7
“Eilidh Mackay!” Mother shook her head. “Now, what would make that little madam run to tell the soldiers about us?”
“A pair of tight breeches,” Father said, crudely, “and what they contain.”
“That’s enough of that kind of talk,” Mother snapped. “There are children in the house.”
“I am sure they know all about it.” Father winked at me, and I could not restrain my smile.
“That is no reason to encourage them,” Mother said. “Well, now, we will have to do something about Miss Eilidh.”
“What do you suggest?” Father asked.
“I think we should drown her in a peat bog,” I said helpfully, thinking of the blonde beauty upside down with her dress around her waist and her legs kicking madly. It was rather a favourite vision of mine, and I savoured it for the next few minutes as Father pondered
