Page 27 of Return to Clan Sinclair
“What do you think he could do, sell newspapers on the corner?”
“Why not? It’s better than spending all his time trying to escape Drumvagen, don’t you think?”
He looked away, then back at her. “Do you think he’s bored?”
She folded her hands calmly and nodded. “I think he’s as intelligent as you were, Macrath. I think that’s what’s at the root of all of this. Give him a job. Give him something to do.”
“He doesn’t do what his tutor tells him to do as it is.”
“No doubt because he finds other things more interesting. How many times have you found him in your laboratory?”
“Too many to count.”
“Then have his lessons taught there. Talk to his tutor, see if you can make the lessons have more meaning to Carlton. Instead of learning about Spain and England’s wars, what about teaching him about the trade we do with Australia?
He frowned at her. It was such a ferocious expression, she might’ve been disturbed had she not been the recipient of its cousin over the years.
“You’re much too intelligent for the likes of me,” he said.
She smiled back at him. “Only occasionally, my love,” she said. “Now tell me why you’re pacing.”
She reached for her knitting, finding it a wonderful way to focus rather than to stare at Macrath. Not that he wasn’t attractive enough to look at every day, but doing so only led to other things. Desire was occasionally unwelcome in the middle of the day, especially with three children and various nurses, tutors, and servants about.
Sometimes Drumvagen was filled with too many people, especially when she hungered for her husband. Therefore, it was much easier to focus on her knitting then Macrath.
“Are you leading up to telling me why Bruce is here?”
Macrath started pacing again. Back and forth he strutted, his arms behind his back, as intent on his progress as the head rooster in their barnyard. Woe be unto those who ventured into his territory without permission. He’d peck you on the legs and fly up and try to batter your face with his wings.
Macrath was just as territorial.
He didn’t look at her, which was a clue.
She put down her knitting, watching him.
“I haven’t forgotten about Paul Henderson, you know.”
That certainly made him stop. He turned and stared at her.
“Did Bruce tell you?” he asked.
She stared at the ceiling, huffed out a breath, then looked at him again. “Really, Macrath, that’s almost insulting. Bruce has a very large detective agency. In America. Why would you hire someone to make inquiries in America? There’s only one person who would interest you, and that’s Paul Henderson. No one had to tell me. I figured it out all by myself.”
“Forgive me, Virginia.”
“For what? Underestimating my intelligence or for keeping it from me? I think it’s two apologies you owe me.”
“Very well, you’re right,” he said with a smile.
“Is he here?”
For a moment she wondered if he would answer her.
“Yes.” He threaded one hand through his hair. “We don’t know exactly where, but he’s in Scotland.”
“Is that why we went to Edinburgh? So you could warn Mairi and Logan?”
“Partly,” he said. “Partly to draw him out. I wanted him away from Drumvagen.”
