Page 55 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“I agree. I am afraid I have little idea how to manage a small girl, let alone one as bright and willful as wee Lucy. Though I will say, Jamie adores the lass.”
“And she knows it, which only makes it worse. She adores him, you know.”
“Does she?” He tipped his head, watching her steadily.
“Otherwise she would ignore him altogether.”
He smiled. “Someday she will have her reckoning.”
“Could be. What does she love best? If I knew, it might help.”
“She claims she wants to be a smuggler when she grows up, and she is convinced they do not need studies.”
“I do hope you discourage those notions.”
“I try to set a good example,” he answered wryly. “We read poetry in the evenings. So now she believes smugglers enjoy poetry but do not need math.”
She laughed at that, and Dougal smiled at the enchanting sound. “You, sir, know better than I do what smugglers need.”
“Oh, what they need,” he mused, regarding her with half-lidded eyes. “Math, of course, to figure the number of gallons and ponies and ships needed. And to accurately count the gaugers sneaking about the hills.”
“And they must be able to count coin to the last penny,” she suggested.
“But poetry, alas, they have little use for that.”
“Poor Lucy! Will you tell her so?”
“I do not have the heart for it. You tell her.”
She laughed, and Dougal reached out, touched her elbow. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” She did not protest as he led her along the path ribboning between gorse bushes and trees.
“This will be a pleasant surprise, I hope.”
“Are we off to see a troupe of fairies, or a pack of smugglers?”
“Which would you rather?”
“Both,” she said. “The fairies for me, the smugglers for—”
“Surely not me. They would be reward for your brother, hey.”
She frowned. “He is much on your mind, my brother.”
“You have been more on my mind than he has. You and your safety. But he seems a decent fellow, and that sort of work can corrupt a good lad.”
“That will not happen to Patrick.”
“It could, and it has, to many good men before him.”
She stopped to look up at him. “You truly believe he is in danger?”
“Aye, and you as well.” Pausing beside her in the shadow of a thicket of trees, Dougal wanted to fold her into his arms, dispel her worry, make her feel safe. “Fiona,” he murmured impulsively.
Her gaze searched his. “Aye?” she whispered.
“Uncle Dougal!” A high-pitched voice sounded. “Uncle! Wait!”
