Page 54 of Laird of Secrets

Dougal glanced away from those earnest sky-blue eyes. “You are a fine teacher, and you are needed here. That is true.”

“Thank you.”

“Lucy tells us about school. She enjoys it very much.”

“She is a bright child, and quite delightful.”

“She has loathed lessons until now. I owe you a debt there.”

“She was not content at first, but she seems eager to learn. I must find more challenges for her. She works quickly, then sets about bothering Jamie. He is such an easygoing lad that he puts up with pestering, but she must be diverted to better activities.”

“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 have no need of studies.”

“Ah,” she said calmly. “I hope you discourage both those notions.”

“I try to set a good example,” he answered wryly. “We are reading some poetry in the evenings. Sir Walter Scott and so on. So now she is convinced that smugglers enjoy poetry, but do not need maths.”

She laughed outright, and Dougal smiled at the enchanting sound of it. “You, sir, will know better than I do what smugglers should study.”

“Maths, 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 more a 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.”