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“Lord McKendrick.” She curtsied. She did remember him from when he was much younger, but the boys had already been chasing skirts and she had met none of them formally.
The elderly McKendrick had retired from his duties as the clan chief a few years ago when his eldest son took over the clan.
“Lass,” the elderly man greeted. He still spoke with the heavily-accented English of someone accustomed to speaking Gaelic.
Suddenly, she wished she could speak in that language with Fingal’s father. It had been a tad difficult to refrain from participating in the conversation between Fingal and Drostan the other morning. She so missed these small daily life uses from her home country. But she would not risk revealing her identity. Moreover, they spoke about her, which made her want to smack Fingal even more after he said those rude words to his own brother. But she had settled to asking what their conversation had been about to divert from her angry thoughts.
A boy of about six, the very duplicate of the McKendrick, burst through the door. “Mama, can you read a story for me?” he said in a loud voice, and froze, looking at the stranger in the room.
Moments passed before he paced to Catriona, looking up at her. “Hello, I am Emily,” Catriona said, smiling.
The boy bowed dutifully. “Ewan McKendrick.”
“A pleasure, Master McKendrick,” she answered.
But Ewan continued to stare. “You’re pretty,” he said in that child’s innocent tone.
“The shameless brat!” Fingal interposed.
“Took after his irresistible uncle, no doubt,” Lachlan jested for everyone’s amusement.
Catriona smiled at the boy. “Thank you so much.”
At that moment, a nurse came in carrying a toddler girl of about one. Drostan promptly took his daughter in his arms.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” the nanny apologised.
“It’s fine, Bess.” And to her son, “We have guests for dinner, Ewan. Can we leave the story for tomorrow?” Her voice was calm and full of maternal love.
“Papa can come, then,” Ewan tried.
“Not tonight, I’m afraid, mo bhalach, my son,” Drostan answered as he delicately took out a pin from Sorcha’s mouth, which she had picked from his tartan. The nanny came to his aid.
“Time to prepare for bed,” his mother said. “Say good night to our guests, my love.”
“Yes, mama,” the McKendrick heir said, none too glad. “Good night.” And he followed Bess out of the drawing room.
Baxter, the butler, came to announce dinner was ready.
Quick, Lachlan came to offer Catriona his arm. “Allow me,” he invited gallantly. Catriona took it, not paying heed to Fingal’s scowl.
Drostan neared his wife as they exchanged an intimate gaze and put her arm on his. Catriona warmed to them and to the clearly happy family life they shared.
Around a long table, the family sat in convivial atmosphere, enjoying the typical Highlander fare, which Catriona relished.
“How is it you became a horse whisperer?” Lady Freya asked Catriona.
“I did not so much become one. It just happened,” she answered, helping herself to the second course.
So far, the atmosphere had been pleasant, with conversation going from the unusually warm weather to the manor’s summer chores.
“You’ve been around horses for long, I gather.” The Lady took a sip of wine.
Catriona drew a wistful smile. “Indeed. I’ve always been fond of them.”
“Like Fingal,” Wallace contributed. “He wouldn’t leave the stables since he got his first pony.”
“Together with Aileen, who followed him everywhere,” supplied Lachlan.
