Page 4 of To My Scot, With Love
The man’s soft snort echoed around them. “Don’t be smart with me, boy.” But affection softened his words. “You need to find yourself a nice woman. Settle down. Have children, bairns, what have you. Wright might jest about the ladies always preferring you, but we all know ‘tis the truth. You could have your pick of any of them.”
Porter fell quiet and drummed his fingers over the worktable. At Malcolm’s prolonged silence, he let out a huff. “You’re not getting any younger, Malcolm. You’re making a respectable living, on your way to a stable master position in due time. Which comes with a cozy cottage, I might add. You should be moving on to having a family.”
Not doing what Malcolm was currently doing. Delaying. Postponing. They both heard it, even though Porter didn’t say it.
“I’ll think on it, Port.”
The man let out a strangled groan. “You could be living, Mallie.”
And as it always did, Malcolm’s heart pinged at the father-son nicknames they’d developed for each other over the nearly twenty years they’d known one another. It was a sign, a reminder, of the seriousness with which Porter meant his words.
“You could be building a life of your own. I see how you are with those children. You’re meant to be a father. Stop looking through the window. Go live the life you want.”
But Malcolm couldnae. Wouldnae ever be able to. Not truly. And it wouldnae be fair to the lass he married. Not until he was ready to let go.
“You need purpose in your life,” Porter said, jerking his chin toward the rag in Malcolm’s hand. “More than just work.”
“I have purpose.” He glanced up and met Porter’s gaze. “You know I do.”
“Andyouknow how I feel aboutthat.” And the way the man’s mouth tightened, his dark eyes turning steely, only confirmed it.
“Those horses can’t save themselves, Porter.”
“And neither can you when you’re swinging by the end of a rope.”
No, but at least he’d have saved some. Thieving horses might be illegal, but what those masters were doing to their cattle? That was what truly should be a crime.
They sat there in silence, just Porter’s rhythmic finger drumming and the light scuffing sound of cloth over leather. He massaged the beeswax into the stiff leather of the reins until the material softened beneath his touch. They needed to be butter soft for her hands.
“‘Tis been unseasonably warm this week,” Porter finally murmured, his knowing gaze tracking over the tack Malcolm was preparing. “The Countess going for a ride in the morning?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“You know, any groom could do this. One of the younger lads. So you could head to the village with the others.”
They could. But Malcolm wouldn’t let them. He had to be sure everything was in perfect condition. Shined, smoothed, safe.
He wanted everything to be perfect.
For her.
4
Lydia
“Didyouhaveanenjoyable morning ride?”
Mr. Campbell’s deep, rich murmur, tinted with Scottish brogue, surrounded Lydia. She shivered beneath her wool coat, but it wasn’t from the weather, the unseasonablywarmweather. There was something about the way Mr. Campbell spoke to her sometimes, when he dropped his voice to a near whisper, like he was sharing a secret just with her. It did things to her, caused a fizzy sensation to build in her belly, her heart to flop frantically in her breast like a trout on dry land. She wrinkled her nose. That was not a very flattering visual. But it was the truth. The man made her heart a floppy fish.
But worst of all—when he spoke to her like that?—it gave her hope. That just maybe he did want to share a secret with her. Share more than secrets with her.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as they followed after her rambunctious brood. His comforting scent, leather and beeswax, drifted to her on a small gust of wind. She loved the way he smelled. Knew it was a product of him working in the stables. But every time she rode, it was like she had a piece of him with her. She was embarrassed to admit, sometimes she held the reins to her nose, breathing in that familiar scent of beeswax and leather…wishing, hoping, it’d been his hands preparing them for her.
“Quite,” she replied. “I am glorying in the warm days we’ve been having of late. You know well how much I enjoy my morning rides.”
He always ensured her favorite horses were ready when requested. Personally. Never another groom. Always bid her farewell, a pleasant ride. Those small moments, what most would consider insignificant, were the ones she stored away, the ones she cherished.
“Aye.” He flashed her a smile, quicker than a blink, but full of mischief and charm. And she snatched it up, another memory to hold on to. As she was wont to do. He had a disarming smile, lopsided and a bit cheeky, like he was teasing the person, but they had no idea why. It was in stark contrast to his sharp jawline. Her fingers twitched with want. To touch.
