Edwina (26 page)

“I’d like it out of doors.”

Edwina raised her eyebrows and stuck her
finger on her chin, thinking.

“Okay,” she said. “Where are your paper
supplies and pencils?”

“In here.” The child ran, and Edwina caught
up to her. She hadn’t even had a tour of the house, so she was at
loose ends. Which she did not like. Order was her forte, and she
would have it today, without firing a single shot.

“Oh, what a large room you have.” Edwina knew
she stood in the child’s bedroom.

“It’s too little. I like the grass and hills
better.”

“All right. Gather your papers, and we shall
be off then.”

The child covered a small smile. Her new
teacher had yielded.

Edwina stopped to pick up paper and pen from
her room. They would not be outdoors long.

“Where is your favorite place to study,
Paige?”

“Mrs. Rudeski called me Miss Dunnegin.”

“I shall call you Paige,” Edwina stated
flatly. Surprising, even to her, the child shrugged. After what
seemed like a half mile, the child flopped on the ground beneath a
huge tree.

“Finally. I thought we’d never get here.”

“You Americans don’t get enough exercise.”
Well, informative little gal, wasn’t she? Edwina’s breathing
finally stabilized, and she took a seat on the grass next to the
child.

“Take out your paper.”

The child obeyed instantly. “Do you know your
letters?”

“Yes.”

“Good, write them down.” While she wrote,
Edwina listed several ideas for the remainder of the day. She’d
find out where the child stood and go from there. But first she
wanted to know how she fared as a little girl.

Several minutes later, Paige handed her the
paper she worked on. The wind caught it and sent it flying. Before
she could say a word, two little legs had run to retrieve the
paper.

Edwina pulled strands of hair from across her
face for the umpteenth time. They would have their first day of
class outdoors after all. She gazed at the neat row of letters.
Every one perfectly formed. Two little smudge marks remained where
she’d erased and rewritten.

The thought sliced through
her brain,
Hope I can stay one step ahead
of her
.

“Now what?” Came the child-like voice out of
the wind.

“Well, how about numbers?”

“I can go to one hundred,” she said smartly.
“My father says I am a quick lass.”

“I bet he’s very proud of you, Paige.”

She shrugged small shoulders and leaned over
the paper held to her knees with small hands.

The afternoon passed quick enough. After
letters and numbers, Edwina allowed her charge to play. To do
anything she wished. She observed her movements and made notes.

Child loves to run. Too serious. Very smart.
Sad. Lonely. Not quite five years old.

Very much like my own
childhood
, she thought as the wind played
in her hair.

Edwina jotted a few notes down. She wanted to
start an itinerary with play each day first, then work. It was
obvious the child was spirited and used to getting her way, yet was
aware of her abilities. She should be riding horses, playing with
dolls, and putting puzzles together.

A call sounded through the wind, like someone
yelling down a steel pipe.

“Dinner.” Paige ran toward her, grabbed her
papers, then ran—but not toward the house.

Edwina gathered her things, then waited to
see how far she would run. Was she playing a game of getaway?
Edwina started toward the house, the wind wrapping her skirt around
her legs making it difficult to walk. Lesson one: never wear a full
skirt out of doors on the Scottish hillsides.

“Where is the lass?” Mrs. Gillespie espied
her coming.

“Isn’t she here?”

“No. She’s up to her shenanigans again,” she
said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“
I’ll go for her,” Edwina
offered.

“She won’t come, lass. She’ll barely come for
her Rose. Heads to the barn and insists on talking to her lamb, she
does.”

“I’ll set the plates then?”

“Nay, that’ll be my duty.” Twenty minutes
later, the table set, dinner past due,

Edwina thought to take matters in her own
hands. Surely an adult could make a child come to dinner. She went
to her room and threw her pink sweater over her shoulders after
changing into jeans and headed outdoors to find the child.

The barn sat on a small knoll. A worn dirt
path divided the grass leading to the ancient outbuilding.

“Lass, ye need to come to dinner,” she called
out using the familiar word.

No response. She stepped inside the black
hole. Sunlight filtered through the weathered boards above. Dust
particles danced. The smell of animals and hay assaulted her nose.
Never once in her life had she been inside a barn.

“Come, lass. Mrs. Gillespie waits dinner for
us.”

“I don’t care. I want to pet Silsee.”

“Who is Silsee?”

“She’s my very own lamb.”

“Ah, she is a pretty one.” Edwina knelt down.
“She is?”

“Yes, don’t you think so?” Paige didn’t
answer. She was still pouting. “Think your lamb wants you to come
and eat?” Edwina

tried gently. “No, she doesn’t.” The child
raised her voice. “I’d be about warming your backside, if your
father—”

She stopped. “I’ll tell if you do.”

“I’ll tell your father if you don’t come in
this house and eat, Paige Dunnegin,” she spoke calmly yet with a
firm voice, standing and walking gingerly, watching her step, as
she passed each stable of lambs. One stuck its nose out, but
frightened at her approach, ran and hid.

That had not worked—the child hadn’t moved a
muscle. Perhaps a bit of kindness would do better.

“Why do they run and hide?”

“They’re scared of you,” Paige said quietly.
“I see. Are they always afraid? Your little lamb sits on your
lap.”

“Silsee is her name, Paige reminded her.
She’s mine and only mine.”

“Silsee. What a beautiful name. Is it
Scottish?”

“No. I made it up.”

“Well, I like it. Will Silsee let me touch
her or only you?”

“Only me.”

“Okay, I don’t want to scare her. Do you
think she’s hungry? She’s been sitting there a long, long
time.”

Paige looked up. Edwina knew she was
considering her comment.

“She might want her mommy too.” Edwina could
have kicked herself.

“Like me?” Paige whined.

“Yes, like you,” Edwina said softly, kneeling
next to the child. “Your lamb will run to find her mommy, if you
let her go.”

Paige’s arms opened, and she let the animal
go. It stood and toddled away.

“Well, that was nice of you.”

“It wasn’t nice. I just wanted her to have
her mommy.” Edwina cringed, then headed for the door. Paige
followed.

Chapter 43

T
wo weeks passed. The books arrived, and the business of
school began. Mostly outdoors when weather permitted. Edwina could
see the child needed to play, and her preference was always
outdoors.

Edwina was gentle when it came to commanding
her student to perform. When she did make demands, the child would
stir up some sort of game, promising to tell her father. She knew
about girls and their fathers. Nothing or no one should come
between them. The relationship was too important. Little girls who
did not have the love of their fathers did not fare as well. She’d
studied that in psychology class.

Mr. Gillespie reminded her that the laird was
due in on the morrow. He had weeded the gardens and told her
earlier, “I’ve chosen the best vegetables for the stew the missus
will simmer this eve.”

Edwina acknowledged his words with a smile
and decided a good long walk and a few prayers were in order. After
school it was the general practice to leave Paige to the care of
Mrs. Gillespie for two hours. They were usually in the kitchen,
Mrs. Gillespie giving the child unofficial baking lessons.

“
Ah, I thought I’d find you
two here.” She smiled. Paige had white dust all over her face,
hands, and hair. “You will need a bath.” She laughed.

“No, I won’t,” Paige said.

Edwina noticed the child stood on a crate to
reach the counter surface. She was rolling dough in her small
hands.

“Ye’ll not be greetin’ yer father looking
like that, lass.” Mrs. Gillespie was in no mood for sass, the way
it sounded.

“I’m off for a walk.” Edwina waved.

Halfway down the long dirt lane, Edwina saw a
car. Reardon was coming, no doubt with the Scot. They passed her
without stopping. Was that common in Scotland?

She didn’t know whether to continue walking
or to head back to the cottage. She chose the latter. If the Scot
was about and she wasn’t, the little lass might start telling
stories.

Edwina started back, conjuring up questions
she’d kept in the back of her mind. Like, was she allowed to leave
Beaufort Manor? When would the child go to regular school? She
walked faster. It would not do well to be late this time.

Reardon was pulling out, and nary a look or
wave was to be seen from him. Voices came from somewhere near the
back of the cottage. She slipped up to her room and changed her
clothes into something more suitable. Now she knew how Cecelia
felt—different occasions required different outfits. She had not
worried about such things in her simple life back in Michigan.
Librarians were not supposed to be fashionable, just well read.

She couldn’t help humming as she redressed
herself. Already Paige had pulled at her woman’s heartstrings, and
temper or not, she could visualize improving the little girl’s
childhood.

With such thoughts, she conjured up the
questions, mentally aligned them in her memory, and sought the
Scot.

He found her first. They crashed as he
rounded the corner, his tall body slamming into hers. She found
herself looking into those green eyes again. Stern today. Oh boy.
Her thoughts flew away like so many chickens at the sight of a
circling hawk.

“Ye are aboot the place then?” he barked,
pulling at his shirt cuffs.

“Yes.” She waited for instructions.

“I am off on a ride. We will talk tomorrow.
Seven-thirty tomorrow morn—sharp.”

Edwina nodded and was standing alone again.
She shrugged and went to the kitchen.

“There ye are, lass. Has Laird Dunnegin seen
yer face?”

“He’s seen it all right. We ran into each
other in the hall.”

Mrs. Gillespie flinched. “Ah, did he hurt ya,
lass? He is a tall one to be sure.”

“No.” Edwina laughed. “Now if he’d knocked me
on my backside, I might have something to yelp about.”

The older woman actually chuckled. “The likes
of ye aboot the house is goot.”

“Well, thank you. Now how can I help?”

“Shoo, shoo. You mustn’t be in here. He’d
’ave a fit. The teacher cookin’. Ah, best not take me job neither.”
Her head gestured toward the door. “Be out with ye. I’ll send Mr.
Gillespie when it’s time. But don’t get off too far, ya hear?”

“I hear. I’ll be in the library.”

Curled up in a chair, she gazed around the
small library room. The Scot, or more likely Paige’s mother, had
good taste. Even though not as lush as his castle, the cottage was
warm and well decorated to be sure. A small fire burned in the
grate. The house was silent. Certainly Paige was out riding with
her father. She’d never seen the child ride. Perhaps she’d best
check on her.

She stuck her head in the kitchen doorway.
“Mrs. Gillespie, Paige is with her father?”

“Aye. The lass rides only when her father is
aboot.”

Something else she needed to note. Now
wishing she had taken her walk, she wandered about the house, the
smells from the kitchen calling her. Her stomach roiled, whether
from hunger or from the insufferable apprehensiveness she felt
every time the Scot was about, she wasn’t sure. This was only his
second visit, the first revealing a side of him she’d not seen, or
perhaps not noticed before. But then she had only been at the
castle for two days. How could she possibly know the man?

Why so worried?
She asked herself, pacing back and
forth.

Because you want to please
him
, came the reply from
within.

What? Please him? I’m here to please his
daughter, not him.

Pleasing his daughter will please him.

There, that was settled. She was here to
teach his daughter and that would please him. What of it?

Her thoughts came to a halt when she heard
voices. The front door banged open, and they bounded in. She could
see from the library, but she stood still so she could observe. The
Scot was laughing. So was Paige. She had not heard the child laugh
like that before, and she’d been here more than two weeks.

A smile crept across her face. So, the father
and daughter did have something special.

She heard Mrs. Gillespie announce dinner and
rushed to the dining room. Mr. Gillespie carried the turkey to the
table.

“No wonder it smells so good in here.” Edwina
complimented the cook and then shot a look to the Scot. She’d done
that once before and received a setting down.

“Indeed,” he agreed. Edwina relaxed. “Paige,
did you enjoy your ride?” Paige ignored her.

“
Lass, Miss Blair speaks to
ye.”

“Yes,” Paige said and quickly placed her hand
in her father’s.

Ever the gentleman, he seated her, then
Paige. “Come.” He indicated the Gillespies. “We shall eat together
this eve.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Gillespie rushed to decline, when
her husband gently nudged her toward a chair. “My apron,” she said
and untied it, took it off, and nervously laid it aside.

“Who will—”