“Lord Arnprior, please unhand me,” she said, trying to pry his arms from about her waist.
Nick had noticed right off that she had a lovely voice, cultured and feminine but with an appealing note of down-to-earth warmth. Right now, though, she sounded a bit screechy. The poor lass must have been convinced she’d stumbled upon a madhouse. There were many days when Nick felt the same. Unfortunately for him, there was no hope of escape.
“My lord,please,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Forgive me,” he said, reluctantly letting her go. He stood in front of her, just to be sure.
“If you think I’m afraid of dogs, you are sorely mistaken, my lord,” she said in a voice that could freeze the bullocks off a bull. “Although this particular pack does seem exceedingly ill-behaved.”
Fortunately, Angus had more or less gotten them under control by now. Three had plopped down in front of Nick, wagging their tails and panting like they’d run a marathon. The other two had rolled onto their backs in front of Alec—including Bruce, who’d disgraced himself with the luggage. Alec didn’t seem to hold it against the dog, though, since he was rubbing the idiot’s belly.
“That’s better, ye daft beasties,” Angus said in an approving tone. “No more larking about like ye dinna ken yer manners.”
Nick didn’t bother to hold back a snort. Miss Knight was correct—they were exceedingly bad dogs that took their cue from their ill-mannered master.
The governess peered around him. “What sort of dogs are those, if I might ask?”
The tone of her voice suggested she wasn’t very impressed. It was understandable, since they’d obviously been rolling around in the mud. Thankfully, they hadn’t gotten into the stables or paddock. If they had, they would have smelled a great deal worse.
Alec rose to his feet with a wry grin. “These fine specimens are Skye terriers, an ancient and venerable Scottish breed. One of their ancestors was with Mary, Queen of Scots at her beheading, hiding under her skirts. Loyal to the very end, he was.”
“Really?” Miss Knight said. “They look rather like ragged dust cloths to me. Not that I know much about Scottish dog breeds,” she hastily added.
When she gave Nick an apologetic grimace, he shrugged. He shared her view, preferring larger breeds like the deerhound. But these dogs were the descendants of his stepmother’s beloved terriers, and were particularly cherished by Angus as a connection to his daughter’s memory. Nick didn’t have the heart to farm them out to his tenants, who could have used them as ratters or even as guard dogs, since they loved barking their fool heads off.
Predictably, Angus had bristled at Miss Knight’s insult to his darlings.
“That’s no surprise,” he said with a sneer. “Coming from a blastedSassenach.”
“And here we go,” Alec muttered, shaking his head.
Miss Knight went stiff as a poker, throwing daggers at Angus with her imperious gaze. The battle lines had been drawn before the girl had even taken off her bonnet. As for his grandfather, at the moment Nick would be happy to haul him up to the top of the battlements and throw him off.
“That’s enough, Angus,” he said sharply. “Miss Knight is our guest.”
“I’ll no have her insulting my bairns,” the old man growled back. “They’re just trying to be friendly.”
“They can be friendly some other time,” Nick said. “Such as after they’ve been bathed. Now, please get them out of here.”
Grumbling, Angus began to round up the dogs. Nick was about to order him to also find the housekeeper when Mrs. Taffy finally came hurrying from the back of the house.
“Forgive me, Laird,” she said. Her wrinkled face was flushed, and a few strands of snowy white hair had escaped from under her tidy lace cap. “We had a bit of an upset in the kitchen,” she added, scowling at the dogs.
Nick sighed. “The pantry?”
“The cold room,” she replied tersely. “I apologize, sir, but dinner may be a wee bit late.”
Obviously, the dogs had made yet another raid on the kitchen. Nick’s cook, although a good-natured soul, was not particularly competent, either at cooking or managing her kitchen. She had yet to poison anyone, but dinner frequently arrived cold, late, or occasionally not at all, depending on what particular crisis had developed belowstairs.
When the housekeeper narrowed her irate gaze on Angus, he blushed. There was only one person at Kinglas who could corral the old man, and that was Taffy, who’d been with the family for decades.
“I’ll take care of it,” Angus muttered. He stomped off to the kitchens, the dogs trotting happily behind him.
Quiet finally returned to the hall. Nick didn’t think he imagined Miss Knight’s sigh of relief.
“This is Mrs. Taffy, our housekeeper,” he said. “She’ll take care of all your needs.”
Taffy gave Miss Knight a kind smile and bobbed her head. “It’s a pleasure, miss. I’ll do my best to make your stay here comfortable.”
