To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(20)

Sir Alistair looked at the table. The dishes of food steamed, and the glasses sparkled in the candlelight. He raised his glass of wine and nodded at her. “I commend you, madam. You’ve set a feast out of thin air and managed to clean this dining room as well. I would think it impossible if the result were not here before my eyes.”

Helen found herself smiling foolishly. For some reason, his words warmed her far more than the practiced flowery rhetoric she’d once received in London ballrooms.

He watched her over the rim of his glass as he drank, and she didn’t know where to look.

“Why?” Jamie asked.

Sir Alistair’s gaze was diverted to her son, and Helen took a deep breath, wishing she could fan herself.

“Why what?” the castle’s master asked.

“Why do swallows sometimes nest in chimneys?” Jamie asked.

“That’s a silly question,” Abigail stated.

“Ah, but no question is silly to a naturalist,” Sir Alistair said, and for a moment Abigail looked crushed.

Helen opened her mouth to defend her child.

Then Sir Alistair smiled at Abigail. It was only a quirk at the corner of his mouth, but the child relaxed and Helen closed her mouth.

“Why should a swallow nest in a chimney?” Sir Alistair asked. “Why there and not somewhere else?”

“She wants to escape the cat?” Abigail guessed.

“She’s warmed by the fire,” Jamie said.

“But there hadn’t been a fire in that chimney in ages,” Abigail objected.

“Then I don’t know why.” Jamie gave up the question and forked up a piece of meat pie instead.

But Abigail still frowned. “Why should a swallow nest in the chimney? It seems a silly thing to do—and dirty.”

“Your idea that the swallow wants to bring up its young where the cat can’t get them is a good one,” Sir Alistair said. “Perhaps also the swallow nests where no other bird is nesting.”

Abigail stared hard at Sir Alistair. “I don’t understand.”

“Birds—and animals—must eat and drink just like us. They must have space to live and grow. But if another bird, particularly one of its own kind, is nearby, that bird might wish to fight it. The bird guards its own manor.”

“But some birds like to live together,” Abigail said. Her brows were drawn together stubbornly. “Sparrows are always together in a flock, pecking at the ground.”

“Always?” Sir Alistair buttered a piece of bread. “Do they nest together as well?”

Abigail hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a sparrow’s nest.”

“Never?” Sir Alistair darted a look at Helen, his brows slightly raised. She shrugged. They’d always lived in London. The birds of the city must nest somewhere, but she didn’t recall seeing them. “Ah. Then I shall have to show you some nests.”

“Coo!” Jamie exclaimed—regrettably with his mouth full.

Sir Alistair tilted his head toward the boy, his eye gleaming. “Sparrows have solitary nests, but you are quite correct, lass. Some birds and animals do congregate together and even raise their young in a group. For instance, I am writing my findings on badgers at the moment, and they like to live all together in a mass of burrows called a sett.”

“Can you show us a badger, too?” Jamie asked.

“They’re quite shy,” Sir Alistair said as he cut into his slice of meat pie. “But I can show you a sett nearby, if you like.”

Jamie’s mouth was full of peas, but he nodded enthusiastically to show he’d like a trip to a badger sett.

“Is that what you do up in your tower?” Helen asked. “Write about badgers?”

He looked at her. “Yes, among other things. I’m writing a book about the animals, birds, and flowers of Scotland and England. I’m a naturalist. Didn’t Lady Vale tell you before she sent you to me?”

Helen shook her head, avoiding his gaze. The truth was, there hadn’t been much time for Lady Vale to tell her anything. When Helen had gone to Melisande, she’d been fleeing Lister and had feared she was being followed. Melisande had suggested Sir Alistair because he lived in Scotland—far away from London—and Helen had jumped at the idea. She’d been desperate.

“Have you written many books?” She felt foolish that she hadn’t thought about what he might be doing up in his cluttered study.

“Only one.” He sipped his wine, watching her. “A Brief Survey of the Flora and Fauna of New England.”

“But I’ve heard of that.” She looked up at him in surprise. “It’s all the rage in London. Why, I saw two fashionable ladies nearly come to blows over the last copy in a bookseller on Bond Street. It’s considered de rigueur for a complete library. You wrote that book?”

He inclined his head ironically. “I confess it.”

Helen felt strange. The book in question was very elegant, a portfolio-sized volume filled with full-page hand-colored illustrations. She would never have dreamed in a thousand years that Sir Alistair could write something so beautiful.

“Did you illustrate the book as well?”

“In a way—the engravings are based upon my sketches,” he said.

“It’s lovely,” she said truthfully.