Page 9 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
Manachan’s gaze traveled over Thomas’s features, then his face softened and his lips curved in a smile. Weakly, he raised a hand. “Thomas, m’boy. Good of you to visit.”
He went forward and took Manachan’s hand in one of his; with his other hand, he lifted a straight-backed chair, positioned it beside the bed, and sat. Still gripping Manachan’s hand, he studied his uncle’s face and tried to mask his shock.
Manachan might have grown weak, yet his faculties seemed intact. His expression turned wry. “No, I’m not dying. Just brought low. But I’m not getting any worse, although I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.”
Edgar made a distressedshush-ing sound.
Thomas caught Manachan’s gaze. “How long? How long have you been like this—confined to your room?”
Manachan arched his brows as if trying to remember, then glanced at Edgar.
“He was first struck down last August,” Edgar quietly supplied. “He’s been up and down since then, but never back to his old self.”
Manachan snorted. “Sadly, not even close to my old self. It seems that old self of mine has slid away, and this is the best that’s left.” Manachan’s gaze grew sharper. “Not much use to anyone anymore, but luckily Nigel is here to take over.”
“You’re still the laird.” Edgar said it before Thomas could, and there was a wealth of defensive stubbornness in the words.
Manachan snorted dismissively. “Not much of a laird, given I can’t get out and about to see what’s what.”
When Manachan glanced his way, Thomas met his gaze. “Speaking of what’s what, why didn’t you write and tell me?”
Manachan lifted his heavy shoulders in a slight shrug. “What’s to tell? I’m old, boy. My past misdemeanors are catching up with me, and I just have to bear it. Old age comes to us all.”
Thomas cast a reproachful glance at Edgar.
The thin man responded, “We were instructed that you were not to be bothered with…the master’s failing.”
Thomas looked back at Manachan.
Manachan squeezed his hand. “Allow me my dignity, boy. No one but those who have to need to see how low I’ve sunk.”
It wasn’t easy, but Thomas forced himself to swallow that—along with the acid guilt that he hadn’t come back to the estate before now, that he’d stayed away for the past two years purely in pursuit of his own agenda and a cowardly wish to avoid Lucilla Cynster.
He drew a deep breath, and let it out with “Very well—I’ll allow, but that doesn’t mean I agree.”
There was so much he didn’t agree with about Manachan’s current situation that he wasn’t sure where to start, but today, there were more urgent matters on his plate.
Refocusing on the problems immediately before him—those facing the clan and the lairdship—he recaptured Manachan’s gaze. “I received a letter from Bradshaw, and also one from Forrester, saying there were problems with the supply of seed stock for the season’s plantings. They wanted me to intercede with you about the matter.”
Manachan frowned, the expression starting in his eyes and slowly transforming his face. “Seed supply? But….” His gaze grew puzzled, then Manachan glanced at Edgar. “What’s the date?”
The request was rapped out—still weak, but the tone more like that of the Manachan Thomas knew. Clearly, that man lay inside somewhere.
“April twentieth,” Edgar promptly supplied.
Manachan’s gaze swung back to Thomas. “The crops should already have been planted, shouldn’t they? Or at least be about to go in?”
Thomas nodded. “But there’s been no seed supplied, at least not to the farmers on the northern farms—and, I suspect, not to any in the clan.”
Still puzzled, Manachan’s gaze turned inward. “There must be some delay…or something.” Refocusing on Thomas, he said, “Ask Nigel—he’ll know.”
“Nigel and Nolan are in Ayr, and have been for the last few days. They were in Glasgow before that—I don’t know for how long.”
That that was news to Manachan was clear. His frown returned, darker and more definite.
“And now,” Thomas said, freeing his hand from Manachan’s and rising, “the Bradshaws have fallen ill. Seriously ill. The whole family.”
“What?” Manachan stared at Thomas, then glanced questioningly—almost accusingly—at Edgar.
