sent for a surgeon to patch him up. Because Bellamy had nowhere to go, and no job any longer, Mac hired him. Bellamy had paid Mac back for that kindness with his loyalty ever since.
Ainsley would like it if Cameron let Bellamy, a reserved and somewhat shy man, shine in front of the others. Ainsley rewarded kindness with a smile, a delighted kiss, a nibble on the ear . . .
"Aye, it might be a treat for all," Cameron said. Cameron could win still more praise from Ainsley if he let Bellamy triumph. Bellamy had become smitten, Curry had said, with the maid called Esme, who'd come to the door looking for charity, and had been hired on by Mrs. Desmond and Isabella to help with the frantic preparations for Christmas. Bellamy would welcome a chance to show off in front of her, and Ainsley would enjoy the fact that Cameron had played matchmaker.
And perhaps Ainsley would retreat from her terrible worry about Gavina, who was, at the moment, tugging Daniel's hair and laughing. Daniel, in spite of his tendency toward trouble, had turned out rather well. Between the three of them, Gavina should be all right.
"Your Uncle Hart might not approve, you know," Beth was saying. "It is his house after all, Danny."
"Oh, that's no trouble." Daniel grinned and waved away his formidable Uncle Hart. "He's busy looking after Aunt Eleanor, and I wasn't going to bother mentioning it to him."
*** *** ***
"You'd love it here, Maggie," Sinclair McBride said under his breath. He gazed out of the vast, empty library to the vast, empty garden, dusted now with snow, glittering like diamonds under a brief visit from the sun. "Such beauty. And quiet."
Maggie, whom he'd called Daisy in intimate moments, had been gone from him five years now. And still the pain was as sharp as on the day she'd died.
Outwardly, the Scots Machine rolled on--Basher McBride--the criminals called him. Cool, sticking to facts, proving beyond a doubt that the man or woman in the dock had committed the abominable murder, rape, or battering and deserved to be punished. Juries warmed to him, the family man who wanted to protect his children and theirs from harm.
Not that Sinclair couldn't be kind. A first-time young thief who'd stolen an apple to feed his mother would win the Basher's compassion, and he'd argue for leniency. The juries liked that too, even if the judges did not.
Inwardly, Sinclair ached. His heart had stopped beating when Maggie's had, and he wasn't certain it had ever started again.
She'd have loved the gigantic Mackenzie house, with its horde of splendid rooms and spread of grounds, all made beautiful for Christmas. Maggie had loved Christmas. These days, the only interest in the holiday Sinclair could muster was to slip a chunk of money to his valet and instruct the man to buy all the toys Andrew and Catriona could want.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. McBride."
Sinclair turned reluctantly from the window at Nanny Westlock's interruption. He saw the look on her face and held up his hand to forestall her words. "What have they done now?"
"Started a fire. On a bed. They might have taken down the entire nursery."
Sinclair smothered a sigh. Andrew, no doubt. Catriona would have watched the mayhem with her usual quiet detachment. Andrew wouldn't have meant to start the fire. He wasn't an evil lad, just mischievous, reckless, and too curious for his own good.
"My apologies, Miss Westlock. I'll speak to Andrew."
"I have already dealt with the matter, sir." By the pinching of her lips, Andrew must have fought long and hard against being dealt with. "But I must recommend that these children be taken in hand."
Well, of course. And if Sinclair had been capable of taking them in hand, he already would have. "Again, I apologize for Andrew's behavior," Sinclair said. "My wife took care of these things, you see."
Maggie, with her laughter, the Irish lilt to her voice--every "T" a precise stop with her lovely tongue behind her teeth, had been able to do anything with her
Ainsley would like it if Cameron let Bellamy, a reserved and somewhat shy man, shine in front of the others. Ainsley rewarded kindness with a smile, a delighted kiss, a nibble on the ear . . .
"Aye, it might be a treat for all," Cameron said. Cameron could win still more praise from Ainsley if he let Bellamy triumph. Bellamy had become smitten, Curry had said, with the maid called Esme, who'd come to the door looking for charity, and had been hired on by Mrs. Desmond and Isabella to help with the frantic preparations for Christmas. Bellamy would welcome a chance to show off in front of her, and Ainsley would enjoy the fact that Cameron had played matchmaker.
And perhaps Ainsley would retreat from her terrible worry about Gavina, who was, at the moment, tugging Daniel's hair and laughing. Daniel, in spite of his tendency toward trouble, had turned out rather well. Between the three of them, Gavina should be all right.
"Your Uncle Hart might not approve, you know," Beth was saying. "It is his house after all, Danny."
"Oh, that's no trouble." Daniel grinned and waved away his formidable Uncle Hart. "He's busy looking after Aunt Eleanor, and I wasn't going to bother mentioning it to him."
*** *** ***
"You'd love it here, Maggie," Sinclair McBride said under his breath. He gazed out of the vast, empty library to the vast, empty garden, dusted now with snow, glittering like diamonds under a brief visit from the sun. "Such beauty. And quiet."
Maggie, whom he'd called Daisy in intimate moments, had been gone from him five years now. And still the pain was as sharp as on the day she'd died.
Outwardly, the Scots Machine rolled on--Basher McBride--the criminals called him. Cool, sticking to facts, proving beyond a doubt that the man or woman in the dock had committed the abominable murder, rape, or battering and deserved to be punished. Juries warmed to him, the family man who wanted to protect his children and theirs from harm.
Not that Sinclair couldn't be kind. A first-time young thief who'd stolen an apple to feed his mother would win the Basher's compassion, and he'd argue for leniency. The juries liked that too, even if the judges did not.
Inwardly, Sinclair ached. His heart had stopped beating when Maggie's had, and he wasn't certain it had ever started again.
She'd have loved the gigantic Mackenzie house, with its horde of splendid rooms and spread of grounds, all made beautiful for Christmas. Maggie had loved Christmas. These days, the only interest in the holiday Sinclair could muster was to slip a chunk of money to his valet and instruct the man to buy all the toys Andrew and Catriona could want.
"Begging your pardon, Mr. McBride."
Sinclair turned reluctantly from the window at Nanny Westlock's interruption. He saw the look on her face and held up his hand to forestall her words. "What have they done now?"
"Started a fire. On a bed. They might have taken down the entire nursery."
Sinclair smothered a sigh. Andrew, no doubt. Catriona would have watched the mayhem with her usual quiet detachment. Andrew wouldn't have meant to start the fire. He wasn't an evil lad, just mischievous, reckless, and too curious for his own good.
"My apologies, Miss Westlock. I'll speak to Andrew."
"I have already dealt with the matter, sir." By the pinching of her lips, Andrew must have fought long and hard against being dealt with. "But I must recommend that these children be taken in hand."
Well, of course. And if Sinclair had been capable of taking them in hand, he already would have. "Again, I apologize for Andrew's behavior," Sinclair said. "My wife took care of these things, you see."
Maggie, with her laughter, the Irish lilt to her voice--every "T" a precise stop with her lovely tongue behind her teeth, had been able to do anything with her
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