Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,47

laird kens all about his clan.”

“Ye’re no’ even going to apologize, are ye?” she challenged. “Ye betrayed my trust and almost destroyed my love for Graham.”

‘Twas the point.

Graham was startled to hear her grandfather grumble the exact same thing. “ ’Twas the point, lassie, was it no’? I wanted ye to believe he nae longer cared for ye, but I hated how ye moped about all winter.”

Certain his great-aunt was on the mend now, Graham straightened and said a brief prayer of thanksgiving for her life. Then, for good measure, he said one to help him keep his temper with the old man behind him.

“Grandda,” Davina murmured, “if ye hated it, how do ye think I felt, ye stubborn auld fool?”

As Graham approached him, the MacKinnon untangled his hand from his granddaughter’s and clasped his fingers around the arms of the chair. “I’m stubborn, but nae fool. Ye’ll be accepting my apology for my actions, or I’ll ken why.”

Graham’s brows rose as he caught Davina’s equally surprised gaze.

Was that an actual apology?

She inclined her chin minutely, as if to confirm, then smiled down at her grandfather. “It doesnae excuse yer actions, but we forgive ye, because we love ye.”

We love ye was taking things a bit far, but Graham didn’t correct her interpretation. Instead, he stepped up beside her and nudged her out of the way with his hip as he reached for the linen bandages wrapped around her grandfather’s head.

He tried to work swiftly, knowing the burns must be painful. But once they were revealed, he had to admit Alistair had done a good job with the goatweed balm, and Moira had bandaged them well.

“Yer right side took the brunt of the flames.” His fingers gently prodded at the raw skin. “I suppose we should thank yer vanity, for the length of the braids kept the smoldering away from yer skin as long as possible. Yer chin looks worse than yer scalp; dinnae expect to be able to grow a beard again anytime soon.”

The old man merely grunted in response, likely thinking he only had a few more years left anyhow. But when Graham glanced down at him, MacKinnon’s mouth was compressed in a tight line, and his knuckles were white along the arms of the chair.

He was staring intently at Agatha, as he’d been when Graham and Davina had arrived.

Working quickly now, knowing he was causing pain, Graham reapplied the burn salve, and showed Davina how to re-wrap the bandages. “The wounds are looking well. Normally, I advocate fresh air, but mayhap a few more days of bandages will be best, in order to keep out irritants and contagions.”

“Like demon seeds?” she murmured teasingly, her head bent over her task.

“Like dirt and wandering fingers, and”—he sighed—“aye, demon seeds, which spread disease.”

When they were done, they straightened, satisfied. MacKinnon shifted in his chair, but his fingers relaxed, and he exhaled.

Graham began to clean up, but MacKinnon cleared his throat. When he turned to face the old man, MacKinnon was still staring at Agatha.

“I am an honorable man, MacVanish.”

“Oliphant,” Graham corrected. “I wear my father’s plaid now.”

“Och, well, ’tis hard to keep up with all the changes,” the laird muttered, still not looking up. Were his cheeks flushed? “I will call ye Graham to make things easier. I am an honorable man, Graham, and I ken when I owe my thanks.”

Thanks and an apology? Graham’s brows twitched in disbelief, but he said naught.

“I have— I’ve heard ye were instrumental in delivering my great-grandson this morning as well.”

“Kat would’ve died without him.” Davina nudged her grandfather, although he didn’t look at her either. “Kat and her bairn.”

Slowly, MacKinnon inhaled, then exhaled, still staring at his new wife. “Agatha would’ve died too,” he whispered.

“Nay,” Graham corrected pragmatically. “She was dead.”

“Graham brought her back, Grandda. Graham, and our prayers, and God’s mercy.”

The old man didn’t respond. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Graham studied Davina’s grandfather. Despite the morning’s scare, despite the bandages, despite his age and stooped stature, Angus MacKinnon was still a sharp man. He was considering, and Graham had to hope he was considering the future.

Finally, the laird spoke in a soft voice. “Do ye ken what they named the bairn? Kiergan came to check on Agatha, and he told me the news.”

Davina shot a glance at Graham. He knew, but he wasn’t certain she did; she’d stayed to help with Merewyn’s son when Graham had returned to tend Katlyn again.

When she didn’t get a hint from him,