Kyla arched one of those beautiful eyebrows.
“So you are telling me,” she looked around the table at the three of them, and somehow Finlay had the feeling they were being chastised like schoolchildren, “that you believe I am incapable of thinking coherently because of my current condition?”
“Well…” Finlay began as they all began talking over one another in an attempt to placate her, but she held up a hand.
“Stop!” she commanded them. “That is enough. I am perfectly capable of using my mind, just as I always have. In fact, I would welcome the opportunity. Secondly, there is no risk in me plodding along with Cadarn leading a bunch of Lowlanders around.”
“And Englishmen,” Adam added in disgust.
“I think I can even manage the Englishmen,” she said with laughter in her voice. “If you lot can do it, can’t anyone?”
“That’s not very nice,” Roderick said with mock pain on his face, and Finlay finally chuckled lowly.
“Very well,” he said with a sigh, giving into his wife, as he always did. “We will make sure that, from now on, we include you in these meetings. But Kyla,” he said, holding up a finger, “you must know that you shouldn’t be riding anymore.”
“Finlay,” she said, staring at him, her eyes turning serious, “I must ride. To give up riding would be akin to giving up breathing.”
“Not forever,” he said, holding his hands up, “just for now. Until the baby comes.”
“I can walk,” she countered, as Finlay’s brothers’ heads bobbed back and forth with their words.
“What if Cadarn is spooked?”
“Cadarn is never spooked,” she said, shaking her head adamantly.
“Fine,” he said, not missing Roderick’s grin when he gave in once more. “Walk your horse. But as for the guides—”
“It will be fine,” she said, rising with her tea in hand, before Finlay could further argue his point. “One of you can come with me, if that makes you feel any better.”
“I would do it tomorrow, but I have to meet with the crofters already,” Finlay said, looking to his brothers. “One of you still has to agree to go with her.”
“Fine,” Adam said reluctantly. “I’ll go. But only for Kyla, not for any of the damn hunters.”
“Look, Adam, none of us like the English being here, but—”
“I hate the English being here,” Adam said, showing far more emotion than was typical of him—especially such animosity. “Besides, I have other things that are much more pressing.”
“Like what?” Roderick said, raising an eyebrow. “Your inventions?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Adam said, though he refused to say anything more on whatever it was he was working on in his little shed across the yard.
Roderick rolled his eyes as he rose from the table as well. “Well, thank you for agreeing, Adam,” he said. “I have business myself tomorrow.”
“Like what?” It was Finlay’s turn to ask the question, but Roderick just shrugged and began to whistle as he waltzed out of the room.
Kyla stepped up beside him, resting her chin on his shoulder.
“What do you think he’s gotten into now?” she asked, and Finlay sighed as he shook his head.
“I’m not sure I want to know,” he said. “Roderick’s bored. I know he still has it in his head to get out of here, to go see Callum, but…. I only hope the family is enough to keep him here. I had hoped he would find a local woman…I had hoped they both would, to be honest, and settle down, but neither has yet to show any interest.”
“Well, whatever happens,” Kyla said, rubbing a hand over his back, “we must remember that the McDougalls—and the MacTavishes—will look out for each other no matter what. Together we stand, remember?” she said, repeating back the words he always said to his clan.
“Together we stand.”
* * *
THE END
* * *
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Adam’s Call
Preview Adam and Rebecca’s story, book 3 of The Victorian Highlanders…
A sneak peek…
Rebecca dressed in her favorite walking gown, one without a bustle or a train and made of fairly light fabric for the midday walk. She looked through the armoire where she had hung her clothes the previous night, and decided to take her parasol as well as a bonnet to keep the sun off her face. It was a pretty bonnet, one she had bought the day before leaving London, when it had caught her eye in one of her favorite shops.
When she descended the stairs for breakfast, she felt her cheeks warm as many eyes turned toward her — the twenty or so from her own party, as well as the Scots who were serving breakfast. She sat next to two of the women she had befriended on the train. Neither were planning on attending the hike, though women were invited to join in this particular outing.
“Is something amiss with my appearance?” she asked, looking around self-consciously.
“You look lovely, dear,” said the first woman, Mrs. Taylor. “Though certainly different than the other woman of these parts.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she poured herself a cup of tea.
“She means that women of the Highlands do not have the same access, nor interest, in fashion as those of us from London,” said the second woman, Lady Chadwick. Her husband was a baron, who adored hunting. It was now Lady Chadwick’s third visit to the Highlands. Mrs. Taylor had told Rebecca in a private conversation that she felt it was not so much that Lady Chadwick wished to see Scotland, but that she traveled with her husband due to the fact she did not want him to be alone anywhere there were other women.
Rebecca did not respond to Lady Chadwick’s words regarding the Highland women. She found her rather nasty, and instead concentrated on the bowl of oats that had been placed in front of her. For
