Page 9 of Plaid Attitude
His daughter merely rolled her eyes as she popped the remainder of her bread into her mouth and stood. She poured a small cup of ale and pushed it across the table to him.
“’re no boffering—”
“Swallow,” he commanded, trying to keep his tone stern as she attempted to speak around a mouthful of bread. “Here, ye need this more than me.”
When he handed back the cup of ale, she sipped at it, then swallowed. His grin finally broke through.
“Mayhap I would’ve been better served with sending ye for deportment lessons with Lady Oliphant, so ye’d ken no’ to speak with yer mouth full. Choking to death afore I can find a husband for ye will serve nae one,” he teased.
When she pouted, she still looked like the sweet little lassie who used to climb into his lap and snake her arms around his neck before planting wet kisses on his cheeks. “I think I would rather poke out my eyes. She’s a pain to listen to, Da, much less mimic.”
“Lady Wynda, then, so ye can learn how to read and write and sit quietly?”
“I like my lessons with Lady Fen and Lady Coira just fine.” She stuck out her tongue.
Lady Coira. Doughall swallowed and tried to keep his tone nonchalant when he asked, “And how is Coira—I mean, how are yer lessons going?”
Shrugging, Bessetta concentrated on pouring milk into a bowl for two of the cats twining about her feet. The cats were impossible to tell apart—there were somewhere between four and a dozen and most were a mix of black and gray with one or two orange tabbies just to keep things interesting—but Doughall didn’t begrudge them since they’d kept their home free of rodents all winter.
“I like her lessons,” his daughter finally admitted, without looking at him. “After, I feel like I fit into my skin.”
“That’s…good?” Sometimes ‘twas difficult, speaking to a teenaged girl.
“Aye, and I like feeling powerful. But…”
When she trailed off and reached for a knife and cutting board and began chopping turnips, Doughall frowned.
“But what?” he prompted.
Still without meeting his eyes, she shrugged. “Coira is a warrior woman. I like her. But…I’m no’ certain I want to be a warrior woman.”
Doughall pushed aside the ale and planted his elbows on the table. He had to get up to the lists to meet his men, but they wouldn’t begrudge him a few extra minutes this morning. “Lady Coiraisa fine woman. She’s brave and intelligent and kens what she wants in life. I’d be proud if ye grew up to be like her.”
“She’s no’ married.”
Doughall’s brows rose. “What’s that got to do with aught?”
Yet another shrug. He supposed he should be glad she was at least speaking to him, instead of clamming up and refusing to talk about her worries.
“I…I think I want to be married. Someday, I mean,” she hurried to clarify, pushing the chopped turnips into a nearby bowl then reaching for another. “I think I would make a good wife.”
Wellthiswasn’t a conversation he particularly wanted to have with his own daughter. He glanced at the door, then decided ‘twould be cowardly to run away right now.
So, he cleared his throat, and entered into the conversation as delicately as a man wearing twelve-inch-boots stepping through eleven inches of mud.
“Yewillmake a fine wife someday, Bessetta, I ken it. Ye are already a fine cook—vegetables and cheese and the like—and ye take good care of me.” He gestured toward his half-eaten slice of bread, with the butter made the way he preferred. “Ye care about others, and ye’ll care about yer husband. One day. Many years from now.”
When his eyes were closed.
And he was hiding behind a tree.
She was hisdaughter, and she wasn’t old enough to be thinking of being married, by St. Berthwald’s voicebox! She was still a bairn!
“Do ye think Coira would make a good wife?” she asked in a small voice.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The problem was, Coirawouldn’tmake a good wife, not the kind Bessetta meant. The laird’s eldest daughter, the woman he’d spent years working with, didn’t know how to cook or embroider. She wore braies and talked too loudly and took too-long steps, as if she always wore a sword at her hip. Aye, she could run a household with her eyes closed, but she also cursed like a man and didn’t hide her anger or stubbornness.
