Page 10 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“And my son, Lord Chatwick.”
The lad stepped back into her, practically hiding in the folds of her skirt, but she gently pushed him out again. He looked to be about seven or eight years old, slight and pale, his blond hair sticking to his head. Cailean wondered if the lad was ill.
“Ellis, might you bow to the gentleman?”
The lad clasped his hands behind his back and bowed woodenly. “How do you do.”
“Latha math,”Cailean said absently.
The lad blinked up at him.
“I said, ‘Good day, lad.’ Have you no’ heard a Highlander speak?”
“I thought you might be English,” his mother said.
“English!”he very nearly bellowed. By God, he looked nothing like an Englishman! He was wearing trews, for God’s sake.“No,”he said gruffly, feeling slightly injured by the insult.
“Well, it’s not as bad asthat, being English,” she chirped and gave him a lopsided little twinkle of a smile.
It was atleastas bad as that. “I am a Scot,” he said stiffly.
She pulled the lad to stand in front of her again, putting her arms over his shoulders and holding him there. “You must admit you dosounda bit English,” she pointed out.
What was happening here? He’d come to speak to her about MacNally’s employment, not about the manner of his speech. As it was, MacNally was looking at him with horror. Cailean could imagine how the story would travel up and down the glen and evolve somehow into one of his being sympathetic to the English or some such nonsense. Tongues in this glen wagged with the force of gale winds. “My mother is English,” he bit out.
“Is she, indeed?” Lady Chatwick said happily. “Who is—”
“I’ve no’ come for pleasantries, madam,” he said curtly, cutting her off. “MacNally tells me you’ve released him from service.”
“Perhaps I ought to discuss this with the gentleman,” her uncle said, moving to stand beside her.
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” she said pleasantly. “I think the gentleman means no harm.”
Of course he meant no bloody harm, but how could she possibly know what he meant? He was a dangerous man when he wanted to be, and he thought perhaps he ought to point that out...but she was talking again.
“I did indeed release Mr. MacNally from service,” she said, with a gracious incline of her head, as if she was accepting his praise. “I thought it imperative that I do so, as I explained to him. Did I not explain it, Mr. MacNally? I think we might all agree there are certain expectations when one employs another as an agent in their stead.”
MacNally looked at Cailean. “Do you see?” he asked in Gaelic. “She says so many words, and with much haste.”
Cailean ignored him. “The man has been caretaker here for nigh on fourteen years.”
“It is true that he has been employed as the caretaker here for that long...but somewhere along the way he quite forgot to take care of it.” She looked meaningfully at the broken window over her shoulder.
“I had no money,” MacNally said in Gaelic, understanding more than he was apparently willing to admit.
“He informs me your husband did no’ provide the funds for repairs, aye?”
“Did he, indeed?” she murmured, and one finely sculpted golden brow lifted above the other. “My husband has been dead for more than two years.Ihave not received any requests for funds to repair Auchenard, and yet I’ve seen to it that Mr. MacNally’s stipend has been sent to him with unfailing regularity.” The second delicate golden brow rose to meet the first in a direct challenge to Cailean to disagree.
That subtle challenge stirred something old and unpracticed inside Cailean. He looked away from her green eyes, glanced at MacNally and asked in Gaelic, “Is this true? You’ve not asked for the funds?”
“How was I to know to ask for funds?” he returned nervously. “No one has come round.”
Now Cailean glared down at MacNally. “Yet you’ve managed to put your hands on the stipend. Surely you know from wherethathas come.”
MacNally shrugged, scratched his scraggly beard and looked off contemplatively at the hills. “Did the best I could, I did,” he said defensively.
“Pardon? What does he say?” the lady asked politely.
