Page 23 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
Michael was trying to fend the little creature off by holding him at arm’s length, but the puppy began to bark furiously. Eventually, Michael put him down on the flagstones, where the little animal began to jump up and down like a bouncing ball.
“He is certainly an energetic little thing,” Michael agreed. “What have you decided to call him?”
Stephen thought for a moment. “Frog,” he said mischievously, looking at Michael for a reaction.
“You cannot call a dog Frog!” Michael laughed.
“Why not?” Stephen shrugged. “Frog the Dog sounds very nice!”
Michael shook his head ruefully. “You know, that had not occurred to me. Very clever, but he will become very confused, wondering what kind of animal he is, and all the other dogs will laugh at him!”
“Oh, dear.” Stephen suddenly looked sad. “That would not be nice for him. Poor puppy.” He thought for a moment, then his face lit up. “What do you think about Erin?”
“That is a girl’s name,” Michael pointed out. “Anyway, it is already taken. What if I call for your mama and this dog comes running up and knocks me over? And the other dogs will still laugh at him. You cannot give a boy a girl’s name.”
Stephen gave a dramatic sigh. “Spot,” he suggested. “Or Spotty.”
“That name has been taken by one of the other dogs,” Michael replied. “Or perhaps even two!”
“Dotty?” Stephen asked hopefully.
“Also taken,” Michael sighed. “Anyway. It sounds too much like Spotty.”
“Hmmm…” Stephen looked at the puppy’s happy little face. “I think I will call him Joey, just because I like it.” He looked at Michael for approval.
“Good choice!” Michael grinned at him. “Go and tell Auntie Morag, and do not eat too much tablet! Your teeth are falling out already!” This was true. While they had been away, one of Stephen’s front baby teeth had fallen out, and his gap-toothed grin was comical.
Stephen giggled as he scampered away with the newly-christened Joey running pell-mell behind him.
Michael watched them both fondly, wondering, as Caillen had, what it would be like to be a father. He was sure it was not all fun, games, puppies, and toys, and raising a child to be a fine upstanding man would not be an easy task, but one day he would be ready to take on the challenge. He was sure of it.
The finances of the estate were slowly but surely improving, not just due to trading with other estates and merchants, but because Caillen had seen to it that every dishonest laird and merchant in the district had paid Erin back what they owed to the McCaskill Estate. After a while, his reputation went before him. That, coupled with his sheer physical size, was enough to earn the respect, and in some cases the fear, of the local nobility. Erin sometimes thought of him as a weapon.
The tenants had begun to love and respect Caillen Johnstone, too, as well as their Lady McCaskill. It seemed that everything was going well, and as winter began to take over from autumn, Erin looked forward to having Stephen back. She had not seen him for weeks.
“When is Stephen coming back?” Caillen asked her as he sat with one of the accounts ledgers in front of him, adding up columns of figures. He was beginning to enjoy doing the accounts rather than dreading them. Soon, they would break even, and in a few more weeks, they would be making a profit.
Yet one matter troubled him. He had noticed that Erin had been looking more and more worried for the last few days. He suspected it was because of Stephen, and he was right.
“Michael says he will send him at the end of the month, which is still a few weeks away, but his last letter said that he was having a wonderful time,” she replied, sighing. “I cannot wait to see him!”
At that moment, one of the manservants knocked and entered, looking worried. “Milady, one of the tenants in Gowanlea is complainin’ about his draft horse. It seems tae be goin’ a bit mad. He is worried it will hurt itself or somebody else.”
Caillen jumped up at once. “Tell me where he is,” he ordered.
“I am coming too,” Erin said firmly.
Caillen looked at her and was about to object, but as he saw the flinty determination in her eyes, he knew it was useless to argue.
A short while later, they were both galloping toward the home of Duncan Brown, whose land was near the village of Gowanlea. He farmed mostly rye and barley, so a healthy, strong plow horse was essential to his livelihood.
When they reached the croft, they saw that there were half a dozen men there already, all farmers and laborers. The horse, a huge chestnut stallion with enormous feathered feet, was plunging and rearing in the barn, which was usually full of goats and sheep. Those animals had been herded into a small field behind the house and were milling about restlessly, thoroughly unnerved by the screams from inside the barn.
“Master Johnstone! Milady!” The farmer looked both terrified and exhausted. “He just started daein’ this…” He flung his arm out at the horse. “I called some o’ neighbors tae help me, but nobody can calm him doon. I heard that the horses listen tae ye.” His eyes were desperate.
Caillen dismounted and studied the horse for a moment. “He might be in pain,” he mused. “What do you call him?”
“Benny,” the little man replied, looking agitated and puzzled. “I cannae understand it. He is usually so quiet.”
