Page 64 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
“The fios aig an luch nach ‘eil an cat a ‘s tigh.”If the cat is away, the mice play.
Catriona’s pride howled at her to pack her trunks. To demand a carriage and flee this damn house, where her fervent hopes had been so brutally extinguished.
But Lydia,her heart argued back.The child is still so haunted by shadows of the recent past. Swallow yer bitter hurt, Cat. For the lassie.
Resolved to continue to try in that cursed place, Catriona got dressed for the day and made her way to the breakfast room. She realized it felt cooler there that morning, in the aftermath of their quarrel, even without Richard’s icy presence. It was unlike him to miss breakfast.
“His Grace departed for London early this morning, Your Grace,” Mr. Johnstone announced. “He anticipates being awayfor a couple of days on pressing matters that required him to leave at dawn.”
“Was that all?” Catriona asked, the hurt in her voice pulling at her throat.
“Yes, Your Grace. Please let me know if you require anything else,” he said as he bowed and exited the room.
Pressin’ matters,she laughed inwardly as she ate her toast.
Catriona decided the best way to distract herself was to lose herself in Lydia’s care, to provide her with comfort. Especially after what happened at the fair, the girl needed constancy, routine and support.
Catriona read Lydia stories from the vast library with dramatic flair that brought her out of her sadness. Her voice mimicked the deep tones of brave knights and the high whispers of fairy queens.
“Aye, lassie! I cannae believe it as I look at this here page… but the fairy queen in this story is Queen Lydia! Why, it says plain as day that anyone with that name has the fire of Scotland in her blood and there is nothin’ she cannae overcome.”
“Does it really, Cat? Really?” she asked with wide eyes. “Please, tell me more!”
“Truly, it does. I ken that ye can overcome any obstacle, ye just need to believe in yer own fire.” She paused, lifting an admonishing finger. “And it also says here that ye must eat well and listen to yer uncle, even if he’s a pain in the…” she cleared her throat, “neck. A pain in the neck.”
“I don’t believe that!” she said as they began laughing together. “It doesn’t say that I must listen to my uncle!”
While skeptical of Catriona’s story, Lydia did begin eating better that afternoon. Catriona had the kitchen staff make her tiny sandwiches cut into whimsical shapes with colorful jellies that wobbled invitingly on her plates. Perhaps that helped as well.
The next day on their morning walk, Catriona taught Lydia how to identify different types of birds, their calls echoing through the quiet estate. She even attempted to teach her a few simple Gaelic phrases, her own tongue finding a small comfort in the familiar sounds of her homeland.
“Saylatha math.”
“Lay…lath…”
“No, lassie, dinnae be nervous. With confidence! Ye must try again.Latha math.”
“Latha math!”
“Aye, that’s the spirit! It means good day, and surely today is just that.”
The following afternoon, the pair found themselves sitting by the lake feeding ducks. Silence set comfortably on them as they fell into a rhythm of tossing stale bread as far as they could into the water and watching the ducks swarm around the piece.
Catriona handed another piece to Lydia as the little girl looked up at her, almost as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she took the bread and continued throwing pieces to the ducks.
“The… the man,” Lydia whispered suddenly, a few beats later. She turned to meet Catriona’s gaze, her eyes wide and afraid as she recalled what was on her mind. “Shiny buttons…”
“Shiny buttons, me love? What do ye mean?” Catriona’s heart clenched as she considered these questions.
Shiny buttons. Shiny means wealth, wealth means power. Who can she be talkin’ about? Catriona kent what she believed, but Lydia’s words were more important.
“He… he pulled me away from the puppets,” she continued, her small hands twisting in her lap and ripping apart the bread into tiny crumbs. “He said he had a… a surprise for me.” Her voice trembled as she went on. “But then… then I fell somehow. And my knees… it hurt.”
Catriona pulled Lydia close to her, anger simmering beneath the surface as she willed her fire to stay cool.
Richard had dismissed her concerns about Lord Mortridge, despite her persistence. He was blinded by years of association, that or pure ignorance. But Lydia’s fear was real and tangible.
I willnae ignore me instincts ever again.
