Page 47 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
Instead, she used the peace—both around her and in her mind—to formulate a program for the day.
When Thomas ushered Alice—a thin, pale woman in her early thirties with long fair hair and gentle blue eyes—through the door and Alice promptly bobbed a curtsy, Lucilla smiled and waved her up. “No need for that—we’re both healers, and we need to work together. Curtsying, you’ll discover, will only get in both our ways.”
Alice’s lips quirked; she fought to stifle a giggle and didn’t entirely succeed.
Lucilla let her smile deepen. “Excellent. Now, sit down”—she pushed one of the two tall stools toward Alice and claimed the other for herself—“and tell me how far along in your studies you are.”
Before Alice could speak, Thomas said, “I’ll leave you two to it.” When Lucilla looked at him, he met her gaze. “I’m going for a ride around the estate.” He glanced at Alice. “To see what else has changed since last I visited.”
To see if there are any other odd things going on.
Lucilla heard the words he didn’t say. She nodded, then watched him turn and stride away.
Once he’d gone, she looked at Alice. “Did he ask you to stay with me at all times?”
Alice blinked, then regarded her as if she were clairvoyant. “Yes.”
Lucilla smiled. “Don’t worry. I happen to think that’s a very good idea.”
The Carricks had lost one healer; she saw no reason to risk another. While she might be safer with Alice, Alice would also be safer with her.
“Now,” she prompted, “tell me how far Joy has taken you. Has she had you making any of the complex tonics?”
CHAPTER 8
He’d agreed to be Manachan’s eyes and ears, and the only way to get a decent view of the estate was from the back of a horse. Manachan had always ridden his acres, usually going out three or more times each week, regardless of the weather. He’d kept in close touch with all the clan families, had known how each of the farms was faring at any given time. Even when Thomas had last visited the manor some two years before, Manachan had still been riding out regularly. Thomas didn’t like to think how deeply, if silently, his uncle would be fretting over his inability to get out and about.
A nagging sense of unease had driven him to ensure that Lucilla would always be with others, but now that was taken care of, clan duty called.
He’d sent word to Sean that he intended to ride; Phantom was saddled and waiting in the yard. Accepting the reins from Mitch, who had been waiting with the big gray, Thomas noticed a smaller horse—a neat bay gelding—also saddled and waiting. The saddle was a side-saddle.
He was about to mount when Niniver hurried out of the house.
In a black velvet riding dress, with a small cap set atop her blond head, she came forward with a surprisingly determined stride. “Thomas—are you just going riding, or will you be calling at the farms?”
He paused, then admitted, “The latter.”
Niniver halted a few paces away and met his gaze. “I often stop by the farms—do you mind if I ride with you?”
Did he? Of Manachan’s four children, Thomas knew Niniver the least. Manachan overlooked her, too—but then he also largely ignored Norris, and even Nolan; when it came to his offspring, Manachan had a highly blinkered view, and that view was focused on Nigel. Then again, some would argue that, as laird, Manachan had always had so much to do with being father to the entire clan that he’d only had time left for one child and, naturally, that had to be his heir.
But if Niniver knew the farms and families… He inclined his head. “I would appreciate the company.”
Niniver smiled, the gesture shy and fleeting, and turned to her horse. Mitch held the bay steady as she climbed the mounting block, then scrambled into her saddle.
Thomas mounted; settling Phantom, he waited. When Niniver trotted forward to join him, he swung Phantom’s head down the drive. “Which way should we go?”
Niniver cast him a careful glance. “Do you want to do a circuit of all the farms?”
“That was my intention.”
Looking ahead, she lifted her chin. “In that case, we’ll do best to go east first, and then circle to the south. That way we’ll end with the Forresters, and then the Bradshaws last of all.”
Thomas vaguely recalled the eastern farms. He nodded. “You lead. I’ll follow.”
With a brisk nod, Niniver nudged her bay into a canter. Thomas kept pace and they rode out into the morning.
An hour later, as they headed toward the western farms, that “You lead; I’ll follow” replayed in his head. Who would have guessed that Niniver was…as deft a manipulator as her father?
