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“I suspect she thinks him a dunderhead,” Ainsley said.
Probably true.“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps you could try to find out,” Nick said with an encouraging smile.
And they wondered why Graeme never came home. “I repeat—”
“Uncle Graeme!” Tira cried.
Thank God.
When his little niece belted across the room, Graeme swept her up in his arms. “You’re looking grand. Almost as tall as your da, I’m thinking.”
Tira giggled as she hugged him tight. “You’re silly, Uncle Graeme.”
“Your uncle specializes in silly,” Ainsley said to her daughter. “Now, sit next to him on the sofa like a good girl, before you strangle him.”
“Yes, Mamma.”
“You could sit on my knee,” Graeme suggested.
Tira gave him a kind smile. “I don’t want to wrinkle my dress, but I’ll be happy to hold your hand, Uncle Graeme.”
He swallowed a smile as she sat beside him and arranged her skirts. She’d clearly developed her mother’s regard for fashion, and was endearingly dignified for a bairn. Tira was also the sunniest, sweetest little lass he’d ever known.
“Where’s your brother?” he asked.
“He fell asleep in the carriage, so he had to go to bed. He’s such a baby.”
“And what about Rowena?”
“Here I am, Unca Gwaeme!”
Clutching her great-grandfather’s hand, Nick’s pride and joy and toddled across the room. Nick had lost the only child of his first marriage in a tragic drowning accident years ago, leaving his spirit horribly scarred. But his marriage to Vicky and Rowena’s birth had given him true peace and joy. The tragedies that had plagued the Kendricks for so many years seemed finally consigned to the past.
Graeme reached for Rowena. “Give your uncle a hug, little imp.”
“I mithed you,” she said with her sweet toddler’s lisp as she snuggled close. “Why don’t you come thee us anymore?”
Graeme rolled his eyes at a grinning Nick. “You’re teaching her well, I see. Here, love, go sit on Papa’s knee while I say hello to Grandda.”
Angus MacDonald was the Highland version of an Old Testament patriarch—ancient, but spry and indomitable. Today, instead of his usual tatty kilt and leather vest, he was kitted out in a respectable tailcoat and breeches, and his boots for once were polished. His hair, as usual, looked like an exploding dandelion, but at least he wasn’t wearing his beloved, ratty old tam.
“You look almost normal,” Graeme said to his grandfather. “Has Vicky been dosing you with laudanum to keep you compliant?”
Angus jabbed him in the shoulder with a gnarled finger. “None of yer cheek, laddie boy. Yer still nae too old for me to paddle yer bum.”
“Graeme’s already been warned,” Ainsley said.
“He’ll need more than one.” Then the old man’s face split into a grin. “Give yer grandda a hug. I’ve missed ye somethin’ fierce.”
Smiling, Graeme complied. Grandda had always been his ardent champion, through thick and thin. Of course, the crazy old fellow had often instigated the thick, but he had always stuck up for Graeme, no matter what.
After heartily slapping Graeme’s back, his grandfather gave him a sharp eye. “Yer lookin’ fashed, son. What’s amiss?”
Ignoring the question, Graeme gave Angus a gentle push toward the sofa. “Sit with Tira while I get you a dram.”
“Can I have a dram, too?” Tira piped up.
