The MacLeans: Sleepless in Scotland

by Karen Hawkins

  Triona hugged herself, dropping her head against the wind. It battered against her, pushing her back, back. She stumbled and fell onto the bed.

  All over the house, vases could be heard breaking, chairs toppling over. Outside, lightning cracked as thunder roared. Someone gave a muffled shout, and then—

  Just as suddenly as it began, it ended. All that could be heard was the steady beat of rain on the roof.

  Hugh’s eyes glowed an odd green and his lips were almost white. Strain showed in every line of his face.

  “I-I h-h-hope you’re h-h-happy n-now,” she said through chattering teeth, furious and freezing. The robe had blown around one of the bedposts and she scrambled over the sheets to retrieve it. She pulled it on, glaring at him.

  Hugh rubbed his furrowed forehead, deep lines tracing from his nose to his mouth. “Caitriona…I don’t know why I did that. I-I’ve never done that before and I—” He passed a shaking hand over his face, his expression stricken.

  “Go.”

  He took a step toward her, but she quickly moved away.

  Something flickered deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t answer, unable to put all of her feelings of hurt, disappointment, anger, and fear into words. She felt everything and yet nothing but her chilled soul, as if all of those emotions weren’t enough to warm her.

  “Caitriona, I—”

  She shook her head and sank down on the bed, clutching the pillows to her.

  Finally, with a pained expression, he left.

  Caitriona listened to his footsteps receding, waiting until she could hear no more. Then she buried her face in a pillow and cried.

  Hugh stopped at the bottom of the steps, opening and closing his hands. What in the hell had he done? He never lost his temper. Not since his youth, when his younger brother had been killed, had he allowed his temper to get the better of him. This time, he hadn’t just lost his temper, but he’d directed the wind, and he had nothing but a sickening headache and a painfully hollow feeling in his chest to show for his efforts.

  He looked around the foyer at the fallen portraits and the ripped curtains. A large vase had shattered in one corner. Worse, Angus and Liam were staring at him, uncertainty in their faces. Their uniforms were askew, disarrayed by the storm he’d unleashed in the house.

  Regret choked him. “Liam, fetch the girls and their luggage. They will be staying at my brother’s for a few days.”

  “Right away, m’lord.” Liam took the stairs two at a time, obviously glad to leave.

  Angus stood rigidly at attention.

  “I will need the coach brought around.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” He sprinted off as if he couldn’t wait to get away.

  Hugh felt queasy, his head pounding as if he’d spun in a circle too many times. He would feel like this for several days, more if he didn’t rest.

  He hadn’t meant to get angry. It had just infuriated him when Caitriona accused him of not being capable of sharing himself with his daughters. He loved Christina and Devon and Aggie with a love that had no bounds. How dare Caitriona question him!

  But she did. She dared question him, just as she dared to give the girls a taste of their own pranks. Exhausted, he looked up the stairs and wondered what she was doing now. She’d appeared stricken. Should he go to her? Talk to her?

  Why? You don’t even know how you feel. He shook his head and walked to the door to wait outside for the children.

  He needed some time and space to untangle the welter of lust and emotions Caitriona caused. A lot of time, and a lot of space.

  Thank God he knew where to find both.

  Chapter 16

  “’Tis a sad day when ye ha’ t’ pinch yerself t’ see if ye’re awake or in th’ midst o’ a night terror. ’Tis a really sad day when ye have t’ pinch yerself twice.”

  OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT

  Mrs. Wallis bent down and squinted into the gloom. “I’m not sure which one ’tis, but…” She frowned. “Maybe ’tis no’ here, after all. But I remember it bein’ here, so…” She squinted again.

  Triona, standing behind Mrs. Wallis, waited patiently. Outside a cold wind blew, a remnant of Hugh’s fury, occasionally rattling the windows and leaking in around the sills.

  Her stomach tightened at the memory of their argument two days ago. She hadn’t slept well since. If she was honest, part of the reason was that she was so used to having MacLean’s warm body in the bed, which seemed colder and even huger without him.

  Mrs. Wallis straightened, her head barely missing the rafter overhead.

  “Careful!” Triona warned, holding the lantern higher.

  “Aye, the beams are low.”

  “And solid.” Triona looked around. “Even this part of the house is exceptionally well built. The attic at Wythburn is the size of a closet and leaks dreadfully.”

  “Aye, the master has done wonders. When the journeymen finished wi’ the house, he sent them to the laird to work on the castle. They’ve done amazin’ things there as well.”

  Triona had seen the castle plenty of times. Huge and imposing, it was perched on a ridge across the valley from Mam’s large house. As a young child visiting her grandmother, Triona had imagined the two edifices—the ancient castle of the cursed MacLeans and the new manor house where Mam always kept cookies for her wee granddaughters—were keeping watch over the sleepy town nestled by the river below.

  “Hold tha’ lamp over here. I’m thinkin’ the trunk we need might be in this corner after all.”

  Triona did as she was told and was rewarded with a glad cry from Mrs. Wallis. “Aye! There ’tis! I’ll send Liam to fetch it.” She smiled at Triona. “’Tis a sweet thing ye be doin’, makin’ the lassies new wool petticoats fer their ridin’ habits. His lordship doesna think o’ the cold, and he has those poor bairns ridin’ in the worst weather. ’Tis a wonder they have no’ died o’ the ague!”

  Triona had some thoughts on his lordship, too, but none of them were fit for public airing.

  Mrs. Wallis took the lantern and headed back downstairs. As Triona followed, she groaned. “I’m so sore from riding. Does it ever get better?”

  Mrs. Wallis chuckled. “Look how long ye rode this mornin’, and withou’ Ferguson, too! I was a bit worried fer ye, since ye were gone fer two whole hours.”

  “I’m regretting every minute of it now.”

  Mrs. Wallis sent her a beaming smile. “Well, I think ’tis a good thing ye’re doin’. His lordship will be so pleased. Horses are his life—he lives and breathes them.” Mrs. Wallis tsked. “Worse, he’s raisin’ those three young wild things to do the same. He takes ’em riding every day, rain or shine.”

  Because he loves them. Since Hugh had left, Triona had relived their argument over and over. Everytime she came to the part where she had accused him of not being able to care, she winced.

  That was grossly false, for he dearly loved his girls. She’d spoken in hurt and anger, and her words had achieved their purpose—she’d made him just as upset and angry at her as she’d been at him.

  Triona’s throat tightened, and she had to clear it before she asked, “Why do you call the girls ‘wild things’?”

  “Spoiled, they are. If they were my lassies, I’d give ’em a good switchin’. His lordship doesna see the trouble they cause. Good as gold they are, when he’s in the house, but let him be gone ten minutes…” She scowled. “Just last week, one o’ them put salt in the sugar bowl but I discovered it before ’twas set on the table!”

  Triona smiled. “My brothers have done much worse than that. William especially can be counted on to think of new ways to get into trouble.” The thought made her momentarily homesick. What were her brothers and sisters doing right now?

  Her feelings must have been evident, for Mrs. Wallis’s expression softened. “Aye, children will be children.”

  “Except William is twenty years old and should know better.” Sh
e would write her brothers and sisters another letter today. She was due one from them, too. Caitlyn was a horrible scribe, as were William and Robert. But Michael and Mary could be counted on to send her long, detailed accounts of all that went on at Wythburn.

  She could picture them now, sitting about the small fireplace. Mary would be knitting or embroidering, for she never sat without keeping her hands busy. Robert would be reading some tome he thought might endear him to Father, while sneering at Caitlyn, who read nothing but the ladies’ magazines and fashion plates. William would be lounging against the mantel talking about horses or hunting or whatever new hobby he was pursuing, while Michael, if still feeling poorly, would be on the old red settee bundled against the cold.

  She even missed Robert’s complaining! But with Gilmerton so empty, the halls seemed to echo. And the fact she and Hugh had parted on such difficult terms made things worse.

  “Will ye be visitin’ yer grandmother, m’ lady? Liam will be goin’ to town on some errands fer Cook today and won’t be about to drive ye, since Ferguson is gone.”

  “No, she always visits town on Wednesdays, so I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Very good, m’ lady. ’Tis nice tha’ ye visit yer grandmother.”

  “She’s been a great help to me. She might know what to do about these sore muscles, too.”

  Triona followed Mrs. Wallis down the grand staircase to the foyer. Liam and Angus were polishing silver in the dining room, close enough to the front door to hear if someone knocked.

  “’Tis a boon yer grandmother knows her herbs,” the housekeeper said.

  “She’s been a healer for most of her life. She also runs the mills my grandfather left her.”

  “Och!” Mrs. Wallis’s eyes grew round. “No’ the Hurst mills?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never say tha’ yer grandmother’s Old Woman Nora from Hurst House?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  Mrs. Wallis beamed. “If I’d only known yer grandmother was Old Woman Nora! I’ve always wish’t to meet her but never had the privilege. She delivered two o’ me granddaughters. Me Mary had a horrible time wit’ the last one, but she said she knew when Old Nora arrived tha’ she and the bairn would survive, no matter wha’.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to know she’s remembered.”

  Mrs. Wallis shook her head, smiling. “To think tha’ his lordship runs off to Londontown and ends up marryin’ the granddaughter o’ Old Woman Nora! ’Twas fate as brought the two o’ ye together.”

  Triona wished she could believe that; it would be nice to have fate in her corner. She’d alienated Hugh and she needed all of the assistance she could get, divine and otherwise. She stifled a sigh. “I wish to write a letter to my family and shall need more ink. The well in the sitting-room desk is dry.”

  “Aye, m’ lady. I’ll see to it right away.” Mrs. Wallis shot a glance at Triona and said, “My, tha’ was quite a storm we had the other day.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Triona said politely.

  “Aye, it scared poor Cook nigh to death. An entire rack of knives came flyin’ at her as she hid under the workbench.”

  “I’m glad no one was hurt.” If someone had been, she’d have felt responsible for she’d goaded Hugh.

  It was a good lesson. If she wanted a reaction out of him, anger was not a viable option. Besides, she much preferred his unbridled lust.

  They reached the sitting-room door and the housekeeper said, “I’ll bring some ink straight away.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wallis. I appreciate your assistance.”

  “Och, think nothin’ o’ it! Ye’ve been ridin’ and climbin’ stairs, and that’s just this morning. I can tell ye’ve been raised in the healthy country air. Moira says ye were out of yer bed this mornin’ a full hour afore me!”

  Oh, Triona had been up much longer than that. She’d awakened with the dawn, cold and alone and missing being tucked against Hugh’s warm, naked body. Each morning as she’d stir sleepily, he’d tease her to a passion to match his own.

  But she missed him for more than their lovemaking. Over the past few weeks, he had become a part of her life. She enjoyed their conversations over breakfast before the girls were up, about their childhoods and their expectations and even nothing at all. Added to their physical bond, it was a beginning.

  If only she could convince him to unleash some of his passion out of bed as well…but after their argument, he’d be even more determined to keep her at arm’s length.

  Worse, she was just beginning to realize the effect his actions had on the girls. They were resisting her not because they resented her position in the household, but because they could sense their father’s reluctance and feared her influence over him. If they only knew the truth, that she not only had no influence over their father, but she’d been completely unable to engage him in any way except on a physical level. Well that, and she apparently possessed the dubious talent of stirring his temper to boiling heights.

  She rubbed her arms, suddenly restless. Since Hugh had left, she’d been having the same thoughts over and over. Left alone in such a huge house and filled with regrets over her final words with her husband, was beginning to take its toll. She needed a project to keep her busy, something that would leave her good and tired when the sun sank below the horizon and the empty house suddenly seemed bigger and even emptier.

  “Will there be anythin’ else, m’ lady?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Mrs. Wallis, how many years have you been with Lord Hugh?”

  “Fifteen,” she said proudly.

  “So you know MacLean very well.”

  Mrs. Wallis’s gray eyes met hers steadily. “Aye. Well enough to know when one o’ them has lost his temper.”

  “It would be difficult to miss,” Triona said dryly.

  “Why did ye wish to know?”

  “Because I’m of a mind to make some changes. Nothing drastic, but it would be nice if I could add something—something of myself—to Gilmerton.” Before I leave.

  “That seems a fair idea. Wha’ is it ye have in mind?”

  “I would like to surprise his lordship by making the house better in some way. But everything is so well run that there’s really no room for improvement.”

  Mrs. Wallis beamed. “Thank ye, m’ lady. I dinna know if this is what ye had in mind, but I’ve thought fer several years tha’ perhaps we should move the furniture. If ye keep it one way too long, it mars the wood floors as people walk just one way through the room.”

  “A wonderful idea. Perhaps we can do that after lunch—”

  There was a loud knock on the door, and Liam came out to open it.

  Mam swept in dressed in her Sunday finest, a lavender gown with a sober gray cape, her sober brown boots peeking out from beneath the hem. Her iron gray curls were tucked beneath the largest flowered bonnet Triona had ever seen.

  Leaning upon her cane, she looked Triona up and down. “Well? Are ye goin’ to offer me a drop o’ tea? I traveled a whole hour to get here, and me bones are creakin’ wit’ a powerful thirst.”

  Mrs. Wallis dipped a curtsey. “I’ll fetch ye some tea right away. By the way, Mrs. Hurst, I’m sorry I dinna know before tha’ ye were Nora the Healer or I’d have thanked ye fer helpin’ me bairns.”

  Mam lifted an interested brow. “Oh? An’ who might yer wee ones be?”

  “Mary Wallis and Lara Kirkland.”

  “Och, I remember them both! How are yer bonny daughters a’doin’?”

  Mrs. Wallis flushed with pleasure. She spent several minutes telling Nora about her daughters, then scurried off to fetch tea and scones.

  “Don’t forget the marmalade!” Mam called after her. “I do love some nice marmalade when I’m out visitin’.” She sent a guilty glance at Triona. “I don’t like to serve it meself, as ’tis mighty dear.”

  Triona laughed and hugged the old woman. “You are just the woman I was hoping to see.”

  “I figured ye might could us
e an ear.” Mam cocked a silver brow as Triona escorted her into the sitting room. “I suppose ye could say the thought came a’ me in a rush.”

  Triona sighed. “The wind?”

  “Aye. Tha’ had to be his lordship and no one else.” Mam sat on the settee by the fireplace and patted the cushion beside her. “Come, child, and tell me what’s happened.”

  Soon Triona was pouring out her heart to her grandmother. Mam listened to it all, asking shrewd questions along the way. They stopped only when Mrs. Wallis brought in a tray of scones with marmalade and tea.

  Finally, long after Mrs. Wallis had departed, Triona finished.

  Mam sat in silence for a moment and then tsked. “Ye both lost yer tempers.”

  “I was so frustrated.”

  “I can see tha’.” Mam took a noisy sip of her tea. “Lassie, wha’ do ye want from MacLean?”

  “I want him to fully accept me as his wife.”

  “Ah. So ye wish fer a commitment of the heart.” She patted Triona’s hand. “Ye wish him to be in love wit’ ye.”

  “No, no, no. I just want him to…” What did she want? Acceptance? Yes, of course, but she wanted more, too.

  Was Mam right? Did she want a commitment of the heart? Could she ask for such a thing?

  “Easy, now! Yer head will explode if ye keep thinkin’ so hard. ’Tis no’ a complicated matter. From wha’ ye said, it sounds as if ye were both barin’ yer teeth at one another. Ye each owe t’other an apology.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Mam patted her hand. “La, lassie! Is tha’ so bad?” Her bright eyes locked on Triona’s. “Tell me—and this is important, lass—do ye love him?”

  Good God, what made her ask such a thing? “No! Of course I don’t. I mean, I care for him, but—” She blinked. Finally, she said slowly, “It’s possible, I suppose. But I surely hope not.”