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Authors: Kasey Michaels
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say!”
Alexandra was under no misapprehension as to just what her grandfather was referring. During the course of the last week her housecleaning had succeeded in ferreting out more than two dozen well-hidden bottles of Hollands secreted around the donjon. Having put the kitchen supply of gin under lock and key the very first day she was in residence, she had been more than a little surprised at the old man’s resourcefulness, but she now imagined that he had checked all his hidey-holes without finding a single bottle of his cache.
“And a good morrow to you too, Grandfather,” she said now, adding pleasantly enough, “You’re looking quite oppressed, you know, you old fidget. Could be it’s nothing but a natural bit of early morning crustiness, but then I could be mistaken, couldn’t I?”
“I’ll give you early morning crustiness, you child of the devil!” Sir Alexander flung back at her. “Look’ee here, girl, I know what you’re about. You think you’ve got me, but I’m up to all your rigs. Give me back my Geneva, I’m telling you!”
Alexandra lifted her determined chin. “You’re not telling me anything of the kind, old man. Left on your own you’d drink yourself right into the grave, but you’ll not put that on my conscience. I promised Chas—”
“Damn Charles! Damn your conscience and damn your promises!” Sir Alexander ranted, waving his arms excitedly as he charged back and forth in front of her in high dudgeon. Then suddenly his tactics changed. He sank onto a nearby bench and raised one pudgy, beringed hand to his chest. “It’s sick I am, sick as a horse. I need my Heart’s Ease, girl,” he whined piteously. “Have pity on an old man.”
It almost worked. Alexandra had opened her mouth to tell Nutter to bring a small goblet before she saw her grandfather peeking up at her from under his supposedly closed lids, a fleeting smirk of satisfaction turning up the corners of his mouth. “That was very good, Grandfather,” she crooned silkily. “You nearly had me fooled. Too bad you let me see the triumph on your face. Forget it,” she warned as he began once more to moan, now both hands clasped to his breast. “You’ll get your normal ration of gripe water at luncheon and again at dinner and that’s the end of it.”
“Just like your grandmother, that’s what you are,” her grandfather groaned. “Flaming tartar she was too.” Yet he did not push the matter, much to Alexandra’s surprise, but only shook his head and retired to the privacy of his solar. Well, she thought smugly, he’d find no gin there either—she had taken care of that yesterday. So thinking, she followed Nutter down to the kitchens, where she greeted Harold and ate a quick breakfast.
Alexandra had been off target when she thought Sir Alexander was heading for another cache of gin—not that he wouldn’t have welcomed a dram or two at the moment. On the contrary though, he had retired in order to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye—a show of emotion he did not choose to let his granddaughter see. It had been a long time since anyone had cared enough about him to see that he didn’t drink himself senseless—not since his beloved wife had passed away some thirty years earlier as a matter of fact, and he found he rather liked it. It was a shame she’d be leaving his castle soon to become Lady Linton, but he knew his reward would come in the form of the great-grandson he was already looking forward to with greedy anticipation. Besides, Nutter was no match for him—he’d then have his gin supply back up to full measure or he wasn’t half the man he thought himself to be!
Alexandra had just closed the lid on yet another great chest stuffed to the top with silver cups, dishes, and candlesticks—all now neatly polished—when she was called from her task by Nutter.
“Lord Linton to see you, miss,” he told her as she rose from her knees on the dusty stones of the treasury and wiped a
Alexandra was under no misapprehension as to just what her grandfather was referring. During the course of the last week her housecleaning had succeeded in ferreting out more than two dozen well-hidden bottles of Hollands secreted around the donjon. Having put the kitchen supply of gin under lock and key the very first day she was in residence, she had been more than a little surprised at the old man’s resourcefulness, but she now imagined that he had checked all his hidey-holes without finding a single bottle of his cache.
“And a good morrow to you too, Grandfather,” she said now, adding pleasantly enough, “You’re looking quite oppressed, you know, you old fidget. Could be it’s nothing but a natural bit of early morning crustiness, but then I could be mistaken, couldn’t I?”
“I’ll give you early morning crustiness, you child of the devil!” Sir Alexander flung back at her. “Look’ee here, girl, I know what you’re about. You think you’ve got me, but I’m up to all your rigs. Give me back my Geneva, I’m telling you!”
Alexandra lifted her determined chin. “You’re not telling me anything of the kind, old man. Left on your own you’d drink yourself right into the grave, but you’ll not put that on my conscience. I promised Chas—”
“Damn Charles! Damn your conscience and damn your promises!” Sir Alexander ranted, waving his arms excitedly as he charged back and forth in front of her in high dudgeon. Then suddenly his tactics changed. He sank onto a nearby bench and raised one pudgy, beringed hand to his chest. “It’s sick I am, sick as a horse. I need my Heart’s Ease, girl,” he whined piteously. “Have pity on an old man.”
It almost worked. Alexandra had opened her mouth to tell Nutter to bring a small goblet before she saw her grandfather peeking up at her from under his supposedly closed lids, a fleeting smirk of satisfaction turning up the corners of his mouth. “That was very good, Grandfather,” she crooned silkily. “You nearly had me fooled. Too bad you let me see the triumph on your face. Forget it,” she warned as he began once more to moan, now both hands clasped to his breast. “You’ll get your normal ration of gripe water at luncheon and again at dinner and that’s the end of it.”
“Just like your grandmother, that’s what you are,” her grandfather groaned. “Flaming tartar she was too.” Yet he did not push the matter, much to Alexandra’s surprise, but only shook his head and retired to the privacy of his solar. Well, she thought smugly, he’d find no gin there either—she had taken care of that yesterday. So thinking, she followed Nutter down to the kitchens, where she greeted Harold and ate a quick breakfast.
Alexandra had been off target when she thought Sir Alexander was heading for another cache of gin—not that he wouldn’t have welcomed a dram or two at the moment. On the contrary though, he had retired in order to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye—a show of emotion he did not choose to let his granddaughter see. It had been a long time since anyone had cared enough about him to see that he didn’t drink himself senseless—not since his beloved wife had passed away some thirty years earlier as a matter of fact, and he found he rather liked it. It was a shame she’d be leaving his castle soon to become Lady Linton, but he knew his reward would come in the form of the great-grandson he was already looking forward to with greedy anticipation. Besides, Nutter was no match for him—he’d then have his gin supply back up to full measure or he wasn’t half the man he thought himself to be!
Alexandra had just closed the lid on yet another great chest stuffed to the top with silver cups, dishes, and candlesticks—all now neatly polished—when she was called from her task by Nutter.
“Lord Linton to see you, miss,” he told her as she rose from her knees on the dusty stones of the treasury and wiped a
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