Page 5 of To My Scot, With Love
An excited squeal shot back to them and her attention flew to her brood, a grin splitting her face. Felicity, Lydia’s four-year-old daughter, bounded toward the three-rail fence surrounding the pen that housed the estate’s sheep. She clambered up onto the fence, and Felix, Lydia’s eldest son, came to stand next to her. Lydia bit her lip. At eleven, Felix was trying so hard to be a man. But he nearly vibrated with excitement next to his sister.
“Look, look!” Felicity pointed violently inside the pen. “There are the twins!”
Fitzwilliam, only a year older than Felicity, clumsily climbed up next to sister to see as well, his riotous curls peeking out from beneath his cap. Lydia had never had any luck taming them. And according to Freddy, who had the same unruly curls, it was a fruitless endeavor to even attempt.
“Where?” Fitzwilliam asked, leaning over the top rail, eyes nearly squinted shut as he peered into the pen.
Lydia and Mr. Campbell stopped behind the children. And sure enough, in the far corner of the herd, underneath the small lean-to shelter, were the lambs Mr. Campbell had informed them were born yesterday eve. He had known the children would be excited to see them.
“Look closer, Lady Felicity,” Mr. Campbell said, a faint chuckle rumbling through his words.
Felicity leaned closer and gasped.
“Not twins!” Felix bounced next to his sister, no longer able to contain himself. “Triplets! Look, Flick, Fitzy, there’s the third one.”
Fitzwilliam leaned even farther forward. “I see two of them. Where’s the thir—”
He shrieked, and Mr. Campbell lunged forward, grabbing him by the back of his coat. Lydia inhaled sharply, rushing forward, hand pressing to her throat. But Mr. Campbell had her son, held firm, dangling about a foot from the ground. In a swift motion, Mr. Campbell hauled him back up, settling him safely back onto the fence.
“Easy there, lad.” Mr. Campbell glanced back at Lydia, his steel-blue eyes dancing.
Hand still at her throat, she let out a relieved breath and shook her head. That wasn’t the first time the Scotsman had rescued Fitzwilliam from one such incident or another. The poor boy was terribly accident-prone.
Felicity jumped from the fence with athwumpand turned to Mr. Campbell. She planted her little fists on her hips and scowled—quite ferociously—at the man. “You had said the ewe had twins, Mr. Campbell.”
He arched a single dark brow at her, not cowed in the least by Lydia’s little spitfire of a daughter. “Did I now, Lady Felicity? Or did you assume, lass? Sometimes assumptions lead us astray, aye?”
“He said an ewe gave birth to lambs yesterday, Flick,” Felix informed his sister smartly. “He never elaborated on the number of lambs.”
She cocked her head, her brow puckering. “Perhaps…”
Lydia covered her smile with a gloved hand. Quite a good lesson to learn, the subtle one the Scotsman was imparting. Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. He was terribly good with children. Patient. Gentle. Always teaching. Which only made the dratted man that much more attractive. Something she’d kept suppressed for a long time. But lately…
“You assumed, Flick,” Felix chimed in, superiority coating his words. He turned to Mr. Campbell. “Because twins are so common. But triplets aren’t. Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Right you are, Master Felix. We don’t oft see triplets. Because of that, we’ll need to step in to make sure all the lambs grow strong. Their mam’s milk might not stretch far enough for all three.” He turned and looked at each child in turn. “Do ye want to help feed the wee beasties?”
A chorus of yeses echoed around them, and Lydia’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile. Mr. Campbell ushered them off to one of their young grooms, who had arrived at the paddock with a set of glass bottles with leather teats affixed at the necks and a bucket of milk.
“One at a time, mind you,” Lydia called after them. “And begentle.”
Lydia stepped up to Mr. Campbell’s side as Fitzwilliam and Felicity scampered off, Felix trailing after his younger siblings. She’d noticed him doing so more often lately. Separating himself a bit from his younger siblings, trying to act more mature, gaze always tracking back to his father, emulating him. No longer her little boy. Her heart squeezed.
“Thank you for sharing this with them.”
“O’ course, my lady.” He leaned against the fence, his piercing blue gaze sliding right through to her lungs and stealing her breath. As it never failed to do. “The unseasonably mild weather made lambing easier this year; the triplets were a rare and joyful surprise. And I know how your brood love when we have new life born on the estate.”
“You’re good with them, you know that?”
He tilted his head, giving his head a slight shake.
“The children,” she clarified. “Imparting that little lesson on assumptions with Felicity. Saving Fitzwilliam.Again.”
He chuckled and glanced over at the children. “They’re a fun lot. And I’ve always loved bairns.”
But as far as she was aware, he had none of his own. She’d heard through servants’ gossip a tale or two about his…prowess. But nothing in the recent years. She assumed that meant he’d finally settled down. But as he had said, assumptions can lead people astray.
“Do you plan to have some of your own?”
