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Without Morag’s presence he might even enjoy having dinner in the Hall with Jamie and Jo. But the way Morag was eyeing Jo he didn’t doubt his aunt was gathering ammunition for an attack. Perhaps it was best to draw her fire in advance.
‘My father might not have approved of children at the table, but he is dead, Aunt Morag. I make my own rules now. In fact, I might rethink who is and who isn’t permitted at the table.’
‘Impertinence!’
‘I agree,’ Benneit replied. ‘I am Lochmore now, Aunt Morag. Kindly remember that. Ewan, serve Lady Morag some of her favourite so she can drink to my health.’
She snorted, but held out her glass readily enough. As soon as it was full she turned to inspect Jo again and Benneit braced himself. But Jo merely sat with her eyes wide and as clear as pools of silver and Morag visibly faltered for a moment before recovering.
‘I don’t like your dress,’ she announced in her gravelly voice.
‘Neither do I,’ Jo replied and Jamie giggled. To Benneit’s surprise Morag sniggered as well, casting him a sly look.
‘Have Benneit buy you a new one. He’s been well trained at that. His Selkie certainly had enough dresses to clothe all the women to Glasgow and back.’
‘She thinks my mother was a Silkie,’ Jamie whispered to Jo. ‘That’s a seal person who steals Scotsmen. Which means I am half-seal.’
‘Selkie,’ Benneit corrected, happy to entertain any distraction. ‘A silkie is a chicken from China with soft fur and black skin and bones. I saw one once in a fair in Cambridge. Some people say they are born of a rabbit and a hen.’
Jamie’s eyes widened with wonder.
‘Is it true, Papa? Can a chicken be born of a rabbit?’
‘No, Jamie. Nor was your mother a Selkie, though I know that disappoints you. She was merely English.’
‘Bad enough,’ muttered Morag. ‘It’s time Lochmores stopped bringing brides from all corners of the earth. It all started with that Frenchie gel back when. Best marry a clanswoman this time, boy, not another Englishwoman or that gel McCrieff is parading for you.’
Both Benneit and Jamie frowned at the old woman.
‘Does Aunt Morag mean Tessa McCrieff, Papa?’
‘I don’t know what your great-aunt means some days, Jamie.’ Benneit said deliberately and Morag cackled and dug into her soup.
‘I am taking Jo to the bay again tomorrow, Papa,’ Jamie announced. ‘Could you come this time?’
The last two words struck hard, as did the lack of conviction in Jamie’s voice. It was like Flops’s faint pawing at his boot when he joined Jamie for his meal in the nursery—wishful, but resigned to being denied scraps. Benneit mentally ran through all the tasks that awaited him, but there was such a plea in Jamie’s voice he shoved them aside.
‘Yes, Jamie. I promise.’
Jamie bounced in his chair with a little hoot and a sharp bark under the table alerted Morag to the presence of Flops, providing her with a whole new line of attack. But surprisingly the rest of the meal wasn’t as hideous as he had anticipated. Jo met Morag’s occasional shots across her bow with her quiet humour and Morag was betrayed twice more into her sniggering laugh, though her malice was never far from the surface and by the time the plates were cleared Benneit was only too happy to retire before Morag decided to bring out the heavy guns.
‘Finish your pudding, Jamie, and I’ll read you a story before bed.’
‘Can Jo listen, too?’
Jo shook her head. ‘Tomorrow, Jamie. If you don’t mind I will retire early tonight. Our adventures have made me very sleepy. I am not a hardened explorer like you.’
Jamie’s mouth sagged at the corners and Benneit steeled himself, but his son merely turned back to his plate. Lady Morag stood.
‘I’m done, too. Too much excitement. And I don’t like the dog sniffing at my shoes. Filthy things, dogs.’
‘That is our cue to retire, Flops. Come, Flops,’ Jo said quietly and the dog shuffled out from under the table and panted up at her. ‘Goodnight, Lady Morag. Your Grace. Lord Glenarris.’
At the door Lady Morag waved her on and Jo, with a glance back at Benneit, left the hall.
