he was unable to fathom, but she’d volunteer to sew up every rip and tear in Duff’s large wardrobe of scruffy clothing before she would offer any clues. How could Alasdair have gone off like that last night?

“Aye, madam,” he replied, “it’s agreeable to me,” although in his expression was nothing that suggested laughter, pleasure, or anything at all agreeable.

Which, thought Fiona, served him right. Dreadful, cruel, hard-hearted man.





Chapter 10




Later that day, after an excellent dinner featuring the roasted sirloin and salad of fresh peas and potatoes she’d planned with Cook a few days earlier, Fiona rose to her feet, as did Isobel.

“If you’ll excuse us?” she said to Alasdair and Duff.

Alasdair also stood up. “You’re going to the Great Drawing-room?”

“Yes.” Her tone was just as chilly as it had been all day. “As we always do. In the evening. After dinner.”

His tone was a trifle grim as he said, “May I join you?”

Fiona didn’t know who was more shocked, herself or Duff, who sputtered:

“What? I thought we’d go to the village, or to Hewie’s, or—or—”

“You are certainly free to, Uncle.” Alasdair turned to Fiona. “Madam?”

“You may do whatever you like, laird.”

He bowed, slightly. “I await your convenience, then.”