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He grinned at her grumpy expression. “It’s summer, the day is sunny, and the fish are running.”
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed in excited comprehension. “Give me half an hour.”
“Twenty minutes,” he called over his shoulder. He was already making for Mrs. Halifax’s room around the bend.
“Done!” Sophia shot back, and slammed her door.
Mrs. Halifax’s door was equally dark, but that didn’t stop Alistair from rapping loudly on the wood. From within came a muffled groan and a thump. Then all was quiet. He knocked again.
Bare feet pattered to the door and it cracked open. Abigail’s pale little face peered out.
Alistair looked at her. “Are you the only one awake?”
She nodded. “Mama and Jamie take forever to wake up.”
“Then you’ll have to help me.”
He gently nudged open the door and strode into the room. It was a big room, once used for storage, and he’d forgotten the great ugly bed it held. Jamie and Mrs. Halifax still lay there, a corner of the covers thrown back where Abigail had obviously slept. The puppy was in a ball on top of the sheets, but he rose at Alistair’s entrance and stretched, pink tongue curling. Alistair went to the head of the bed and reached to shake Mrs. Halifax awake, but then paused. Unlike his sister, the housekeeper slept with her hair unbraided and loose. It flowed in a mass of soft tangled silk over her pillows. Her cheeks were pink, her rosy lips parted as she breathed deeply. For a moment, he was mesmerized by her vulnerability and his own tightening groin.
“Are you going to shake her?” Abigail asked from behind him.
God! What a lecher he was to have these thoughts in front of a little girl. Alistair blinked and leaned forward to grasp his housekeeper’s shoulder, soft and warm beneath his hand. “Mrs. Halifax.”
“Mmm,” she sighed, and shrugged her shoulder.
“Mama!” Abigail called loudly.
“What?” Mrs. Halifax blinked, blue eyes staring, puzzled, into his. “What is it?”
“You have to get up,” Abigail said as if speaking to the hard of hearing. “We’re to go…” She turned and looked at Alistair. “Why are we waking so early?”
“We’re going fishing.”
“Huzzah!” Jamie yelled, popping up from the other side of his mother. Either he wasn’t as slow to wake as his sister thought or the mention of fishing had galvanized him.
Mrs. Halifax moaned and pushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “But why must we rise so early?”
“Because”—Alistair leaned close to whisper in her ear—“this is when the fish rise.”
She groaned, but Jamie was on his knees beside her now, bouncing on the bed and chanting, “Come on, come on, come on!”
“Very well,” his mother said, “but Sir Alistair must leave us so that we may dress.” The flush on her cheeks had deepened as if she’d finally realized her state of undress.
For a moment, Alistair’s gaze challenged hers. She appeared to be wearing a thin shift beneath the covers, and he was tempted to stay until she was forced to rise. To see her loose, quivering breasts beneath the delicate cloth, to watch her hair swing about her bare shoulders.
Madness, pure madness.
Instead he inclined his head, his eye never leaving hers. “Twenty minutes.” And he scooped up the puppy and left the room before any other insanity could detain him.
The puppy lay docilely in his arms as he ran down the stairs and to the kitchen. He surprised Mrs. McCleod stirring the morning fire. One of the maids sat at the kitchen table yawning when he entered. She squeaked at the sight of him.
Mrs. McCleod straightened. “Sir?”
“Can you pack some bread and butter and cheese?” He looked vaguely around the kitchen. “Maybe some fruit and cold meat? We’re going fishing.”
Mrs. McCleod nodded gravely, her broad, reddened face perfectly impassive at his sudden demands. “Aye, I can.”
“And a large breakfast when we return.” Alistair frowned. “Have you seen Wiggins?”
