The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [10]
Tysen nodded. “May we stay with you for a couple of days, Sinjun? Then we will go to Kildrummy Castle and see what’s what.”
“I think that is a lovely idea. I could have Old Angus ride to Kinross and fetch Fletcher or Jocelyn. Would you like to see them?”
At the mention of his young niece and nephew, Tysen said, “Meggie said they were just babies and didn’t have much interest, but I disagree. I should like that, Sinjun.”
“Well, Jocelyn is only a little mite, just turned a year old. However, little Fletcher is three and won’t shut his mouth. Do you know he talks to horses? He listens to horses, and I swear to you that they communicate. He even changed two of their names, claimed they weren’t happy with the ones they had.”
“What were the names?”
“They were named Olmar and Grindel. Fletcher listened to them, nodded, and then changed them to Fireball and Thor. I swear to you their steps are higher now, they fling their manes and flick their tails just like they’re colts again, and they stamp their hooves whenever someone calls them by their new names. It’s amazing.”
Tysen gave her a small smile, but it still showed his very white Sherbrooke teeth. “I should like to introduce Fletcher to my horse. I wish him to see if Big Blue is satisfied with his name.”
Sinjun laughed merrily and took his hand. “Come and tell me all about this inheritance of yours. I remember about Great Uncle Tyronne, but goodness, weren’t there a good dozen boys to inherit before you?”
“Very nearly,” Tysen said. “It’s sad. They’re all dead. Ian, the last of the heirs and Old Tyronne’s last grandson, fell off a cliff into the North Sea not above six months ago. Then, I suppose, Great Uncle Tyronne just gave up. Although, as Douglas pointed out, the old man was eighty-seven years old. That left only the Englishman—namely, me. I doubt anyone is very happy about that.”
“But who is there to be unhappy?”
Tysen just shook his head. “Actually, I have no idea who is living at Kildrummy at the present time or if there are any relatives remaining. I will see Donald MacCray on the morrow. He will provide me with all the information I need. Now, Sinjun, before I face my daughter I should like to fortify myself with a cup of tea.”
4
August 24, 1815
THREE-YEAR-OLD FLETCHER KINROSS told his uncle Tysen that Big Blue was displeased with his name.
Tysen stared at the precocious little boy in his father’s arms and asked, “What is the name he would prefer, Fletcher?”
Fletcher put his thumb in his mouth, leaned toward Big Blue, who was looking back intently—actually looking at the little boy—Tysen was sure of it. “Papa, you must let me down,” Fletcher said. When released, he walked right up to the big gelding, and to Tysen’s surprise but no one else’s, the soon-to-be–former Big Blue lowered his head and lipped Fletcher’s hand, blew on it, and stomped his left front hoof several times.
“Don’t worry,” Sinjun said. “No animal would ever hurt him. Isn’t it amazing? Ah, yes, I believe Big Blue has spoken.”
Fletcher patted the horse’s neck, then turned back to his uncle Tysen and said in his clear child’s voice, “He tells me he is not blue. He tells me he doesn’t even like colors. He wants to be named Big Fellow.” The thumb went back in the mouth, then his small arms went up for his father to pick him up again, which he did. Colin Kinross said, “Well, Tysen, what do you think—can you bring yourself to call him Big Fellow?”
Meggie started laughing. “Oh, Aunt Sinjun, it is marvelous. Big Fellow—I like it.”
“If that’s what he wants,” Tysen said, and he sounded utterly bewildered.
Phillip Kinross, sixteen and quite a handsome young man with his father’s dark hair and wicked smile, just shook his head and said, “It isn’t bad, Uncle Tysen. Fletcher was mad at me when he renamed my horse. I can tell you I was worried with what he could come up with, but his name is now Edwin, which, actually, suits him just fine, and me as well.”
“What was his name before?”
Fletcher grinned at his very serious uncle, who’d always