Page 32 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“Mr Anderson, a good day to you too, sir. I hope you are well. Are you enjoying the sunshine? It’s been a beautiful day. We’ve just returned from a walk to the Old Man of Wick, you know, with Mr Angus Stewart and his wife, and Miss Fleming and Mr Fraser. Do you know Mr Fraser? He’s a very nice man,” Clara said, horribly aware she was babbling but unable to stop herself.

Mr Anderson looked from her to Mr Stewart and Clara knew at once he understood. Mr Stewart stared stonily back, regarding the new arrival with far less enthusiasm.

“Aye, Fraser is a decent fellow,” Mr Anderson said, not taking his eyes from Malcolm Stewart. “He’s clever too. Reckon he’ll do great things before he’s done.”

“Well, he’s invested in one of your businesses so that’s inevitable, is it not?” Mr Stewart replied, with every appearance of giving a compliment, yet Clara thought there was a sour note to the remark. Mr Anderson must have thought the same, for his eyes glittered and he grinned, a not quite nice smile that suggested Mr Stewart mind his step.

“Aye, laddie. Reckon it is, at that.”

Mr Stewart’s face darkened, and he stood taller, the two men eyeing each other. Stewart was as tall as Mr Anderson, but fine-boned in comparison. “I’ll thank you not to refer to me in such a manner.”

Mr Anderson laughed. “But ye are Angus’ wee brother, the one he’s always pulling out of some misadventure or other. I always think of ye as laddie. I’ll do my best to mend my ways, however, if it vexes ye.”

“It does,” Mr Stewart replied evenly.

“Ah, well, I meant nae offense,” Mr Anderson said with patent falsity before turning to Clara. “Miss Halliday, I was on my way to call on Mrs Macready. Would ye mind if I walked with ye? I need yer advice about something.”

“Oh, well, of course, Mr Anderson, if I can help, I should be glad to.”

“Excellent. Oh, I’ll bid ye a good afternoon, Mr Stewart,” Mr Anderson said, as if he’d suddenly remembered the man was still standing there.

“Good afternoon, Mr Anderson, Miss Halliday,” Mr Stewart replied, the words gritted out as he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Clara let out a slow breath, only now realising how tense she’d been as Mr Anderson walked beside her and she could finally allow herself to relax.

“It’s all right, Miss Halliday. I’ll nae let the likes of Malcolm Stewart bother ye.”

Clara swallowed, wondering why she was so unwilling to tell him what had happened. Perhaps because she felt so very foolish after he had warned her about Mr Stewart, and she had been arrogant enough to believe he was jealous. “There was no problem, really,” she said, aware the words were unconvincing.

“Aye, that was why ye face lit up when ye saw me,” he said wryly. “I ken well enough ye were nae pleased with me the last time we met, yet ye looked like ye had missed me something dreadful. I’m an arrogant devil, Miss Halliday, but I’m nae a fool.”

“No, but you must think I am,” she admitted, for she could not deny it even though she wanted to. “For I well remember why I was not pleased with you, even if you are too polite to say, ‘I told you so.’”

He shook his head, frowning. “I’d nae be so daft as that. Maybe I was out of line warning ye off the fellow, but perhaps now ye can forgive me and believe I only had your interests at heart. He’s nae the man his brother is, I’m afraid, and he’s nae to be relied upon.”

Clara glanced up at him, struck by the uncompromising line of his jaw, the shadow of his beard already visible, everything about him was hard, muscular, male. He may have called Mr Stewart laddie merely to incense him, but the fellow looked like a mere boy compared to this fine example of sheer masculinity. He turned to look at her, a quizzical look in his eyes, and Clara turned hurriedly away, fighting a blush at having been caught staring so brazenly. For a moment she wondered if this was why she preferred Mr Anderson, was she really so shallow as to be won over by a handsome face? With relief, she set this accusation aside. Mr Anderson’s manners might not be what she was used to, but he was honest, blunt in fact, and he said what he meant which she found reassuring. She had always felt uneasy in Mr Stewart’s presence, as if there was something else going on behind his eyes that she did not understand. Looking into Mr Anderson’s eyes might sometimes be uncomfortable and make her blush, but his admiration was bold and to the point and he did not make declarations of love and devotion when he clearly felt none. That might be a disappointing fact, but she could not accuse him of leading her on and making her believe he meant to court her.

“I do forgive you,” she said, wishing he were not so easy to like. She could well understand why all the girls in Wick were pining for the fellow. His looks were one thing, but he was also kind, and the sort of man who made you feel safe, even though he was not safe in the least. Indeed, Clara could not help but wonder if Mr Anderson was far more of a danger to her heart than Malcolm Stewart could ever be.

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice soft. “I dislike speaking ill of folk, but Malcolm Stewart is unreliable. I’d hold my tongue, for I have nae the least right to give you orders so I’ll stop myself right now, but…”

“But?” Clara repeated, amused despite herself.

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, turning to her with a sheepish smile. “I wish ye would steer clear of him.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr Anderson.”

“That’s grand, then,” he replied as they arrived at the back gate to the vicarage.

He stared at her, not saying anything and Clara hesitated. There was an arrested look in his eyes, as though he’d suddenly realised something and was unsure whether to mention it or not.

“You wanted to see Mrs Macready?” she suggested, wondering if he’d forgotten why he came.

“Eh? Oh,” he said, giving himself a little shake like he’d been a long way away. “Ah, nae. I just made that up to give me a reason to walk with ye,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, perhaps you ought to come in and see her, for verisimilitude,” she said gravely.

He laughed at that, his eyes twinkling merrily and making Clara’s heart give a pleased little thud at having amused him. “Verisimilitude, eh?” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.