Page 3 of Return to Clan Sinclair
And with that, she and Fiona followed Alistair through Drumvagen. She heard a sound behind her, a kind of grunt mixed with a muffled oath. One of her brothers-in-law was forever swearing, and she knew a daunting collection of Irish oaths. She didn’t doubt she could be Brianag’s equal in profanity.
She didn’t care how annoyed the housekeeper was as long as the woman did what she asked and didn’t put anything in her food.
That might be too much to wish for, however.
She followed Alistair into a room filled with Scottish fervor. The tartan of the window coverings was matched by the pillows on the emerald settee. The chairs were tartan as well, as if to remind the inhabitants of this parlor they were in Scotland.
She took one corner of the settee, not at all surprised when Fiona sat beside her. Evidently, she’d acquired the status of a female slayer of dragons by refusing to be cowed by Brianag.
“Where is Carlton?” she asked, referring to the youngest of Macrath’s children.
“He’s been sent to his room,” Fiona said. “Papa is not happy with him.”
Alistair rolled his eyes, an expression Ceana had seen Virginia make often enough that she bit back her smile.
“What did he do?”
“It’s what he didn’t do,” Fiona said, sighing. “He rode Papa’s new horse without telling anyone. He hitched the oxen to the wagon and took himself off to the village. He refused to eat something Brianag made for him. And he sassed Papa.”
Well, the latter two would have gotten him gruel, no doubt.
Carlton was only a year or so younger than Fiona. Surely a ten-year-old would not be so adventurous. But then, he was Macrath’s son.
“He won’t stay in his room,” Fiona said. “He never does.”
“Well, if that happens,” Alistair said, “the punishment will just be more strict. Our parents are considering sending him off to school, which won’t be a good thing for Carlton. He loves Drumvagen.”
“And you, Alistair? Do you go off to school?”
That would account for her nephew’s almost adult demeanor.
He looked exactly like Macrath had at his age, tall and spindle thin, with black hair left longer than it should be and the piercing blue eyes marking a Sinclair. There were touches of Virginia’s beauty in the young man’s face, in the shape of his nose and the perfection of his cheekbones and chin. Alistair was an attractive young man. Fully grown, he would be incredibly handsome.
“I do, yes, Aunt Ceana. I’m off to England again in a matter of weeks.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do,” he said, to her surprise. “I’m interested in mathematics and engineering. There’s no one here who can give me training other than father, and he’s busy with the new invention. I want to learn as much as I can to be of help to him.”
So Alistair understood he was Macrath’s scion, the heir to his empire, one that was growing daily, from what she understood.
Fiona looked up at her wide-eyed. “You talked back to Brianag. Nobody ever talks back to Brianag,” she said. “Not even Mama.”
Alistair sent her a look, one she interpreted as,What are you going to do about a little sister?
Since she was Macrath’s little sister, she felt some kinship with her niece.
“What did you do that made Brianag so angry?” she asked Fiona.
“Brianag wasn’t all that angry,” Alistair said. “She was being rather kind.” He spared a glance in his sister’s direction. “Fiona was racing through the kitchen and she knows she’s not allowed to run in the house.”
“It was an accident,” Fiona said. “I must’ve knocked off the jar from the table. I never even saw it until there was a mess on the floor. All of Brianag’s special witchy herbs.”
“She isn’t a witch, Fiona. She likes people to think she is, but she isn’t. She goes to church every Sunday and she gives alms to the poor. She does a lot of good works.”
The image of a St. Brianag didn’t quite conform to the person she’d already seen, but Ceana thought it would be better if she withheld that comment until she learned a bit more about the household.
“I should have sent word I was coming,” she said, a remonstration to herself and a comment to her very adult nephew.
