Page 89 of The Scottish Duke
He was perfectly capable of taking his own son from his cradle, but he did as she asked.
“He’s grown,” he said after she placed Robbie in his arms.
“That he has,” she said. “He’s a big eater, is our Robbie. He has the appetite of a Highlander. At least that’s what Lorna says.”
“He has brown eyes,” he said. “They were blue when he was born.”
“They sometimes change like that. He’s got Lorna’s eyes, but, begging your pardon, Your Grace, the rest of him is just like his daddy.”
“He has dimples.”
Nan only smiled at him.
His son looked up at him as if he were saying,And what have you been doing, gone all this time?
He hadn’t been around infants often, but it seemed to him that his son, even at this tender age, was advanced. Surely no other infant could gaze out at the world with such an intent gaze or have such intelligence shining through his eyes.
Robbie gripped his finger, and it was as if the baby held onto his heart instead.
He’d never before felt what he did now. He would do anything for Robbie, would move mountains to ensure his safety, would hire anyone to teach him what he needed to know about life.
Why the hell had he stayed away for so long?
“Where is Lorna?” he asked, glancing at Nan.
She looked away, a sign that she was probably going to lie to him. But either he’d misjudged her or she changed her mind, because she turned back, stared straight at him, and answered.
“She’s gone to the cottage, Your Grace. She can’t be away from Robbie all that long, however, so she should be back soon.”
“Why the cottage?”
“She still goes there to make her cures. It’s a good place to keep all her bottles and herbs.”
The baby gurgled at him, and when he bent his head to kiss his son on the cheek, Robbie struck him on the nose with his fist.
There was the off chance that his mother would do exactly the same.
He tucked Robbie into the cradle, folding the blanket at his waist.
Nan had put down her mending and watched him with Robbie. Now she picked up the garment and occupied herself with the next stitch.
Something Matthews had said in Edinburgh jogged Alex’s memory.
“Has the seamstress been to see her? I’ve given orders that Lorna’s to have a new wardrobe.”
Nan glanced to the left then the right before looking straight at him.
“Has she refused it?” he asked.
“Not refused, exactly, Your Grace, but she and the seamstress had different thoughts about the matter.”
Nan bit off a thread and gave a seam intense scrutiny.
“Tell me,” he said.
She looked at him, then back at the dress.
“Well, Your Grace, the seamstress seemed to think that a great many ruffles and flounces were called for, with wide hoops and trailing sleeves. Lorna was having nothing of it.”
