Page 40 of Sinful Scottish Laird
Behind her, Mr. Kimberly wandered out onto the drive. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Lord Arrandale means to take his leave, but I want to show him our new potting shed.”
“Don’t waste the man’s time,” Mr. Kimberly said gruffly. “It’s not worth the attention. The man has no talent for it.”
Apottingshed? What man?
“It was very kind of Mr. Somerled to have come all this way to build it.That’sa good neighbor for you, for I hadn’t realized how desperately I needed it until he appeared to build it.”
“You did realize it, Daisy. I told you,” Mr. Kimberly pointed out.
Daisy?Her name wasDaisy?She was named for a sunflower?Diah,but the English were barmy.
“Well, yes, you did, Uncle. But Mr. Somerled arrived with the materials.”
Cailean’s head was telling him to walk on, but he couldn’t help himself. “He built you a potting shed?”
“He did!” she said, as gleefully as if Somerled had brought her a pony. “Come and see.”
“Go on, then. I’ve seen that upright coffin too many times as it is,” Mr. Kimberly said, and, with a flick of his wrist, he retreated into the lodge.
Lady Chatwick—Daisy,the sunflower—clasped her hands behind her back and rose up on her toes. “Well?” she said, sinking down again.
Cailean groaned. “Aye, go on, then—make haste, make haste,” he said, gesturing for her to walk.
They rounded the corner of the lodge, where Cailean nearly collided with a barrel.
“I forgot it was here,” she said. “Therein lies my uncle’s fish, all properly salted and bundled,” she said, gesturing to it. “We’ve no room to store it in the larder, and he has not yet decided where he will keep his treasure.”
They carried on, turning another corner, when Lady Chatwick suddenly stopped and swept her arm grandly. “Here it is!”
There it stood, a rough-hewn shed that, as Mr. Kimberly had said, looked only slightly larger than a coffin. “It’s a bloody box,” Cailean said. He stalked forward, threw open the door and stepped inside. Lady Chatwick stepped in behind him and closed the door. Somerled had cut an opening in the door and in one wall, presumably to use as windows. “It’s ridiculously small,” Cailean muttered, annoyed with Somerled.
“Mr. Somerled said it’s cozy,” she said, smiling up at him, always smiling, as if she knew that spark in her eye made him uncomfortably, acutely, dangerously aware of her.
“All right, I’ve seen it, aye?” he said. “What else have your many admirers given you?”
“Only this,” she said, glancing around. “Mr. MacDonald showed me a drawing of a ship he’d like to build. He’s very talented.”
“A ship he wants you to fund,” Cailean said. “Och,it’s worse than I thought. You donna seem to know a thing about fending off fortune hunters.”
“Of course I do!” She laughed. “I’ve been surrounded by them for nearly three years. You must think me a silly little fool, Lord Arrandale.”
“I’m no’ a lord. I’m a laird. Laird of Arrandale. And I’m no’ a dandy in some London drawing room that you must address by his title, aye? I’m Cailean.”
“Yes, but I—”
“If we are to be friends, you may use my given name. It is Cailean. Say it.”
“Cailean,” she said obediently. “Does this mean we are to be proper friends? I rather thought you were quite firmly against it.” She lifted her chin.
“I’m quite firmly against a courtship. And I donna offer friendship lightly, but you are clearly in need of it.Tiugainn,open the door to the box you charmed Somerled into constructing for you, aye?”
“Ididn’t charm him—he quite insisted,” Daisy said, making not the slightest move to open the door. “I still maintain you are jealous of him.”
“That is preposterous,” he said gruffly.
“Youare,”she said, her hands finding her waist. “I clearly saw the envy in your expression today.”
