Hard-Hearted Highlander--A Historical Romance Novel

by Julia London

  “Rabbie, no! Wait!” He could hear her running after him, and she caught him on the drive, her hand on his arm, and yanked him with surprising strength. “You cannot leave those two children alone here!”

  “They are no’ alone, aye? They are with you.”

  “Charles won’t—”

  “I’ve sent our men to guard the house. I suspect Charles can be persuaded to house two orphans in return.” He shook Bernadette’s grip from his sleeve and picked up the reins of his horse.

  “Wait!” she cried again, and lunged for his arm, catching it. “I don’t know what you mean to prove, but this isn’t the way to do it. I can’t keep those children. I don’t know the first thing of it!”

  “They are alone in the world with no one to care for them, like you, Bernadette. I am going to care for them. I will care for you, as well, if you’ll allow it. Those two bairns donna fault you for anything that has happened in the past and neither do I. The only thing they want, the only thing, is to be loved. That’s all I desire, as well. And I believe with all my heart that’s what you want.” He caught her chin in his hand and leaned closer. “I want to love you, Bernadette. I want to care for you. I want to keep you with me always. If you canna bear the burden of your past, I can. If you canna bear children, I can. You made me realize that I couldna neither live with sorrow nor cling to the past. Now it’s time you learn the same.” He kissed her lips tenderly, then let go of her and swung up on his horse.

  “I’m to learn this because you’ve forced orphans on me?” she cried, sounding on the verge of hysteria.

  “I’ll be back on the morrow.” He reined his horse around. “If those two can open their hearts to a Sassenach after what they’ve endured, then by God, you can open your heart to them. And to me. You’ve roughly a day to decide if you will take that chance and remain in Scotland, or if you will let your past define your future and return to the constant reminder of it in England.”

  He spurred his horse then and galloped away, leaving her standing there.

  He wanted to believe that Fiona and Ualan would make her see the life they might have. With all his heart he wanted to believe it—but he didn’t feel as confident as he thought he might. He supposed he thought she might have been more welcoming.

  He hoped the bairns would not despise him after twenty-four hours with a grieving woman. He hoped Bernadette would wake up from her grief and recognize the promise in what he offered. Honestly, he didn’t know if any of it would work. He didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, or worse, if even he could do it. But he knew two things with all his heart: he loved Bernadette, and he did not want those children to be sent to a stranger in Inverness.

  Rabbie rode away from Killeaven feeling a wee bit as if he’d put himself in a rowboat and pushed out to sea without an oar, without anything to guide him, and hoping for a favorable current.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  BERNADETTE WATCHED IN horror as Rabbie rode away—she was paralyzed with shock. What on earth would possess him, after all that had been said between them, to deposit two children at Killeaven and ride on? She was confused, she was angry and she very badly wanted something to kick.

  She ran damp palms down the side of her gown and slowly turned around to face the house. Dear Jesus, what was she to do now? She started by taking several deep breaths to calm her galloping heart, then forced herself to return to the salon.

  The boy and girl were standing in the very place Rabbie had left them. They eyed her as guardedly as she eyed them. Charles was there, too, and looked between her and the children and back again, utterly confused. “I can’t say what this is about, Miss Holly, but I am certain you are aware you can’t possibly return to England with two children in tow.”

  “No, of course not,” she said. “They are... I understand they need a place to sleep for the night.”

  Charles sighed impatiently. “You’re to be a nursemaid now? There is work yet to be done!”

  “Yes, I know,” she assured him. “But I’m feeling much better and I promise to help you—”

  “Look here, Bernadette,” he said, and stepped in front of her. “I don’t care what you do. Just keep those two out of the way and out from underfoot. I’ve enough on my mind without worrying where they are or what they’re into.”

  “I will,” she said.

  “And you might want to comb your hair,” Charles added, and walked out of the room.

  She glanced at the children. Their gazes were fixed on her. She tried to smile. “You mustn’t pay him any mind. He’s rather...” She tried to think of a word. “He’s a bit occupied.”

  The little girl glanced uncertainly at her brother. What were their names, again? Fiona, yes, and...what was it? Ualan! Yes, that was it. How old were they? Bernadette guessed the girl to be around six, the boy a year or two older than that. She approached them nervously, still rubbing her palms on the sides of her gown, studying them. She hadn’t even the faintest thought of what to do with them.

  She reached them, and they watched her, but neither of them would speak. Bernadette sank down on her knees before them.

  Fiona was quite comely, with strawberry-blond curls that framed her face and lovely blue eyes. Ualan’s hair was more golden. He stood stiffly, but Bernadette could see the tremble in his hand. Was he afraid of her? Lord, she must look a fright, and she unthinkingly put her hand to her head again and felt her hair’s unruliness. “Please forgive my appearance,” she said.

  “Aye, we know,” Fiona said. “You’re quite sad.”

  The girl’s observation startled Bernadette. “Ah...yes,” she agreed. “And I’m a bit surprised, as well. I wasn’t expecting children.”

  The boy said nothing. He looked wise beyond his years, really.

  “Are you surprised?” she asked them.

  Fiona shook her head. Ualan didn’t give her any indication of his feelings.

  “Well, then.” How did one speak to children? She hardly knew. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  The two children looked at each other. Fiona shook her head.

  “Miss Holly?”

  She glanced around. Charles had stuck his head into the room. “You must do something about the kitchen girl. She hasn’t a care for the china nor the slightest idea how to pack it.” He disappeared just as quickly as he’d appeared.

  Bernadette was grateful for the task and rose to her feet. “Come,” she said, and held out both hands to the children.

  Fiona readily slipped her hand into Bernadette’s without a moment’s hesitation. Ualan kept his hands at his sides.

  She led them to the kitchen, where Ina was sweeping up what looked like a broken teacup. “I did my best, I did,” she said irritably to Bernadette. “He didna tell me how he wanted it done, did he?”

  “Don’t think of it,” Bernadette said. “I’ll do the packing.” She would rather have something to occupy her hands than to stare at her two unexpected wards.

  Ina put her hand on the small of her back. She seemed to notice the children then, and spoke to them in Gaelic.

  Fiona responded.

  Whatever she said caused Ina to smile, and she began a lively conversation with them. Fiona laughed and even Ualan had a small smile on his face. What in blazes had Ina said? What magic words had she uttered?

  After several minutes of it, Ina said, “They’re hungry, miss. Shall I prepare them a wee bite?”

  Bernadette looked with surprise at the two of them. Why hadn’t they admitted it to her? Did they think she might poison them? “Yes, please, if you’d be so kind.”

  So it was that Ina fed the children and laughed with them while Bernadette packed the china. She couldn’t understand a word they said, but she listened to their young voices, the sound of their laughter, and her heart ached with longing. It was a cruel thing
for Rabbie to have done. What did he think, that she would magically forget her misgivings and agree to this outrageous plan?

  The very idea annoyed her, and she glanced irritably at Ina. “What else do they want? They don’t seem to want to tell me.”

  Ina blinked. She looked at the children and asked them something. Both of them shook their heads. “They donna want a thing, miss,” Ina said. “They are quite happy to be here.”

  Bernadette snorted. “They may tell you that, but trust me, this is some grand jest.”

  “Oh, no, they mean it, they do,” she said. “They were bound for Inverness and a stranger there. They are happy that a Mackenzie has taken them in.”

  “Inverness?” Bernadette repeated, and looked around.

  “Aye, we were,” Fiona said. “Because we havena any parents.”

  “That’s no’ why,” Ualan said. “Because there are no more of our people in the Highlands.”

  Ina smiled sympathetically. “That happened to many of us, lad. That’s why we all must keep together, aye?”

  Fiona nodded enthusiastically. Ualan shrugged.

  “What do you mean, a Mackenzie has taken them in?”

  “They say they’re to live with Mr. Mackenzie at Arrandale,” Ina said.

  “We’ll visit Barabel, we will,” Fiona added. “She taught me how to make a cake. Do you know how to make a cake?” she asked Ina.

  “A wee one, I do,” Ina said.

  Bernadette turned around. She continued the packing, her hands moving by rote. Had Rabbie really taken them in? Did he truly intend to keep them, no matter what she said? Lord, had he gone and finally lost his fool mind? A man who was only days ago thinking of jumping off a cliff would now take children under his wing?

  When she’d finished packing the china, and the children had eaten, she bade them to come with her so Ina might finish her chores.

  “It’s quite all right if they want to remain here, miss,” Ina offered.

  Bernadette was tempted. The children looked at her expectantly, and it occurred to her that perhaps she ought to inquire if Ina would like two orphans.

  Charles ended all speculation, however, by striding into the kitchen. “The silver, Ina. You’ve forgotten it.”

  “Oh!” Ina said. She wiped her hands on a linen and hurried after Charles.

  Bernadette looked at the children. “Well, then, that settles, it, doesn’t it? You’re tied to me,” she said wearily. “Come along.”

  “Where shall we go now?” Fiona asked, hopping off a stool and sliding her hand into Bernadette’s, uninvited.

  “I haven’t quite worked that out,” Bernadette said, glancing behind her to see if Ualan followed.

  She led them through the house in search of something to occupy her, or conversely, them, and found nothing. They ended up in her room.

  “Sit there,” she said, pointing to the bed. “I’ll finish my packing.”

  “Are you leaving us, then?” Fiona asked as she bounced onto the bed.

  “I’m leaving Scotland, darling.” Bernadette opened her trunk and began to sort through her things.

  “Uncle Rabbie said you might come to live with us at Arrandale,” Fiona said. “We’re all to live there. I’ve no’ seen Arrandale, but Catriona said it is a house big enough for two children and some dogs.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, but Uncle Rabbie was mistaken,” Bernadette said bitterly. How dare he give them that expectation? Couldn’t he see how pointless this was? Couldn’t he understand that one simply did not pick up two orphans and a lady’s maid and form some sort of fictional family?

  She realized that no one was speaking and glanced up. The children were staring at her. “What?”

  “Do you have any children?” Fiona asked.

  Bernadette’s gut belly twisted a bit. “No.”

  “Why no’, then?”

  “She’s no’ married, Fiona,” Ualan said darkly. “She has no family. She’s alone, like us.”

  “Why will you no’ come to live with us in Arrandale?” Fiona asked. “Uncle Rabbie said you might. Have you seen it?”

  Bernadette dropped a pair of shoes and bent down to retrieve them. She’d seen Arrandale. She thought of being in Rabbie’s bed. She thought of how she’d felt with him. Safe and adored and wanted. She swallowed hard. “Yes, I’ve seen it. It’s quite nice.”

  “Then why will you no’ come?” Fiona asked again.

  “It’s not as easy as that,” Bernadette said, and picked up one shoe, but somehow managed to kick the other shoe under the bed skirt.

  “Do you no’ want a family, then?” Fiona asked curiously.

  Bernadette felt light-headed. As if she was floating outside of herself. “It’s rather difficult to explain grown-up things to a girl your age, Fiona. Is that what he told you?” she asked as she bent down on one knee to retrieve the shoe.

  “He said we’d be a family, if you’d come.”

  “We’re to be one all the same,” Ualan said, correcting her. “But three is no’ very many. Four is better.”

  Bernadette’s eyes began to well again. She wanted a family. She did. But one could not simply summon a family out of thin air as he was trying to do. Life didn’t work that way. “It’s not possible for me,” she said morosely.

  “Why no’?” Fiona asked.

  The girl was too inquisitive! “I told you, darling. For reasons that are too complicated for a girl to understand.” She turned her head and smiled at Fiona, hoping that was the end of it.

  It was not the end of it. The girl was determined. “Uncle Rabbie said we are to be a family because none of us have one. We donna have a family, do we, Ualan? They went away.”

  “Fiona! I’ve told you many times, they died. Even Uncle Rabbie said it. Will you no’ listen?”

  Bernadette paused and looked at the boy. She could see the anguish in his face. She could feel the anguish in her own chest. She knew the sort of agony he must live with every day and her heart went out to him. “My family, too,” she said.

  Ualan eyed her dubiously.

  “Which is why I can’t have a family now,” she said morosely. “I lost mine.” She rolled onto her knees to fetch the shoe that had been knocked under the bed’s covers.

  “But we’re all to make a new one, because none of us has the old one any longer, aye?” Fiona said, as if Bernadette couldn’t grasp the basic idea. She hopped off the bed and began to twirl. “I want a family as big as the Mackenzies. They have lots of children, aye? Lads and lassies.”

  “That’s what children are,” Ualan said, sighing. “Lads and lassies.”

  “Perhaps you donna care for lads and lassies,” Fiona suggested. “Is that why you donna want a family?”

  Bernadette felt herself flush. She put her hand down on the carpet. “I do,” she said weakly. “I do like lads and lassies. I do want a family.”

  “Then you should have one,” Fiona said with great authority.

  Bernadette nodded. And then she put her other hand down. She was on all fours now.

  “Are you ill, then? Mrs. Maloney was ill, too. She went to sleep and never woke.”

  That was precisely what Bernadette’s life had felt like at times. As if she’d gone to sleep and never awakened from the nightmare.

  “She died, too, Fiona,” Ualan said. “That’s what—she died.”

  “Will Uncle Rabbie die, too?” Fiona asked curiously.

  “I donna know. Perhaps no’ right away,” Ualan said as he studied his hand.

  To Bernadette’s horror, a tear rolled off the tip of her nose. “I am so sorry,” she choked out.

  “It’s all right,” Fiona said.

  “It’s not,” Bernadette said. “I am so sorry for Mrs. Maloney and for everyone who has ever gone to
sleep and never awakened. And I’m so sorry for everyone who has ever gone to sleep and then awakened to something so awful they can’t bear it.”

  Fiona stopped spinning. She and Ualan were staring at her, wide-eyed. Bernadette realized she was crying now, the pain burning in her head and heart. “I can’t convey how very sorry I am for your loss, you lovely, lovely children. I’m sorry for Uncle Rabbie’s loss, too, and mine. And I’m particularly sorry that I can’t take back the things I’ve done or the consequences, and that I’ve ruined everything.” She paused, gulping back a few sobs. She had lost so much following her heart’s desire once and she understood that some of her tears now were the result of some deeply held terror that if she followed her heart’s desire once more, she would lose again.

  Fiona squatted down. “Donna be sad,” she cooed, and patted Bernadette’s head.

  Bernadette rolled onto her bottom, her back against the bed. She tried to draw a long breath, but the breath caught in her throat and more tears fell.

  “I’ll help you no’ be sad, aye?” Fiona offered. “I can sing and dance.”

  “Donna sing,” Ualan said grumpily. “It hurts my ears when you do.”

  “I donna hurt your ears!” Fiona cried. “You’re wretched, Ualan!”

  “No one wants to hear you sing, Fiona!”

  “No one wants to hear you speak!” she shouted, and shoved him. Ualan shoved her back. Fiona screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Stop!” Bernadette shouted, throwing up her hands. She pushed the two children apart before they fell into a brawl over her. And then she burst into tears again, overwhelmed by her desires, her hopes and the presence of two children she didn’t know.

  The children fell silent. Bernadette didn’t know what she was doing, why she couldn’t seem to stop, but she put her head down on her knees and wept.

  Ualan kneeled down beside her. He very carefully put his hand on her hand. “Donna weep, madam,” he said. “We’ll be your friends.”

  Yes, that’s what she needed. A friend. Bernadette lifted her head and studied his earnest little face. “Do you think you can?” she asked. “I’ve been quite a wreck since you’ve come.”