Page 39 of Sinful Scottish Laird
They wouldn’t catch their death, for heaven’s sake. One did not live in the Highlands of Scotland and escape rain or water. Nevertheless, Cailean followed the others, and as he closed the door behind him, thunder cracked so loudly over their heads that it shook the rafters of the lodge.
Mr. Kimberly stoked the fire in the great room’s hearth. A brilliant flare of firelight was followed by another deafening crack of thunder, and Lord Chatwick grabbed his mother’s hand.
“Thatwas very close,” Miss Hainsworth said. “How fortunate we are to have these hills surrounding us, as that would have surely struck the lodge. Lightning is one of the most common causes of fires, you know.”
Cailean tried to recall even one home lost to fire caused by lightning.
“Bring whisky, Rowley,” Kimberly said as he settled onto the settee. “That will settle the nerves.”
As they waited for the butler to pour, the rain began to fall. As he passed the drams of whisky around the room, the storm began to rage in earnest; winds whipped the tops of the trees and the rain came down in a deluge, torrents of it running down the windows. “We must have something to pass the time,” Lady Chatwick said nervously.
“It willna last long,” Cailean said. “Storms that crop up in the late summer are ferocious, but almost always short-lived. It will pass quickly enough.”
“She’s right,” Somerled agreed with Lady Chatwick. Unsurprisingly. Predictably.Pathetically.“Shall I read, then?”
“Read?” Lady Chatwick sounded surprised by his suggestion. No doubt she had in mind something far more diabolical, something that would pit her two callers against each other. “We’ve very few books—”
“Aye, but you have a Bible,” he said, pointing to a desk and the two books there.
She blinked, looking almost as if she’d never noticed it before. She gave Cailean a quick, sidelong glance, and then said with an enthusiasm he knew very well she did not feel, “Thankyou, Mr. Somerled. We will all be made the better for it. Won’t we, Arrandale?”
He gave her a withering look. She smiled pertly.
Somerled picked up the Bible. He turned several pages, found something that he deemed suitable and began to read. “From Exodus, nine two four. ‘So there was hail, and fire flashing continually in the midst of the hail, very severe, such as had no’ been in all the land of Egypt since it became a nation...’”
Cailean listened politely for a few minutes—he was not an utter heathen—but his mind began to wander, and he mentally listed the things that needed to be done at Arrandale when he was not frowning at Lady Chatwick, who kept flashing tiny, pert little smiles at him. He watched Rowley and Mr. Kimberly slip from the room. He watched Lord Chatwick doze off, his head propped on his mother’s shoulder. He watched the lad’s mother’s lids grow heavy, too, because shewasan utter heathen, and this sermon, or whatever it was Somerled was attempting to do to impress her, served her right for being so coy.
The only one who seemed to be enthralled with Somerled’s droning was Miss Hainsworth, who sat on the edge of her seat, rapt with attention, as if she had never heard the tale of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt.
Cailean didn’t know how long Somerled read, but his droning did the trick—it got them through the worst of the storm. Sun began to break through the clouds just as the Israelites reached Mount Sinai—or somewhere in the desert, as Cailean had lost track—and he said quickly, before Somerled could draw a breath, “The storm is done, then,” and nodded at the window.
“Hmm?” Lady Chatwick said, rousing from a nap. “Oh! Look, Ellis,” she said, and shook her son awake. “The storm has passed. Let’s have a look—there might be a rainbow.” She hopped up and led him to the window, thereby signaling the end of the Sermon on the Mount.
Mr. Somerled seemed slightly wounded that she offered no commendation for his reading. He put the Bible aside.
Miss Hainsworth was happy to offer it. “Thank you, Mr. Somerled,” she said gravely. “I was comforted by your reading during that dreadful storm.”
“Oh, look! It’s blue sky,” Lady Chatwick said. “How fortunate, Mr. Somerled,” she said and turned about. “You’ve such a long ride home, do you not? But with the sun now, you should reach your home by nightfall. Won’t you?”
Somerled looked confused. “Ah...aye,” he said uncertainly. The man didn’t know which way to turn because he was a poor little mouse and Lady Chatwick was a cat. A cat that had just chased the mouse away.
“Oh, good, I’m so relieved! I’d not like to think of you riding in a storm. Belinda, dearest, will you take Ellis and inform Mr. Green that Mr. Somerled’s horse should be brought round?”
Of course Cailean followed them out onto the drive. Of course he took pleasure in watching Somerled shuffle about, clearly wanting a private moment with Lady Chatwick, which Cailean refused to grant him.
Somerled began to realize he was defeated. He mounted his horse. “Good day, Mr. Somerled!” Lady Chatwick said brightly.
“Good day,” he returned curtly and spurred his horse on.
Cailean and Lady Chatwick stood side by side and watched him ride away. “Well,” she said. “Thank goodness that is done.”
“Aye.Latha math, Lady Chatwick.”
“What?” she exclaimed, spinning around to him. “You’re leaving?”
“Aye. I’ve carried your boat. I’ve waited out the storm, and I’ve heard enough scriptures for the day.”
“But there’s something I want to show you!”
