Gavin took a long drink out of one of his mugs and let out a pleasurable sigh.
“Grandmother,” Miss Hughes said. “Why do we each have four . . .glasses?”
Gavin hid a smile at her choice of words. Did she find the wordmugdistasteful?
“For our drinks, of course,” Nan said patiently.
“Drinks?” she asked, pitch growing higher. “Is one not sufficient?”
“One for each, yes. Ale, port, brandy, and whisky.” Nan gestured toward her mugs. “We cannae very well mix them all together, ye ken.”
Gavin had no doubt that Miss Hughes had been given the finest English education money could buy. She’d probably learned deportment, elocution, and etiquette, and spent considerable time at an expensive finishing school.
But, he noted with some satisfaction, nothing could have prepared her for this.
“Your granddaughter is likely accustomed tae the English way,” Gavin told Nan. “Where ainlie weak wine is served at dinner.” He took another drink. “The English never could hold their liquor verra well.”
Miss Hughes struggled, opening her mouth, then snapping it shut as if remembering it wouldn’t be proper for a gently bred lady to speak about whether the English were prone to becoming drunk.
Finally, she chose a different avenue of conversation. “And how do the two of you know one another, did you say? You are neighbors?”
“Ach, yes.” Nan smiled, eyes crinkling. “I met Gavin on the steps down tae the beach. He’d fallen and scraped his knee and was greetin’ like the world was at an end. I took him home, bandaged his knee, sewed up his trousers, and fed him a scone.” She looked over at him, expression soft. “And he’s been following me around ever since. The grandson I never had.”
Awkward silence filled the room.
“I see.” Miss Hughes stared down at her lap.
Nan realized she’d misspoken immediately. “I dinnae mean it tae sound...”
Gavin thought he detected a hint of wistfulness in Miss Hughes, the feeling of being an outsider. He felt a small prick of sympathy, for he knew the feeling well.
Cargill set a bowl of soup in front of each of them. Fish stew, from the smell of it.
“You mentioned a beach?” Miss Hughes asked, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer topics, as a lady would.
Her fortitude was something to be admired.
Nan smiled in relief. “Aye, the beach is breathtaking. Just beneath the cliff ’tis rocky, but it stretches out intae a mile or so of sandy white beaches. If yer willing tae brave the steep steps down, that is.”
“I’ve still a scar on my knee that attests tae the hazards they pose,” Gavin said. “Perhaps ye noticed it earlier when ye were admiring my knees?”
Miss Hughes nearly spit out her sip of wine. “Admiring your...I wasnotadmiring your knees, Mr. McKenzie. On the contrary, I—”
“There’s no shame in it, lass. Ye’re not the first Englishwoman tae have fallen prey tae such temptations.” He winked at her. “Methinks it may be one of the reasons the English outlawed kilts in the first place.”
Even as a flush spread over her neck and into her cheeks, Gavin didn’t look away. She squirmed under his brazen stare, probably wishing him at the devil.
“Methinks,” she nearly spat, “you Scots have very high opinions of yourselves.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “We can only hope yer own opinion of us is a bit improved by summer’s end.”
Her smile was half-feral. “We shall see.”
He’d have been aneejitnot to understand her true meaning:Not a chance.
Gavin lifted his mug toward her. “A toast, then. May ye enjoy a long and glorious summer in the Highlands, Miss Hughes. Welcome tae Scotland.”
WRETCHED MAN.
