Chieftain by Arnette Lamb Page A

our elephant.”
    Drummond leaned forward and softly said, “Why have you never taught him to respect the conversation of adults?”
    Alasdair chirped, “But I know the answer. You told me before we even got on him.”
    “I do not remember anyone addressing a question to you.” Lowering his voice, Drummond said, “’Tis rude and presumptuous to let him believe that he can interrupt at will.”
    Her backbone stiffened. “He’s just a lad, and he loves you well.”
    She spoke casually, as if it were natural for a son to love a father.
    Alasdair murmured, “It’s very rude to whisper, even I know that.”
    For the remainder of the short ride, Alasdair chatted constantly, but only once did he try to stand. “Get you down, Alasdair Macqueen,” his mother scolded. “Or you’ll be old and toothless before another dish of custard passes your lips.”
    The threat worked until they reached the burn. Alasdair stood and scrambled down the ladder. Longfellow plunged his trunk into the water and began to drink. Drummond descended and helped Clare to the ground. Then he removed the saddle and carpet and put them beneath a rowan tree.
    A moment later Longfellow siphoned water into his snout, arched it over his head, and doused his back with water.
    “What’s he doing?” asked a wide-eyed Alasdair.
    Longfellow was making so much noise, Drummond had to yell. “He’s giving himself a bath.”
    “I want to go swimming,” Alasdair declared.
    His mother examined her fingernails. “I could be persuaded to let you go swimming if you could be persuaded to study Latin for an extra hour.”
    His eyes snapping with intelligence, Alasdair paced before her. “For how many days?”
    So that was where Alasdair had learned his bargaining skills. An interesting aspect for a female, thought Drummond.
    “For two days,” she said.
    “Done.” Alasdair tore off his jerkin and shirt and pulled down his hose. Kicking off his boots, he left his clothes where they lay and walked into the stream. Above the waist his skin was brown; below, his thin legs and buttocks were as white as a goose’s belly.
    His mother gathered his garments. “Stay close to the bank, Alasdair, and come out before you turn blue.”
    Drummond couldn’t resist saying, “Shall we join him?”
    She glanced at him. The wind stirred her hair, and the dappled sunlight made of it a nimbus of gold. “You may if you like, Drummond, but I prefer to watch today.”
    He wondered what she’d do if he tossed her in. Probably bluster and curse him to hell. But now that Alasdair was out of earshot, Drummond had other matters to discuss. “You thought I was taking Alasdair for more than a short ride.”
    She tossed the lad’s hose over her shoulder and began folding his shirt. “I didn’t know what to think when I saw you so far down the road.”
    “And if I had exercised my right as his father and taken him anywhere I chose?”
    Matter-of-factly, she said, “After an hour or so, you would have begged me to take him back.” When Drummond sent her a look of disbelief, she added, “He’s never been away from home before.”
    That probably explained his stubborn nature. “Never?”
    “Not without me.”
    “You’ve coddled him.”
    Clutching the clothing to her breast, she sat on a boulder and watched the lad frolic in the waist deep water. He flapped his arms and turned in a circle. “Perhaps so, but I had no instructions in the rearing of children. I was taught—”
    “To obey your husband.”
    She sent him a sideways glance. “Yes, and other gentler duties.”
    “Like riding a horse without benefit of saddle and bridle?”
    “No. I wasn’t taught that at the abbey.”
    “I forbid you to do it again.”
    To his surprise she rubbed her hip and gave him a crooked grin. “You needn’t spare a worry over that, my lord. I expect I’ll suffer the consequences for days.”
    Congeniality had always come natural to Clare, but when flavored with sincerity, it became an