The MacLeans - Sleepless in Scotla

by Karen Hawkins

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t felt the same; it’s a perfectly natural reaction.” Devon bent and retrieved a piece of paper from the floor. She glanced at it, then handed it to Triona. “I believe this is yours. It’s the menu for the week.”

  “What are we having tonight?” Aggie asked eagerly.

  “Roast lamb.”

  “Good!” Aggie patted her stomach in anticipation. “I hope there’s no mint sauce. Papa hates that.”

  Triona took silent note of this tidbit of information. Never was it more apparent that she was married to a stranger than when she’d first attempted to set the menu. Based on the standard dishes served at Gilmerton, Mrs. Wallis knew some of Hugh’s likes and dislikes, but she’d been unable to vouch for his opinions regarding some of the new dishes Triona had wished to add.

  It was but one example of the many things she didn’t know about her husband. It was rather nice that the children knew his tastes so well for it saved Triona from having to question him when he came home.

  “Yes,” Devon said. “He hates mint sauce as much as he loves carrots. Especially carrots baked into his cottage pie.”

  Christina blinked. “But—”

  Devon pulled her sister back up the stairs. “We’d better review our Greek before Mrs. Appleton wakes up from her nap.”

  Aggie trailed behind her older sisters. “I don’t want to do my Greek!”

  “If you want to ride with Papa this afternoon, you have to finish. You know how he is,” Devon said.

  Shoulders slumped, Aggie walked slowly up the stairs after her sisters.

  So MacLean loved carrots in his cottage pie, did he? Perhaps they’d have that instead of the roast lamb. If there was one dish Triona could make, it was cottage pie. She wondered if they had the ingredients already, or if—

  A carriage rattled up to the portico, and Liam went to answer the door.

  As Triona smoothed her gown, she heard a voice say, “Let go o’ me arm, ye idiot! Do I look as if I canna walk on me own?”

  Chapter 13

  “’Tis a woman’s right to change her mind, and a man’s right to keep his.”

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

  Mam!” Triona hurried across the foyer to envelop her grandmother in a hug.

  Nora blinked back tears. “Och, how are ye, me dear bairn!”

  “Oh, Mam, I’m so glad to see you! Will you come into the sitting room? There’s a nice fire there and I can have some scones sent up.”

  “Aye, I could use somethin’ to warm me bones.”

  Triona sent word that refreshments were needed; then she assisted Mam into a nice, comfy chair in the sitting room. With a smile, she sank down in the one opposite. “You should have waited for me to visit you.”

  “How could I do tha’ what wit’ yer sister sendin’ me a fat letter tha’ dinna say a damn thing, and then ye sending me tha’ sliver o’ paper ye call a note? I’ll know wha’ is happenin’ or I’ll die tryin’!”

  Triona had to laugh. “Caitlyn can write more and say less than anyone I know.”

  Mam turned a shrewd eye on Triona. “So, out with it. Wha’ has ye in a dither?”

  “Oh, Mam! There is so much—this all…it all happened so fast.”

  “I daresay ye’re a bit confused, gettin’ wed out o’ pocket in such a way. Wha’ was yer da thinkin’?”

  “He wasn’t in town. Uncle Bedford and Aunt Lavinia—”

  Nora snorted. “Say no more! Those pompous fools couldna find their way out o’ a sack o’ potatoes, much less finagle a mess like yer sister set ye into.”

  “Caitlyn didn’t mean to cause harm. The laird mocked her, and you know how she is.”

  “She’s a sight too much like her mam, if ye ask me. I canna believe ye dinna write me. I’d have come and straightened out this mess.”

  “We didn’t have time. People were saying horrible things, and not just about me. The entire family’s name was being torn to bits, and with Papa being a vicar…”

  “I see.” Mam’s shrewd blue gaze met Triona’s. “So…how are ye?”

  “I’m fine. I miss the family, of course.”

  “Aye, so did I when I first married. That’s normal.” Nora patted Triona’s hand. “Now, tell me, me bairn, wha’s sent ye runnin’ to me knee? Wha’s that husband o’ yers doin’ to upset ye?”

  “It’s more what he’s not doing.”

  “Och, now! Dinna tell me he’s no’ laid hands on ye since ye wed, fer I’ve seen Hugh MacLean, and he’s no’ the sort to let a lass as bonny as ye slip away wit’out markin’ her his own.”

  Triona blushed. “No, that’s the best part, in fact. It’s about my position. This isn’t a normal marriage, so I don’t know how—”

  “Hold now, lassie. Ye’re his wife, aren’t ye?”

  Triona’s lips trembled in the beginning of a smile. “Yes, I am.”

  “And ye want to make his life better, and fer him to make yers better?”

  “Well…yes.”

  “Tha’ sounds like a normal marriage to me.” Nora regarded her granddaughter shrewdly. “Or it will be, once’t ye stop treating it like it’s not.”

  Triona was silent for a moment. “I suppose you’re right. So much of our trouble is that we don’t know one another well enough. When I arrived here, I discovered that Hugh has three daughters.”

  “Wha’?”

  “I was quite shocked, too.”

  Nora pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Three, ye say? When did that happen?”

  “Well, one of them is about fifteen. The next is thirteen, and the youngest is about six. At first I thought Hugh must still have feelings for their mother, since he’d obviously been with her for a long time, but he said that was not the case. And he looks very angry whenever he says her name.”

  “Weel, then, what has ye so low?”

  “When we married, MacLean and I agreed that when the rumors died down, I would return to Wythburn.”

  “No!”

  “Mam, neither MacLean nor I wished to marry, so—”

  “Pssht! Ye are married, so forget this wishin’ an’ wantin’. Ye made a promise to each other, and ye should honor it.”

  “He doesn’t want me involved in his life—any more than I wish him involved in mine.”

  “Och, yer modern ideas are all hash.”

  Triona shook her head. “Mam, it’s not a modern marriage. It’s just that since we were forced into this situation, we should do what we could to”—she struggled to find the words, finally blurting out—“to minimalize the damage.”

  Mam turned red. “Damage? Since when has marriage been ‘damage’?”

  “That’s not how I meant to say it.”

  “The problem with ye and Lord Hugh is tha’ ye haven’t yet faced the facts. Ye’re married whether ye like it or not and the sooner ye both accept tha’, the sooner ye can settle into a good, healthy marriage and no’ this ‘minimalizing the damage’ bull.”

  “But what if we find we don’t suit?”

  “Then ye’ll do as the rest o’ us and work at suiting.”

  Triona wished it was that simple. “Mam, there is more to it than you think. Hugh asked that I remain aloof from the girls so they won’t miss me when I’m gone.”

  “He’s worried about the lassies?”

  “Yes, and he’s right. They’ve had a difficult life, and if I came to care for them and they for me, and then I left—well, it would be difficult for us all, but especially for them.”

  “Then dinna leave.”

  “That’s not an option. We got married only to stop the rumors and save my sisters from ruin by association.”

  “Fools, the both o’ ye.” Mam cocked a brow. “What about now?”

  “I know when the time comes to leave, I’ll be ready but…I would like to get to know the children, to spend time with them. If they are plainly told that I’m leaving, I don’t think they’ll feel abandoned when I do. Afterward, I
can keep in touch with them through letters, or have them visit at Wythburn.”

  “So, get to know the lassies.”

  “But MacLean has asked me not to.”

  “Lassie, listen to me. Many a time we make decisions, only to realize they’re wrong. Ye must be brave enough to live yer own life, make yer own mistakes, and fix ’em by yerself. Ye’re not fixin’ ’em if yer sitting around all miserable, wishin’ someone else would do the work.”

  Triona sighed. “Marriage is so difficult! I thought MacLean and I would have it easier, since we didn’t marry for love.”

  “That is where ye’re wrong. Love is wha’ greases the wheels on the cart.”

  Triona smiled. “I’m beginning to realize that. It’s difficult for me to settle for less than what my parents have.”

  “Aye, and in a good relationship, ye hand the reins back and forth when the time comes. Seems to me tha’ no one is drivin’ yer cart.”

  Triona considered that, then slowly nodded. “Perhaps I haven’t taken my fair turn ‘driving the cart’ because I am too worried about being wrong, or hurting someone’s feelings.”

  Mam blew out a gusty sigh. “Och, ye dinna know the times I’ve had to preach against such thinkin’. Women too often see themselves as the world’s caretakers, which is a great pity if ye ask me. I say let some o’ the men carry the burden! They’re always goin’ on about how braw they are. Use some o’ tha’ muscle on some real work, is what I say!” Mam shook her head in obvious disgust. “I think ye’ve let the MacLean magic weave a spell upon ye that ye’re not thinkin’ so clearly as ye should.”

  “There is no spell, just a curse. You know, I’d always thought you’d made that up, about the storms.”

  Mam looked surprised. “Why would I do such a thing as tha’?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I just thought it was a fairytale.” The only fairytale so far had been the one MacLean managed to create between the sheets. That sort of magic intrigued Triona far more than the storm-making. “I have to find a way to express myself better. Hugh is very logical and he makes so much sense and speaks with such authority and assurance that his way of doing things seems to be the only way; like this issue with the girls. He explained very calmly why he thought I shouldn’t have anything to do with them and at the time it seemed to make sense, so I agreed. Later, after I’d had time to think through things, I realize I shouldn’t have. The girls need me in their lives and, right now, I need them, too.”

  “Exactly! Ye must do wha’ is right, or yer partner canna trust ye to make the tough decisions.”

  “So…if I decide our decision about the girls is wrong, I should let him know.”

  “Aye. It might irritate him, but think on it: he married ye because ’twas the right thing to do, so he’s honorable.”

  “You’re right. I’ll speak with him.”

  “There’s one more thing to consider. As soon as ye stepped foot in his house, he told ye ye’re not to involve yerself. Perhaps this isna so much about the lassies as about MacLean. Maybe the real person he’s protectin’, but doesna even know it, is himself.”

  Triona frowned. “I don’t know about that. He has an arrogant streak.”

  “All of the MacLeans do.”

  “So I’ve come to believe. I don’t know how to convince him that I might be right about the girls. He gets very defensive whenever I mention them.”

  “It might take some time; ye’ll have to build some trust first.”

  Triona sighed. “I know. I’ve been trying to show him that I am a woman of my word, but I’m not sure he really notices.”

  “Just be yerself and do as ye’d normally do. Ye build trust just by being there and no’ goin’ away. MacLean will come round eventually.”

  “I don’t want to wait that long! I’m used to having my family about me. I-I’m lonely and…” Her voice quivered.

  Mam squeezed her hand. “When ye’re feelin’ blue, ye can come visit me and we’ll fill yer heart wit’ scones and jam so ye’ve the strength to go back. Besides”—her eyes twinkled—“I dinna think he’ll hold out long.”

  “I hope not.”

  Mam looked thoughtful. “I heard tell tha’ MacLean’s a horse breeder. I’d suggest ye take some ridin’ lessons, lass.”

  She could do that. MacLean’s head groom, Ferguson, would be qualified to teach her—and then she could surprise Hugh with her newly acquired skill. “I will, thank you. And I will talk to Hugh about the girls, though I don’t think he’ll listen.”

  “Find yer compassion, lass. He’s like a rooster protectin’ his flock, all puffed-up feathers and sharp beak. Once’t he realizes ye mean him and his kin no harm, he’ll see ye in a different light.”

  Triona managed a faint smile. “I wish I could be as certain about that as you are. Still, you’ve given me a lot to consider. I think I will learn to ride. That should prove I’m willing to make an effort to meet him halfway. And then, when the time is right, I’ll broach the subject of the girls. Meanwhile, I’ll start treating Gilmerton as if it is, indeed, my own house, beginning tonight. I believe I’ll cook some of my shepherd’s pie.”

  Mam beamed. “That’s me girl!”

  “Thank you.”

  “And then? Wha’ about ye, lass? Ye canna give wit’out receivin’. What will ye ask in return?”

  She thought about this. Finally, she said, “The right to decide for myself when the time has come for me to go.”

  “Tha’s me granddaughter! Don’t ye worry about MacLean: no man can stand alone fer long. ’Tis no’ in their nature.” Mam enveloped Triona in a hug that smelled of powder and lavender. “Just make sure ye visit me often. I might ha’ a few questions fer ye myself. I’ve been wonderin’ about the MacLeans, and now me granddaughter is wed to one! Who’d ha’ thought.”

  “Who’d have thought, indeed.” Triona smiled as Mrs. Wallis brought in a plate of scones and a pot of hot tea. “Mrs. Wallis, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Nora H—”

  “Och,” Mam interrupted, her gaze fixed on the housekeeper. “So ye’re the one who’s responsible fer the dust on the windowsills!”

  Mrs. Wallis gulped and scurried to the closest window where she drew her finger across the smooth surface. Whatever she saw made her redden. “Why that lazy—” She bit off the sentence and turned to Mam and curtsied. “I’ll send the girl to finish up her chores right away.”

  Triona wished Mam didn’t try to fix everything. “Thank you, Mrs. Wallis. Also, for tonight, will you tell Cook that I’ll be preparing dinner this evening?”

  “You, m’ lady?”

  Mam scowled. “She’s a good cook, she is. All of me granddaughters are.”

  Mrs. Wallis dunked a curtsey. “Sorry! I dinna mean to suggest—Of course I’ll let Cook know she can have the night off. She’ll be glad o’ the chance to visit her sister.”

  For the first time in a week, Triona felt as if she knew who she was and what she should do. With a smile, she filled Mam’s teacup.

  Big wars were won with small battles, and she’d start hers with the best cottage pie Hugh MacLean had ever eaten.

  Hugh handed his coat to Liam. “Where is Lady Caitriona?”

  “I think she’s a-gettin’ ready fer dinner, as are the girls, m’lord.”

  Hugh nodded and made his way up the stairs. He’d just reached the landing when he met the girls, dressed for dinner and dashing to the dining room. Their sashes were half-tied, their hair ribbons askew. “Hold it!” he ordered.

  They skidded to a halt. Devon shoved her hair from her face and frowned. “Yes?”

  Behind her, Christina was trying to tie her sash behind her back, her elbows sticking out, while Aggie hopped on one foot and adjusted her stockings.

  “Where are you going?”

  Christina finished tying her sash. “Down to dinner.”

  He glanced at the clock on the landing. “Early?”

  Devon frowned. “You told us not to be late again.”

  �
�I’ve told you that a few times, but I’ve never seen you come down early.”

  “We’re just excited,” Aggie said.

  Devon shot her a hard glance and the younger girl turned pink.

  “Not excited, really,” Aggie amended. “Just hungry.”

  “That’s right,” Christina said. “We’re starving. We did ride with you for over two hours this afternoon.”

  “And played with the new foals,” Devon added.

  He eyed them again. Something was going on, but the three gazes that met his told him nothing. He stepped aside. “Go ahead, then. But have yourselves put together by the time dinner is served.”

  “Yes, Papa!” They were gone in a flash, their slippers pounding down the stairs.

  Hugh smiled as he went to his bedchamber. There was plenty of time for ladylike behavior later, when they were older. It was good that they were relaxing so much.

  He opened his door and looked around, but the bedchamber was silent. Every time he’d come home for the last week, Caitriona had been here, dressing for dinner. He was surprised at the sudden rush of disappointment that had swept over him on realizing she wasn’t here.

  Damn it, he was getting spoiled. Still, as he washed and changed for dinner, he wondered where she was. He wasted no time in getting ready, and soon headed down the stairs.

  As he entered the dining room, he heard Devon say, “It won’t be my fault! I’m not the one who thinks she can just walk in and—” She caught sight of Hugh and stopped.

  Christina and Aggie had an unmistakable air of guilt.

  Hugh crossed to where his children stood and gazed at each one, saving Devon for last. “What won’t be your fault?”

  Devon’s cheeks pinkened, but she tilted her chin. “I was saying—”

  Caitriona walked in, Liam and Angus following. Both footmen carried large trays, and they began to place dishes on the table.

  Hugh watched Caitriona as she greeted the girls and took her place at the opposite end of the table from him. She was dressed in another new gown, this one light yellow and very simple. On another woman such a gown might have appeared plain, but hugging Caitriona’s generous curves, it was gorgeous.