“Stop grinning like a loon, brother. The lass is still a stranger to us, and we need to watch ourselves around her.”
“What?” Alasdair had the nerve to laugh. “If ever there was an uncomplicated lass, it’s that one.” He motioned with his thumb toward the ceiling.
“And what do ye ken of complicated lasses? Most of yer bed partners have no more brains than that goat.” He waved his cup in the direction of the animal standing in the library doorway. He dropped his coffee cup and jumped up. “What the hell is that?”
Alasdair turned in his chair. “I think ye already said it. Appears to be a goat.”
The animal stared at him, then ambled into the room. “What the blasted hell is a goat doing in the house?”
“Oh, so sorry, my laird.” Meggie rushed in after the animal. “I’ll take him outside.”
“Is he one of the tenant’s goats?” Evan asked as the animal walked farther into the room, looking around like he owned the place.
Meggie grabbed the animal around the neck. “Nay. He is Agnes’s pet goat, Myrtle.”
“The wee lass?” He thought he remembered her name as Agnes.
“Aye.” She tugged. The animal refused to move.
“Her pet goat?” he repeated.
“Aye. She keeps him in her cottage, and he sleeps alongside her.” She walked around the goat and attempted to push him forward.
Evan looked over at Alasdair. “He sleeps alongside her in her cottage.”
His fool brother was laughing so hard, he couldn’t speak. This day was certainly not going the way he’d planned. First, Stirling clan members had arrived before he expected them, the interviews he and Mistress Stirling were conducting had been cut short, and now there was a sick lass upstairs, and her pet goat was munching on one of his books. “God’s toes!”
Evan glared at a red-faced Meggie. “Get the blasted animal out of here and outside. Find MacDuff and have him put the thing somewhere.”
As Meggie tugged and, in turn, pushed on the animal, who had decided he wanted to stay right where he was, Mistress Stirling hustled into the room. “Oh, there he is.”
Evan scowled at her. “Mistress, ye new arrivals brought a pet goat with them.”
“Aye. I ken. Wee Agnes wants him to join her upstairs.”
“Upstairs? Where the bedchambers are?” He hadn’t realized how loud his voice had become until Meggie—still pulling on the goat—and Mistress Stirling both cringed.
“’Twill calm the lass down,” Mistress Stirling was brave enough to mumble, avoiding his eyes.
“Let the bairn have her pet, Brother,” Alasdair added, wiping the tears from his eyes. “If it makes her feel better, it cannot cause harm.”
“Cause harm? The thing was eating one of my books.” He picked up the tome and waved it at the group who all stood staring at him, expressions from uneasiness to laughter on their faces. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Verra well. Let the lass have her animal.” He pointed a finger at Mistress Stirling. “The minute the wee one falls asleep, I want that animal out of the castle and to the barn, where it will stay. Do ye understand?”
“Aye.” Mistress Stirling said something in the goat’s ear, and the blasted animal walked alongside her as easy as ye please. Evan glared at his brother, who choked on his laugh.
…
That evening, Evan, Alasdair, and Mistress Stirling arrived almost at the same time to the dining table. They had managed to complete the interviews of the castle staff, and Evan was looking forward to traveling from tenant to tenant tomorrow to get the lay of the land. The sky had cleared up right before sundown, and he hoped the good weather would continue.
“How is the wee one?” Evan asked as he shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap.
“Much better. It turned out she ate some berries when they stopped along the road. I’m not sure what she ate, but whatever it was, we brought it back up.” The lass flushed, most likely realizing what she said was hardly proper dinner conversation.
“So ye are a healer on top of everything else?” Evan reached for the platter of braised salmon with a peppercorn sauce. He added buttered potatoes, kale, and warm bread to his plate.
Mistress Stirling’s hand halted as she scooped potatoes from the bowl. “What do ye mean on top of everything else?”
Evan hadn’t intended for his words to come out so harsh, but apparently they had, since both of his dinner companions looked at him with a confused expression. “I apologize. I dinnae mean anything by that,” he mumbled.
God’s toes. Was he always to make a fool of himself when around the lass? It seemed he was either yelling at her, insulting her, or giving her orders. He shook his head and decided to remain silent for the rest of the meal.
“I’m sure he only meant that ye show a lot of spirit and bravery for a young lass.” Alasdair smiled at her, making the tasty salmon turn to dust in Evan’s mouth.
“I can speak for myself, brother,” Evan growled.
“Not verra well, apparently.” Alasdair smirked and took a bite of bread.
If Evan’s jaw got any tighter, it would surely snap. He took a sip of wine and a deep breath. “’Twas helpful that ye ken a bit of healing, mistress. The wee one seemed to be in a lot of pain.”
“Aye. I warn my people all the time to be verra careful about what they eat from the berry bushes. Some of those berries could kill with merely one or two bites.”
“How did ye learn so much about healing?” Evan asked. He’d like to learn more about her and, at the same time, have a conversation that didn’t involve him snapping at the lass.
“‘My mum was a healer. When I was old enough to study the craft, I followed her around and learned a great deal from her. She was a wonderful woman. My da was not the only one who suffered
