The MacLeans - Sleepless in Scotla

by Karen Hawkins

  Liam removed the covers from the dishes.

  “Ah!” Hugh said, grinning. “Cottage pie. My favorite.”

  “Miss Caitriona made it,” Aggie piped up.

  Hugh looked at the thick pie, inhaling the savory steam rising from it. “You made this?”

  Her cheeks flushed and she gave a pleased smile. “Caitlyn may be the seamstress in our family, but I am the cook. I already knew the recipe and I made sure to add c—”

  “Papa!” Devon said. “Please tell Aggie to stop kicking me under the table.”

  Aggie’s eyes widened. “Kicking you? I can’t even reach you from here!”

  “Both of you stop it.” Hugh helped himself to a large amount of pie, the rich scent making his mouth water. As soon as he placed the first bite in his mouth, he closed his eyes and relished the savory flavor.

  “This is wonderful!” Christina’s voice broke through his reverie and he opened his eyes to find the girls looking at their plates, surprise and awe in their expressions.

  Catching his gaze, Caitriona lifted her brows, a small smile curving her lips.

  He smiled back, and they shared the moment over the girls’ heads.

  Aggie chuckled. “Miss Caitriona fixed everything else, too, for she gave Cook the night off. Cook’s not really visiting her sister, though. She’s in the village drinking gin.”

  Devon frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “Moira told me when she was cleaning the fireplace in our room.”

  “You shouldn’t gossip with the maid,” Christina said softly.

  “Especially Moira.” Caitriona smiled. “She told me yesterday that she saw a troll climbing out of a cart by the kitchen door, but later she discovered it was only Ferguson.”

  “Ha,” Devon scoffed. “Moira only said that because she likes him, but he won’t have anything to do with her.”

  Hugh noticed the hesitant smile Christina flashed Caitriona, misgiving beginning to bloom. She’d been keeping her distance as she’d promised, but the girls seemed to be warming to her anyway.

  He frowned. Should he put a stop to it? Could he?

  “Here, Papa.” Devon took his plate and served him more pie. “There’s only more for one person, so you might as well eat it.”

  As he did so, Hugh tried to shrug off a faint itch between his shoulders. Perhaps he’d talk to Caitriona about the girls tonight.

  “Papa, are you…are you angry about something?” Aggie asked.

  Hugh rubbed his arm. “No, why?”

  “You look red.”

  He lifted his shoulder, a nagging itch on one shoulder blade. “I don’t—”

  “Hugh!” Caitriona’s gaze was fixed on his face. “Aggie’s right—you’re turning bright red!”

  He rubbed his hand over his face, where a solid itch seemed to spread. Good God, what was wrong? It felt as if a hundred ants were crawling over him. His lips felt swollen, too.

  His gaze fell on his empty plate. “Caitriona—the cottage pie. Were there carrots in it?”

  “Why, of course! I—” Her gaze flickered to Devon, who was busy eating.

  “Damnation!” He sprang from his chair, rubbing his neck and one shoulder at the same time. “I can’t eat carrots. They make me break out in a rash.” He turned toward the door. “Liam! Bring a cold bath to my room immediately!”

  Christina watched as her father disappeared out the door. Already his face looked splotched, and his mouth was swollen. She saw Liam race to the kitchen, Angus following.

  “Well.”

  Christina peeked at Caitriona and then wished she hadn’t.

  Caitriona pinned her blazing gaze on all three of them. “I know it can’t be truly dangerous, or you all wouldn’t have suggested I add carrots. You care too much for your father to harm him.”

  Christina lowered her fork, awash in unexpected guilt. “He will be fine.”

  Devon tasted her bread pudding. “He’ll itch for a few hours, but he’ll be fine in the morning.” She smirked. “But I don’t suppose he’ll want you to cook again.”

  Christina sneaked another look at Caitriona, expecting fury. Instead, Caitriona merely regarded Devon with a long, level gaze.

  Christina gripped her fork tighter, her chest tightening. While she agreed with Devon that something must be done to protect Papa from the woman who’d tricked him into marrying, there were dangers in upsetting an adult. Christina knew this fact all too well.

  “I see how it is.” Caitriona stood, and her hazel eyes seemed greener than ever. “Well, ladies, you leave me no choice.”

  Aggie blinked, but said nothing.

  Christina put down her fork, her heart beating wildly. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of, but I must admit your little plot was masterfully done.” Her lips curved into a faint smile. “The problem is, I come from a large family.”

  Devon glanced at Christina before looking back at Caitriona. “So?”

  Caitriona placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “So if I were you, for the next week or so, I’d walk very, very softly.”

  When Caitriona swept from the room, Christina felt like they’d started a fight they were sure to lose.

  Devon was more nonchalant. “What can she do to us?”

  Aggie bit her lip. “She could put snakes in our beds.”

  “That’s for children,” Devon scoffed. “She won’t dare do anything, or we’ll tell Papa.”

  Christina remembered the gleam in Caitriona’s eyes and wasn’t so sure. One thing was certain, she wasn’t going to climb into her bed without checking for snakes, spiders, and ants. What have we started?

  Chapter 14

  “When I was a wee lass, e’ery mornin’ I would carry water all the way from the well at the bottom of the hill to our stone hut at the top. While carryin’ tha’ water, I learned tha’ be there one step or twenty, ye can only take ’em one at a time.”

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

  Satin dinna come back.” Ferguson sounded worried.

  Hugh looked at the golden horses gathered about the fence and frowned. “You think she’s had her foal?”

  “If she did, she’s early. Could be a problem.”

  Hugh patted a stallion named Kashmir, admiring the golden glisten of the sun on the horse’s shoulders. Of all the breeds Hugh raised, he had a soft spot for his Akhal-Tekes. He loved that their hides had a slightly metallic sheen and how their almond-shaped eyes showed their spirit and intelligence. He also admired their athleticism. Their sloping shoulders and thin skin reminded him of greyhounds, all muscle and fast action with incredible endurance.

  Sheba, a palomino mare, shoved past the much larger Kashmir for a pat on the shoulder. If any other horse had been so bold, Kashmir would have nipped at it. But he and Sheba had a long-standing relationship, so all he did was whinny his annoyance and give her a playful nudge.

  Sheba bared her teeth, then turned contentedly back to Hugh.

  Hugh laughed and gave her a fond pat. “Kashmir lets Sheba get away with murder.”

  “I dinna blame him; she’s been his faithful consort fer years. She’s had seven o’ his colts and will likely have more.”

  Hugh noticed that Sheba looked over her shoulder as if to make certain Kashmir was still there. She might have wanted the stallion’s place at the fence, but she didn’t want him to leave.

  Hugh could understand that double-edged sword—to want someone nearby and yet wish them elsewhere. He’d been fighting the same double dose of desire himself, and over the last two weeks it had grown stronger.

  He absently rubbed his chin, where an itch still lingered from the carrots in the cottage pie. It had been two days before the rash finally faded, though he still itched now, a whole week later, as if in remembrance. Caitriona had appeared so shocked and had been so concerned for him afterward, he knew it for the innocent mistake it was. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that
there was more to it. At breakfast each morning since, the tension between Caitriona and the girls was almost palpable. Something was going on between them, though none of them would admit it.

  He’d speak with the girls when he returned home. So far, whenever he questioned Caitriona, she’d given him a brief, firm smile and changed the topic.

  “I hope Satin’s foal is healthy,” Ferguson said. “She’s a good mum when all’s said and done.”

  Hugh patted Sheba’s neck. If the foal was healthy, it might be an excellent gift for Caitriona.

  Ferguson stroked the nose of a little mare named Desert Flower. “Might be best if I saddle up and follow the herd. They usually stay at the end of Duncannon Glen, so I might find Satin there. She’d want to be in their home pastures fer foalin’.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll go with you. If we find her, we may need to stay with her until she’s ready to move. There’s a crofter’s hut nearby if we need to stay the night.”

  “Aye, though we may have to stay longer if she’s no’ strong enough to travel. I’ll pack supplies fer three days.”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Wallis pack up some bandages, too. I’ve a feeling something’s amiss.”

  “Aye, m’lord. When do ye wish to leave?”

  “After my ride with the girls. They are due in an hour.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Hugh also wanted to say a proper good-bye to his wife. He looked forward to that in many ways.

  He patted Sheba’s nose. It was a shame Caitriona didn’t know how to ride. He’d offered to teach her, but she’d stalled, saying she might like that one day. Though she hadn’t said no outright, he’d heard it in her voice. He wasn’t a man to get upset over nothing, but her lack of interest disappointed him much more than it should have.

  He was beginning to grow irritated with himself. He was perfectly free to ride when he wished, work with the horses when he wished, take his daughters for rides when he wished. Except for their morning bouts between the sheets, Caitriona made few demands of him and seemed perfectly content without him throughout the day.

  He scowled. That should be what he wanted. Hell, he’d basically told her that. Yet he found himself distracted by thoughts of her, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking, if she was content—and why she hadn’t allowed him to teach her to ride, damn it.

  He’d never met a woman who was so elusive. Even when she agreed with him and did as he requested, he felt thwarted in some way. But while she might be withholding herself in some areas of their life, she never denied him in bed. Her passion and enthusiasm there was entrancing.

  Every morning, he woke up to find her curled next to him, her long hair silky on his shoulder, her soft breathing almost mesmerizing. And every morning, he made sure she knew he was there as well, usually in a very lascivious manner. She responded to him with such glowing, natural passion, welcoming him every time and with such breathless urgency, that he was often left in astounded wonder. Even more interesting, she was learning from each encounter. Just this morning, it had been she who’d started their lusty beginning of the day.

  The memory made him instantly hard, and he was glad his long riding coat covered his reaction. He couldn’t help it. Just the thought of her, of her expression as she shivered beneath him, her legs tight on his hips as she—

  “M’lord?”

  Hugh jerked around.

  Ferguson was frowning at him, a look of concern on his broad face.

  Hugh managed to say with credible calm, “Yes, Ferguson? I was just thinking of the supplies we’ll need for Satin.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” There was a note of disbelief in Ferguson’s voice.

  Hugh quickly continued, “We’ll need oats, bandages, and that tonic you used on Hariam’s fetlock.”

  “Och, I’d forgotten that! There’s a mite left.”

  “Let’s return to the stables and pack what we can before the girls arrive.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” Ferguson emptied the last of the oats from his bucket, then followed Hugh back to the stables.

  The stables were as well built as Gilmerton Manor. Hugh had personally overseen their construction and was as proud of them as of the house. The stables held forty separate stalls, three tack rooms, two large stalls for birthing and treating serious ailments, and room overhead to store a year’s worth of hay for the entire herd.

  Hugh threw open the door of the main tack room and entered, assailed by the scent of leather and sweet oats mixed with the tang of iron. Along one wall ran a series of shelves. He found the tonic and turned to come back into the stables.

  “Ferguson!” Caitriona’s voice sounded clearly through the barn. “There you are. I was hoping we coul—”

  “Shhhh!” Ferguson’s hiss made Hugh stop in his tracks.

  “What?” Caitriona asked.

  What, indeed? Hugh, hidden by the tack room door, bent to one side and peered out through the hinge crack.

  Her hair in a bun, her spectacles perched on her nose, Triona stood in front of Ferguson. The groom was wildly gesturing for her to be quiet, pantomiming toward the tack room.

  Caitriona glanced there and back, her gaze widening. “Oh,” her lips formed. She nodded and pointed to a small watch pinned to her pocket, held up one finger, then pointed toward the first stall door.

  Ferguson sent a nervous glance toward the tack room and shook his head.

  Triona’s expression fell, but she mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Ferguson nodded even as he gestured for Caitriona to leave quickly.

  She turned, wincing as she did so.

  Hugh frowned, suddenly remembering that she’d winced this morning, too, when he’d slid between her thighs and lifted her leg to his hip. He’d asked her if she was well, and she’d said she was just a bit sore from climbing so many steps.

  Hmmm. Hugh stepped out of the tack room and came to stand beside Ferguson.

  “Och, there ye are, m’lord. I see ye found the tonic. I’ll pack up some rags and—”

  “That first stall, isn’t it where we keep Bluebell?”

  Ferguson’s expression froze.

  Hugh walked toward the stall and looked over the door. A smallish mare stood quietly snoozing. “Aggie rode her when she was first learning to ride.”

  Ferguson stood as if rooted to the floor.

  “And there’s a saddle on the rail, as if it just came off her.”

  “Aye, but that saddle’s been there a whole day, m’lord. Besides, I canna remember every person who rides.”

  “You can remember this one. I’m sure of it.” Hugh crossed to lift one of the stirrups. “I’d say this was rigged for a rider about…oh”—he held out his hand a little below his shoulder—“this tall.” He dropped the stirrup. “Now, who do we know who is this tall?”

  Ferguson closed his eyes.

  Hugh leaned an elbow on the stall door. “Ferguson, you are teaching my wife to ride.”

  Ferguson laughed nervously. “The ideas ye get, m’lord!”

  Hugh lifted his brows.

  Ferguson’s shoulders slumped. “Och, I dinna want to do it, but she was desperate, wishin’ to learn! I tried, but I couldna tell her no.”

  “I should be the one to teach her, not you.”

  “And so I told her, m’lord! But she said she dinna dare learn in front o’ ye and the lasses, fer ’twould be too embarrassing.”

  Hugh frowned. Embarrassing?

  Ferguson sent Hugh an apologetic glance. “She’s taken a few spills, she has.”

  “Was she hurt?”

  “Nay! She took some good uns the first few days, but she’s riding better now. She’s showin’ a good deal o’ promise.”

  “How long has she been practicing?”

  “’Tis six days or more.” Ferguson nodded eagerly. “Och, she’s as pretty a seat as ye can imagine. She’s a hard worker, m’lord. She rode fer two hours yesterday! I moved her from Bluebell onto Old Winston, and he’s a stubborn one.”
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  “How did she do with him?”

  “Nary a falter. ‘Keep ’is head up,’ I said, and she did. Just like tha’.”

  No wonder she’d winced when he’d lifted her leg. Her thighs must have ached.

  “I hope ye don’t mind, m’lord, but I think she did it to impress ye.”

  “To impress me?”

  “Aye. She said once she was good enough, she was goin’ to surprise ye.”

  Hugh scowled. “She didn’t need to worry about being good enough. I would never mock her.”

  “Nay, but—” Ferguson bit his lip.

  “But what?”

  “I dinna mean to be disrespectin’, m’lord, but ye canna be so certain o’ the lassies. They ride better than most men, they do. And they don’t seem too fond o’ their new mum.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Ferguson’s face turned a deeper red. “Nothin’! I’m sure I’m just imaginin’ things. They just—I heard the lassies sayin’—Och, don’t ask me to say more.”

  “What did you hear?”

  Ferguson sighed. “I heard Miss Devon say tha’ if greasin’ the steps would get rid o’ the new mistress faster, she’d grease every one herself.”

  Hugh’s shoulders felt like a millstone had settled on them. Was this the result of his request that Caitriona keep her distance? Had they come to despise and disrespect her because of his edict?

  Damnation! Hugh handed the bottle of tonic to the groom. “Pack for the trip. I will be back in thirty minutes and we’ll leave then.”

  “But ye haven’t taken the lassies fer their daily—”

  Hugh walked out of the stables and strode toward the house.

  Damn it, she should have asked him to teach her to ride! He would never have mocked her and he damn well wouldn’t have allowed the girls to do so, either.

  He entered the house and saw Liam. “Where’s the mistress?”

  “She asked fer a hot bath, m’lord. Angus and I just carried it to her room, and she said she was goin’ to soak in it till lunch.”

  Hugh’s gaze narrowed. “Has she been requesting a lot of hot baths this week?”

  “Every day, m’lord. Says they make her aches disappear.”