The colonel’s lean face turned to hers, appreciative. “Now, there’s a bonnie sound.”

“And one we have not often heard, of late,” the countess said, recovering her breath and looking fondly at Sophia. “Patrick, I do see that we shall have to keep you with us yet awhile, for as you see we sorely need amusement.”

The colonel settled in his chair and smiled. “I’m happy to supply it,” he assured her, “while the whisky lasts.”

XIV

Colonel Graeme kept his word, and stayed.

Sophia reasoned that he stayed as much because he wanted to be there to see the frigate come to herald the beginning of the king’s invasion, as because he liked the hospitality of Slains, but either way she took great pleasure in his company. She came to envy Moray, that he had an uncle so engaging and as different from her Uncle John as daylight was from darkness. He talked more than his nephew, and was quicker to observe the humor in a daily happening, but he was enough like Moray that Sophia felt at ease with him and on familiar ground.

He brought a liveliness to Slains, for like his nephew he did not sit still long. If his body ceased its motion then his mind in turn grew restless and required diversion. He had them play at cards most evenings, learning all the new games now in favor at the French king’s court and Saint-Germain. And on one rainy afternoon toward the week’s end he began to teach Sophia how to play the game of chess.

He said, “Ye’ve got the brain for it. Not many lasses do.”

She felt quite flattered by his confidence, but wished that she could share it. With a sinking heart she watched him set the pieces out upon the wooden board that he had laid between them on the little table in the library. There seemed so many figures, finely carved of wood with flaking paint of black or white—the castle towers, and the horses’ heads, and bishops’ miters flanking two crowned pieces taller than the rest, their painted faces staring back at her with doubt.

“I do not have much luck at games,” Sophia said.

“’Tis not a game of luck.” He set eight smaller figures in a row before the others. Sending her a reassuring glance, he said, “It is a game of strategy. A battle, if ye will, between my men and yours. My wits, and yours.”

She smiled. “Then yours will surely win.”

“Ye cannot start a battle, lass, by thinking ye will lose it. Now come, let me show ye how it’s played.” He was a soldier, and he taught the movements from a soldier’s viewpoint, starting with the forward lines. “These wee men here, the pawns, they’re not allowed to make decisions. They can only put one foot before the other, marching in a straight line to the enemy, except when they attack. Then they follow the thrust of their sword arm, see, on the diagonal.” Moving his pawn against one of her own, he demonstrated. “Now, the knights, at their backs, they can move that much quicker because they’re on horseback, and bolder…”