Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

“I believe it is my father she wants to poison, but he is dead, so I am the only one available.”

Meggie had been rubbing her arms, but now, she was hugging herself she was laughing so hard. “You’re right. Mrs. Bartholomew did dislike your sire profoundly. How did you know?”

“I heard her in the kitchen one morning when I wanted my tea replenished and Torrent was no where to be found, which happens more often than not. The downstairs maid, Tansie, wasn’t about. I understand she is smitten with Tobin, the butcher’s son. When I got to the kitchen, Morgana was slamming pots around and muttering about the crooked ways of the Devil, the dreadful thickness of demons on the ground. She had a truly amazing litany.”

“I would say she sounds rather upset. Did she say anything else? How do you know she was talking about your father?”

“Well, a number of times she said Old Lord L—that’s what she calls him—then followed that with miserable old bounder, blackguard, stingy coot who deserved to be drawn and quartered. Also, there was something about the hideous fate of the wicked.”

“Hmmm. I wonder what that was all about. Your father was rather clutch-fisted, at least that was his reputation, but he did pay the local tradesmen within the same six months as a purchase. As for your butler Torrent, he is getting old, my lord, and he naps at least a half dozen times a day, just behind the stairs, in a small alcove in his own special chair with three pillows. As for Tansie, she makes quilts, every chance she gets, beautiful quilts from scraps of material. She is very talented. You should look into having her start up a shop of her own. She hides in the small nursery at the top of the house whenever she can to sew. To the best of my knowledge Tobin doesn’t stand a chance with her.”

He could but stare at her. “Do you know everything about everyone in this town?”

“Naturally. I was born and raised here. Now, of course, for the past ten years we go to Scotland for the summer, to Kildrummy Castle. We all love it there. It is wild and barren and then, just half a dozen steps later, you see clumps of white heather, then purple, ah, so many colors, all of them so very brilliant that you want to weep. Have you been to Scotland, my lord?”

“Call me Thomas. Yes, I have been many times to Scotland, to Glasgow for business and up to Inverness to visit friends and to hunt.”

Meggie leaned down to pick up some ancient hay that had probably moldered in the same spot for at least twenty years. She began to rub it over Survivor’s back. Thomas did the same with Pen.

Without warning, Survivor whipped her head around and tried to bite Meggie’s shoulder. Meggie jumped back just in time, tripped on the hem of her riding skirt and went down on her bottom. She was laughing. “Oh, I see the problem now. The straw is too stiff and it is irritating her. Beware, Thomas, Pen might not like it either.”

Pen neighed loudly but didn’t move.

Meggie grinned as she brushed some dirt and straw off her skirt. “Survivor tries to bite you only if you’re grown up, never children.”

Thomas leaned down and clasped her hand. He pulled too hard, and both of them knew it was on purpose. She slammed against him. She’d never before slammed against a man. It was heady, that slamming.

It was too soon, he thought, then just couldn’t help himself. He leaned down his head and kissed her. Not much of a kiss, just a light touching of mouths. She didn’t move, didn’t do anything at all. It took him a moment to realize this must be her first kiss.

Good. No Jeremy. He must have been mistaken about him, which was a relief.

Her first kiss and he’d been the one to give it to her. Slowly he raised his head. She was staring up at him straight on, not blinking. She touched her fingertips to her mouth. Then, finally, she frowned and stepped back.

“How very odd,” she said, as she shook out her damp skirts. “Of course you should not have done that, but no matter. I am only a bit damp now. It is still raining quite hard.”

She watched him plow his fingers through his dark hair, nice and thick that hair, a bit shaggy for popular tastes. “Meggie, you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that, but it was just a kiss, after all, not a mauling or a serious attempt at seduction. I apologize for taking advantage of our situation.” His voice softened and deepened. He couldn’t hel

p the dollop of masculine pride that crept in. “It was your first kiss. I gave you your first kiss.”

“Ha,” Meggie said. “Ha ha. You are mistaken, my lord. I have been kissed many times.”

“Thomas,” he said. “My name is Thomas.”

“Yes, I know your name. Let me tell you, I have kissed so many boys I can scare remember all of them.”

“This was all during your Season last year?”

“Well, no, to be honest about this, and I suppose that I must be honest since my father is the vicar and this business of honesty is quite important to him, all the boys were my dratted cousins. I asked them, you see, when I was thirteen years old, to kiss me. I didn’t ask any of the older ones, only the dratted cousins who were my age or younger.”

“Jeremy was older?”

“Yes, he was much older,” and she thought, no, not Jeremy, never Jeremy. She’d wanted to, more than anything, but she’d known she’d probably sink into a puddle at his feet if he’d kissed her, and her father would have been appalled. Doubtless Jeremy would have been appalled as well. She said, “The older male cousins thought it a great jest, but I ignored them.” Jeremy, she recalled, had laughed his head off. Why had he asked specifically about Jeremy?

“What did you do?”

“I lined up all the dratted boy cousins. Each stepped forward when I called his name and puckered his lips and did it.”

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