A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2)

by Angeline Fortin

  “Mistress Marshall.” She’d never heard her name drip with such disdain. Derne sneered down at the dog without coming any closer. “I thought I had put you in Mr. Keeley’s charge. As such, I cannot imagine what brings you here when you should be at his side building the duke his castle.”

  Aila rocked back on her heels and resisted the urge to say something she ought not. “I believe the architects specified that I was to be put to work as Mr. Keeley saw fit, Mr. Derne sir. He has seen fit to demote me to nursemaid and tend to his children so that he may make greater progress.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. Rab’s continued growl was the only sound for a long moment before Derne’s chin bobbed in a stiff nod. “Just so. Mr. Keeley shares my opinion regarding the proper employment of a woman’s skills. Kudos to him for finding a loophole in the instructions provided by the Misters Adam to put you in your proper place. He is to be commended.”

  “I’m sure he is,” was her dry reply.

  “I thought Mr. Boyce said there was nae such thing as —”

  Aila clamped a hand over Niall’s mouth and hauled him up against her side. “Alas, I fear Mr. Keeley’s previous nursemaids have no’ stressed the lesson on how children should be seen and no’ heard.”

  Not that she’d put any credence in the saying before, still this was the perfect time to become a believer. The last thing she needed was for Derne to pay any attention to her or the children. Instinct told her she’d be better off without it.

  “A grievous failure on his part,” Derne agreed then jumped when Rab barked again. “Take your beasts — all of them — and be gone, Mistress Marshall. I need to have a word with Mr. Boyce.”

  The look on the miller’s face said he was no more eager for the steward’s presence than she was. In fact, if she thought the amiable man capable of hatred, she would say that was what she saw written there. “Mr. Boyce?”

  A misstep it might have been to countermand Derne’s orders, but Aila would be damned if she’d leave the kindly miller to face the devil alone if he needed her there.

  “On yer way now, lass. The wee ones will be wanting their meal, aye?”

  Aila nodded and held Rab by the scruff as he lunged for the steward’s ankles. Derne kept well out of reach until they were at the door. She gestured for the children to run ahead and offered one last look of sympathy to Boyce. He waved her away with a taut smile and she made a reluctant departure.

  Something was not right here. Hadn’t Boyce mentioned the previous day that he’d feared they were Derne when he’d heard their arrival? Why was Derne pestering the miller? And coming to the mill to do it? He struck Aila as the sort to summon people into his presence, as if he were the king himself.

  “Who is that man, Aila?” Effie asked in subdued tones as they followed the path back to the castle.

  “Aye, he’s terrifying,” Niall added.

  “That man? He’s evil incarnate. That’s what he is.”

  “What is evil incarnate?”

  “Let me explain.”

  Chapter 16

  “May I please hold it?”

  They sat cross-legged in a circle on a rug in front of the fire in the nursery. The afternoon sky had darkened bringing with it rain and a chill that even a hot bowl of soup hadn’t been able to vanquish. Jean and Fergus joined them with a set of blocks for the toddler to play with while they surveyed their treasure and invented stories as to its origin. Since Niall offered the query without reaching to snatch the necklace from Aila’s hand and managed to instill only a moderate amount of schmaltz to his elongated please, she offered him the piece.

  She felt bad about taking the necklace with her when she’d left the mill. In her defense, she hadn’t had clear opportunity to transfer it back to Boyce without drawing Derne’s attention. She’d make certain to return it tomorrow. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to examine it thoroughly to see if there were something more to the legend. What she’d been able to determine thus far was that, after all the fuss they’d made over it, the clan Boyce of her time would have found their treasure as anti-climactic as she.

  The necklace wasn’t really even a piece of jewelry. Boyce’s mother and wife had been right in their opinions of its wearability. It was more of a chunky pewter pendant or medallion almost three inches in diameter affixed to an equally weighty chain. No precious metal, no jewels. The priceless treasure generations of Boyces had sought was little more than cheap antique store fodder.

  To her. The children were fascinated.

  “It’s heavy.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  “Let me see!” Effie reached for it.

  Before the situation descended into a tug-of-war, Aila promised Effie a turn in five minutes, if she waited patiently. Otherwise, she would get no chance to hold it. They’d made progress on basic manners over the course of the day. From what she’d deduced from the children and Jean, they hadn’t merely been spoiled since their mother’s death. They’d been permitted to run amok under the auspices of allowing them to mourn her passing. Only recently had Finn realized how out of control they’d become and tried to reign them in.

  What had been so obvious to Aila, which she gathered he did not see, was that the pair now wielded their raucous behavior as a tool to garner attention. The more they misbehaved, the more time he spent with them. The vicious cycle would be difficult to break. She’d do her best to make certain he understood the problem before she left it to him to solve. What more could she do?

  She studiously disregarded the wee, nagging voice inside her suggesting she stay as long as needed to assist him. The heavy ache in her chest spawned by the thought of leaving was not as simple to ignore.

  For all their flaws, she liked Niall and Effie. Despite all of Finn’s, she liked him too.

  As heavily flawed as she was herself, imperfection never bothered her. Acceptance was what mattered. She tried to see the good qualities in people with the hope they would do the same with her. To see her as she was and not try to change who she was at her core.

  Tempering the children’s errant behavior might have smacked of hypocrisy. As they were young and still learning — and she knew, not little monsters deep down — she excused her attempts to mold their character.

  She stifled Niall’s protest when she announced it was Effie’s turn with the necklace with a quiet admonishment on the importance of sharing that had Jean rolling her eyes. The nursemaid thought Aila’s effort an exercise in futility. Aila meant to prove her wrong.

  “It’s a deer.” Effie smiled. “I like deer. They’re pretty. And here is a lion?”

  “That’s right,” Aila agreed.

  The medallion was shaped like a heraldic shield. The upper left quadrant depicted a rampant lion. The upper right, a circle that could have been the sun or the moon. Below it in the bottom right quarter was the head of a stag, and in the area beneath the lion were two hands encased in armor gauntlets clasping an upright sword between them. The images were lifted in detailed relief with more depth than Aila had seen before. While she couldn’t put her finger on why she thought so, the herald looked familiar.

  “What do these words mean?” Effie asked, tracing the raised lettering that ran around the edge of the shield with her finger.

  “Veritas Vincit Hostes Nostros,” Niall read in stilted syllables.

  “Do ye ken Latin?” Aila asked him.

  “Nay, I dinnae. Da does,” he said. “He learned it at university.”

  She recognized only one of the words herself. Veritas. Truth. As in In Vino Veritas. A handy saying in reality. Not much help here. Jean, too, shrugged while Fergus crawled out of her lap to take his turn with the treasure. After a quick glance at Aila, Effie offered it to him.

  “Maybe we could go out to the work site and ask him,” Aila suggested as she praised the girl’s generosity with a smile and a squeeze of her shoulders.

  The children shared a look, the most solemn she’d seen from them yet, before Niall shook his head. “We
cannae interrupt him while he works.”

  As they had, many times, Aila was puzzled. “Why no’?”

  “We overheard him this morn….”

  Effie’s words drifted off and Niall picked up from there. “We heard him say we’re a terrible burden.”

  Jean winced. Effie’s chin wobbled and tears welled in her eyes turning the soft hazel to a shining bright green. Aila’s heart broke. She drew the girl into her lap. “Gah, I dinnae think he meant that as ye think. I heard him, too, and I’ve talked with him about ye both. He loves ye verra much. Ye ken that?” They nodded. Niall looked hopeful. “Come here.”

  Niall cuddled up against her side and she put an arm around each of them. “I think what he meant is that being a single father is difficult. Children were meant to be raised by two parents, aye? That’s why we have a Ma and a Da. What happens when one passes on too soon?”

  “We’re left alone,” Effie whispered and rubbed her nose on the back of her hand. Aila fished out the handkerchief she’d taken to keeping in her pocket for this exact reason and handed it to her.

  “And one parent is left without help, without a teammate to share the burden,” Aila added. “The burden is a terrible one, but no’ in the way ye think. Ye see, it’s the responsibility of assuring ye have everything ye need in life. To feed ye, clothe ye, and love ye as fully as two people might, but having to manage it alone. The burden is also in the fear that ye’re failing to give yer children those things. It’s hard being a single parent. Yer Da tries his best and that is all we can ever do, aye? That disnae mean it isnae difficult.”

  As if she knew anything about parenting. Her statement was pure theory born out of wishful thinking. She hadn’t had a sterling parenting example herself. Her father had left when she was little. Her mother cared more about keeping her consecutive husbands and boyfriends happy than raising Aila and her older brother. Aila couldn’t put too much of the blame on her. Happy men refrained from slinging insults and swinging fists better than unhappy ones.

  Aila had sworn she’d never cater to a man like that. Hell, she swore she’d never cater to any man in any sense of the word. Yet she’d fallen into the same pattern more often than she’d care to admit.

  At least she’d never married any of them.

  “Ye two need to do yer best, too, to help him along the way,” she continued. “Yer tendency to create trouble makes him feel like he’s failing in his duty. I ken ye do it because ye want all the love and attention ye’re missing out on without a mother here to make up the difference, but ye have to remember. He’s only one man. Do ye understand? Ye should work together, no’ against one another, to live yer best life.”

  Niall’s chin jutted out, though not in his usual rebellion mode. Aila suspected it was an attempt to hold back tears of his own. “It’s all right to cry,” she assured him. “Hiding our feelings never helps in the end.”

  “I’m no’ crying. Boys dinnae cry,” Niall denied with a swipe of his eyes.

  “I can assure ye that boys and men do cry. It disnae take anything away from them to do so,” she assured him. “Have ye never seen yer father cry?”

  The lad shook his head. “He would never.”

  “I’d wager he has.”

  “Talking about feelings again, Mistress Marshall?”

  * * *

  If he were honest, the sight of Aila cuddled before the fire with his children in her arms did stir more than a few feelings. Not only ones he shouldn’t be having, but ones Finn wouldn’t have thought himself capable of any longer. As if the autumn chill curled in his benumbed heart had given way to the warmth of spring. To renewal and rebirth. And blossomed once more.

  Not that he would confess to those emotions.

  In this case, however, it wouldn’t be a fatal blow to his manhood to confess a few others.

  “Do ye think I dinnae shed a tear when yer mother died, lad?” Niall’s head waggled up, down and to the side in a jagged pattern of indecision. “I did. As I did when my parents passed from this earth. As Ian did, I’d wager, when he lost his family.”

  “Dinnae drag me into this,” Ian mumbled as he pushed past Finn to enter the nursery and go to his son. Fergus welcomed him with a broad smile and open arms.

  “My point is,” Finn continued as he squatted down on his haunches and gestured for Niall and Effie to come to him, “It disnae make ye any less of a man to care about others and to mourn them. Now, I realize I’m wet, but is that the sum of the greeting I’m to receive?”

  He gathered his children into his arms and hugged them close. Effie sniffled in his ear. “I’m sorry we’re a burden, Da. I ken ye do the best ye can.”

  A small part of Finn cringed at the sentimental lessons Aila was teaching his offspring. There was no advantage in being softhearted in a world as harsh and unforgiving as theirs was these days. On the other hand, her summation of his “burden” had struck a nerve. Raising them right…nay, raising them on his own and hoping he managed it sufficiently was an arduous challenge. He’d never considered — or been willing to consider — that fear of failure in that quarter haunted him where Effie and Niall were concerned.

  He should thank Aila for her insight. On the other hand, he wouldn’t want to encourage further talk about his feelings. Especially when they were as unsettled as they were.

  “Ye have never been a burden. Ye’re the greatest joy of my life.” He cleared his throat.

  “What is this?” Ian drew a heavy chain out of his son’s mouth and hands and held it aloft.

  “It’s treasure, Da!” Niall pulled away and jumped to catch the necklace Ian held out of his reach.

  “It has an inscription the children were hoping ye might be able to translate for them.”

  Finn glanced at Aila as she spoke in her light, throaty brogue. As he feared, she appeared affected by his spurt of honesty. Her blue eyes soft. Affectionate. There’d been times in the past few days when he’d wondered at her thoughts. Right now, he’d rather not know. He’d gotten in deeper with her than he’d anticipated. That springtime thaw in his heart didn’t need any encouragement.

  It didn’t help that she looked so soft and inviting. Her hair hung loose in a long straight fall of copper today with only a few strands from the front pinned in the back. She’d replaced her tight bodice with a blouse of woven flax similar to the ones the maids wore, tucked into a brown skirt. The neckline gathered by a drawstring, though not drawn so tight that he couldn’t see the fine line of her collarbone when the woolen shawl around her shoulders slipped down. The shawl bore the brown, sky blue and grass green plaid of the Marshall clan. She was as lovely and desirable as he’d imagined her through the day. She couldn’t have been more distracting if she’d been at his side.

  Tearing his eyes away from her, he focused on the medallion Ian dangled in front of him. “Let me see.” He took it and turned it over in his hands before he studied the relief. “Where did ye get this? I feel as if I’ve seen this shield before.”

  “Right? Thank ye!” They all appeared puzzled by her comment, perhaps the modern phraseology. “I mean to say, I thought it looked familiar, too.”

  “It fell out of Mr. Boyce’s chute, Da.” In her excitement, Effie danced a circle on her toes. “Hidden treasure!”

  Finn turned back to Aila who shrugged. Her shawl dropped a bit farther down her arm, dragging her blouse over her shoulder. “A game. Bringing it back with us was a bit of an accident. I’ll return it to him tomorrow.” The children protested only to be subdued by a sharp look. Hers, not his. And with surprising effectiveness. “It is no’ ours to keep. But…” She looked back at him. “As none of us ken Latin, we thought ye might help read it before we return it.”

  Turning his back to the fire to force himself to look away, he held it up to catch the light. “Veritas Vincit Hostes Nostros. Truth prevails against the enemy.”

  “Or truth conquers the enemy amongst us,” Ian offered his own translation with a smug grin. “Ye always did get p
oor marks in Latin.”

  “What does it mean, Da?”

  As he looked over the depiction once more, Finn considered his son’s question. The inscription could have any number of meanings. As could the images. On a coat of arms, which the shield reminded him of, the lion often symbolized courage, nobility or valor. There was one on the clan Keeley heraldry, as well as clans MacKintosh, Campbell, and many others for that matter. The stag or hart was an emblem of purity and fleetness. Also healing. It, too, was represented on the coat of arms of many a clan. Including that of Clan Marshall, if he remembered correctly.

  He glanced up to find Aila’s wide curious gaze upon him, freckles dark in the dying light. She appeared anything but duplicitous, yet he had to remember that he knew little about her. How she’d come to be here.

  Particularly since….

  Och, his body pleaded with him to claim the body she so sweetly surrendered without a care for the rest. To indulge in this affair of the heart that could be considered both pure and fleeting in the right context. His mind, on the other hand, cautioned a hasty retreat. What compromise could there be to satisfy them both?

  “The depictions could represent any number of things. The words, however…. Mistress Marshall, do ye ken the motto of yer clan?”

  Her surprise seemed genuine. “Nay.”

  Ian snorted, far more amused by the coincidence than Finn. “Veritas Vincit. That’s yer clan motto, lass. No’ the rest of it, however it is an amusing happenstance.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Aye, isn’t it just?”

  Chapter 17

  It had to be a coincidence. Didn’t it? She had to admit, her interest in the centuries-old mystery of the treasure had been renewed by the improbable link to her surname. More so when Finn pointed out how the stag stood center on her clan’s coat-of-arms. Aila couldn’t help but be intrigued. She really did love a good mystery.