“Then he takes a mistress,” Iver said with a mischievous grin. “I’ll wager he’s thinking about it too. Have you seen the way he looks at her of late? There is budding lust in the laird’s eye, Fenella.”
“It could begin that way, but if it does it will end with Alix having a ring on her finger and the laird having one through his nose,” Fenella said with a throaty laugh.
The steward laughed too. “We’ll watch together,” he replied.
Chapter 5
On Christmas Day Fiona Scott presented her father with the chemise she had made for him. She had, with Alix’s help, wrapped the garment in a piece of red Scott plaid, tying it with one of Alix’s green hair ribbons and decorating her parcel with a small bit of pine. “For you, Da,” she said. “I wish you a happy first day of Christmas.” Then she curtsied prettily as Alix had taught her and smiled up at him.
“Why, Fiona, what is this?” The laird was genuinely surprised.
“I made it myself!” Fiona told him. “Alix showed me.”
The laird carefully unwrapped his gift, untying the ribbon, unfolding the fabric. He held the garment up, admiring it.
“It’s a chemise!” Fiona crowed excitedly just in case he might not recognize it.
“It is indeed,” Malcolm Scott said. “And a finer one I will never own. Thank you, Fiona. And to think you made it yourself. I did not realize you could sew. I have some socks in need of darning.” His gray eyes, usually stormy, were twinkling.
“Oh, Da, I don’t know how to darn a sock,” Fiona told him.
“But you will learn,ma petite,” Alix said, “just as you are learning to sew.” Then she handed the laird her own parcel. “For you, my lord. A happy Christmas, or, as my mama used to say,joyeux Noël!”
He took the gift she offered him, and opening it, discovered a new shirt. It was exquisitely made, and her stitches were so tiny as to be invisible. “Thank you, Alix Givet,” he said to her. “This is most kind of you.” Their eyes met briefly, and then she looked away, color flooding her cheeks. The laird spoke again. “Girls who give gifts must receive them as well,” he said in a light, teasing tone. He stood up. “Come, both of you. Come and see what I have for you both.” He led them from the hall, Alix signaling to Iver to bring cloaks for herself and little Fiona.
They moved outside, following the laird across the keep. Reaching the stables, they were greeted by the head stableman, who, nodding to his master, disappeared back into the building, returning several moments later leading a pretty roan mare with a white star upon her forehead and a dappled gray pony with a dark mane. He brought them to a stop before the laird, awaiting further instructions.
Malcolm Scott took the pony’s reins and handed them to his daughter. “For you, my Fiona,” he said. “Since you have now learned from me how to properly ride, you should have your own beast. Happy first day of Christmas!”
The six-year-old girl squealed with delight. “Oh, Da, thank you! Does my pony have a name? Or may I name her myself?”
“What would you call her?” the laird asked his daughter.
“Stormy,” Fiona said. “Her coat is the color of a blustery sky.”
“Then Stormy she shall be,” the laird responded with a smile.
“Now talk to her, Fiona, so she may get used to your voice. And walk her about the courtyard so she begins to know your touch.”
The little girl stood on her tiptoes and whispered into the pony’s alert ear for a moment or two. Then she grasped the animal’s bridle firmly and began to walk it.
As Fiona moved away from her father and Alix, Malcolm Scott turned to the young woman. She had a small doting smile upon her face as she watched the child. Then, suddenly aware his eyes were upon her, Alix focused to meet his gaze.
“You could not have given her anything better,” she said. “Fiona loves to ride out. Until the spring permits her to do so again, her new pony will keep her very busy right here in the courtyard. And it will certainly help me to keep her mind upon her studies, for until they are done, and done well, there will be no riding.”
“You are a hard taskmistress,” he remarked.
“Queen Margaret and my mother taught me that you complete your duties first. And when you have done them well, then you may take your pleasure, but not before. It is not really a difficult lesson to learn. Fiona will be a much better chatelaine knowing it, my lord. Her hall will always be neat and fresh. Her husband will be content, too, surrounded by an orderly household and well-trained servants.”
“You are a very serious lass for one so young,” the laird noted. The horse by his side danced impatiently.
“Teaching a child well is a serious endeavor, my lord,” Alix answered him. “I have a duty to both Fiona and to you in this.”
“Happy first day of Christmas, Alix Givet,” Malcolm Scott said. “The mare is your gift from me. She is yours, and when you decide to leave Dunglais, as you eventually will, you will take her with you. Her name is Darach, which means ‘oak’ in the Scots tongue. She is a delicate beauty, but she is deceptively strong even as you are.” He handed Alix the mare’s reins.
“My lord, this is too generous!” Alix said, but she was already stroking the mare’s nose with gentle fingers.
Malcolm Scott was enchanted by the picture they made. Alix with her hood fallen back from her face to reveal her honey-colored curls as she lay her head against the roan mare’s dark coat. He had offered her a most extravagant compliment in addition to the horse, but she had not even noticed, so much was her delight in his gift. Most women would have twittered and demurred over his words. They would have taken what they considered an opportunity to flirt with him, to lead him on, but Alix had not.
