Athol had known from the age of eight that he was going to be a laird. From the day that his father had sat him on the front of his horse and taken him out to meet some of the tenant farmers and their workers. At that tender age, Athol had been a bit bewildered by all the attention and the sheer volume of information he had to take in all at once, but he was excited. He had an immediate sense of the enormity of it all, and he realized straight away that he was now an important person.

Of course, he had always known that ordinary people did not live in castles and ride their own ponies. He knew that common folk did not have foodstuffs delivered but grew their own and he was aware that some people starved to death in winter. However, none of it affected him. He was going to be a laird, so he would never go hungry, and one day a beautiful young lady would be picked for him and he would marry her. They would, of course, have many sons, since sons were much more desirable than daughters, although he wasn’t quite sure why.

From that day on, he was gradually introduced to his future duties as the head of a large estate and he now knew how to collect rent, keep accounts, manage the land, and deal with is tenants. Although occasionally given to admiring himself in the mirror too much, he was a decent man. He was not given to fits of temper or petulance and it was in his nature to be fair, so gradually he became widely respected by his future tenants, most of whom he knew on a first name basis.

By the time he was sixteen, his father was already pushing some of the easy and less important jobs his way as preparation for going onto more difficult tasks. Athol took everything in his stride and it seemed that being a laird was in his very blood, so naturally did it all come to him. At the age of eighteen, he had more or less taken over the running of the estate entirely. His father was now fifty-three and at the stage in life where he wanted to relax a bit and enjoy the company of his much-loved wife Lorina, Athol’s mother, wanted to travel a little before they settled down to wait for grandchildren. These were, of course, to be provided by Athol, although he had two younger sisters who were even now making their contribution.  

---

For a man, eighteen was considered a little too young to marry, so Athol had been made to wait until his twenties. However, his sisters, May and Aileen, currently sixteen and seventeen years of age respectively, had been considered eligible for marriage since the age of fourteen. They had been wedded to prosperous young lairds-to-be at the ripe old age of sixteen and were both pregnant, comfortable, and very happy.

Duncan, his father, had begun to enjoy a few more leisure hours while making sure that Athol enjoyed a few less, but his son was strong, capable and well-liked, so he had a feeling that he could hand over the reins of responsibility without too much concern. Besides, he would always be there to give advice if it were needed. So Athol, at the very young age of eighteen, became the de facto laird of Blairmore and he relished his new role and the responsibility that came with it.

There was one more consequence to this. Athol was now a young single man with an enormous inheritance coming his way. He was a very desirable commodity if commodity was the right word. Yes, he was still too young for marriage but he was not too young for courtship and betrothal. Accordingly, many lairds began to beat a path to his father’s door to advertise the irresistible charms of their many daughters.

Athol was unmoved. He was not ready to settle down. He had too much to learn and achieve, so he was not planning to marry anyone until he was in his mid-twenties at least. Then he would allow a rumor to leak that he was in need of a suitable wife and watch the feeding frenzy. It amused him just to think of it. If he had one defect in his character it was that he thought altogether too much of his good looks. His mother was always telling him so.

At that moment, as if he had conjured her up, an eligible young lady was trotting towards him. For a moment he had not recognized her— Davina Anderson had changed much since he had last seen her. She had been what? Thirteen? He wasn’t sure, but she had been very young and totally enamored with him.

“It has been a very long time,” she remarked, smiling.

“Indeed,” he agreed, “three years. What have you been doing with yourself?”

She laughed with a touch of bitterness. “Athol,” she replied, "I have been doing what most young ladies of my age and class do—absolutely nothing.” Davina surprised herself by the bitterness of her tone. She, who was usually so dutiful and accepting, had allowed a trace of rebelliousness to creep into her voice. Shut up, Davina, she thought frantically, he'll think you’re an idiot.

Instead, he surprised her by laughing. “You would be surprised by the number of young ladies who express the same thoughts,” he remarked, “but I have no doubt you can speak Latin and French?”

“Yes,” she replied, frowning. "Why?”

He mounted his horse then turned it around so that they were facing the same direction. They began to walk back the way they had come.

“I often wonder how practical Latin is for anything,” he mused, “as a language, it is as dead as a doornail and quite useless for anything except following Mass. My tutor made me learn French too, although the chance that either of us will ever go to France to converse in it is rather remote.”

There was a short and awkward silence, which Davina broke. “I can sew the most beautiful wall hangings too and my own clothes!” She laughed. “‘Tis the only useful skill I have. So, what have you been doing?”

Athol looked out to sea for a moment. He was smiling happily. Davina envied him his contentment. "I have been learning to be a laird,” he replied at last. "It takes all my time and energy, but I love it. There is only one thing wrong—I have to steal time to be by myself and enjoy a bit of solitude.”

---

Davina immediately felt contrite. “I am sorry,” she said hastily, "I did not mean to deprive you of it. Forgive me.” She began to gather her reins to urge Daisy into a trot again, but he stopped her by putting a hand on her arm.

“No,” he said gently, "I am the one who should be sorry. I put that very clumsily. What I meant was that I rarely have time to relax, but I am relaxing now.”

“I see.” She looked into his deep hazel eyes for a moment, then turned away, blushing. She would marry him tomorrow, any girl would. Nanny Elspeth had told her all that a young woman needed to know about what was expected of a wife, especially on her first night with her husband. She was sure that she could help him to relax. “And you found time today?” she asked, “how so?”

He smiled at her with devilment in his eyes. “I am very, very sick,” he replied, “stomach cramps. I was put to bed by my Nanny - yes, I still have one - given a cupful of ginger tea and made to drink it all down before I rested for the afternoon. She watched me to make sure I did it and it was foul. Anyway, she left the room and I waited for a while, then I sneaked out, went down the back stairs, and into the stables. I told the stable hands I was going to see a farmer and not to expect me until after dark, then I took a lantern with me. I expect that they have discovered my deception by this time, but I am really too old to have to resort to such tactics!”

Davina was giggling furiously at the image of Athol drinking the tea and grimacing at the awful taste. She had to endure ginger tea herself once or twice and it was the most disgusting medicine she had ever had to swallow. “Why do you put up with it?” she asked, "it’s your own fault. You should pension Nanny off.”

“My sisters are both expecting,” he replied, “and she is going to look after the first baby that arrives. It’s like a race. The winner gets the nanny!”

Davina threw back her head and laughed at that, then caught him looking at her, smiling thoughtfully. She felt very self-conscious all of a sudden. “Do I have dirt on my face?” she asked anxiously.

He shook his head, smiling. “No,” he answered, "I was just thinking how pretty you have become.”

“Me?” she squeaked in utter disbelief, “Athol, thank you, but I truly don’t think I am anywhere approaching pretty. I am fat, for one thing.”

"Stop insulting yourself,” he instructed her in a stern voice. “A woman needs a bit of flesh on her bones and you are just right. You have beautiful eyes too.”

She was blushing furiously by this time and turned her face away from him to let the sea breeze cool her cheeks. “Thank you again, Athol,” she said shyly, "I am very flattered.”

“Good!” he replied, “this day has turned out to be even better than I expected. I wanted a bit of peace and quiet, but I got a pleasant companion to ride with as well. Altogether a very successful outcome!”

“For me too,” she said and laughed. “But we must get back home quickly now. I do not like the look of those rain clouds.”

Athol groaned. “I suppose that’s what we get for living in the Highlands.” He sighed sadly. “But we still love it, do we not?”

Davina gazed out to sea for a moment, watching as the sky became darker. “Yes, we do,” she answered, laughing. “But for the life of me, I have no idea why!”

She urged Daisy into a fast trot and Athol did likewise. It has been a refreshing day, he thought, far away from the cares and responsibilities of the estate, but he would still have to face them tomorrow.