To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(50)

Alistair traced the scars on the left side of his face. To finally know that this was done apurpose by someone made his chest swell with a cold and determined rage. It made no logical sense. Catching a traitor wouldn’t heal his face. But even knowing it was illogical couldn’t stop the beast within. By God he wanted the Spinner’s Falls traitor to pay.

A knock came at the tower door, and he turned absently. “Yes?”

“Dinner is served, sir,” one of the maids called before clattering back down the stairs.

Alistair walked to his table and picked up Etienne’s letter. He stared at it a moment, muttered a curse, folded it, and stuck it in an already full drawer. He needed to think on this before he moved, perhaps inform Vale of the new information, but for now dinner awaited him.

As he neared the dining room, he could already hear Jamie’s high tones as he made some comment about fish. The mere sound sent his mouth to curving. Strange how the sound of a child’s voice—something that would’ve irritated him a fortnight ago—now made him smile. Was he really so mercurial? The thought made him uneasy, and he pushed it away. Why think about the future when the present held much better delights?

When he walked into the dining room, he found that the others had all sat down. Helen had unaccountably taken a seat as far away as possible from his own chair at the head of the table. She was pointedly not looking at him, and a faint flush tinged her cheeks. She would never be a great liar, and he had the contrary urge to kiss her right then and there in front of his sister and Helen’s children. Instead he strode to his own seat, avoiding Sophia’s speculative gaze, and sat. Sophia was to his right tonight with Miss McDonald on her other side. Jamie sat for some unknown reason to his left. Abigail sat on the far side of her brother, looking oddly subdued. Her mother was on the other side of Abigail, far enough away that he’d practically have to hoist a flag to communicate with her.

One of the footmen brought in a steaming platter of fish.

“Ah, lovely,” Alistair said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He’d not had fresh trout for several months, despite it being a favorite of his. “Here’s a nice big fish for you.” He forked up the largest of the trout and deposited it on Jamie’s plate.

“Thank you,” Jamie droned, his chin sinking onto his thin little chest as he stared at the fish on his plate.

Miss McDonald coughed into her napkin.

Alistair raised his eyebrows at his sister. “Something the matter?”

“No, nothing,” Sophia said, frowning at her companion. “But perhaps Jamie would prefer just a wee bit of fish to begin with.”

Alistair looked at Jamie. “Is that so?”

The boy nodded miserably.

“Then I shall eat your fish and you shall have my empty plate,” Alistair said, switching the plates. “Have some of the bread instead.”

Jamie perked up visibly at the suggestion.

“Bring in some marmalade or jam,” Alistair instructed the footman sotto voce. “What about you, Abigail? Do you care for fish?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and she did take a fish when the platter was offered, but then she merely poked it with a fork.

Alistair exchanged a glance with Helen. Helen shook her head, looking baffled.

Perhaps the chit was feeling unwell. Alistair frowned and sipped his wine. There was a surgeon in Glenlargo, but the man was more bloodletter than healer, and Alistair wouldn’t trust himself with the man, let alone a child. In fact, the nearest good doctor might not be any closer than Edinburgh. If Abigail was truly ill, he’d have to take her there himself. Childhood illnesses could be so debilitating—and so often fatal. Damn. Perhaps he shouldn’t have woken the children so early this morning. Had the stream been too cold? Had Abigail overexcited herself? It’d always struck him as a singularly silly theory that females could excite themselves into illness, but now, with a small female child under his roof, he realized how very inadequate his knowledge of children was.

“Are you ill?” he asked Abigail, perhaps a little sharply, as both Helen and Sophia turned to look at him.

But the child merely blinked and shook her head.

Alistair snapped his fingers at the footman. “Bring in a very small glass of wine, please.”

“Yes, sir.” The footman left the room, but Alistair never took his eye from Abigail.

Sophia cleared her throat. “We saw a hawk and two rabbits on our ramble, but no badgers. Are you sure that there is a sett nearby?”

“Yes,” Alistair said absently. Was Abigail paler than normal? She was such a fair-complexioned child to begin with; it was hard to tell.

“Well, we’ll have to wait for our next visit to look for it again.” Sophia sighed.

He glanced at her in surprise. “What?”

The footman returned with the glass of wine, and Alistair indicated the girl. She stared in surprise at the tiny glass filled with ruby liquid.

“Have some of that,” he said gruffly. “It’ll fortify your blood.” He turned and scowled at his sister. “What do you mean? Are you leaving so soon?”

“Early tomorrow,” his sister confirmed.

“Sophie has a meeting of the Edinburgh Philosophical Society tomorrow,” Miss McDonald said. “Mr. William Watson has traveled from London especially to demonstrate his Leyden electrical jar. If we are lucky, we’ll be able to experience the phenomenon of electricity ourselves.”