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Sir Alistair looked toward the fireplace. It was surrounded by old carved stone with a painted wood mantel. “What color was the bird?”
“It was black, but its belly was pale and it was ever so fast,” Jamie replied.
Sir Alistair nodded as Tom returned with more plates and silverware. “Probably a swallow. They nest in chimneys sometimes.”
Meg and Nellie bustled in carrying trays of food. Meg cast quick curious glances as she handled the food while Nellie gaped at Sir Alistair’s scarred face until Helen caught her eye and frowned. Then Nellie ducked her head and went about her work. Besides the meat pie, there were new peas, carrots, fresh bread, and stewed fruit. For a minute, there was silence as the maids retreated.
Sir Alistair looked at the table. The dishes of food steamed, and the glasses sparkled in the candlelight. He raised his glass of wine and nodded at her. “I commend you, madam. You’ve set a feast out of thin air and managed to clean this dining room as well. I would think it impossible if the result were not here before my eyes.”
Helen found herself smiling foolishly. For some reason, his words warmed her far more than the practiced flowery rhetoric she’d once received in London ballrooms.
He watched her over the rim of his glass as he drank, and she didn’t know where to look.
“Why?” Jamie asked.
Sir Alistair’s gaze was diverted to her son, and Helen took a deep breath, wishing she could fan herself.
“Why what?” the castle’s master asked.
“Why do swallows sometimes nest in chimneys?” Jamie asked.
“That’s a silly question,” Abigail stated.
“Ah, but no question is silly to a naturalist,” Sir Alistair said, and for a moment Abigail looked crushed.
Helen opened her mouth to defend her child.
Then Sir Alistair smiled at Abigail. It was only a quirk at the corner of his mouth, but the child relaxed and Helen closed her mouth.
“Why should a swallow nest in a chimney?” Sir Alistair asked. “Why there and not somewhere else?”
“She wants to escape the cat?” Abigail guessed.
“She’s warmed by the fire,” Jamie said.
“But there hadn’t been a fire in that chimney in ages,” Abigail objected.
“Then I don’t know why.” Jamie gave up the question and forked up a piece of meat pie instead.
But Abigail still frowned. “Why should a swallow nest in the chimney? It seems a silly thing to do—and dirty.”
“Your idea that the swallow wants to bring up its young where the cat can’t get them is a good one,” Sir Alistair said. “Perhaps also the swallow nests where no other bird is nesting.”
Abigail stared hard at Sir Alistair. “I don’t understand.”
“Birds—and animals—must eat and drink just like us. They must have space to live and grow. But if another bird, particularly one of its own kind, is nearby, that bird might wish to fight it. The bird guards its own manor.”
“But some birds like to live together,” Abigail said. Her brows were drawn together stubbornly. “Sparrows are always together in a flock, pecking at the ground.”
“Always?” Sir Alistair buttered a piece of bread. “Do they nest together as well?”
Abigail hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a sparrow’s nest.”
“Never?” Sir Alistair darted a look at Helen, his brows slightly raised. She shrugged. They’d always lived in London. The birds of the city must nest somewhere, but she didn’t recall seeing them. “Ah. Then I shall have to show you some nests.”
“Coo!” Jamie exclaimed—regrettably with his mouth full.
o;What?” he growled at the door. It was bolted so a certain female couldn’t just swan in at will.
