“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down to her daughter’s curly head.
He waved a hand. Although he mourned his cousin’s untimely death, they hadn’t been close. “Until he died, I had no property to call my own. No prospect of any, either. So you see, I’m naught but a simple country lad.”
At the word lad, she glanced up and eyed him sharply. He wished he could bite back the word. “A simple country man, I mean.”
She nodded slowly, but it was clear she didn’t agree. She set Mary free and retrieved her wooden spoon. “Why did you come here?” she asked again.
“I…”
Mary crossed her wee arms. “He promised to tell me a story.”
“Did he?” Toying with the spoon, Clarice looked dubious.
“Oh, yes! He said he knows tales of fairies and brownies.” The lassie’s eyes danced when she looked to Cameron. “Didn’t you, my lord?”
“I’m not a lord, Mary.”
“But you did promise me a story, yes?”
“Aye. That I did.”
A small bed sat in one corner, and Mary flounced her way over and perched on its edge. She crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, tell me one, then. A tale of fairies and brownies. Or one about a princess.”
Failing to hide a smile, Clarice turned back to stir her pot of preserves. “Mary wishes to grow up and become a princess,” she told Cam. “Though I tell her that’s never to be.”
“Princesses live in castles.” Back and forth, Mary swung her feet off the edge of the bed. “Mama says I’ll never live in a castle, and I may as well get used to the…what is it you say, Mama?”
“The fact.” Still facing away, Clarice set down her wooden spoon.
“The fact, yes. That I’ll never live in a castle, and I may as well get used to the fact.”
“Hmm…I must say I disagree.” Skirting a rough, well-scrubbed table, Cam passed near enough to Clarice that he could smell her feminine scent over that of the strawberries. He paused when a sudden, vivid image invaded his mind: a lovely blonde figure chasing a curly-haired child up and down Leslie Castle’s vegetable patch, their laughter echoing round the craggy green hills.
He shook his head to clear it. “You could very well end up living in a castle, Miss Mary. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Then have you never heard the story of Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit?”
With a small huff of disapproval, Clarice turned toward him, then jumped back when she saw how close he stood. He whirled to catch her before she could stumble into the fire, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders.
“Nippit who?” Mary asked, clearly delighted.
Her mother’s gray eyes were wide with embarrassment. They seemed to darken. Was it his imagination, or was she trembling?
“Nippit who?” Mary repeated.
Reluctantly he dropped his hands and turned to the lass, then couldn’t help but smile at her cocked head and avid expression. “Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit aren’t people. It’s the story of a commoner who became a princess.”
“Oooh. See, Mama?” Mary didn’t wait for her mother’s answer. “Tell me,” she said to Cam.
Brow furrowed, Clarice walked slowly to the table and seated herself before a gigantic bowl of strawberries.
“In a country far across the sea lived a prince in a grand castle—”
“Was it pretty?” Mary interrupted.
“Aye, very pretty.” Without waiting to be invited, Cam sank onto the bench beside Clarice. “It was full of lovely furniture, beautiful artwork, and rare ornaments. One of them was a wee glass shoe which would fit only the most delicate foot in the kingdom.”
Mary’s feet ceased their swinging motion. “Like mine?” She stared down at her tiny pink toes.
While Clarice pointedly ignored him and worked at hulling her strawberries, he leaned across the table and craned his neck, pretending to peruse the wee lass’s foot. “Why, a dainty little foot like yours exactly. And the prince, he loved dainty maidens, he did, and he decided he wouldn’t marry until the day he found a maiden who fit the shoe.” Under the cover of adjusting his breeches, he scooted a wee bit closer to Clarice. “That lucky lass would become his wife.”
“And then she’d be a princess,” Mary said.
“Aye, that she would. So the prince called one of his knights and gave him the task of riding back and forth across the kingdom until he found a maiden the glass shoe would fit.”
“And did he find one?”
“Patience, Miss Mary. You must listen to what happened.” Wondering if perhaps he should also practice patience, but unable to help himself, he touched her mother on the arm. “Is that not so, Clarice?”
Startled, she looked up and met his eyes. “Patience, yes.” Her gaze flicked to where his fingers rested, and when he didn’t remove them, she took a strawberry from the bowl and pushed it into his hand.
Clever woman, he thought, pleased and amused.
Mary’s feet resumed swinging again. “So what happened?”
“The knight rode back and forth and forth and back, all around the kingdom, summoning all the maidens to come try on the shoe.” He popped the small berry into his mouth. “When word got out that whoever could fit it would be the prince’s bride, you can wager that every maiden in the land begged to try it on.” As he swallowed, his own shoe met Clarice’s beneath the table.
“And did it fit any maidens?”
“Well, not for the longest time. Try as they might, no maidens could fit their feet into the little glass shoe. Even those who prided themselves on their dainty feet went away in tears.”
Clarice moved her foot away…and then, very slowly, she slid it back.
Not daring to sneak a glance at her, Cameron focused on her daughter instead. “Until one day when the knight came upon a house where a laird had once lived—”
“A laird?” Mary’s blue eyes looked puzzled. “What’s a laird?”
“A Scottish lord, more or less.” When she nodded, he went
