Chapter Thirty-Nine
The hunting party waited for the mist to clear before setting off into the hills to hunt. Leith glanced at the straggling trail of folk behind him and pushed his tam back to look at his companion. “What exactly are we looking for, Jock?”
Jock scanned the heather, the woods by the loch, and the slopes that led up toward the old tower. “Anything the Sassenachs can shoot at.”
Leith puffed his cheeks and blew air out. “Grouse season doesn’t start for nigh on a fortnight.”
Jock spit into the heather. “Aye, I ken it. The Sassenachs ken it as well. Let’s hope the grouse don’t ken it.”
“There are hares about. Will they do?”
Jock sighed. “So long as they don’t shoot the sheep, it’s fine with me.”
He ducked as a shot rang out, and Leith dove into the heather. A bird on the wing flapped away, squawking its displeasure, but unharmed. “That’s a bonxie!” Leith pointed. “Ye can’t eat those!” He picked up his tam and gaped at the bullet hole.
The gull wheeled and came to dive at its would-be murderer.
Several ladies in the party screeched, sounding like gulls themselves, and the men ducked and tried to reload at the same time.
Only the laird and his sisters waved their arms to drive the bird off.
Leith brushed dirt off his trews and Jock elbowed him.
“Come on, lad. Start looking for something they can shoot. Point it out and run like hell the other way.”
Lottie watched as Sophie pulled her elegant cashmere shawl more tightly over the heavy coat that was buttoned to her chin. Her nose was red with chill. In Lottie’s opinion, the weather was quite pleasant, though a silver mist lay over the hillsides.
“Perhaps Lord Somerson, Charlotte, and Countess Devorguilla were sensible to stay behind. I do hope the weather stays fair,” Sophie said anxiously. “Is this considered fair?”
“I don’t know, but you’re quite right—in England, we’d stay indoors with Mama, and be bored,” Lottie replied.
“How are we supposed to even see anything, let alone shoot it in all this fog?” Sophie complained. “The wet grass will quite ruin my boots.”
“You should have worn sturdier ones,” Lottie said. “I wore my riding boots—see?”
Sophie sniffed. “But these match my gown. They’re hand-dyed to match perfectly. What will I wear if they’re ruined?” She shifted the dainty bow quiver on her shoulder. Even the quiver matched her boots, and the fletching of the arrows matched the feathers in her jaunty little cap.
“D’you suppose one of the gentlemen would lend me a gun and teach me how to shoot?” Lottie asked.
Sophie looked horrified. “Good heaven, Lottie, you can’t mean it! A gun?”
Lottie raised her chin. “I do mean it. My father forbids it, which makes me all the keener to try.”
“My father says archery is the only suitable type of shooting for a lady.”
“But have you ever shot at anything other than a target? A grouse or a pheasant, perhaps?” Lottie asked, eyeing the decorative little bow.
“Of course not! Whatever for? We have groundskeepers and huntsmen to do that.”
“For the adventure of it.”
Sophie looked more horrified by the idea of adventure than she’d been at the thought of shooting something. “Adventure? Why, you bold creature—what on earth has gotten into you, Lottie?” She nodded to where William was walking ahead of them with Caroline. “Just what would your fiancé say to that?”
Lottie sniffed. “William doesn’t care for adventure, or for excitement of any kind. He doesn’t even like to dance. Nor does he engage in manly sports like boxing or curricle racing.”
Sophie’s eyes popped. “Curricles!”
“I had an admirer once who let me take the reins of his—it was quite thrilling. I lost my bonnet.”
“I hope it wasn’t an expensive one,” Sophie said. “Thank heaven your William is the sensible sort. You’ll be entirely safe from harm with him.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Lottie murmured. “Oh, I wish I was as brave as Caroline. I would love to have an adventure, even a teeny one, before I spend the rest of my days being entirely safe.”
Sophie laughed acidly. “Don’t be silly. Charlotte says she’s quite ruined.”
Lottie watched her aunt, chatting with William as they walked. “She doesn’t look ruined. She looks . . . oh, I don’t know. Happier, prettier—alive.”
Sophie tossed her chin. “No decent gentleman of title and fortune will even look at her now, at least not as a wife.”
Lottie’s eyes widened as she considered what that meant. “Poor Caro!”
Sophie’s smirk was tight and malicious. “So you see now what wishing for adventures will get you?”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Lottie murmured, staring at her aunt. Caroline threw back her head and laughed at something William said, her russet hair glowing against the mist, her cheeks flushed becomingly. Lottie frowned. She had never known her fiancé to be the least bit amusing.
Sophie caught her arm. “Of course I am—I am never wrong.” She waved for a servant who carried folding chairs monogrammed with the Bray crest. “Let’s sit here for a while and rest,” she said, though they’d hardly been out a half hour.
Lottie slipped into the seat beside her friend and watched Caroline and the rest of the party disappear through the mist.
“I must say, Caroline, you’re looking well this morning,” William said as they walked behind the ghillies. “Very well, in fact.”
Caroline looked at him. “Don’t tell me Somerson told you I was at death’s door as well.”
“No, of course not. I’m family—almost. They told me you had retired to Somerson Park to consider your matrimonial choices.
” He was staring at her with the kind of interest she had once longed for.
He should be looking at Lottie that way, not her, but Lottie was sitting on the hillside with Sophie, with Brodie lounging by their feet like a big dog.
“I have,” she said, turning her attention to watch Alec walking with Megan.
“Oh,” he murmured, and looked almost downcast.
“I mean I have decided not to marry at all,” Caroline clarified.
“Oh!” William brightened. He licked his lips, and drew a step closer to her side.
“Lottie will make a beautiful bride.”
“Who?” William said like a distracted owl. Caroline raised one eyebrow and sent him a quelling look. “Oh—Lottie! Yes, of course. Lottie . . .” He said her name as if he were trying to remember if he knew a lady by that name.
“I am quite looking forward to the wedding,” Caroline said, emphasizing the word. “My dear niece and my childhood friend.”
He winced and bit his lip, his eyes round and sad as a puppy’s. “Fr-friend?” he asked.
“Friend,” she said firmly.
“Oh.” This time his voice dropped an octave, heading for the depths of disappointment. “Caroline, if you’re not going to marry, what will you do? Will you take a—” He turned pink to the tips of his ears. “A protector?”
Caroline blinked at him for a moment. Was he honestly suggesting that if she wasn’t good enough to marry, she might consider becoming the mistress of her niece’s husband?
She threw back her head and laughed. “I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.” She cast a glance at Lottie.
“Oh, look—Lord Mandeville is showing Lottie how to shoot.”
William’s face went from scarlet to snow white in an instant, and he hurried up the slope to his fiancée.
“I have decided that you are quite right, Alec. Brodie is not the man for me.” Megan put her arm through Alec’s as they strode through the heather.
“Oh? And what’s made you decide that?” he asked. He glanced over his shoulder to the place Caroline walked with William Mears, noted the high color in her cheeks, and felt a flush of desire. He swallowed a groan and concentrated on his sister instead.
“He’s rather silly, isn’t he? He doesn’t read books. He doesn’t even know clan history, and to think his grandsire used to be our grandfather’s seannachie! Grandfather would not rest easy in his grave to think the old stories were about to be lost.”
“And what do you propose we do about that?” Alec asked.
“Would it be difficult to learn the tales? Not just for telling aloud. I could write them down, keep them, pass them on to my own children—and yours.”
Alec looked at her in surprise. “No, it wouldn’t be difficult.
I daresay there are plenty of old folk who recall the stories well enough.
Are you saying you wish to be the next MacNabb seannachie?
It will take time to put all those stories together.
Not to mention that some folk might remember the same tales differently than others. ”
Megan smiled. “I want to. I love Glenlorne—and it will be a long time until the London Season.”
“And what if you marry an English lord?” Alec asked.
“Then he’d best be prepared to spend summers here in Scotland, hadn’t he?”
Alec scanned her young face, saw the confidence in her eyes. He kissed her forehead. “Whomever you wed, lass, he’ll be the luckiest of men.”
She beamed at him, then shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward the ghillies, halfheartedly beating the bushes. “I think I’ll start by asking Jock,” she said. “He knows everyone. D’you think he’ll mind?”
Alec laughed. “Mind? I think you’ll have trouble getting him to stop talking once he starts.”
He watched his sister hurry down the hill.
“Oh.” Caroline found Alec leaning against a tree, staring into the woods.
“Oh.” She stopped where she was, feeling her skin heat.
“I was looking for Megan. I thought she was with you.” He put a finger to his lips and pointed.
In a small clearing, a doe and her fawn were grazing.
His gun stood leaning against the tree beside him.
She felt a thrill as she looked at them. He waited until they moved on.
“Megan’s with Jock and Leith. She’s safe enough,” he said.
The mist had lifted, and the sun was starting to come out. Her face was flushed with the growing heat of the day. Alec felt his heart constrict, and he curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her and tumbling her here in the heather.