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Andrew chuckled. “I think ye are too harsh on yerself. Ye are a verra wise and even-tempered woman. I would hope Florence has half yer grace as she grows older.”
Elspeth gave her husband a grateful grin for the compliment, but deep inside she prayed that Florence was nothing like her. She did not want her daughter to end up like her. She wanted to protect Florence from the mistakes she had made. She wanted Florence to be better than her.
Elspeth feared, though, that the Duncan and McCallum blood running through Florence’s veins was too hot. Too volatile.
She feared it was only a matter of time before the combination exploded within Florence and she became lost to her passions, just as Elspeth had once been so many years ago.
***
Florence
“Yer ma is going tae be furious wi’ ye, Florence. She just had that gown made for ye.”
Glancing down at her mud-coated skirts, Florence frowned then looked back up into her stepbrother’s concerned gaze. She had just arrived back from her ride and was standing just inside the main door of the keep. While out, she had come across a fawn that she had thought might be orphaned and she had tried to catch it to bring it home and care for it. Instead of catching it, however, she had ended up falling into a mud-pit as the fawn’s mother had come along to whisk it away to safety.
“It will wash, Ian,” she assured him. “Tis only a bit o’ mud.”
Ian released an exasperated sigh while her other brothers, Patrick and Scot, chuckled behind their fists.
Ian shot glares at both of them. “And ye two, encouraging her behavior. Once Elspeth’s done whipping Florence’s backside, who do ye think she will come for next?”
“Ah, relax brother,” Patrick said, clapping Ian on his shoulder. “Ye worry too much. It is as Florence said, it is just a bit o’ mud.”
“Aye, we can just toss a few buckets o’ water at her and leave her tae dry in the sun,” Scot cackled.
Florence rolled her eyes. While she loved her brothers dearly, their antics and overprotectiveness could grow irritating. Ian, the eldest, often tried to play the part of a second father to her. Patrick, the middle son, had more of a devil-may-care attitude and though he did not directly encourage her into misbehaving, he did not exactly dissuade her either. Scot, the youngest, was also the jokester. He enjoyed pranks and luring Florence into his schemes.
Each of her brothers was so different, one from the other, and yet they were so similar at the same time. They were all loyal, strong, brave, and kind. Handsome too, though she would never admit such a thing out loud to any of them and risk inflating their already considerable egos. They loved her and watched out for her, and she loved them fiercely, but sometimes she could not help but feel as though she were an outsider looking in on them. They were so close to each other, their bond forged through the trials of life as well as blood.
Florence did not have that same intimate bond. Her brothers and step-father had never done anything to make her feel as though she did not belong in their family. They had always loved her and treated her as their own, but she felt as though there was a gap between them that she could not quite overcome. She did not think they realized it, but she felt the distance in those moments when they were all together and their looks and mannerisms were so similar it was mindboggling.
Her melancholy thoughts must have been obvious in her expression because Ian furrowed his brow and asked, “Florence? Are ye all right?”
Scot jumped forward, and with equal concern said, “Why do ye look so sad?”
Florence gazed between her three brothers, all looking at her with worry, and she could not help but smile tenderly in return.
“Am all right,” she assured them. “I just…I just wish I were a McIntewar in truth, is all.”
Scot rolled his eyes and slung his arms around her shoulders. “Is that all? Do no’ be daft, lass. Ye are as much a McIntewar as the rest o’ us. More so, most likely. Yer clearly da’s favorite.”
Ian and Patrick nodded in agreement and Florence could not help but laugh.
“I am his favorite, yer right,” she teased, ducking out from beneath Scot’s arm. Their assurances did make her feel better, as they always did. Her brothers were well aware of her insecurities, and they always tried to make sure she did not feel as though she were being left out of anything.
“All right, now, we need tae find a few buckets and fill them wi’ water,” Scot said, the conspirator coming out of him. “We can just tell Elspeth that Florence fell in a pond and that is why she is soaked…”
“Whit is going on here?” a firm voice suddenly boomed across the entrance hall.
All four of them whirled around and found Florence’s mother gazing down at them with a furrowed brow from the second floor landing. When her mother’s eyes took in the mess Florence was making, the mud on her skirts and as well as the mud dripping on to the floor, she frowned and appeared far from pleased.
“Aye, well then,” Scot said, clearing his throat as he backed away from Florence. “Cannae say we dinnae try tae help ye, baby sister. No prayer for ye now.”
Florence watched in astonishment as all three of her fully-grown, battle-hardened brothers turned and fled from the wrath of her slip-of-a-mother.
“Cowards!” Elspeth called after them.
“Explain, Florence,” her mother demanded as she began making her way down the staircase.
