Page 36 of Sinful Scottish Laird
No matter what Arrandale had said of him, Daisy rather liked Somerled’s company. He was solicitous, and he didn’t look at her as if he wished to devour her. He laughed at everything she said and complimented her too much. Her hair, her eyes, the smoothness of her complexion, with or without the benefit of the parasol. Her son was well mannered, and therefore she must be a wonderful mother. Auchenard had been turned quite completely around, and therefore she was a competent house manager.
Daisy could take no credit for the color of her hair or her eyes or her complexion. She was a middling mother at best and was not the house manager at all—she couldn’t imagine the shambles Auchenard would be were it not for Uncle Alfonso. But she enjoyed his compliments all the same.
And he helped her forget about Arrandale for a bit.
Rowley came down to summon her. “Lord Chatwick requests you presence,” he said. “He has something he should very much like to show you. He is just outside the garden walls,” Rowley said and took the parasol she handed him.
Somerled and Daisy made their way up the grassy slope—now mercifully mowed by a pair of goats her uncle had purchased—and around the garden wall to the field where Daisy had twice encountered Arrandale.
The MacDonalds had joined Arrandale and Ellis, and they were tossing tree limbs that looked freshly cut. Fergus MacDonald was attempting the throw, arching his back and leaping at once to catapult it into the air. The limb soared in an arc, then bounced once before disappearing in the tall grass.
And Ellis...Ellis...laughed and raced across the meadow to where the limb had come down, gesturing for the men to follow. He was ebullient, and Daisy’s heart soared with gratitude.
“It must seem passing strange to you, aye?” Somerled said. “’Tis a game played among Highlanders.”
“A bit,” she agreed.
It was Ellis’s turn, and Arrandale had selected a smaller limb for him. He helped Ellis hold it correctly, and with some encouraging words Daisy could not hear, he urged Ellis to throw. Her son’s throw went awry and very nearly struck Arrandale. Had it not been for his quick reflex, he might have been hit squarely in the head.
Ellis tried again. This time, the thing scarcely left his hands, but the men applauded all the same. “Did you see, Mamma?” he called out to her.
“I saw!” Daisy said. “A fine throw it was, darling!”
There was some discussion between the MacDonalds, and Arrandale handed the limb to Ellis again. Then came more instructions and even a repositioning of Ellis’s grip of the limb.
“Milady?”
Daisy turned away from the limb tossing as Rowley walked into the field. “Shall I serve luncheon?”
“Yes, I think—”
“Ow!”Ellis cried out.
Daisy whipped around; her son was on all fours, and then he rolled onto his hip to examine his knee. His face began to crumble, and Daisy picked up her skirts, dashing the short distance to his side. “What happened?” she asked, falling to her knees beside him.
“I fell,” Ellis said, his bottom lip trembling. Daisy gingerly touched his knee through the rip in his breeches. Blood was smeared across his knee, and she could see what looked to her like a gash.
“Oh dear God,” she said. “Rowley?Rowley!We need a bandage! Oh dear, Ellis—”
“Allow me to help you,” Mr. Somerled said.
“Yes, thank you,” Daisy said. “Come, darling, let’s take you in and have Belinda clean it.”
Ellis nodded. He didn’t speak; he bit his lower lip to keep from crying.
Somerled helped Daisy to her feet as Arrandale lifted Ellis to his. “It’s naugh’ but a scrape, lad,” he said jovially. “You’ll be no worse for it, aye?”
“But it’s bleeding,” Ellis said, dangerously close to tears.
“Blood is the mark of a champion,” Arrandale said.
Daisy put her arm around Ellis’s shoulders and pulled him away from Arrandale. He limped as they walked out of the meadow.
“You mustn’t fret, darling. Belinda knows precisely how to bandage knees,” Daisy said, soothing him.
“Mamma...did you see how far I threw the caber?” Ellis asked. “I threw it quite far.”
Daisy glanced down at Ellis. This was not the boy she knew—the boy she knew shied away from play, was fearful of other boys and of being hurt. And in the event he was hurt, he moped. But the boy limping beside her now was smiling, his thoughts obviously on something besides the gash in his knee.
