Page 77 of The Highlander's Irish Bride

Kathleen, mentally replanting the herb bed, nodded. “This pelisse is quite sturdy. Sabrina, I’m wondering if we might plant basil and perhaps even some lavender over by that brick wall. It’s sheltered enough and seems to get quite a bit of sun.”

“We’re just as likely to get rain and mist, I’m afraid, and the winters can be quite dreadful. Nothing like the mild climate around London, or what you’re used to in Ireland.”

“The lavender might be pushing it, I suppose.” Kathleen snapped her fingers. “Perhaps you could build a small succession house, one for herbs and potted orange plants. Wouldn’t that be delightful?”

Sabrina adopted an apologetic smile. “It would. But I’m afraid Cook would be deeply suspicious. When I asked her to make a true English pudding for Christmas, she complained for a week. If I start importing orange trees, I might be forced to deploy smelling salts.”

Kathleen scoffed. “Now you’re just being silly. I can make a few preliminary sketches of a small greenhouse, if you like. It would tuck in quite nicely between those two outbuildings and the stables.”

After she’d taken a proper look at the garden this morning, she’d started drawing up plans in her head. At the very least, it was a welcome distraction from yesterday’s distressing events on the road. Also, Jeannie had been difficult, and it had taken a concerted effort to smooth the girl’s ruffled nerves and get her comfortably settled.

And then there was Grant. Thinking about him had kept her tossing for half the night. Finally, she’d fallen into slumber, only to be awakened early by some commotion at the other end of the hall. While the fuss had died down almost immediately, images of Grant had again intruded into her muddled brain. One that particularly stood out was the image of him looking at her yesterday when she was holding the baby. His emerald gaze had glittered with a warmth that had set her nerves dancing like fireflies on a summer night.

She’d never imagined Grant Kendrick as a man who could seduce a woman with just one look, but that particular expression had convinced her otherwise.

He’d left the room shortly afterward to speak with his brother. By the time they’d all reconvened for dinner, he’d reverted to his usual polite self, almost as staid and boring as the day she’d met him.

It was all very confusing. It didn’t surprise her, though, since she found men in general to be confusing.

Kathleen firmly refocused her thoughts on the garden. “In fact, if you pulled down one of the outbuildings, you could build an even bigger succession house. Then you could have fresh fruit and vegetables all year.”

After studying her with an amused expression, Sabrina hooked a hand around Kathleen’s arm and led her through a wrought-iron gate at the base of the garden.

“I think you should rest for a few days,” her cousin said as they turned right along a neatly graveled path.

It ran along a brick wall that enclosed the kitchen gardens before gently winding away through a meadow behind the manor. The path afforded a lovely view over a rolling landscape of field and glen, broken by the occasional stand of poplar and birch trees. A herd of shaggy cattle grazed in the next field, and smoke curled up from the chimney of a crofter’s cottage. In the distance, slate-gray peaks towered in the bright blue sky. It was dramatic and even a bit lonely, but it held its own sort of peace, born of rock and sky, and a horizon that stretched up to the heavens.

“You and Jeannie just arrived,” Sabrina continued. “There’s no need to throw yourself immediately into work.”

“Gardening isn’t work.” Kathleen breathed in the crisp, clean scent of the Highlands. The bracing air cleared one’s head and made anything seem possible, even surviving a winter in Scotland.

“It is up here, because you never know what the day’s weather will bring.” Sabrina flashed her a smile. “You know what they say—if you don’t like the weather in Scotland, wait ten minutes and it’s bound to change.”

Kathleen laughed. “I’m not sure I approve of such erratic behavior.”

“Are we still talking about the weather or about a certain handsome Highlander?” Sabrina asked with a mischievous twinkle.

Drat.

Sabrina had always been adept at reading other people’s emotions. But Kathleen was no longer the messy little girl who worshiped her older cousin, no matter how smart and sophisticated she might be.

“The weather,” she responded in a breezy voice.

“Really? Because you looked quite odd for a moment, as if you were thinking of someone.”

“I was merely trying to recall if I packed any flannel wrappers. It certainly sounds like I’ll need them.”

Sabrina winked at her. “When one has a brawny Scotsman in one’s bed, flannel is not only unnecessary but rather beside the point.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me how to behave like a proper young lady, remember? I’d say you’re making a rather poor job of it so far,” Kathleen wryly said.

Her cousin laughed. “Forgive me, dearest. I’ll stop teasing—for now.”

Kathleen ignored the last bit. “We’d best step lively if we’re going to catch up with the others.”

“We’ve been dreadful dawdlers. Graeme and Grant are likely halfway to the distillery by now.”

“They’re not the ones I’m worried about.”

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