Page 28 of Return to Wildsyde

“Ach, it’s Hamilton, did I nae tell ye?”

“I beg your pardon, so you did. Good morning to you, Hamilton.”

“And a fine morning to yourself, Luella,” he said, making a grand, flourishing bow, one leg extended in the style of a previous age. “I am happy to see ye looking so well. There are roses in yer cheeks this morning and yer eyes are all a sparkle. Either ye are in love or someone has riled ye, which is it?”

“Neither!” Luella retorted, rather shocked. “You did not join us for dinner last night?”

“Nae, I was visiting, er… a friend.”

She noted the slight hesitation and grinned at him.

“Ah, why Hamilton, I believe there is a sparkle in your eyes, and roses in your cheeks too,” she quipped.

“Aye, that’s as maybe, but it ’tis nae love,” he replied with a wink.

Luella laughed and shook her head, wondering who the lucky lady was. She had no doubt Hamilton would be an entertaining lover. She sighed, remembering a time when she’d had a beau and had entertained thoughts of marriage. Jacob Tyler had been handsome and funny, and she had thought herself in love for a time. Such foolishness. She had been trying to persuade him to pluck up the courage to ask her father if they could marry, when another woman had appeared on the scene, heavily pregnant. Jacob had married her, at least, and Luella supposed she’d had a lucky escape.

“So, what’s with the basket?” Hamilton asked.

“I’m supposed to be picking cherries, but I don’t know where they are.”

“Ach, is it that time of year again? Then Mrs Baillie is making her famous whisky cherries. Whyever did ye nae say so? This is serious business. Come along, there is nae a moment to lose.”

Amused by his enthusiasm, Luella hurried after him. The orchard was close to the castle walls and sheltered from the wind that blew in from the sea. There were only three cherry trees, but Luella looked up in wonder at their laden branches, the jaunty red bunches vivid against the blue sky overhead.

“Good heavens, how many does she need? I only have the one basket.”

Hamilton laughed. “Oh, dinnae worry, the gardeners have the job of picking the rest of them and those will be mostly for jam, but the first pick are always used to make whisky cherries, and they are the most delicious thing ye ever did taste, so get to work, lass.”

Luella did as she was asked, and they worked side by side, chatting merrily about this and that until the basket was almost full.

“You are eating more than you pick,” Luella accused him, watching as Hamilton spat yet another pip halfway across the orchard.

“That is a wicked slander, I picked most of those in the basket,” he retorted.

Luella snorted, shaking her head. “You did nothing of the sort and, if you eat any more, you will have a bellyache, mark my words.”

“Ach, but they are too sweet to resist,” he said with a sigh.

“I suppose that’s what you told your, er… friend, last night,” she teased him.

He narrowed his eyes at her, though they danced with laughter. “What are ye accusing me of? I am nae that sort of boy.”

“Are ye nae?” she retorted, mimicking his accent.

He grinned at her. “That was very good! Do it again.”

Luella shook her head, blushing a little. She had always been an excellent mimic, a skill her father had been eager to use, and another time she had refused to play his games.

“Ach, go on. Tell me I am very, verrry, bonny,” he said, rolling the r’s outrageously. “I dare ye.”

Luella hesitated and then stuck the two cherries she was carrying over her ear and sashayed towards him, giving him a seductive look from under her eyelashes. “Ye are, verry, verrrry bonny, my handsome laddie,” she purred.

Rather to her surprise, Hamilton just stared at her, an odd glitter in his eyes.

“What the devil are ye playin’ at?”

The voice was not his and was quietly furious. Luella spun on her heel, and her heart sank as she realised they’d had an audience. She did not know how long Lord Buchanan had been there, but she suspected not quite long enough to realise it had been a joke of Hamilton’s creation. His three dogs stood at his heels, glancing up at their master as the tone of his voice suggested he was displeased, to say the least.