Page 24 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

Well, his family had never shied away from discussing difficult subjects or emotions. The man spoke sense as always. “All right, Da. I will ask them to stay longer, but it is up to Abbie.”

He hoped to hell that he was not making a mistake. The last thing he wished was to place Abbie and his daughter—or his lonely heart—in jeopardy.

Chapter 8

Since the air held a determined chill, Garrett decided that their ride would encompass the perimeter of Wollstonecraft Hall, but no farther. While he rode Patriot, Megan sat on Jade, the gentlest mare in the stables, and Abbie rode a chocolate brown gelding, Ivanhoe.

The conversation was sparse but pleasant. Megan still acted uncomfortable in his presence; he couldn’t blame the lass. She answered him when he directed conversation toward her, but did not initiate any toward him. He wasn’t sure how to bring her out from behind her protective wall other than to be himself.

“I forgot how impressive the property is,” Abbie stated.

“It is even more so when all is in bloom, if you recall, especially the roses and hydrangeas. Remember the afternoon we spent picking cherries?” Garrett replied.

Abbie flushed prettily. “I do remember that you ate them all before we had a chance to deliver them to the kitchen.”

Actually, Garrett recalled feeding them to each other in the hayloft. It had soon turned sensual, with Abbie slowly sucking on the succulent fruit while he held it out for her. It led to a particularly vigorous bout of sex. Garrett shifted in his saddle at the heated memory.

“Do you have other animals or pets, Mr. Wollstonecraft?” Megan asked, pulling him from his erotic and inappropriate thoughts. My God, she had asked him a question. His heart swelled with joy.

“Not as such; this is not a working farm. My late grandfather, the old earl, had chickens, but Da did not like the odor enough to keep them. We are strictly a horse breeding operation, although we do have two goats that live with some of the horses as companions.” Garrett pulled on the reins to slow Patriot. “Beyond the stables there, is the breeding shed.” Garrett pointed toward a cluster of buildings. “And the large building with the conical roof is our indoor paddock, where we train and exercise. As for pets, we did have a number of housecats through the years. When I was younger my Scottish grandfather gifted me with a beautiful Scotch collie during one of my summer visits. The dog passed about six years ago, and I meant to travel to Scotland to procure another, but have yet to do so.”

Though he and his grandfather corresponded on a regular basis, Garrett had not visited the Mackinnon side of his family since taking on the combined duties of estate manager and land steward.

“Is it like a sheepdog?” Megan asked.

“Both are herders, but a Scotch collie is somewhat different from a sheepdog, in that they are little larger and have thicker, longer hair. Collies are intelligent, and extremely loyal.”

“You should get another,” Megan stated.

“Perhaps I shall. Very soon.”

“What was her name?” Megan asked.

An actual conversation with his daughter, the first one ever. Although there was barely a trace of warmth in her tone, at least she was speaking to him openly. His heart squeezed with emotions he could not name. “‘He’ actually. I called him Laddie. Appropriate, considering his birthplace.” Garrett sighed wistfully. “I miss him still. He went with me everywhere. As I said, loyal to a fault.” And good company when loneliness crowded in, especially after he’d sent Abbie away.

“I remember Laddie. A beautiful dog, with multicolored sable fur.” Abbie smiled. “He had a sunny disposition, and he was completely devoted to you.”

“He was,” Garrett replied.

“Is Scotland beautiful?” Megan asked. Garrett glanced at Abbie and she smiled encouragingly.

“My family—our family—lives outside of Edinburgh, and are involved in the making of spirits. The family is descended from Clan Mackinnon; our ancestors lived on the Isle of Skye and were fierce warriors in all number of battles, including the Jacobite Uprisings.” Garrett gazed across the bleak winter landscape. “Rolling, lush hills, yet the land possesses a stark ruggedness, especially when storm clouds form overhead. Beautiful? It is one of the most breathtaking places that I’ve ever seen.”

“When were you last there?” Abbie asked.

“Many years, close to five. I became steward of this estate… and along with the horses, I’m far too busy for traveling.” How he wished that he could show Abbie and Megan his mother’s homeland. Hell, when had he become a romantic, waxing poetic about Scotland? “We should head home. I’ve ordered pots of hot chocolate and frosted cakes for our tea this afternoon.”

“Mama, may I canter ahead?”

“Yes, but stay in our sight.”

Megan snapped the reins and headed in the direction of the stables. Abbie and Garrett stayed behind, side by side.

“Your family has been very welcoming, considering the circumstances,” Abbie said.

“What circumstances?”

Abbie arched an eyebrow at him. “The fact that I kept the pregnancy secret, and that Megan was conceived outside of wedlock.”