Reckless Scotland

by Vane, Victoria

  “Oh? And what of Nora?”

  Leave it to his cousin to cut straight to the point which frustrated Liam more. “What of her?”

  Calum tilted his head, spearing Liam with his penetrating, crystalline stare. “You would merely walk away from the lass? I do not believe that for an instant.”

  Neither did Liam, if he were truthful with himself. He’d sorely let Nora down this eve, and he’d no notion how to make amends with the woman.

  “Listen, Liam. I know all of this is new to you—Fraser, the clan, Nora. But you’ve handled yourself well with the clan the past sennight. You’re every bit as much of a leader as me or Fraser. What you need to understand is some matters are out of your control. What happened this eve was one of those instances. ’Tis no more your fault than ’tis Nora’s. Do not fret over the clan. There’ll always be those who seek to cause trouble. ’Tis naught you can do to stop it. Just know the situation shall soon right itself.”

  The words reassured Liam. A year younger than his cousin, he’d often looked up to Calum for direction. ’Twas uplifting when the man praised him. Though, he’d hardly given his kin much to compliment over the years.

  Calum shifted to lean his back against the stall door. “As for Nora, the two of you will work through matters. Just do not dawdle with your feelings as I did with Arabella. I could’ve spared us both a great deal of trouble by simply telling her how I felt. And for God’s sake, do not let Fraser get involved.”

  Liam chuckled at the reminder of the difficulty the older man created between his niece and Calum. The last thing he needed was for Fraser to send for a blasted priest as he’d done to his cousin and Arabella. Especially before Liam had an opportunity to fully examine the depth of his feelings for Nora.

  Hell, marriage.

  ’Twas the first time the notion spurred something other than a wash of dread in him. Especially with the thought of Nora as his bride. No doubt, the lass would frown throughout the entire ceremony. He smiled at the image in his mind.

  With one final scratch behind his gelding’s ears, he turned to lean against the planks of timber, mirroring Calum’s stance. “Speaking of meddlesome kin, I’m aware you spoke to my mother.”

  His cousin feigned ignorance as poorly as Elena Fraser was a liar.

  Before the other man uttered a denial, Liam added, “She confessed the two of you discussed how I should lead the clan in Fraser’s stead.”

  Calum barked out a laugh. “Well, what did you expect me to do?”

  “You could’ve not said a blasted thing,” he wryly suggested.

  “You’re not deceiving anyone, you know. Those of us who truly know you are aware you play the fool on purpose, Liam. Sometimes, I think you’ve grown so used to the role, you fail to understand your true potential.”

  Hell, was he that damned transparent?

  “Aye, aye, I understand.” He waved away the rest of his cousin’s lecturing. Not that he truly minded. In truth, he was grateful for the heartening words which had somewhat improved his rotten mood.

  Calum cuffed him on the shoulder. “Come, let’s head back to the keep. I have a comely wife awaiting my return.”

  Liam snorted as he shoved away from the stall. Extinguishing the lit lanterns, he and Calum secured the outer doors to the stables for the eve. They fell into step beside each other, strolling through the courtyard. Aside from stray patrols, the bailey stood in empty silence.

  “Any word from Symon?”

  Calum shook his head. “Nay, naught worthy of comment.”

  “Damn,” Liam growled.

  “You know he’s relentless. If Kenneth’s planning something, Symon will find him out.”

  He nodded in assent.

  ’Twas what made the MacGregor commander an invaluable warrior—loyal to a fault, determined, and skilled with a sword. Symon was dogged in his pursuits.

  Calum paused at the base of the keep’s front steps. “So…”

  Liam halted alongside him and raised a brow. “So what?”

  A broad grin stretched his cousin’s scarred visage. “What of Nora?”

  “By the Saints, man!” he exclaimed in exasperation.

  Calum tossed his head back and howled with laughter, the annoying sound grating in Liam’s ears. “’Tis not so amusing when you’re the one being badgered, is it?”

  Scowling, he stomped up the stairs. “Do not start with me.”

  Chuckling, Calum followed close behind. “Would you rather I sent for Father MacKinley now?”

  “I fear I’d have to hurt you, Cousin.”

  Calum’s laughter grew. “I’d like to see you try.”

  He pushed open one of the front doors, holding it wide for his cousin to pass through. “I do not suppose you might warn Arabella to guard her tongue around Nora?”

  Calum snorted. “’Tis about as much use as telling you to leave off pestering people.”

  Liam grimaced. In other words, he was doomed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Liam’s knuckles barely grazed the aged oak to knock before the door swung open. Elena Fraser’s eyes widened, no doubt surprised to see him standing on the other side.

  “Do not dare to leave this chamber without an escort.” Fraser’s roar thundered throughout the bedchamber.

  Her astonishment shifted to irritation in the bat of an eyelash. She scowled over her shoulder at Fraser, who sat upright in bed, his glare every bit as fierce as his bark.

  “Do not tell me what to do, you arse.”

  Brows lifting to his hairline, Liam gaped at the pair. He immediately regretted his poor timing. Before he managed to retreat a step, his mother faced him with an impish grin.

  Rising on her tiptoes, she pecked a kiss along his jaw and whispered in his ear. “Make sure he does not become too riled.” She yanked the sleeve of his tunic, pulling him inside the room. “I’ll give the two of you a bit of privacy.”

  “Get back here, Wife,” Fraser bellowed, loud enough to wake the dead.

  She countered the command with a resounding slam of the door.

  For a moment, Liam glanced awkwardly between the door and Fraser. He watched as the old laird struggled to arrange the mound of pillows bunched behind him.

  Taking mercy on the man, he strode to the bed. “Here, allow me.”

  He plumped the padded linen, lifting the cushions upright so that Fraser might lean his back against them.

  Fraser grudgingly muttered, “Thank you.”

  His ruddy cheeks flushed darker beneath the aging rusty hue of his beard. Liam wagered Fraser despised accepting aid for such a menial task.

  He hazarded to ask, “All is well?”

  Puffing out an aggravated sigh, Fraser flapped his arm at the closed door. “Your blasted mother refuses to allow me to leave this wretched bed. Then she saunters around the damned keep without an escort, even though I’ve repeatedly asked her not to traipse about the place alone.”

  Liam snorted. “Asked?”

  He doubted Fraser understood the difference between a request and a command.

  “Of course I damned well asked her,” Fraser asserted.

  “Do not fret so.” He chuckled. “I arranged for John to trail after her. He’s waiting below stairs.”

  Fraser grunted. “’Twas mindful of you, Boy.”

  “Seems you and I are too familiar with her mischievous ways.”

  Amusement twinkled in the older man’s green eyes. “Stubborn, you mean?”

  “Aye, the pair of you suit each other well.” Liam grabbed the armchair, dragging it closer to the bedside. “You’re looking much better.”

  Fraser cracked a grin. “Thanks to your obstinate mother. ’Tis glad I am to have wed such a remarkable healer.”

  Liam understood the sentiment well. Without his mother’s quick thinking, Fraser might not have survived the night. ’Twas unsettling when he truly thought of what might’ve occurred had she not recognized the signs of poison.

  “How’s the clan?” Anticipation
shone in the older man’s direct stare. “Everything all right? Not giving you any trouble, are they?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Liam assured. “The wool’s harvested and ready for market, and the village is preparing for the feast, which I assume you’ll attend. They’re eager to see you for themselves.”

  “I’d like to see your mother try to stop me,” Fraser groused. “Word is, you tangled with an ill-tempered ram.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Of course, out of everything, you would hear that.”

  “There’s very little I do not hear.” A half-smile peeked through Fraser’s unkempt beard, lifting one corner of his mouth. “’Twas good of you to have helped the clan as you’ve done.”

  He shrugged. “’Tis naught.”

  “No need to be modest, Boy. You have my utmost gratitude. After our disagreement, your mother and I worried…well, the three of us parted on poor terms. I never would’ve imagined you might step in to look after the clan.”

  For a brief moment, Liam hesitated. “We’re kin, Fraser.”

  Surprise wavered in the older man’s gaze before he glanced away to search the furs settled over his lap. His brow furrowed, he plucked at a nonexistent speck on the pelts. “I’m truly sorry…for before.”

  Liam suspected his first meaningful discussion with Fraser might straddle the hedge between challenging and downright awkward. It would seem he was not mistaken.

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I owe you apology as well.”

  “Why should you apologize?” Bewilderment clouded Fraser’s creased features. “You’ve done naught to apologize for.”

  Liam studied the grains in the timber floorboards beneath his feet. “I acted in haste that night, condemning you before I truly understood the truth of the matter. ’Twas unfair of me and, for that, I’m sorry.”

  Fraser huffed a deep sigh. “Elena must’ve told you.”

  “Some of it.” He nodded. “She confessed you had no knowledge—”

  “That you were my son,” the older man supplied. “Nay, not until last fall when your cousin returned with Arabella.”

  Despite learning the truth before now, the words took Liam several moments to absorb anew. At a score and eight years, ’twas not a matter he foresaw handling in his future. Especially since the man he’d known as his father had long been laid to rest nigh to eight and ten years ago.

  “Liam, had I known…” Fraser’s mossy stare conveyed a wealth of emotion. A sight the man rarely exposed to anyone.

  “I know. You do not have to—”

  “Aye, I do. I wish you to know,” Fraser insisted. He dropped his head backward against the headboard with a thunk. “Saints, ’twas so long ago, I scarcely know where to begin.”

  Straightening to lean against the embroidered back of his chair, Liam stretched his legs out in front of him, giving the other man his undivided attention. Unwilling to rush the tale, he perched his elbows on the chair arms, twined his fingers together and simply waited for Fraser to collect his thoughts.

  The older man shifted to sit up straighter. “As you know, your Uncle Cormac was my closest friend, just as my sister, Arianna, was your mother’s. Once Cormac found himself a bride and my sister wed her Englishman, your mother and I grew closer. She understood me better than I understand my own damned self.” He chuckled. “She was something else. Clever and comely. She knew of my past with my father—let’s just say, ’twas not a kind bone in the arse’s body.”

  Liam listened with avid interest while Fraser stared across the chamber at naught in particular.

  “Too often I turned to drink for solace. Mind you, ’twas not the right thing to do, but I cared little at the time. Soon enough, your mother and I grew even closer. So close, we gave in to our—”

  “Nay!” Liam bolted upright, his spine as straight as a board. Saints, what the devil was wrong with the man? “I do not need to hear that. Spare me the details, eh?”

  Christ, ’twas his mother after all. He shuddered at the thought.

  “I thought you wished to know the tale?” Fraser scowled.

  Settling in his seat once more, Liam wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Well, not that blasted part of it.”

  “Fine,” Fraser snapped out. “In any event…Cormac found out about the two of us and approached me with a match. Of course, I was in a piss poor temper and deep into my cups. I ran my damned gob and said some things about your mother, truly despicable things I’d no business saying. Of course, they were untrue, but of all the times for the woman to eavesdrop…alas, she heard every accursed word. Not long after, she learned she’d carried a child…my child. You.” He paused then shook his head. “She’d no wish to ensnare me with marriage simply because she carried a babe, so she never confessed the truth to me. ’Twas my own damned fault, though. I’d left her in a wretched position. Unwilling to wed her and her father would’ve cast her from of the clan.”

  Liam cringed at the thought of his mother in such a damning situation. In a way, he understood why she’d withheld the truth. How frightened and alone she must’ve felt. His heart ached for her.

  Fraser glanced at him with a scowl. “Aye, I know. What an arse I was.” He blew out a long breath. “Cormac knew the truth and, for your mother’s sake, arranged a match between her and Robert MacGregor. The man did not hesitate to agree. He wed your mother and claimed you as his own without an ill thought or otherwise. As you might expect, I loathed your mother for years when I learned she’d wed another and carried his child. I did not take the news of her marriage well, to say the least. ’Twas hard to accept the woman I loved could turn to another so easily.”

  On the contrary, Liam comprehended Fraser’s anger. No doubt, a deep sense of betrayal must’ve consumed the man. “But you did not know ’twas your child she carried.”

  “Nay, but who’s to say I would’ve been the type of husband and father both of you needed or, better yet, one you both deserved.” A self-depreciating laugh rumbled out of him. “I probably would’ve made a wretched father, just like my own. In truth, I’m grateful Robert raised you to be the man you are. He was a good man, your father. A better man than me.”

  The older man’s words left Liam unsettled. Compassion gripped him with a tight wring, compelling him to ease Fraser’s burden. The man held himself solely accountable for his and Elena’s fractured past, while Liam’s mother blamed herself. ’Twas a double-edged sword, drawing blood and leaving lasting wounds from both ends.

  Who knew what might’ve been had their lives taken a different course? But what’s done was done. What was the use of Fraser or his mother lingering in misery and wallowing in self-doubt over a past neither of them could change any more than Liam could.

  Liam snorted. “What utter nonsense.”

  Frowning, Fraser gaped at him. “What?”

  “You’re addled if you believe you would’ve made a wretched father. With as many youths as you’ve spent a good portion of your life training, I highly doubt that. You taught each one of us to be strong, reliable, decent men. ’Tis the mark of a good man who can accomplish such a feat. A good man who stood in as a father to many young lads on several occasions. Do not be so hasty to judge yourself.”

  Fraser swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet chamber. “I hope one day…you might come to forgive me.”

  ’Twas rare for the man to mutter any semblance of an apology, much less a plea for forgiveness. In truth, Hammish Fraser seldom strung together a series of kind words unless, of course, he spoke of his niece, Arabella, or Liam’s mother.

  He’d no notion how they might proceed as father and son, or if either of them truly wished to attempt such an undertaking at this point in their lives. Albeit, naught would change the fact that Liam looked up to the man.

  “There’s naught to forgive. No one’s infallible, Fraser. We’ve all made mistakes at some point or another that we must live with, but those faults do not have to define our futures. ’Tis onward from he
re, old man.” He supplied an encouraging grin.

  Fraser nodded and a faint smile slowly eased the lines of worry from his aging features. “Saints, we sound like a pair of blathering females.”

  “Calum must be rubbing off,” Liam teased.

  Fraser tossed his head back with a roar of laughter. “You should not speak of your cousin so.”

  Liam barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Me? You’re just as bad.”

  “Aye, well.” His laughter waning, he leaned forward. “Help me rise, would you?”

  Liam cocked a brow. “My mother said—”

  “To hell with what you mother said. Now give me a hand.” Fraser tossed aside the furs. Clad in a long tunic, he shifted his pale, hairy legs to hang off the side of the bed. “I’ll be as weak as a lamb if I allow the woman to keep fussing over me.”

  With a firm hand beneath the older man’s upper arm, Liam assisted Fraser from the bed. His first shaky steps strengthened to a sound hobble as he paced the chamber from the bed to the hearth.

  “Ah, ’tis better already.” Fraser beamed with pride.

  “Now that you’ve improved, I’m sure you’d like to resume your duties,” Liam commented.

  “What? Nay.” Fraser waved away the suggestion. “I’m not well enough yet.”

  Liam raised an incredulous brow. “You appear well enough to me.”

  Without a bit of assistance, the older man shuffled to the bed and dropped down on the edge, rubbing at his chest. “Nay, not yet. Please, continue to see to the clan for me, lad.”

  Taking a seat in the chair, Liam rolled his eyes at Fraser’s sudden lapse in health. The man had appeared eager to be on his feet moments ago. He had a sneaking suspicion Fraser might exploit his weakness when it suited the man.

  “There’s something I wished to discuss with you.”

  “Aye?” Fraser shifted to lean back in bed and cover his legs with the furs.

  “You know the water wheel on MacEwan’s land?”

  “Nay, but I’ve seen a few others over the years.”

  “What say you to building one in the village? If we construct one alongside the mill, it’d ease the burden of grinding grain for the stores and make the task of fetching water much easier for the women.”