almost tumbled from the rock. The butterfly flitted away. “I knew nothing about you.”
Again he glimpsed her sincerity, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Alasdair easing into the center of the stream.
“I’ll get Alasdair out of the water.” He turned to Longfellow and said, “The king’s a pox ridden maggot.”
As expected, Longfellow threw up his trunk and trumpeted loud enough to make ears ring. Alasdair squealed and made a hasty retreat from the water. His mother pulled off her mantle and held it out for him. Arms pinned to his sides, his knees knocking, his little penis shriveled to a nub, he let her wrap him in the faded red wool.
“That’ll teach you to mind me,” she said, rubbing him dry.
His eyes looked inordinately large and wary, and the sun had turned his nose and cheeks bright red. “Longfellow gave me a fright.”
“He was obeying your father’s strange command.”
Alasdair’s fear melted, and he gave Drummond a gamin grin. “Longfellow behaves better than me, does he not?”
So direct and honest a question smacked of his mother’s influence. This time, Drummond jumped at the chance to reply. “Aye, but he’s much older and reaps no pleasure in taunting his betters.”
Alasdair glanced up at his mother. “If I had a little brother I’d be his betters, would I not?”
She spent a long moment studying the lad. She looked young enough to be his sister and innocent enough to be a bride. “You would have to look out for a sibling and share your treasures.”
Alasdair cast an inquisitive gaze to Drummond. “Father, would I truly have to share my toys?”
“Not if you had a sister.”
The lad beamed. “Then I’d like a sister. Will you get me one?”
“Aye,” Drummond said.
“Nay,” said his wife.
Her quick refusal made Drummond rethink his strategy. He needed no plan to bed his wife; she had no choice in the matter. Why then was she so determined to deny him? He suspected she was hiding something, and he knew just the way to learn her secrets.
She might naysay the sister, but she’d have no more control over the sex of the children Drummond intended to get on her than she would have over his intentions. He’d bed her, and she’d welcome him with open arms. He knew Clare better than she knew herself.
Chapter 4
The perfectly cooked fish tasted like vellum in Johanna’s mouth, but she’d eat every last morsel before she’d reveal her discomfort. The ale was fresh and the goblets kept ever-brimming by a diligent Evelyn, who circled the table like a hungry hawk at twilight. The maid seemed fascinated by Drummond Macqueen, as did most everyone at the table.
Determination pushed Johanna to act as if her world were a dream come true, rather than an unfolding nightmare. She must keep her composure and pretend that life was proceeding as it should.
Seated to the right of Drummond and across from Alasdair and Brother Julian, she listened intently to the conversation that centered around politics but occasionally strayed to local events.
Garbed in a plain robe woven from the wool of black sheep, the bearded cleric couldn’t say often or effusively enough that in returning Drummond to his family, God had answered his prayers. He’d spent so much time talking he didn’t notice that Alasdair had eaten most of the fish from their trencher.
Bertie, who sat to her right, had been silent throughout the meal, but with encouraging smiles and an occasional wink, he lent her his support and his understanding.
She no longer worried that Drummond might take Alasdair away; now she agonized over what Drummond expected of her. The closer bedtime came, the more troubled she grew.
Drummond appeared comfortable at the head of the table, looked as if he’d been born to command more than the attention of the small group in attendance. He confirmed what Clare had said: Had the king of England not interfered with his destiny, Drummond would have ruled all of the Highlands.
The
Again he glimpsed her sincerity, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Alasdair easing into the center of the stream.
“I’ll get Alasdair out of the water.” He turned to Longfellow and said, “The king’s a pox ridden maggot.”
As expected, Longfellow threw up his trunk and trumpeted loud enough to make ears ring. Alasdair squealed and made a hasty retreat from the water. His mother pulled off her mantle and held it out for him. Arms pinned to his sides, his knees knocking, his little penis shriveled to a nub, he let her wrap him in the faded red wool.
“That’ll teach you to mind me,” she said, rubbing him dry.
His eyes looked inordinately large and wary, and the sun had turned his nose and cheeks bright red. “Longfellow gave me a fright.”
“He was obeying your father’s strange command.”
Alasdair’s fear melted, and he gave Drummond a gamin grin. “Longfellow behaves better than me, does he not?”
So direct and honest a question smacked of his mother’s influence. This time, Drummond jumped at the chance to reply. “Aye, but he’s much older and reaps no pleasure in taunting his betters.”
Alasdair glanced up at his mother. “If I had a little brother I’d be his betters, would I not?”
She spent a long moment studying the lad. She looked young enough to be his sister and innocent enough to be a bride. “You would have to look out for a sibling and share your treasures.”
Alasdair cast an inquisitive gaze to Drummond. “Father, would I truly have to share my toys?”
“Not if you had a sister.”
The lad beamed. “Then I’d like a sister. Will you get me one?”
“Aye,” Drummond said.
“Nay,” said his wife.
Her quick refusal made Drummond rethink his strategy. He needed no plan to bed his wife; she had no choice in the matter. Why then was she so determined to deny him? He suspected she was hiding something, and he knew just the way to learn her secrets.
She might naysay the sister, but she’d have no more control over the sex of the children Drummond intended to get on her than she would have over his intentions. He’d bed her, and she’d welcome him with open arms. He knew Clare better than she knew herself.
Chapter 4
The perfectly cooked fish tasted like vellum in Johanna’s mouth, but she’d eat every last morsel before she’d reveal her discomfort. The ale was fresh and the goblets kept ever-brimming by a diligent Evelyn, who circled the table like a hungry hawk at twilight. The maid seemed fascinated by Drummond Macqueen, as did most everyone at the table.
Determination pushed Johanna to act as if her world were a dream come true, rather than an unfolding nightmare. She must keep her composure and pretend that life was proceeding as it should.
Seated to the right of Drummond and across from Alasdair and Brother Julian, she listened intently to the conversation that centered around politics but occasionally strayed to local events.
Garbed in a plain robe woven from the wool of black sheep, the bearded cleric couldn’t say often or effusively enough that in returning Drummond to his family, God had answered his prayers. He’d spent so much time talking he didn’t notice that Alasdair had eaten most of the fish from their trencher.
Bertie, who sat to her right, had been silent throughout the meal, but with encouraging smiles and an occasional wink, he lent her his support and his understanding.
She no longer worried that Drummond might take Alasdair away; now she agonized over what Drummond expected of her. The closer bedtime came, the more troubled she grew.
Drummond appeared comfortable at the head of the table, looked as if he’d been born to command more than the attention of the small group in attendance. He confirmed what Clare had said: Had the king of England not interfered with his destiny, Drummond would have ruled all of the Highlands.
The
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