A few minutes later Mac came back, leading a tearful, red-faced Rory, and shoved him in front of her. “Apologise!”
“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said. looking at his boots.
Recognising the intent but not knowing the right words to respond, she inclined her head in a nod with hands clasped and said, “Thank ye.”
Clearly awhorewas something uncomplimentary. She suspected she knew what it was, but she would ask Mac later.
Rory sat back down gingerly, and she realised Mac must have punished him. She felt some sympathy. Liang had punished her and Caishen for transgressions in their youth. It had hurt, but they had learned and not done it again. It was interesting how much power women had here; Mac was keen to ensure she was shown respect by all the males in this house. She could certainly use that to her advantage.
When the meal was finished, the older man began clearing away the bowls and food remnants, which shocked her. Age in her culture was treated with the utmost respect. She immediately went to help him. The young boy Willy also helped.
Fergus said, “Thank ye, lass.” He led the way to the kitchens, and she could immediately see what she could do to help. She seized an apron from the hook on the wall, put it on, and set about washing the dishes. Fergus disappeared into what was obviously the pantry, coming out with a pile of vegetables.
She nodded to him. “Ye are Mac’s father?” she asked, digging into the meagre store of words she knew.
“Nae, lass.” He grinned, showing crooked teeth. “The old man is dead, these five years gone.”
She sorted that out in her mind as she scrubbed a dirty pot.
Mac appeared in the doorway then. “Ye got her working, Fergus?”
“Nae, milord, she did that all herself.”
Mac approached her. “Aihan, ye don’t have to—” he gestured at the sink full of dirty dishes.
“I want to help,” she said, making an effort to pronounce the words she knew as clearly as possible. She was beginning to get an ear for the accent these people used to speak their English.
Mac paused a moment, then smiled and gave her one of her bows with the clasped hands back. “Thank ye.”
“Don’t let her work too hard, Fergus, she is not at full strength yet. Aihan,” he said, turning back to her, “come to my study when you are finished. Fergus, show her where to come?” The words washed over her, she was catching more and more meaning from them. It wouldn’t be long before she was communicating much more easily.
An hour later she made her way to Mac’s “study” with Fergus’ help. Entering the room, she found him seated at a large desk, the dogs by the fire sleeping. A bay window at the front of the room provided a view of the approach to the house. The room was lined with bookcases, stuffed with books, and there was a portrait of a lovely woman and two children above the fireplace. The woman had long dark hair, and she thought she could detect some resemblance between the children and the boys, Rory and Ca’um. Was this the owner of the dress she was wearing? Mac’s wife? And if so, what had happened to her? The most likely answer was that she had died, which would account for his sorrowful air.
Mac had a big ledger open and a pen in his hand, but when she came in, he looked up and put it down. He smiled at the sight of her, rising and coming round the desk to greet her. He had shaved this morning and tidied his long red hair back into a queue. He was more dressed than she had seen him before, too, with a neckcloth and waistcoat beneath his dun-coloured jacket. He wore buckskin breeches and boots, and despite theunfamiliar style of his clothing, he exuded a masculine energy that tugged at the place between her legs with an enticing pulse.
Seducing this hulking great Scot was going to be neither difficult nor a chore.
“Aihan,” he drew her into the room with a gentle hand and indicated one of the chairs drawn up to the fire. She sat and he took the other. Leaning forward, he spoke slowly with gestures to try to make his meaning clear. “I want ye to know, I am sorry. That yer ship has gone without ye. I feel responsible for ye now. Ye have a home here as long as ye want it. Ye ken?”
She nodded. “Aye. Thank ye.”
“Will ye stay, at least until ye are better?”
She smiled. This was so easy. He was offering her everything she wanted. “Thank ye.” She bowed, hands clasped.
“Good.” His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled. His strange features were becoming more attractive to her as she grew accustomed to them. His large, open blue eyes gave her a mirror into his heart. Was he aware of how transparent he was? How much he wore his heart on his sleeve?
“I want to learn Eng’ish!” she said. “Ye teach me?”
“Gladly, lass, and the Gaelic if ye’ve a mind.”
“Gah’ic?”
“Aye, that’s my native language.” He waved. “The local language of the Scots. I’m Scots, ye ken?”
“Ken,” she said, nodding. “Scots,” she added. “Ye’re Scots.”
He grinned. “Ye’re quick, lass.”
