Page 47 of The Wrong Bride
“Good day, Laird McCallum,” Brendan said in a small, defensive voice.
Riona figured Hugh must have caught himeavesdropping. She admired the little boy for not running away from all that dominant-male wrath.
The change in Hugh’s voice was surprising. It went from fury to controlled neutrality. “A good day to ye, too, Brendan.”
She found herself peering around the corner, but all she could see was Hugh’s impassive profile. Brendan was holding a rake in both hands—as if he’d been charged with mucking out stalls. She held her breath, waiting for the yelling to commence—or would he favor the boy? Which would be worse for Brendan?
Hugh glanced at the rake. “There will be new orders to follow for the care of our horses.”
Brendan nodded, his head lowered. There was a sudden high-pitched bark, and Riona saw that the little terrier had been tied up near where Brendan now stood.
Hugh looked down with a frown. “Is the animal behaving?”
“Aye, sir,” Brendan said.
“Have ye named it?”
It was almost painful yet sweet the way Hugh was trying to connect to the boy through the animal.
“Hamish, sir.”
To her surprise, she could read the amusement that Hugh held back but for the raising of one eyebrow. “’Tis a big name for a little dog.”
“He thinks he’s big, sir.”
Riona realized she was not the only one watching this little scene. Next door, the carpenter had put out his head and frowned. Several of the gentlemen on the training yard were standing together whispering, watching Hugh and Brendan.
Men made bastards all the time, she told herself. She wasn’t even certain this boy was one, yet . . . it made her nervous on Hugh’s behalf, seeing the reaction of his clansmen.
Little Hamish started barking, and she realized it was in her direction. Both Hugh and Brendan turned their heads in an almost identical manner.
Riona gave a little wave. “I didn’t want to interrupt. Forgive me.”
“Lady Riona,” Hugh said, a note of curiosity in his voice.
Hamish kept barking furiously at her.
She had to raise her voice. “I was simply learning my way about, seeing what your people do each day.”
Even Hamish seemed suspicious of that, and just kept barking.
“Wheesht,” Brendan commanded, dropping to one knee and putting an arm around the dog’s shoulders.
Hamish subsided into low growls.
Hugh was no longer trying to hold back his amusement. “I believe Hamish has decided ye’re the lowest member of this pack, and a threat tohim.” He gave Brendan a nod. “See to your duties, lad.” He turned to her. “Lady Riona, please meet me in the great hall in one hour’s time.”
He didn’t wait for her response, and she studied his retreating back with curiosity. The pleats of his belted plaid swayed with his walk, and she could see his calves move beneath the tight stockings. So perhaps Scottish ladies had a reason to like seeing their men’s bare legs.
Riona had never been afraid of dogs in her life, especially not one of this diminutive size, so she walked to Hamish and bent to offer her hand. He gave several sniffs, and then a low growl, but not quite so menacing.
“I’ll win you over yet, little Hamish,” Riona said, smiling.
“I’ve got to work, my lady,” Brendan said, coming to his feet and reaching for his rake.
“Then I’ll leave you to it.”
She watched the boy disappear inside the gloomy stables, and so did Hamish, who sank down on his haunches and rested his snout on his paws.
