Page 3 of An Allusive Love
“It’s better than whisky on an empty belly.” She wagged a finger at her giant of a husband. “No drinking until he’s eaten something. It’s barely afternoon, and I’d wager he missed breakfast.”
Brodie gave her a loud kiss on each cheek and turned to his grandfather, arms held out, wiggling his brows. “Grandda?”
“Dinna even consider it, lad.” But he wrapped his arms around Brodie anyway and thumped him on the back.
He was considered a younger, shorter version of his grandfather. Now, Brodie noticed a bit more gray in the older man’s black hair, a few more creases on his face and neck, but those deep blue eyes never faded. In fact, they studied him keenly. “We’ll talk while ye fill yer belly, then we’ll have a wee swallow and welcome ye home properly.”
The threesome entered the castle, and the aroma of dried sage and fresh bread tickled his nose. His stomach rumbled again. To the right was a huge receiving room, still retaining the same ambiance it had before the Risings. The stone walls were covered in tapestries and banners of the MacNaughtons and those clans who pledged fealty to them. A huge fireplace took up half of one wall and large carpets scattered the floor. The stories above held a dining room and great hall for entertaining.
To the left was the tower. It held the family’s private quarters. They climbed the narrow, dim stairway and entered the smaller family dining area. Here, the décor changed to quiet elegance and comfort. The walls were polished panels of light oak, and a long walnut table with intricately carved chairs took up the center of the room. Over the stone and marble hearth, his great-grandfather and faithful deerhound glowered at them from a heavy gilded frame. Brodie had hated that portrait as a boy; those sapphire blue eyes seemed to follow him about the room.
Cheese and breads were already set out. Calum poured them both some ale and pushed the plate of cold meat toward his grandson. “The cheese is especially good,” he commented as Brodie scooped butter onto a scone.
“I’ll try that next,” he said around a mouthful. “I’ve only had a couple stale oatcakes since early this morning.” He took a pull of the ale and smacked his lips. “Where’s Ma?”
“With yer sister and an injured sheep. Brigid saw it limping and insisted the leg needed to be wrapped,” his grandmother informed him. “Yer brother, Lachlan, is gone, so Glynnis said she’d assist.”
“That lass does love her beasties. If it’s no’ a sheep, it’s a calf or foal or some wild creature.” Brodie shook his head. “They bring out her gentler side.”
“If she showed half as much compassion to her suitors—”
“Dinna start, Calum,” said Peigi. “She’s young and in no hurry. Leave her be.”
“Weel, I see nothing has changed in my absence.” Brodie chuckled. “Grandda’s right, though. She’ll never attract a husband when she has to prove she can outride and outhunt the poor mon.”
“Exactly my point,” agreed Calum. “A male wants a woman who’s soft and pliant, not trying to beat him in an arm-wrestling match.”
“Is that what ye called me when we met? Soft and pliant?” asked Peigi, her tone deceivingly light.
“Och, woman, ye willna lead me into that trap.” Calum bent over and placed a noisy kiss on his wife’s mouth. “Ye stole my heart from the first. It didna matter if ye were pliant, only willing.”
She smacked his chest but gave him a pleased smile before she turned back to her grandson. “The bonfire for Beltane will be held in Dunderave. Ye’ve arrived just in time.”
Brodie rubbed his hands together. Good food, whisky, and lasses in their best gowns wanting to dance. The Edinburgh girls were bonny enough, but his heart belonged to the Highland pretties. The first of May was always a braw celebration.
“Ye’ll behave yerself, lad,” warned Calum. “Ye’re two and twenty and need to look for a wife, no’ sample the brew.”
He rolled his eyes but said nothing, not in the mood for another lecture. “I saw Kirstine down by the Dunderave path. Her pony had thrown her.”
“No! Is she all right? Shall I go by and check on her?” asked Peigi. His family had always liked Kirsty.
He shook his head but glanced at his grandfather, who now had a familiar glint in his eyes. “Only her pride wounded.”
“Now there’s a fine lass if ye want my opinion,” Calum said. “Comes from a good family, her da works hard tending the cattle and sheep, and her ma is a healer.”
Brodie snorted. “Sounds like a list of wifely qualities. We’re close but no’ in that way. I’ve had this conversation with Ma.” He popped a slice of meat into his mouth and chewed in silence. His mind strayed to the earlier encounter with Kirsty and his body’s reaction to her. A natural consequence from such close contact. He’d have to be careful of that in the future. They weren’t children any longer, as his ma had often reminded him.
“I saw Lachlan at the Thistle. On his way to Glasgow.” Brodie hoped to turn the conversation.
“Aye, yer brother needed a wee respite from Ross Craigg and the bickering. His temper gets the better of him.”
“Lachlan would rather give him a skelping than a lecture,” he agreed. “Craigg’s a bletheringeejitwho beats his women but avoids a mon’s fist.”
“Aye, and I wouldna trust him if he swore on his mother’s grave.” Calum scratched his jaw. “But now I have two grandsons gone.”
“By the by, Lachlan and I discussed the mill and may have found a solution to our problem.”
The MacNaughtons were partners in a textile mill in Glasgow. Brodie’s aunt had married a wealthy Englishman who had financed the venture but left the daily operations to his in-laws. It seemed English earls could invest in trade, but not dirty their hands with it. Calum had accepted his son-in-law’s proposition and put the entire clan to work, either at the factory itself, providing the raw wool, or weaving special order tartans.
