Chapter Eight #2
“Change?” she said. Then she looked down at her tunic.
It was one of two that she alternated every day.
She brushed at some of the dust, revealing a patch of Flemish wool dyed to match the heather.
It was actually her favorite of the two.
Over the years, it had softened and felt like a gentle, warm breeze on her skin.
Alex’s thoughts returned to Abbot Matthew’s letter.
Clearly, Adam expected her to behave like a ‘proper’ lady. One mark against Adam.
Michael cleared his throat and gave her a pointed look.
She knew the direction of his thoughts. No doubt he wanted her to take Adam’s advice, hurry up to her chambers and pull on her finery so that she looked more like Mary, but that was no surprise.
Ever since she was a wee lass running barefoot across the moors, Michael was always trying to persuade Alex to behave in a more ladylike manner.
In her own defense, she had always argued that she was a proper lady—she cared for her clan—with her own back and her own sweat and tears.
Over the years, she had met several gently born ladies who thought more of their own comfort than the wellbeing of their people.
Typically decisive, she suddenly found herself in a quandary.
The only times she had changed for meals was the rare occasion she found herself the guest in someone else’s fortress.
But then she looked at her father’s empty chair.
Her clan needed a chieftain. She curtsied again and was about to turn on her heel and slip behind the screen to the stairwell that would lead to her chambers, where she might dig a piece of finery out from a dusty trunk, when her stomach growled loudly.
This was ridiculous. She could not wait dinner any longer.
“I’m afraid I am famished,” she said, directing her comment to Adam.
He smiled, gently conceding. “Then let us feast.”
She smiled in return. At least he hadn’t pushed the point. She held out her hand for him to escort her to the table, but Robert cut in front of him, beating him to the job.
“My lady,” Robert said in greeting. “Allow me.”
She craned her neck to meet his lively blue eyes. He really was incredibly tall and more handsome even than she first judged him to be. More than that, he possessed such a joyful countenance. Hmmm...one mark for Robert.
She took the seat next to the chieftain’s chair while Robert claimed the chair next to hers. Adam respectfully moved past her father’s chair and William’s and sat on the other side of Mary. Timothy sat down next to Michael on the far end of the high table.
A moment later, a young woman stepped over and filled their cups. “Thank ye, Fenella.”
“Yer most welcome,” she said, bobbing in a quick curtsy.
Following just after Fenella, several servants arrived bearing trenchers of meats and bread.
“Tell me of yer family, Robert,” Alex said, reaching for a piece of meat.
“’Tis good of ye to ask, my lady. My father is a horse breeder. In fact, my family’s horses are celebrated throughout Scotland and England and even across the water in France.”
“Really? Is there a secret to yer family’s success?” she asked.
“Indeed there is, and it is one I do not mind imparting to anyone willing to listen. The Gow family looks to our horses as extended members of our family.”
This confession warmed Alex’s heart. “I have always loved animals as well.”
“I’m so happy to hear ye say that,” Robert said agreeably. “Then ye will understand that occasionally I’ve even taken to one of the geldings as if I were its mum. Well, not its real mum, obviously, but a close second, like its Godmum.”
Her hand froze, the bread almost to her lips. She cast Robert a sidelong look. “Ye’ve been a Godmum to a horse?”
He smiled. “’Tis strange I know, but true all the same. At least my feelings have been true.”
She cleared her throat, trying to squelch the chuckle looking for a way out.
She reached for her cup and took a long sip, dousing her amusement.
When she felt composed, she placed the cup down, ready to continue their conversation.
“Now that ye mention it, in his letter the abbot did say that ye were something of a horse expert.”
Robert blushed ever so slightly, shaking his head.
Well, he wasn’t arrogant. Another mark for Robert, although he had just said he was a horse’s Godmum. Hmmm...she would have to think on that one.
“I’m certainly not an expert,” he said.
“Ye’re not?” she said, surprised.
He shook his head even more vehemently. “Dear me, nay. I don’t believe anyone could truly claim to be a horse expert. One could spend their whole life studying horses, and still one would learn something new every day. I would be better described as having a passion for horses.”
Well, there was nothing wrong with that, she decided. “I have an interest in horses as well,” she said.
His face brightened. “Really? Well, did ye know that horses are ticklish?”
This time she could not contain her laughter. Surely, he jested. But his face grew increasingly serious, and she realized that he was speaking in earnest.
Smothering her laughter, she adopted a serious tone, “Nay, I was not aware of that.”
He smiled, clearly happy to enlighten her. “Indeed, they are, and in truth, ye’ve always known this.”
She cocked a brow at him. “I have?”
“Aye, ye’ve just not put the pieces together.”
Biting her cheek to contain her smile, she managed to say, “I’m sure ye’re going to solve this puzzle for me right now.”
“Most willingly,” he said. “Ye see, horses shudder to shake flies off their backs, which means their hides must be sensitive to the itch and annoyance of the flies’ little legs.”
“But what does that have to do with tickling? When I think of tickling, I think of the sort that produces laughter.”