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.”This talk of a little sister had to stop.She’d managed to evade Drummond, and given the time, she knew she could convince him that a marriage in name only would perfectly suit their purposes.But each time he made her laugh or put a smile on Alasdair’s face, she found herself wanting him for a true husband.When he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she couldn’t help wishing that they’d just met and he was beginning to love her.She could eradicate the brand.She could make certain, on a given night, that Drummond drank too much ale.She could approach him, smiling, and reach for his hand.He’d wrap her in his arms, and she’d ask him why his kisses made her feel hollow inside.The thought made her shiver with excitement.But sooner or later, he’d call her Clare and his mouth would pinch with distrust.Love would shrivel in her heart—until the next time, when he managed to forget what Clare had done.“Did you hear me, Mother? A sister will make me a better leader of men.”The price of loving Drummond Macqueen was too high for Johanna Benison to pay.The devil with husbands.“Who told you that?”“Father did, and Sheriff Hay said ’twas so.”She snatched up the chance to change the subject.“You must thank him for your new book.”From his pouch he pulled out a narrow strip of leather decorated with feathers and wooden beads.“I made him this.It’s for tying game to his saddle.”“That’s very thoughtful of you.”“I thought it up myself.Except the feathers.Glory said they would sweeten a huntsman’s game.Is that true? Sween said Glory wouldn’t know sweet if it crawled in her bed.”“I expect Sween’s opinion of Glory is tainted.”“Aye,” he said solemnly.“Because she wet another man’s wick.”“What did you say?”He drew in a breath, but held it, his gaze blank with confusion.Then he focused on her.“No one will tell me the gist of it, but I shan’t need a lucky charm to make me a good hunter.Father will teach me.”She let the crude remark pass, for if she belabored it, he’d wear out the phrase until she explained its meaning.Drummond could better define male vulgarities.He’d probably excel at that.“When will you give the sheriff his gift?” she asked.He puffed out his chest and slid a glance at the door.“At table.”He was excited about being included tonight, and she wanted to be sure the evening went smoothly for him.“You could give it to him there.I’m certain the other men will admire the gift.”He watched her closely, his intelligent mind sensing that she’d given him something to ponder.After a lengthy consideration, he hesitantly said, “Will they laugh at it?”“Certainly not.I should think they’ll praise it.What will you say if they do?”He examined the contraption, his shoulders slumped, his face a picture of regret.“I’ll want to give them one, but I cannot make more tonight.”He’d always been a bright child.“And you will feel uncomfortable.”“Yes.What would I do?”“The sheriff will be here for a few days.You could give it to him tomorrow or the next day.”“Whew!” He plopped down on the bed.The bell rang; Evelyn would begin serving dinner in half an hour.Thinking she should check the preparations, Johanna rose.“Wait!” Alasdair took his time returning the game cord to its pouch.“Does Red Douglas eat carrots?”The innocuous question, coupled with his slow movements, piqued her curiosity.“You’re dawdling, Alasdair.Why?”“Me?” He stared at the ceiling, the floor, and the hem of his jerkin.His expression was so sheepishly innocent she almost laughed.“Yes, you, Alasdair Alexander Macqueen.”Bottom lip protruding, he shrugged and tucked his chin to his shoulder.“I had many things to discuss with you.Now seems a good time.” He glanced at the door.He was certainly in no hurry to eat.To test him, she said, “I hope Brother Julian doesn’t come to table early and start sampling the baked quinces.”Alasdair ran to the door, leaned into the hallway and looked left and right.Johanna followed him.Spying her, he jumped back inside and blocked her way.Fumbling behind him, he closed the door.“You had better brush my hair again.”“You little trickster.I just brushed your hair.”He took her arm and dragged her back into the room.“Please?”“What are you up to?”“Nothing.” Guilt made his voice break.“I’m just … just preventing an embarrassing moment.” Grabbing the brush, he shoved it in her hand.“Red Douglas might think me a ruffian.”She raked her thumb across the bristles.“I doubt he would think you anything but a trustworthy, honest lad, who never lies to his mother.”Wincing, he stepped closer and bent his head.“Please?”It seemed important to him that she relent.He’d tell her what was on his mind, but in his own good time, and she had patience aplenty.She drew the brush through his hair, it crackled with life.She thought of his father’s overlong mane and reminded herself to take the shears to him.He’d been motherless since birth.Drummond hadn’t known the special love a mother and son could share.His mother had missed hearing his childish garbling.She had been denied the wonder of his first steps [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]