The coo stamped a hoof as if to illustrate the point.
“See the kissing gate behind me?” Kilmuir asked in a level tone. The sort of tone that wouldn’t further irritate a grouchy Highland coo who was now shaking his head.
Juliet craned her neck and found the gate. “Aye.”
“Walk toward it slowly—no running—and don’t stop until you’re through and inthe next field.”
“What about you?” Juliet wasn’t going anywhere until he explained that.
“Hamish’s grievance is with the world in general, not me in particular,” said Kilmuir. “He’s losing his sight, but he knows my voice. What he wants is a song.”
“A song?”
“Just do as I ask, if you will.” Kilmuir’s voice brooked no opposition. She’d never heard that tone of voice from him.
Commanding.
She rather liked it.
She’d entered the simple maze of the kissing gate when she heard it—a deep, masculine voice lifted in song. She turned and found Kilmuir approaching Hamish, who had canted his head slightly to the side. The coo had settled. She knew not the words Kilmuir sang, for they were in Gaelic, but she thought it was about the sweetest tune she’d ever heard.
Kilmuir ruffled the beast’s fur when he finished the song. Hamish then followed him to the kissing gate. Juliet stood back, while man and beast bid one another farewell.
Once they resumed their walk, Juliet said, “I haven’t any notion of what you were singing, but it was a lovely song. A lullaby, was it?”
“Aye,Cagaran Gaoloch. It’s his favorite song.”
“What does that translate to?”
“Beloved Little Darling,” said Kilmuir with a sheepish smile.
“I can seebeloved, perhaps, butlittle…darling?” A laugh escaped Juliet. “That might be stretching the facts.”
“I was assuring him that he will grow into a brave, strong lad who will steal goats, horses, and sheep for the good of his clan.”
Juliet couldn’t stop smiling. “And how did you come by the knowledge that it’s his favorite song?” They’d come this far; she must know.
“I’ve known Hamish since the moment of his birth. His mamadied a few days later, so I helped bottle feed him until a cow could be found to take him. I would sing to him then.”
“That is so incredibly”—there was no other word for it—“sweet.”
Twin flames of scarlet lit the tips of Kilmuir’s ears in the way that could afflict those with red in their hair.
She’d made him blush.
Well, that was rather sweet, too.
He cleared his throat. “We’ll be following the trail for about twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?” said Juliet, surprised. “And this is one of Miss Dalhousie’s favorite places?” She enjoyed being out of doors as much as the next lady, but twenty minutes into the wilds of Scotland might be a touch farther than she would’ve expected Miss Dalhousie ever to venture.
“Mm-hmm,” was all the reply that sounded over Kilmuir’s shoulder.
They ascended a slow-rising hillock and began following a stream. Juliet let the Highland environs drift through her senses even as her gaze remained steadily fixed on the man in front of her. From an artist’s point of view, he was quite sturdily built.
An artist’s?
Hardly.
