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The maid snorted. “Probably still abed, that one.” She flushed and straightened when Alistair looked at her. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”
Alistair waved away her apology with the hand not holding the puppy. “Tell him that the stables need cleaning when you see him.”
Wiggins was a lazy bastard, he thought as he strode into the morning sunshine. How lazy he’d never quite realized until the other servants had appeared. No, that wasn’t right. He placed the puppy in the dew-spangled grass. He’d always known that Wiggins was a terrible worker; he’d just never given a damn before.
Alistair frowned as he watched the puppy yawn and tilt his nose to sniff the morning breeze. Wiggins was a problem that’d soon need to be dealt with, but not, thank God, this morning.
“Come on, lad, do your business,” he murmured to the pup. “Best to learn to do it out here right away. God only knows what Mrs. Halifax would do if you shat in the castle.”
As if understanding the command, the puppy squatted in the grass.
And Alistair threw back his head and laughed.
* * *
MAMA STOPPED AS they came out of the castle kitchen, and for a moment Abigail didn’t know why. Then she dodged around Mama and she saw. Sir Alistair stood in the sunshine with the puppy at his feet and his hands on his hips and he was laughing. Loud, deep, man-laughter such as Abigail had never heard before. She’d hardly ever seen the duke, but she couldn’t remember him laughing like this. She doubted that the duke could laugh like this. He was too stiff somehow. Surely he’d break something if he tried.
Sir Alistair’s laughter was strange and wonderful and the very best thing she’d ever heard. Abigail glanced up at her mother and wondered if she felt the same. She must, because her eyes were wide and her lips were curved in a startled smile, too.
Jamie darted around them and ran to where Sir Alistair and the puppy stood.
“I’m still dreaming,” said a voice.
Abigail started and turned.
Miss Munroe stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes somehow softened behind her funny spectacles. “I haven’t heard Alistair laugh in years.”
“Truly?” Mama asked. She was looking at Miss Munroe as if she’d asked something else. Something more important.
Miss Munroe nodded once. She raised her voice to call to Sir Alistair. “Where are your fishing things, brother? I trust you don’t expect us to catch trout with our bare hands?”
“Ah, there you are, Sophia. I’d begun to think you’d decided to stay abed.”
Miss Munroe snorted in a not-very-ladylike way. “With the commotion you caused this morning? Hardly.”
“And Miss McDonald?”
“You know Phoebe likes to sleep in.”
Sir Alistair grinned. “The fishing poles are in the stables. I can fetch them with the children. I’ve asked Mrs. McCleod for a picnic basket. Perhaps you ladies can see if it’s ready.”
He was already turning toward the stables without waiting for a reply, so Abigail ran to catch up with him.
Jamie picked up the puppy in his arms. “I’ve never been fishing before.”
Sir Alistair glanced down at him. “Haven’t you?”
Jamie shook his head.
“Ah, but this is the sport of elegant gentlemen everywhere, my lad. Did you know that King George himself fishes?”
“No, I didn’t.” Jamie skipped a step to keep up with Sir Alistair’s long strides.
Sir Alistair nodded. “He told me so himself when I took tea with him.”
“Do dukes fish, too?” Jamie asked.
“Dukes?” Sir Alistair peered curiously down at Jamie.
