Claire cast him a knowing grin and patted his knee. “He claimed he knew his family lineage back the two hundred years from his birth to Laird’s, didn’t he? I would guess he knows what her name is. Or will be.”
Scarlett turned to him, intrigue alive in her eyes. Hugh thought it might be the first time she’d ever looked at him with such directness. She still hadn’t warmed to him fully. He who had been known for his ability to charm anyone. A gift, he’d told Claire, which had served him well in life. Yet, for all his efforts, he hadn’t been able to win Scarlett over. Despite spending mornings at the hospital while Claire worked, giving a fair amount of effort in winning over Hermione and holding the new bairn, she still seemed wary.
Of him, but not the others.
He couldn’t help but question why.
“Do you?” Scarlett asked. Laird, too, looked fascinated by the possibility that the bairn’s name was a foregone conclusion.
Since he did know, perhaps it was. However, his curiosity was roused by the idea of seeing whether they’d come up with it on their own. He told them just that.
Scarlett’s lips twitched. “Perhaps the only reason we name her whatever we name her is because you told us to. Have you considered that?”
“I hae no’,” he admitted, enjoying the casual interaction with her. There’d been little of it between them since he’d arrived. “Nevertheless, I’d hate to influence ye unduly.”
Then she laughed. With him. Because of him, and his heart warmed. Mayhap he’d win her over yet.
“Oh my God, the pressure! I hope we don’t disappoint you.” She took a wee sip of her wine with a sigh. “Oh, that’s yummy. The things we do for our children.”
Claire nodded. “No caffeine and no alcohol is a true sacrifice. Soon it’ll be your turn, Emmy. And you can feel the pain.”
“I already sympathize,” Emmy assured them. “At least you behave, so many of the mothers-to-be at home refuse to believe in the dangers of consuming alcohol during their pregnancies. I plan on setting a fine example for them all.”
“Is that so?” Connor probed, more seriously than the comment required.
“Of course, I do.” She grinned at him and caressed his chest. “After all the practice we’re getting in here with nothing else to do, it may happen sooner rather than later. After all, I met our grandson, remember? It will happen. Oh, I didn’t even think of it. We should look him up while we’re here. Then you can get a chance to meet him too before we go home.”
“Assuming Donell ever comes around so you can,” Hugh pointed out. “We’ve seen so sign of him in weeks.”
Scarlett sighed, twirling her now empty glass between her fingers. She set it aside and picked up one of Hermione’s books, inviting her daughter into her lap. “I wish he had shown up. If for no other reason than to send Connor and Emmy back home. There was no need to have you stay so long after the baby was born.”
“Oh, we’ve enjoyed it,” Emmy assured her. “Haven’t we, Connor?”
“Aye.”
Hugh narrowed his gaze on his new friend, noticing again his lack of enthusiasm. From everything Connor had told him, he’d been having a fine time. He wondered what had happened to change his mind.
“’Tis a fine lute here,” Laird commented, drawing Hugh’s attention. “Where did ye get it?”
“I found it at an antique shop on the Royal Mile,” Hugh told him. “My mother had one like it.”
“Do ye play?” Laird asked, setting aside his drink to lift the fat-bellied instrument off the side table and strum the strings. He frowned and turned one of the pegs to tune it. Then another.
“Nay, I never learned.”
Claire scoffed at his confession. “Couldn’tlearn is more like it. My Hugh is a regular savant when it comes to most things but turns out he’s completely tone deaf.”
Laird smiled as he tuned the instrument. “Nae man is perfect, lass. Other than myself, of course.”
Scarlett let out a loud moan that roused more laughter. “Don’t let him fool you. I taught him how to play.”
“Aye, I was imperfect then. Now…?” Laird shrugged as if there were nothing more to say on the matter, prompting another round of mirth.
Laird plucked each string in turn, then nodded with satisfaction. To Hugh’s surprise, he began to pick out a melody. More of a surprise, he recognized the tune after a few bars as an old Scottish folksongAuld Wallace. Then Laird sang along softly.
O for my ain king, quo gude Wallace,
The rightfu' king of fair Scotland.
