Page 94 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
She met his eyes, read them, then smiled—one of her direct, open-hearted smiles that felt like warm sunlight to him.
He smiled easily back with just a hint of smugness, which she saw, but there was no reason to employ any façade with her. Her nose tipped up slightly, her challenge still there in the set of her head, her posture.
She stepped away. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ravenous.”
He picked up his cane, drew the door closed behind him, and followed. “A night of interrupted sleep can have that effect.”
She smothered a laugh.
They found Marcus already at the high table. Thomas sat Lucilla in her usual chair, then settled beside her in what had already become his accustomed place. He and she helped themselves from the array of platters and settled to eat.
A comfortable silence enfolded them, which, it appeared, none of them felt compelled to break. He continued to be curious about the relationship between Lucilla and Marcus; both seemed to know what the other was thinking, and possibly what they intended to do. They exchanged few questions along the lines of “What are your plans?”—presumably because they knew the answers.
It was curious to feel included, not as if he were a part of them but rather that he’d been accepted as a denizen of their small world and didn’t need to be entertained with polite but meaningless chatter.
They’d pushed their plates away and were sitting back, savoring their coffee or tea, when, as had happened the day before, Lucilla was summoned to deal with some household matter. She immediately excused herself, rose, and walked off, leaving him and Marcus still at the table.
Eventually, Marcus set his mug down and arched a brow at him. “I’m going to spend a few hours with the dogs, if you’d like to join me. I’m training the younger ones, and if you have any advice, I’d be pleased to hear it.”
“Where are the kennels?”
Marcus tipped his head to the southwest. “At the far corner of the rear yard. It’s not that far, and we have a training field behind the kennels, so you won’t have to walk any further.”
Although his wound still pricked and itched, and the muscle tensed uncomfortably when he walked, the pain had largely gone; unless he stood or walked for too long, the wound wouldn’t hobble him. He nodded and set down his mug. “Thank you. I’d like that. It’s been quite a while since I last worked with hounds.”
As they rose, Marcus glanced at him. “You didn’t keep your hand in with the Carrick pack?”
Gripping his cane, he followed Marcus off the dais. “When I realized how little time I’d be spending down here, I gave it up. Not fair on the dogs, and it’s not possible to keep even a pair in Glasgow.” Not in the fashionable area in which he lived. “Deerhounds would go insane from the lack of space in which to run.”
Marcus grunted. He headed for the archway Thomas had assumed led to the kitchens. Reaching it, Marcus paused to glance at him. “So who keeps the Carrick pack now? I know some are still there, even if Nigel sold off more than half—which, incidentally, seemed another very strange thing to do. I bought several of the bitches and a good-looking sire, too.”
Thomas shrugged. “Nigel was never that interested in the hounds—well, other than for hunting. He never saw the point in breeding them.” He hesitated—then, accepting that Marcus was unlikely to act in any way that might harm the hounds, he added, “I understand that several of the clan disagreed with his culling, and they spirited the most valuable breeders to one of the outlying farms. I’m not sure who is running the breeding now, but Nigel knows nothing of it.”
“Ah. I see.” Marcus led the way into the wide corridor.
“Speaking of breeding hounds,” Thomas said, limping behind him, “where are Artemis and Apollo? They were here when I arrived—or did I dream that?”
“No dream.” Marcus walked through another archway into the bustling kitchen. He moved to one side, out of the way of the maids, and halted; Thomas joined him. “That evening, I had the dogs in to show the children. I do that every now and then, so the dogs learn children aren’t prey to chase, and the children get used to them. Normally Artemis and Apollo are the only dogs allowed in the house, but they have the run of the place. They used to stick to me and Lucilla like glue, but now they’re so old, they spend most of their days moving from fireplace to fireplace on this level.” Marcus tipped his head to a pair of shaggy heaps stretched before the main kitchen hearth. “At this time of day, they’re invariably here, waiting for leftover sausage and bacon.”
Thomas grinned; he watched the two dogs for several minutes. “They look like they’re dreaming.”
Marcus smiled. “Let’s leave them to it. We can go out this way.”
Thomas followed his host into another corridor that led to a rear door. They stepped out into a cobbled courtyard and walked slowly toward the southwest corner of a very large rear yard.
As they walked, he looked around. The ancillary buildings made Casphairn Manor feel more like a village; he noted a blacksmith’s forge, and what appeared to be a tannery, and an active buttery with butts of ale neatly stacked along one wall.
Marcus had noticed him looking. Thomas arched a brow. “You have a strange and different mix of trades—not just the ones for farming.”
Marcus nodded. “From the first, we’ve always had all the trades needed to survive. Historically, given how much of the year we’re snow-bound, that made sense, but even now, we don’t need to rely on the outside world for anything vital. Every necessary trade is here somewhere, either at the manor itself or on the farms—which, as I mentioned, are relatively close.”
Thomas had looked out of Lucilla’s window that morning and had seen several of the farmhouses. Although not so visible at ground level, they weren’t far from the manor at all.
The kennels proved to be a relatively new structure, at least as far as buildings at Casphairn Manor went.
“We built it when I—and Lucilla, but mostly me—decided to seriously breed the hounds.” Marcus led him down the central aisle toward a large open area at the far end. Along the way, he unlatched the doors of the large pens to either side, and dogs of all sizes and a good blend of colors rushed out, eager to hunt, eager to please—and hoping to run like the wind.
Thomas laughed as the dogs brushed and jostled him, and younger pups scampered around and about, but after circling and scenting him and deciding he posed no danger, the older dogs led the milling pack on down the aisle, to gather, curious and eager, in the clear area at the end.
