Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,25
bairns this morning?”
Realizing her attempt at small talk, he played along. “Doing well, doing well. Finn’s suggested the names Brunhilda and Griselda, but Fiona is leaning toward Elizabeth and Mary. They’re planning the baptism as soon as Father Ambrose returns from Inverness.”
“Which had better no’ be too soon!” snapped Agatha. “I can do without his nagging sermons about washing my hands and sneezing into my elbow. Honestly, who in creation would think to do that, when everyone kens ‘tis better to clear the devil snot out?”
“And plague someone else?” murmured Davina, unable to help herself.
One of Graham’s brows twitched. “Have ye been explaining the facts of life to Rocque, Aunt Agatha? I saw him this morning, walking about with two pieces of linen shoved up his nose to stop the ‘demon seeds’ from escaping and harming his wife.”
The old woman hummed. “A commendable effort I suppose, though idiotic. He must have looked like a wild boar with huge tusks thrusting from his proboscis!”
“Or an elephant,” Graham agreed with a straight face. “I saw a sketch in one of Malcolm’s treatises, although wee Liam explained to me his disappointment the animal’s protrusible copulatory organ wasnae illustrated.”
Davina tried not to giggle. “I would’ve thought the lad’s obsession with penises had been outgrown by now.”
In a serious tone, holding her gaze, Graham intoned, “A lad never outgrows his obsession with penises, Lady Davina.”
She lost her battle with her attempt not to smile, and Aunt Agatha snorted at her grin. “Penises? Oliphant elephants? Demon seeds? ‘Tis like ye’re speaking yer own language.”
“Aye, Aunt Agatha.” Holding Davina’s gaze, Graham lowered one lid in a slow wink. “I suspect ‘tis because I’ve”—he paused for effect—“heard the drummer.”
Davina’s lips pulled downward as she tried to understand what he meant. Lady Agatha, on the other hand, gasped happily and swung around to face him.
“Ye’ve heard him, lad? Really? Recently?”
Slowly—slow enough Agatha was sure to notice it—Graham swung his gaze away from Davina and nodded to his aunt. “Aye. Ye told me he haunts the walls of the castle; his drumming spelling doom for all who hear it.”
She smacked her cane against the cobblestones. “Nay, no’ mere doom, but dooooooom!”
Ah, that is why the reference sounds familiar!
On her last visit, Davina was regaled by tales of the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle, whose drumming doomed those who heard it…to fall in love. What was Graham’s plan? Something to do with Agatha, Grandda and the drummer?
“Aye, doooooom,” Graham agreed solemnly, his gaze very obviously darting back to Davina.
His aunt clucked her tongue. “I thought the drummer’s days were over once yer father married Moira, and they stopped sneaking around the secret passages. But if ye’ve heard him, laddie, then I suppose congratulations are in order.”
She looked between the two of them with such obvious understanding, Davina flushed and glanced down. She wasn’t certain if she was helping or hindering Graham’s plan when she murmured, “My grandfather is difficult to persuade.”
As the old woman cackled knowingly, Graham stepped away from his aunt, just enough to move slightly closer to Davina.
“We havenae given up hope yet, Aunt Agatha. But since I’ve been blessed—I mean, doomed—by the drummer, I am confident we shall earn a happy future.”
Davina was beginning to get an inkling of an idea of his plan. “Aye. Ye told me last year, Aunt Agatha, that the drummer is never wrong. Those who hear him always fall in love.”
Graham nodded. “Have ye, perchance, told Laird MacKinnon of the legend?”
His aunt must have been fooled by his innocent tone because she hummed thoughtfully. “I dinnae think I have. Ye have to understand, laddie, that when Angus and I are together, we dinnae do much talking.”
Ew.
Davina was proud of herself for swallowing down her shudder.
Graham hid his reaction by whirling toward the garden gate. “Alistair!” he called, waving a little more jubilantly than was required, “how fare ye?”
His brother, who was escorting his wife into the garden, blinked in surprise, but obligingly led Lara in their direction. “Good morrow. Lara dragged me out early to enjoy the sunshine, and so she could tell me all about last night’s adventure.”
For a moment, Davina thought he meant her adventure, until his wife rolled her eyes.
“Aye, and the poor man near fainted when I described the second bairn’s arrival. Luckily, Merewyn says I’m measuring right on track for only one bairn.” She patted her stomach fondly.
“Thank fook,” her husband muttered.
“Aye,” chuckled Graham. “I dinnae envy Finn the adventure he’s about to embark upon, but with as