To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(41)

“Are you going to shake her?” Abigail asked from behind him.

God! What a lecher he was to have these thoughts in front of a little girl. Alistair blinked and leaned forward to grasp his housekeeper’s shoulder, soft and warm beneath his hand. “Mrs. Halifax.”

“Mmm,” she sighed, and shrugged her shoulder.

“Mama!” Abigail called loudly.

“What?” Mrs. Halifax blinked, blue eyes staring, puzzled, into his. “What is it?”

“You have to get up,” Abigail said as if speaking to the hard of hearing. “We’re to go…” She turned and looked at Alistair. “Why are we waking so early?”

“We’re going fishing.”

“Huzzah!” Jamie yelled, popping up from the other side of his mother. Either he wasn’t as slow to wake as his sister thought or the mention of fishing had galvanized him.

Mrs. Halifax moaned and pushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “But why must we rise so early?”

“Because”—Alistair leaned close to whisper in her ear—“this is when the fish rise.”

She groaned, but Jamie was on his knees beside her now, bouncing on the bed and chanting, “Come on, come on, come on!”

“Very well,” his mother said, “but Sir Alistair must leave us so that we may dress.” The flush on her cheeks had deepened as if she’d finally realized her state of undress.

For a moment, Alistair’s gaze challenged hers. She appeared to be wearing a thin shift beneath the covers, and he was tempted to stay until she was forced to rise. To see her loose, quivering breasts beneath the delicate cloth, to watch her hair swing about her bare shoulders.

Madness, pure madness.

Instead he inclined his head, his eye never leaving hers. “Twenty minutes.” And he scooped up the puppy and left the room before any other insanity could detain him.

The puppy lay docilely in his arms as he ran down the stairs and to the kitchen. He surprised Mrs. McCleod stirring the morning fire. One of the maids sat at the kitchen table yawning when he entered. She squeaked at the sight of him.

Mrs. McCleod straightened. “Sir?”

“Can you pack some bread and butter and cheese?” He looked vaguely around the kitchen. “Maybe some fruit and cold meat? We’re going fishing.”

Mrs. McCleod nodded gravely, her broad, reddened face perfectly impassive at his sudden demands. “Aye, I can.”

“And a large breakfast when we return.” Alistair frowned. “Have you seen Wiggins?”

The maid snorted. “Probably still abed, that one.” She flushed and straightened when Alistair looked at her. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

Alistair waved away her apology with the hand not holding the puppy. “Tell him that the stables need cleaning when you see him.”

Wiggins was a lazy bastard, he thought as he strode into the morning sunshine. How lazy he’d never quite realized until the other servants had appeared. No, that wasn’t right. He placed the puppy in the dew-spangled grass. He’d always known that Wiggins was a terrible worker; he’d just never given a damn before.

Alistair frowned as he watched the puppy yawn and tilt his nose to sniff the morning breeze. Wiggins was a problem that’d soon need to be dealt with, but not, thank God, this morning.

“Come on, lad, do your business,” he murmured to the pup. “Best to learn to do it out here right away. God only knows what Mrs. Halifax would do if you shat in the castle.”

As if understanding the command, the puppy squatted in the grass.

And Alistair threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

MAMA STOPPED AS they came out of the castle kitchen, and for a moment Abigail didn’t know why. Then she dodged around Mama and she saw. Sir Alistair stood in the sunshine with the puppy at his feet and his hands on his hips and he was laughing. Loud, deep, man-laughter such as Abigail had never heard before. She’d hardly ever seen the duke, but she couldn’t remember him laughing like this. She doubted that the duke could laugh like this. He was too stiff somehow. Surely he’d break something if he tried.

Sir Alistair’s laughter was strange and wonderful and the very best thing she’d ever heard. Abigail glanced up at her mother and wondered if she felt the same. She must, because her eyes were wide and her lips were curved in a startled smile, too.

Jamie darted around them and ran to where Sir Alistair and the puppy stood.

“I’m still dreaming,” said a voice.

Abigail started and turned.

Miss Munroe stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes somehow softened behind her funny spectacles. “I haven’t heard Alistair laugh in years.”

“Truly?” Mama asked. She was looking at Miss Munroe as if she’d asked something else. Something more important.

Miss Munroe nodded once. She raised her voice to call to Sir Alistair. “Where are your fishing things, brother? I trust you don’t expect us to catch trout with our bare hands?”

“Ah, there you are, Sophia. I’d begun to think you’d decided to stay abed.”

Miss Munroe snorted in a not-very-ladylike way. “With the commotion you caused this morning? Hardly.”

“And Miss McDonald?”

“You know Phoebe likes to sleep in.”