Free In Praise of Younger Men by Jaclyn Reding Page B

his neck as he lifted his head to oblige her stroking fingers. “Well, I thank you for catching Robbie for me, sir,” she said. “Naughty or not, I don’t know what I would do without the little beast.” She turned to the man. “By the way, sir, my name is Miss Ha—”
    “Harriet,” came a sudden unexpected third voice. “I would never have expected to see you here today.”
    Harriet turned about just as Tristan slipped from behind the cover of a tree. Harriet’s heartbeat leapt at the mere sight of him. He looked incredibly handsome in nankeen breeches and coat with his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. He held a stick in his hand as he approached them, which he tossed a few yards away for Maida to fetch. Robbie bounded off behind the other dog.
    “Tristan,” she finally said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Just taking a bit of the morning air with my godfather and Maida.”
    “You two are acquainted?” asked Tristan’s godfather.
    “Aye, sir. Harriet is Geoffrey Drynan’s sister.”
    The man offered his hand in greeting. “Miss Drynan, I’ve heard much of you and your family over the years and am glad to finally make your acquaintance.”
    “As am I, Mr. ... ?”
    “Scott.” He held up a small, leather-bound volume. “You’re from Galloway. Tristan and I were just discussing your local poet, Robbie Burns.” Harriet’s dog scampered back to them at the sound of his name. “Would it be a fair guess to say that this little one was named for our fine poet?”
    “Actually, no,” Harriet replied. “I do enjoy Mr. Burns’s poetry, although, truthfully, I much prefer novels. No, my Robbie is named for Rob Roy.”
    “Ah,” he nodded. “The MacGregor.”
    “Yes, sir. One of my mother’s ancestors actually knew the man. They haunted the hills of the Trossachs together, outwitting the government troops who sought to take the MacGregor in.”
    “He must have passed down many tales.”
    “Actually, according to my aunt, who knew the man when she was a child, he used to say that the exploits of the MacGregor written by the likes of Defoe and others had been so greatly exaggerated, that people no longer knew where fact left off and fiction took over. The Highland Scots, who knew the MacGregor, are the ones who keep the real legend of Rob Roy and his now vanished way of life for the succeeding generations.”
    “Indeed, it would be fascinating to talk to some of them.” After a few moments, the man stood. “Well, I’d best be off. The skies to the north are fast growing dark and I’ve some work to finish while the day is yet light.” He bowed his head to Harriet. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Drynan.” He stooped to scratch Robbie between the ears, “Likewise to you, Little Mr. MacGregor. Tristan, I will see you later for supper at the house. Charlotte will expect you at seven.”
    At Tristan’s nod, he stood and turned, calling to Maida who walked without a leash, never running ahead or falling behind, but staying close to his side. They made a genteel picture as they walked away together, and Harriet and Tristan watched them go until they’d faded from sight through the trees and they could hear the
thunk
of his godfather’s walking cane no more.
    “Your godfather is a very pleasant man, Tristan. I enjoyed meeting him.” And then she realized they were alone again together. She turned, looking at the sky. “It is getting late. I probably should be going.”
    “May I see you and Robbie home?”
    Harriet looked at Tristan. After the events of the previous night, she knew she shouldn’t accept his offer. She shouldn’t even be with him there in the park as it was. Whenever Tristan was near, her thoughts became clouded, distracted, just like the sky overhead. But there was something about this man that made her feel truly alive, somehow more aware of her own femininity. And for this reason, Harriet found herself taking the arm he offered her. A walk home from the park would do