“My mother was a sweet wee thing, absolutely helpless once my father passed away, and not that effective when he was alive, if truth be told.”
The reasons Allan Ramsay had chosen to paint the pretty blonde in that languorous pose became clearer. “And your sister?”
“Sisters. There’s two of them.” He shrugged. “Much the same. After my father’s death, I became head of the family, so both of them grew up obeying me.” His lips twitched. “It helps that I’m always right.”
Marina rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me hit you.”
“I might enjoy that.”
Startled, she looked at him. “What?”
The gray gaze remained unwavering. “You heard me.”
Unwise to pursue the subject, when she had a whole day of his company ahead. “How long have you been laird?”
He clicked his tongue at his pony. It ambled on, and hers followed, the horses as obedient to his will as everything else in the glen was. Damn them, and damn him.
“About twenty years.”
She frowned. She’d assumed he was about her age, but this put the lie to that idea. “You must have been little more than a boy when you inherited.”
“We grow up fast in the Highlands.”
He avoided her question, which was interesting. “How old were you, Mackinnon?”
“Nine.”
Shock silenced her. Nine years old? He’d been a mere child. How had a child shouldered all this responsibility? His father had left things in a mess, she gathered, and his mother didn’t sound like she’d been any help at all. In fact, she sounded like just one more duty. He hadn’t told her his sisters were younger than he was, but something made her think they were. More duty.
He glanced back with the familiar sardonic expression. Maledizione, even on the stubby little pony, he looked like a prince. “Nothing to say?”
“I’m trying to imagine being a child and having so much care thrust upon me.” No wonder he’d grown up arrogant and sure of his abilities. She couldn’t approve of his attitudes, but she came to understand the reasons behind them.
“Och, it wasnae so bad as all that. I had trustees, and there was plenty of experience and goodwill among the local folk.”
“But you were still the Mackinnon, head of the clan.”
“Aye. It’s a privilege.”
“And an obligation.”
“That, too.”
Marina chewed over what she’d heard. “All right, I can see that the estate isn’t overrun with women ready to put you in your place.” She frowned in thought. “You said you go to Inverness and Edinburgh. Somewhere away from Achnasheen, you must have run into an outspoken woman.”
The sardonic light deepened. “I’ve even been to London.”
“London?”
“I went to a few balls and the opera, and a place called Almack’s that was heaving with giggly debutantes. Dreadful crush, hot as Hades, and the waiters only served lukewarm lemonade. What sort of drink is that for a red-blooded laddie, I ask you? No wonder the Sassenachs are all so lily-livered.”
“Does that include the ladies?”
He made a dismissive gesture and faced the front again so she couldn’t see his expression. “All the lassies I danced with seemed to have a proper understanding of a lady’s role in life. None of them tried to take the lead when I waltzed with them, anyway.”
She narrowed her eyes at that long, straight back in its loose white shirt, wishing she could find some physical imperfection to mar the magnificent sight. “You’re just saying that so I’ll bite back.”
He cast an amused look over one broad shoulder. “When ye puff up your feathers like an angry hen, you’re awfully bonny, Marina.”