To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(57)

She shook her head. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I’m no authority, but perhaps there’s no need to try and ‘make’ her happy. After all, that chore is ultimately one that will lead to defeat. No one can make Abigail happy but herself. Perhaps you need only love her.” He looked down into her sad harebell-blue eyes. “And you already do.”

“Yes.” Her eyes widened. “Yes, I do.”

He looked away again and felt the squeeze of her fingers before she dropped her hand.

“Come, children,” she called, and started down the hill.

He watched her, her skirts swaying as she descended the hill, her hips moving in a smooth seductive rhythm, a lock of pale gold hair blowing from beneath the wide brim of her hat. He blinked as if waking from a dream and followed those slowly swaying hips.

“Where’re the badgers?” Jamie asked. The boy caught his hand, seemingly without thinking.

Alistair tilted his chin forward. “Just over the hill there.”

They were surrounded by gently rolling hills covered in low gorse and heather, the horizon clear as far as the eye could see. Farther to the west, a flock of sheep grazed like dots of down on the green and purple hills.

“But we went that way yesterday,” Abigail objected. “Miss Munroe couldn’t find the badgers anywhere.”

“Ah, but that’s because she doesn’t know where to look.”

Abigail gave him a dubious glance, and he was hard-pressed not to smile at her doubt.

“Puddles doesn’t want to walk anymore,” Jamie announced.

“How do you know?” Abigail frowned at the puppy, who, as far as Alistair could see, looked perfectly able to walk.

“I just do,” Jamie retorted. He scooped the puppy into his arms. “Oof. He’s gotten big.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “That’s because you gave him the rest of your porridge this morning.”

Jamie started to say something rather heatedly, but Alistair cleared his throat. “I found a puddle in the kitchen this morning that I suspect Puddles may have made. Mind you take him outside for his business, children.”

“We will,” Abigail said.

“Have you thought of a name for him? He can’t be Puddles for the rest of his life.”

“Well, I thought of George, in honor of the king, but Jamie doesn’t like it.”

“It’s a silly name,” Jamie muttered.

“And what is your proposition?” Alistair asked.

“Spot,” Jamie said.

“Ah, well, that’s—”

“Stu-pid!” Abigail interjected. “Besides, he’s more splotchy than spotty, and Splotch would be an even sillier name.”

“Abigail,” Helen said. “Please apologize to Sir Alistair for interrupting him. A lady never interrupts a gentleman.”

Alistair’s eyebrows shot up at this piece of information. He took two long steps, catching up with her and bending his head near hers. “Never?”

“Not unless the gentleman is being extremely stubborn,” she replied serenely.

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Abigail muttered.

Alistair nodded. “Hold the puppy tight, now.”

“Why?” Jamie looked up.

“Because the badger sett is right over there.” Alistair pointed with his walking stick. The badgers lived in a low mound, covered in gorse. “See the freshly dug earth? That’s one of the tunnels.”

“Ohhh.” Jamie squatted to look. “Will we see one?”

“Probably not. They’re rather shy, but they can kill a dog, especially a small one, if they’re challenged.”

Jamie hugged Puddles to his chest until the puppy squeaked, and whispered hoarsely, “Where do you think they are?”

Alistair shrugged. “Perhaps in their den asleep. Maybe out hunting grubs.”

“Grubs?” Jamie wrinkled his nose.

He nodded. “That’s what they seem to like.”

“Look at this!” Abigail very carefully squatted with her skirts tucked under her rear.

Alistair went to where she pointed and saw a small black mound. “Oh, well done! You found a badger’s scat.”

Behind him, Helen made a muffled sound, but he ignored her. He squatted next to Abigail and, taking a twig, poked at the mostly dry scat. “Notice these.”

He scraped out a couple black flakes.

Abigail peered closer. “What are they?”

“The carapace of a beetle.” He shrugged off his satchel and opened a pocket, rummaging until he found a very small glass jar. He picked up the beetle parts and dropped them in the jar, stopping the top with a tiny cork.

“What’s a carapace?” Jamie asked. He was squatting now, too, breathing anxiously through his mouth.

“The hard outer shell.” Alistair poked some more and found a thin, pale bone.

“Oh, what animal is that from?” Abigail asked with interest.

“I’m not sure.” The bone was only a fragment. He held it up before placing it in another small glass jar. “Possibly a small mammal such as a mouse or mole.”

“Huh,” Abigail said, and straightened. “Are there other clues to the badgers that we might find about?”