Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,30

pebble in the pudding.

“Vina! There ye are!” Katlyn’s call from the other side of the courtyard had Vina’s head twisting around. Her lips—which he’d so recently tasted—parted in a smile.

As Katlyn waddled up to them, he stepped back, giving Davina some room. Still, she took his hand in hers, nonchalantly, as if they belonged together.

“Did ye forget ye were supposed to sit with Evelinde and me this afternoon?”

Vina winced at Katlyn’s chiding tone. “Och, I did. Will ye forgive me?”

“Of course, assuming ye willnae laugh at me if I tell ye of the latest ghost to begin to annoy me.” Smirking, Katlyn’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, then rose again quickly. “I was only now on my way to the women’s solar. Evie’s got to be as uncomfortable as I am and handling those two lads on such a fine day cannae be easy.”

Davina squeezed his hand before she slid hers out of his grip. Was it his imagination, or did she seem almost reluctant to release him?

“Then I shall do what I can to help. I’ll stop in the kitchens and fetch a snack for the lads.”

“Are ye truly uncomfortable, Katlyn?” Graham asked, knowing his concern was evident in his voice.

But his sister-by-marriage merely waved her hand dismissively. “I still have weeks to go, by my count. Evie is nigh ready to burst!”

“At least she’s no’ Merewyn,” Davina joked, handing her horse’s reins to Graham.

Her sister nodded and looped her arm through Davina’s “Aye, poor Merewyn. Come along!”

Graham nodded his goodbyes, then called out, “I’ll be here in the castle, if either of ye need me.” When Katlyn shot him a questioning look, he shrugged. “Merewyn should be resting. I can fetch her if needed, but I can also share pain remedies.”

“Dinnae tell Kiergan that,” Katlyn called with a chuckle, “or he’ll insist ye visit me daily. The man hovers.”

“ ’Tis because he loves ye,” Davina pointed out.

Kat nodded as they walked away. He heard her say, “And I love him, but I dinnae hover when he’s so uncomfortable he cannae bend over without moaning.”

Davina smiled and blew him a kiss over her shoulder, then led her sister toward the castle. With a sigh, Graham gathered the reins and clucked the horses into motion, turning them toward the stables. What would it be like, to know his wife grew round with his bairn? He liked to imagine he’d be calm and collected under pressure, but the thought of Davina in pain gutted him.

Easy, lad. She’s no’ yer wife yet.

When he stepped into the stables, a lad rushed over to take the two horses from him. He was about to step outside again when he heard raised voices.

“Ye look like a clot-heid, is all I’m saying. A completely addled fookwad, walking around with dirty linen shoved up yer nose!”

“Da, I told ye I’m only doing this to protect—”

“Aye, aye, invisible nose demons.” The Oliphant was strolling toward Graham, laughter in his tone as he mocked Rocque, who was walking beside him. “Ye explained.”

“Demon seeds,” the commander corrected. When he saw Graham, his eyes lit up. “Tell him, Graham!”

After offering both of them a small bow, Graham tried to explain. “I tried to explain the theory of contagions as opposed to miasmas, and Rocque got ‘demon seeds’ out of it.”

“Och, there’s yer problem.” With a grin, their father slammed his hand down atop Rocque’s shoulder. “Ye shouldnae use such big words with him. He’s a bit of a dullard,” he whispered, with a wink.

“I’m standing right here, auld man,” growled Rocque.

“Aye, ‘tis why I said it.”

Graham looked between the two. Of all the brothers, Rocque looked most like their father, in coloring and size. “I see where Kiergan gets his terrible sense of humor from now.”

Rocque scowled, which was comical, seeing as how he did, indeed, have handkerchiefs shoved up his nose. “Ye’re only now realizing this?”

“I’m new to the family. I tried no’ to irritate anyone too much,” Graham quipped. “But Da’s right. Ye dinnae need to walk around like that. All ye have to do is sneeze into the handkerchief. And mayhap wipe yer snot away with them too so it doesnae clump in yer beard.”

“Merewyn says she doesnae mind—”

“Rocque, nae one likes snot clumped in yer beard. Trust me.”

The bigger man frowned behind said beard. “I just want to keep her safe.”

Sighing, Graham patted his brother’s shoulder. “Aye, I ken that. And if this is how ye do it, then it’ll work. But truly, I’m surprised ye’re