“I’m very well, thank you, ma’am. But perhaps you could convince your son to stop treating me like I’m going to shatter like a crystal goblet if he lets me take a single step by myself?”
She gave an elegant chuckle, watching the action on the lawn.
“You know, some of the past MacTavish matriarchs would retire to the Dowager House-” she nodded toward the beautiful replica of the main house, but about the fourth the size, across the gardens. “To enjoy the rest of their pregnancy without their men stomping through their relaxation. That seems going a bit too far as I see it, but we can always threaten your husband if he doesn’t find a way to calm down.”
“I’m willing to consider it,” I say fervently.
“Did he truly build you a complete surgical suite at the house?”
Nodding, I take a sip of my juice. “I’m certain they could perform open-heart surgery there. I wouldn’t mind keeping it for all the inevitable skirmishes these men get into. I just don’t want to be in there. It’s depressing.”
“Fortunately, the Clan’s activity is primarily white collar, financial, banking, money laundering, and the like,” she says. “The greatest danger seems to come from bar fights in one of our many clubs.”
Sorcha skips over to the football melee, joining in. I watch her pale face flush with laughter as she darts back and forth like a dragonfly.
“Maybe now that the Stepanov and Ivanov Bratvas no longer exist, it will be… easier for Sorcha? I don’t presume to understand anything about what she went through.”
Lady Elspeth lightly pats my hand. It’s as shocking as if she’s reached over and grabbed me in a bear hug. “You understand quite a bit, I suspect. My daughter has not left these grounds since Cormac brought her home. But now? Perhaps anything is possible.”
We sit and sip our drinks like proper ladies, watching the family laugh and shout, getting covered in mud.
