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Janice kissed the top of his head and sat down, aware that her brothers were glaring at her, no doubt thinking that she was currying favor with their father. Both of them were of the opinion that she was his favorite, which in fact was true, and not only because she was his only daughter. She was the only one of his children who really cared about him.
The laird loved his sons because they were his children, but helikedhis daughter better, and he privately thought that she was the only one who would mourn him when he died.
Janice moved away and sat down again, then waited for her father to speak.
“I should be thanking all of you,” Donald Stewart said grimly, “but I can only thank Janice because she is the only one who seems to have done any work around here. Why is that, my sons? This whole event is for you.” He sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows, then waited for an answer.
It was not long in coming since both of the young men began to spout out objections at once. The laird held up his hand for silence, then, when it was not forthcoming, he slammed it down on the table, making his sons jump in fright again.
Janice was laughing inwardly. She had not seen anything so funny in ages, and she could not suppress a little mischievous smile that she covered with a discreet cough.
“We have been working!” Andrew cried furiously. “We just do not boast about it the way she does!” He flung out an accusing finger toward his sister, and the two siblings glared at each other in mutual hostility.
“I have never heard Janice boast about anything,” the laird said mildly. “She merely gets things done—and quickly. What have you achieved, pray tell? Either of you?” He sat forward in his chair, tapping his fingers on his desk.
Andrew looked at his brother, flustered. Alasdair stared back, unable to think of anything to say.
“Well…” Andrew began. Then he suddenly thought of something. “We tasted the wine for the feast!” he said triumphantly.
The brothers nodded at each other, grinning.
The laird frowned. “I am quite sure you did,” he remarked. “What an onerous task that must have been.” He spoke with withering sarcasm. “Apart from that?” He raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“We have not done much so far,” Andrew admitted, avoiding his father’s eyes. “But that does not mean we are not ready to do our duty before the festivities start.”
“Oh, that is good news!” Janice chimed in, clapping her hands and grinning. “I will draw up a list of tasks for you to do, and you can both start right away—if that is all right with you, Da?”
The laird nodded, smiling at his daughter.
“Sister,” Alasdair said silkily, “why is this any of your concern? We employ people to do the hard work around here. Why does any one of us have to lift a finger? Why do you bother?”
“Because one day one of you will be laird, and you will have to learn how to do it yourself!” Laird Stewart’s grey eyes were almost black with anger as he glowered at his son. He knew he had allowed his boys too many liberties while they were growing up, and this was the result: a pair of overindulged, self-centered infants in adult form.
It horrified him to think that his proud legacy was going to be passed on to one of these two when it should rightfully have gone to the most capable of his offspring—his daughter. However, daughters could not inherit, and the laird was helpless to do anything about it, no matter how unfair the rules were.
“And one day you will be married to a rich young laird and never have to do anything but squeeze out babies!” Andrew said viciously.
A silence fell after that, during which the twins had the grace to look ashamed. Their own mother, Lady Annie Stewart, had died giving birth to Janice, so of course she had no memories of her. The twins had been only two years old but could remember nothing about her, but they knew that even after all these years, her father still grieved for his late wife. Reminding him of her death this way was just plain cruelty.
Janice gave her brothers a look that might have been fatal if she had the power to make it so. Her father was grimly trying to hold on to his composure, and she reached out a hand to squeeze his. Yet, although she was upset about the laird’s distress, she recognized that the twins were feeling guilty. This might be an ideal chance to prod them into actually doing something worthwhile.
“Speaking of mothers,” she drawled, “it is almost the end of the lambing season, and I know that you have both expressed a wish to help with it.”
This was a complete falsehood since neither of her brothers would ever soil his shoes in a muddy field, but Janice had neatly corralled them into a corner. She raised her eyebrows in a questioning fashion, looking at both of them in turn. They both nodded and mumbled an answer of sorts, and she grinned.
“It will be an excellent chance for you to get to know your tenants,” the laird agreed. If he had guessed what Janice was doing, he said nothing about it.
“Good!” Janice said happily. “I don’t suppose either of you has a pair of suitable boots? The fields are quite muddy, and you will need some old clothes too. You don’t want to dirty the ones you are wearing.”
Her gaze swept over their immaculate snow-white shirts and kilts. The twins were always meticulous about their appearance.
“You know we don’t have bootsorold clothes,” Alastair replied. His voice was as sullen as the sky before a thunderstorm. “You always took our old clothes to give to the tenants.”
“That is true, of course,” Janice agreed, “but I will find you something suitable.”
The conversation moved on to lighter subjects after that, like the seating in the great hall, where the banquet was to be served.
“Would you two like to arrange that?” Janice asked, looking at her brothers.
