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“Now that you got the report on our progress, you can go back to your wife and children.” Fingal did not care that his words rang unpleasant.
The Sassenach’s dark eyes shot daggers at him. Drostan looked at him, turned and looked at her, then back at him, a question in his eyes.
Bluidy hell!
Drostan crumpled his brows at the younger man. “What’s the matter?” he asked in Gaelic.
“Nothing,” Fingal answered in the same language.
“Is she doing something wrong?” the laird insisted.
“No. She’s very skilled with the horse.”
“But you don’t like her.”
Fingal raked his hand through his hair. “I’ve known her for too little time to like or dislike her.”
“Lachlan seems to have developed a case of worship for the lass,” Drostan taunted.
The furious look on Fingal did not escape his brother. “Lachlan is a Casanova.”
“Hm,” came Drostan’s grunt. “Invite her for dinner at the main manor in a day or two.”
The main manor had been built a half mile from the old one. The fact that Fingal’s assigned home lay close to the stables counted as an advantage for the McKendrick who took charge of the clan’s livestock.
“Fine,” devolved Fingal.
In English, the McKendrick addressed the lass. “Miss Paddington.” He bowed slightly and turned to leave.
“What did he say?” the Sassenach asked.
“He wants us to go for dinner sometime this week,” Fingal summarised.
“That’ll be nice,” she agreed.
Catriona alit from the carriage Fingal insisted on using for such a short distance and lifted her head to the building before her. If anyone held any doubt as to the standing of the McKendrick clan, this manor house would clearly indicate their elevated position in the Highlands.
Built soon after Culloden, architecture made full justice to the place. It fascinated Catriona at first glance. She had never been here. Although she took part in the festivals and social life of the Highlands as a girl, they all took place in the open fields. Too young to accompany her parents to more formal functions, she had visited few houses.
One of the most beautiful women she had ever met surged through the massive entrance door to greet them. Her auburn hair was coiled in an elaborate bun, and hazel eyes smiled at them.
“Fingal,” she greeted. And turning to her, “And you must be Emily.”
“Yes, my lady.” Catriona curtsied.
“Please, call me Freya.” The Lady McKendrick extended her hands to her.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Freya.” Catriona remembered the lady vaguely from those festivals, and wondered if the other woman would recognise her. However, the woman gave no signs of having done so.
They were shown to a cosy drawing room where the other McKendrick men already waited for them.
“Here’s my lucky brother with the sweet Miss Paddington,” Lachlan greeted.
“Hello, Lachlan.” She smiled at him.
“Come meet my father, Wallace McKendrick.” The young man motioned to her.
Her eyes found the oldest man in the room and she crossed it to near him. The McKendrick tartan looked solemn on him, but he held an affable stance.
