by Madelyn Hill
Galen continued mixing the elements and placed a small candle beneath the first beaker.
Vivian held her breath as they waited. It wasn’t as if she expected an explosion. Faith in her father’s experiments negated any doubt.
The hartshorn smoked and a horrid odor rose into the air and soon began flowing through the large chamber. Galen grabbed tongs, whisking the beaker from the heat source as he added water to the burning mixture.
Still no explosion.
Vivian jolted back as he swept the experiment onto the floor. His frustration palatable.
“Leave,” was all he said.
She started picking up the clutter, choosing to disregard his demand.
“I said go.”
Straightening, she pinned him with a glare. “Do you expect me to bow to your bidding, m’laird?”
She nearly chuckled when his brow rose in surprise. Still, she was angry enough to throttle him. That thought sustained her, gave her the courage to force a confession from him.
Guilt stilled her when she remembered her promise to Madge. She’d have to be clever, but Vivian thought there was a way to lure Galen into telling her about the child.
His gaze failed to meet hers, but the tension flexed his jaw. “I need peace, please leave me.”
She wanted to comply, even feigned doing so when she turned as if she was planning on leaving the chamber. But she sat before the fireplace on a thick, ornate rug. She ran her hand over the soft wool and waited for Galen to either join her or issue another demand.
She felt him behind her, his silence heavy and foreboding. His breathing came in short spurts as if he was trying to rein in his temper.
“Why can’t people do as I ask?” she heard him grumble.
She smiled to herself. “Aye, people are vexing. Why are they trying to push me away?”
He came in front of her, his brawn blocking the warmth of the fire. No matter, his burning glare warmed her.
“Lomarcan is not fit for anyone, especially a gentle woman such as you,” he said with a sneer.
She lifted off the carpet. “I kenned when I arrived, I was. . .lost, very insecure. But you cannot say I haven’t proven my worth here.”
He nodded as if agreeing with her. “I will be arranging for your return to the mainland regardless.”
Keeping her voice even and her gaze direct, she said, “Once I’m one and twenty, I’ll do as I chose. I can even survive without my inheritance, I ken I can.”
He laughed. A low chuckle that tumbled into full-blown mocking laughter. “Aye, and you’ve provided for yourself? Pray, tell me what occupation appeals to you?”
She tipped her head to the side. “I could be a governess.” Her own answer surprised her.
Galen eased his weight over to one foot and set his hands on his waist. “What do you ken of children?”
Ah, providence. “I’d say a wee bit more than you.”
His expression lost all signs of humor. “You’d be surprised what I ken of children.”
Vivian smiled as Laird Maclean tripped conveniently into her trap. “Oh, tell me how that is possible.”
He eyed her suspiciously and shook his head. “It matters not. You’re still leaving.”
She remained rooted.
“What has you set against marriage? ‘Tisn’t it what women of your breeding consider their main purpose in life?”
The crackle of the peat interrupted the conversation. Vivian closed her eyes and thought for a moment. She so wanted to shame him for the way he was treating his child.
“I ken.” Forgive me, Madge.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her as if she’d grown another nose.
She pressed on. “I ken about Alex.”
Rage erupted over his features. He dragged his fingers through his hair and then opened his mouth to speak. No words came, however, as he gazed at her with such intensity she had to look away.
“Please don’t send Madge away. She was just being a good mother.” She gripped his arm. “Please. Please don’t blame her.”
He watched her with a shocked expression. “What has she told you?”
Confused, irritated, she didn’t know where to begin. “That you’d force the mother of your son away.”
“My son?” he roared.
Vivian began to squirm as he glared at her and then decided she’d leave the chamber after all. Galen gripped her arm to stop her departure.
“I have no child.”
Vivian heard his teeth grinding. She tried to wrench from his iron hold. “M’laird, you’re hurting me.”
Surprise lit his eyes. He threw his arms up in the air and stepped back. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he sputtered.
Torn, Vivian stood before him, a breath away from bolting, and a hair’s breadth away from wrapping her arms around him. “Whose child is Alex?”
He narrowed his eyes, as if weighing whether to tell her or not. “’Tisn’t your concern.”
She paced forward, directly into the midst of his furious gaze. “Oh, ‘tisn’t it? Weel, m’laird, I’ll not allow the child to be hurt.”
He looked startled. “The child is well cared for. I’ve seen to that.”
She grunted and waved a hand at him in aggravation. “You lock him in the east wing.”
Galen released a ragged breath and set his fist at his waist. “He’s not a caged animal, Vivian. Alex has access to the entire wing.”
“Oh, excuse me, m’laird. The entire wing, you say?” She crossed her arms before her chest and directed a leveled glare at him.
“You misunderstand.” How was he going to make her see? Galen rubbed the back of his neck while he thought of some way to explain the situation.
“Then enlighten me.” Vivian’s tone was cold, filled with disdain.
“He is taken care of.”
She sighed.
It pained him that she chose to put her faith in the maidservant rather than him. He’d wanted to put his trust in her, but each time he’d tried, old pain and distrust would flair and he’d shutter all emotion.
Vivian cocked her head, waiting for him to speak. A few strands of her luxurious hair fell from its bindings. He wanted to push it back in place, feel the silk between his fingers, watch it tumble down her back. He tamped the urge.
She appeared impatient. “Madge said—”
“I care not what she said,” he growled. He held her arms to her side.
She blanched. Galen released her, bedeviled by his own actions and the meddling Madge.
She watched him beseechingly, her eyes wide with concern. “Why is he kept a secret?”
Galen nodded toward the sitting area before the window. She sat, haughty and untrusting. Fetching with her hair was still mussed, becomingly so.
He leaned forward and grasped her hands gently. They were petite, soft and feminine.
“Galen, you have to allow the bairn to be loved.” Her voice quaked as she spoke. As if it took all of her control not to yell at him.
He stood, even though her touch soothed him. “He has more comfort than his mother ever had. More than I had.”
She sighed. “That’s what this is all about, ‘tisn’t it?”
Her words pushed him to confide in her. “I ken nothing of love. My mother never loved me. My father despised me.”
Her hand rushed over her mouth as she gasped. Surely one of the servants had informed her of his upbringing? Sympathy filled her violet eyes, as they lightened a shade and shimmered with tears. He hated the pity he saw there.
Still, she appealed to him. More than he’d ever want to admit. Basic, human need filled him. He wanted to be loved and give it freely. But he didn’t know how.
“Tell me. Tell me what they did, Galen.”
All breath left his lungs. He wiped his face, tired of the secrets, the shame of his past. “My mother never wanted me. She loathed my father. So much so, she locked herself in the east wing and rarely came out. If she did, all they did was argue.” He l
ifted his shoulders, trying not to show how the memories scarred him, but his memories battled within his mind and he continued to speak. “My father wasn’t any better. He only had use for me when I was old enough to assist in the lab.”
She touched his arm. “You can’t blame yourself for their actions. But you can love Alex and make up for all you missed.”
“How can you sit there and preach to me? Your father kept you prisoner at Westington.” He meant for his words to hurt, spike the pain that flashed in her eyes. There was no helping it. The memories brought out the worst in him, and she needed to see it. She needed to see only more pain would follow if he came in contact with the babe—or continued to pursue their relationship.
“My father was a good man. He loved me, treated me kindly—loved me.” She glared at him, her heart racing.
He fisted his hands at his waist. “I ken prison, Vivian. Prison ‘tisn’t kind or made of love.”
She gasped. “Laird Galen Maclean, you are a despicable man.” She turned and strode from the room and slammed the door.
Galen let her go without protest. Aye, he was the most despicable of men.
Chapter 19
Alice puttered in the parlor, dressed in a sturdy wool skirt and a crisp linen blouse better suited for celebrating than dusting. She hummed and fussed as if she wore such finery every day. Vivian kenned better.
“Would you like more tea, m’lady?”
She had to smile. “Nay, Alice. I’ve had my fill.”
Defeated but not derailed, the maid continued to hover, trying to look uninterested but failing miserably.
Vivian covered her list with her hand and tipped her head up toward the maid. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Alice straightened and blustered for a moment. “Oh. . .oh, nay. I was just cleaning, ‘tis all.”
She smiled. “I can’t help but think something is on your mind.” She leaned back and waited patiently for the older woman to confess what was bothering her.
Alice relaxed and sat in the chair across from Vivian. “Just a wee bit curious how m’laird took to you visiting the lad.”
Vivian rolled her eyes heavenward. “I would say he didn’t take to it at all.”
Alice shook her head and tsked. “You best stay away from Alex.”
Vivian had other plans. She tapped her lip with a finger. “I saw holly bushes from the window. Could you have Bernard gather some branches?”
The maidservant stood and began to pace nervously. “M’lady, I don’t think that is the thing to do, at all, at all.”
Vivian shrugged as plans began to formulate in her mind. “No matter, I’ll do it myself. Christmas is only a fortnight away and we’ve many things to do.” She picked up her list once again. She’d have to speak to Nessa about the recipes.
She gave no pause when Alice paled, and her eyes darted around the room as if expecting the devil himself to burst into the room. “Lass, I’m telling you not to do this.”
She chuckled. The intensity she hadn’t seen from the maid since Liam passed, was back two-fold. “Dear Alice, don’t worry. I’ve never missed a Christmas and I’m not going to start.” And, she admitted to herself, she wasn’t going to allow Laird Maclean to dictate her actions.
“You’re in mourning,” the maid countered.
Alice did have a point. The navy skirt with muted roses crocheted into the inset panels and a matching blouse she wore belied her mourning. She closed her eyes and whispered a quick prayer for forgiveness. Standing, she walked to Alice. “My father loved Nollaig. I’ll celebrate for him and wee Alex.” She spoke solemnly, however excitement began to quake in her stomach. A little apprehension joined in. But she pushed it aside.
She wanted to prove to Galen love was possible and to celebrate—enjoy life regardless of his past. She kenned he loved Alice and Liam. Mayhap even grudgingly he liked Madge.
In order for her plan to go forward, she needed to have information. “Tell me about Alex.”
Alice wagged her finger. “Ask the laird.”
“I did.”
With a smile, Alice started dusting the desk. “And he wouldn’t answer ye.”
She pouted a little, then admitted, “He became very angry.”
“He needs to learn he can trust you. He’s not wise to what goes on between people.” She stared ahead. Vivian suspected her thoughts wandered to the harsh, ragged memories of Galen’s past. Coming back into focus, Alice winked. “Take Nessa with you when you gather the holly and pine. The great hall will take armloads.”
“’Tis blistering cold out here.”
Well used to Nessa’s grumbling, Vivian glanced at the milky clouds skittering across the sky. The breeze tousled the grass the way one would muss a child’s hair. Regardless, she continued to cut holly branches. The ones with plump, scarlet berries would be especially lovely. Remnants of a garden surrounded the holly. Dormant rose bushes and vines lay dead in surrender to winter. Not that she blamed them. The cold cut through every layer of clothing she wore.
She mentally reviewed her list of necessities, all the while pretending to listen to Nessa’s gripes.
“I thought you learned the last time you went out doors.”
Vivian could barely see the maid’s face behind the mound of branches, but she saw it held a sour expression. Lomarcan was certainly not growing on the woman.
Pushing up from her haunches, Vivian left the small courtyard and continued along an imposing stone wall. She found some broken pine branches and added them to the holly. A low bank of windows allowed a view of what she recognized as a bedchamber.
A figure emerged from the shadow.
Galen untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head. His chest, strong with rippling muscles, exceeded even her talented imagination’s expectations as the candlelight glistened against his skin. Tanned, with a covering of dark, curling hair, she wanted to skim her hand over it just for a touch.
She stood, open-mouthed as he began to unlace his breeches.
“Vivian!”
Embarrassed, she averted her gaze. She moved past the windows and out of Galen’s range.
Nessa tsked. “I never. A lass such as yourself.”
Vivian absently plucked some brush she thought would look fetching mixed with the greenery, all the while ignoring Nessa’s muttering at her lack of propriety. Her mind wandered back to Galen, bare-chested and the muscles rippling as he moved.
“We’ve enough for now.”
“Blessed be,” Nessa muttered. “My arse is nearly frozen.”
Vivian laughed and helped the woman bustle their load to the gathering room.
Nessa unceremoniously dumped the greenery to the floor and swept herself clean of leaves and broken twigs. “I’ve enough of these branches. I’ve a mind to fetch us tea.”
Ready to work, Vivian draped a vine over the mantel, then tucked holly branches in bunches and added pine boughs filled with such a potent scent it was as if it were Christmas Eve. Later she’d add ribbons if there were any to be had.
Slowly but surely, the room was becoming lovely. She covered tables, picture frames, and even plucked some of the berries to fill porcelain bowls.
Nessa arrived and hung a pot on the trammel over the fire. Mulled wine, spicy and fragrant, bubbled and enticed.
“I’m surprised you would help,” Vivian said as Alice entered the room with hatboxes.
“Aye, weel, I’ve found some of Lady Maclean’s favorite ornaments.” She started opening the hatboxes and removing the material that protected the dear items.
“Oh, Alice, they are lovely.” Vivian looked at each of them. Some were handmade and carved of wood, some fragile glass balls, and all seemed to be looking for a home on a tree. The pine garland emitted a welcoming, homey scent that brought nostalgic musings to Vivian’s mind.
She’d thought staying busy would keep painful reminders of her father’s absence at bay. How mistaken she was. Each decoration mimicked those used at Westington in
a wave of heartache.
Stacks of pine boughs and holly branches, dark and shiny, filled every empty nook. With great ceremony, she placed fat candles on the windowsills.
Pleased with the results, she called to the others and started ladling the wine into tankards.
Bernard nodded his head approvingly. “A job well done, it is.”
“Aye, m’lady. Reminds me of home.” Nessa choked back a sob and wiped her eyes.
Vivian laid a hand on her shoulder, her own heart clenching with pain. “Let’s sit, enjoy Alice’s wine.”
They laughed and ate, then enjoyed more mulled wine. Vivian felt a contented heat warm her from the inside. The company, room, and prospect of Christmas soothed her.
She waited for him. Waited for him to search her out.
Her heart broke a bit as the doorway remained empty.
Chapter 20
Where had the blasted servants gone to? Galen paced down the hall, past the kitchen and great room. He stopped and took a few steps back.
Never had he seen such a sight.
Holly, pine branches, and bracken coated the room with color and a fresh outdoorsy scent. There his disobedient servants lounged, enjoying his food and drink as if they were gentry.
Galen wanted to step into the warm scene, soak up a bit of the freely given friendship that seemed to be hovering. The great hall, which he’d never been allowed to enter as a lad, where he’d seen his father attack his mother.
Groping for the wall, he clutched his stomach as it started to pitch and roil. Galen closed his eyes, waiting for the nausea to subside.
Regaining his composure, he wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced back into the room. The same crimson curtains flanked the windows. And in contrast the usually cold, imposing walls appeared cozy with holly-filled vases and baskets before them.