Chapter Twelve
“Alec!”
He turned to watch his eldest half sister racing up the slope of the hill toward him.
At least he thought they were his sisters.
They were grown women now, not the girls he remembered.
Was that truly Megan, the tall lass with the dark hair, and Alanna in the blue gown?
Village lads trailed behind them like a pack of dogs on the hunt.
Of course, it was Midsummer, and there was sunshine, flowers, and laughter.
A dangerous combination, he thought protectively, and realized that he sounded as old as his grandfather, as stiff as Westlake.
They’d grown up to be beauties. What lad could resist?
He opened his arm in time to catch the first girl as she hurtled into him. He enfolded her in a hug. “You smell like heather, Alanna!” he said.
“I’m Sorcha,” she said, frowning only slightly, regarding him with their grandfather’s gray eyes.
“Ah forgive me. Last time I saw you, you were—” He held his hand about three feet off the grass.
She’d been barely five when he left, with freckles and missing front teeth and unruly red curls.
She grinned at him with a full set of teeth now, but she was still freckled, he noted, happy that hadn’t changed.
In a few years, little Sorcha would be a beauty.
His heart contracted as he thought of the years he’d missed, and would miss in future.
“You look just the same as I remember!” she said, her eyes glowing. “Mama said you were dead, but Muira knew you’d come!”
Another girl arrived. “Alanna?” he asked carefully. She’d grown up to be very pretty, her and her eyes were still as blue as the sky
“Yes!” She smiled shyly.
“And Megan,” he said, smiling at the young woman who hung back slightly. She curtsied, and held out her hand.
“Hello, Laird. I’m Megan MacNabb—” She whooped when he pulled her into an embrace, swinging her in a circle before he set her on her feet again.
“You weren’t so heavy the last time I did that,” he teased, and watched her blush. “Is that lavender water I smell?” he asked.
Sorcha laughed, slipping her hand through his. “It’s very English. Mother makes Alanna wear rose scent.”
Alec ruffled her hair. “And what about you? What scent do you wear?”
She giggled. “I’m still too young.”
“She’s just a child, Alec.” Megan said.
“I’m almost thirteen!” Sorcha protested. “When I am seventeen like Alanna, I will send to France for the finest perfume—lilies or violets, or even gardenias!”
The village lads and lasses stepped forward, welcoming him home with shy smiles. “This is Brodie MacNabb,” Megan said as the last lad stepped forward. The girls surrounding him sighed at the mention of his name.
“I’m the heir,” he said. “Conor MacNabb’s lad. D’you remember me?”
Alec had met the boy at his grandfather’s funeral, and remembered him as sullen and hungry. He’d spent the day hiding under the table, eating. The heir. His heir. If he hadn’t come home, this tall boy with blank blue eyes would be laird at this very minute.
“Have you been at Glenlorne long?” he asked. Conor’s holding was miles away.
“Devina summoned me when the last laird died—in case you were dead too. I see you aren’t.”
He didn’t sound happy about that, Alec noted. He also noted the way Megan looked at him. He stepped forward and put his arm around his sister. “I’m sure there’s plenty of news I need to catch up on,” he said, turning away from Brodie.
“What time is it?” Megan asked as a cloud passed over the sun.
Alec took out his watch. “Nearly five. Why? Is the Midsummer fire tonight?”
“Of course not—you have been away too long. It’s not until tomorrow night,” Alanna said.
“I’m to be the lord of Midsummer at the bonfire,” Brodie said.
“Alec is home now, and he’s the laird. He’ll do it—won’t you, Alec?” Alanna insisted.
“We’re late for tea!” Megan said. “Mother will be livid!”
“Livid?” Alec asked.
“Fair vexed,” Sorcha translated. “She’s probably sitting in the drawing room with Miss Forrester, both of them dressed for tea, wondering where we are.”
“And who is Miss Forrester? Alec asked.
“Our governess,” Megan said distractedly, still gazing at Brodie.
“Did you bring us presents?” Alanna asked, linking her arm with his, grinning at him. She used to have plaits he liked to pull. Her hair was loose now, swirling in the breeze. He twined a lock of it around his finger, and felt the curls cling like vines.
“Of course I did.”
“Books?” Alanna asked.
“Silk? Lace?” Megan pleaded.
“Sweets?” Sorcha demanded, and Alec laughed.
“Wait and see,” he said, and offered his youngest sister his other arm. Megan walked down the hill with Brodie and a half-dozen other lasses who had the same besotted looks on their rosy faces.
It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the hill he remembered that he’d left poor Lady Sophie alone near the tower.
Who else could it have been but Sophie? Englishwomen were hardly common in the Highlands.
He scanned the hill around the tower—and the window, just to be sure she hadn’t climbed back to her perch—but there was no sign of her.
She’d probably slipped away, gone back to the inn, or wherever she was staying with her father to wait for a proper arrival, a formal introduction.
He marveled again that Bray had arrived so quickly.
Sophie was a beauty, and he recalled the soft, feminine weight of her in his arms as he’d caught her in the tower. He hadn’t wanted to let her go.
Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Angus and Georgiana watched Alec go down the hillside. Angus wiped away a tear. “He’s home at last. I’d say we’re off to a good start, wouldn’t you?”
“You frightened Caroline witless when you pushed her,” Georgiana replied.
“ ’Twas all for the good. Did you see the look in Alec’s eyes when he caught her?” Angus chuckled. “I know what the lad was feeling—the same thing I felt the moment I saw you.”
“I remember,” Georgiana said. “How could I ever forget?”