by Lydia Dare
Elspeth laughed and tugged the girl’s arms from around her neck, setting her back so that she could look at her.
“Somethin’ is different about ye,” Sorcha said, touching a fingertip to her chin as she regarded Elspeth from head to toe. “But I canna determine what it is.”
“Aside from the loss of the wolf that was hangin’ on her arm when she left us?” a voice called from behind the coach. Caitrin appeared, with Blaire and Rhiannon in her wake.
“Doona start with me, Cait,” Elspeth bit out. “I’ve only just come home. Let me settle in before I have ta start battlin’ with ye.”
Caitrin crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the coach. “Where’s yer dog? He’s no’ nippin’ around yer skirts.”
Elspeth turned to go inside. She held the door open and raised her eyebrows. “Anyone who can keep a civil tongue in their head can join me. Otherwise I have a lot of work ta do.”
Blaire, Sorcha, and Rhiannon went in and made themselves comfortable on the settee while Caitrin lingered in the doorway.
“Do I need ta ply ye with hyssop, Cait?” Elspeth asked, gesturing to the plant that still thrived on her tabletop.
Caitrin sighed and stepped into the room.
Elspeth’s voice finally broke when she said, “I miss him…”
Caitrin flew across the room in a flash. She pulled Elspeth into her arms and cooed softly as she let her cry it out. “I ken that ye miss him. I’m sorry for bein’ so cruel.”
Elspeth wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. “I doona ken what’s wrong with me. I am usually no’ so emotional.” All four of the girls suddenly avoided her gaze.
“What’s wrong?” Elspeth barked. “What is it that keeps ye from lookin’ me in the eye?”
“It’s no’ our place ta tell ye—” Caitrin began.
“Ye’ve seen my future, then?”
“Aye, I’ve seen yers. And that of the bairn ye carry,” Caitrin said softly as she brushed a tendril of hair from Elspeth’s brow. Then she turned and walked out the door.
“Doona go!” Elspeth called. “Ye canna leave me without knowin’.”
“Yer future waits,” Caitrin called back, smiling. Then all four girls started down the lane, their heads pressed closely together as though they were telling secrets she wasn’t privy to. The coach Sorcha had arrived in was abandoned, as the women apparently thought a long walk would be better for their scheming. Elspeth directed the coachman back to the Fergusons’.
She shook her head with dismay as she walked back into the house and sank heavily into a chair, placing a hand on her belly. A bairn. She smiled softly. Then it hit her what Caitrin said. It wasn’t like her to start to speak and then end in a riddle. “Yer future waits?”
“Do you think I’m the future of which she spoke?” a deep voice said from the doorway.
“Ben!” Elspeth cried as she jumped to her feet.
It had been weeks since he’d seen her last. He allowed his gaze to travel slowly over her body. He smiled when he heard her heart start to beat faster. He did still affect her. He’d hoped so. And prayed. And wished.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“We’ve only just arrived.”
“Where’s Major Forster?”
“He went ta the church cemetery.”
“Oh.” Ben understood completely. If anything ever happened to Elspeth, he would probably die with her. Or die a million deaths as the days passed before he could join her.
“How are ye?” Her hands fluttered nervously until she finally clutched them before her.
“Hale and whole. Thanks to a lovely Scottish witch who gave me the healing I needed.”
“So with the moonful ye did change?” she asked as her eyebrows knit together.
“Yes, I did.” He nodded. “I’m back to my old self.”
She smiled slowly at him. “I’m truly happy ta ken I could help ye, Ben.”
“I’m in need of one more bit of healing, though,” he said softly as he walked slowly toward her. She stood still and quiet, but the flowery scent of her became stronger as her body warmed beneath his gaze.
“What seems ta be wrong with ye?”
He took her hand in his and pressed it to the center of his chest. “I think I’ve a problem with my heart.”
Elspeth gasped. “What kind of problem? I have potions for the heart. I can heal ye,” she said frantically.
He placed a finger to her lips. “It’s not that kind of heart problem.” Her confused gaze rose to his. “I’m afraid my heart is broken.”
“That’s no’ humorous,” she said, trying to pull her hand back. But he held tightly. He’d not allow her to mistake his intentions. Her green eyes flashed. “Ye’d have ta love me before yer heart could break.”
He bent his head to touch his lips softly to hers. “I know.” He pulled her closer to him, until her body pressed against his in the most delightful way. He’d missed holding her, the feel of her in his arms. He breathed beside her ear. “Fix my heart, Ellie.” Then he loosened his hold and stepped away from her.
She shook her head. “Ye shouldna have come.”
His stubborn, beautiful, intoxicating wife. “Come now, love. You heal everyone else.”
Elspeth dropped onto her old threadbare settee. “I’ve given ye all I have, Ben. I doona have anythin’ else.”
Which was why it was time for him to take care of her. Something he would do for the rest of his days. He just had to win her back first. “Come to dinner with me tonight, Ellie.”
“Ben,” she groaned.
“I won’t take no for an answer.” He sunk to his haunches before her. “It’s just dinner. You have to eat anyway.”
She shook her head. “But my father—”
“—has been eating camp rations most of his life. I’m sure he can manage one night at the Thistle and Thorn.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a moment he thought she was going to smile at him, but she quickly schooled her features back in place.
Ben tucked a curl behind her ear. “I promise not to bite.”
“Just dinner?”
“Just dinner.” For now.
“All right,” she finally agreed.
Forty-seven
“WHATEVER YE DO, DOONA SAY ANYTHIN’ STUPID,” Caitrin warned Ben. Then she thrust a picnic basket into his arms.
He almost stumbled backward against the Macleods’ grand staircase. A footman snickered, but quickly adopted a stoic expression when Ben glowered at the man. “Findlay,” Caitrin replied waspishly, “ye may leave us.”
Once the servant was gone, Ben turned his attention back to the pretty seer, whom he still couldn’t quite believe was helping him. “Thank you for your confidence,” he grumbled.
Caitrin raised one arrogant brow. “I believe that’s why ye’re in this situation, Westfield. I’m simply sayin’ doona make the same mistake again.”
“Well, that goes without saying.”
She ignored him, then handed him a folded-up plaid he’d come to recognize as belonging to the Campbells. “I’ve put some red candles in there, too.”
“Why red?”
She frowned at him. “Do ye want my help or no’?”
To be honest, he wasn’t sure. He knew he could trust Sorcha, but Caitrin was another matter. “Why are you helping me?”
At once she looked remorseful, which was a change from her usual haughtiness. “My mother was so consumed with keepin’ the Còig intact, she dinna see what she was doin’ ta Elspeth’s mother. At least that’s what I’ve been tellin’ myself.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I canna fathom lyin’ about a vision, Westfield. It goes against my very nature. Her fear and selfishness cost El a lifetime’s worth of happiness. It’s a little late, but if I can bring some ta her, I’ll even help the likes of ye.”
Even when she was helping him, it still came off as an insult. “A truce, then?” he asked.
Caitrin cocked her head to one side, assessing him. “Ar
e ye really goin’ ta split her time between London and Edinburgh? Like Hades and Persephone?”
Ben couldn’t help but laugh. “You whispered that little myth in MacQuarrie’s ear?”
A wicked smile played on her lips. “I’m a bit selfish myself, Westfield. And ye dinna answer my question.”
Ben sighed. He’d never thought he’d have to get approval for his time allotted to him by this particular witch. “Yes, Miss Macleod.”
She winked at him and smiled. “What a good wolf ye’ve turned out ta be. And ye can call me Cait.”
“Cait?” He raised his brow in amusement.
“Well, I’m goin’ ta be the godmother of yer children, after all.”
“Are you, indeed?” He couldn’t resist smiling.
“If ye can win her back. I doona trust my visions completely anymore. And El can be more stubborn than most.”
But she saw them together. Ben released a sigh. He would take all the help he could get.
“Now, El’s favorites are in there, and Rhiannon has guaranteed nice weather for ye tonight. But the rest falls ta ye. Doona say anythin’ stupid.”
“Yes, you said that already.”
Ben helped Elspeth out of his coach, and her eyes swept over the land—a beautiful heather-covered meadow that edged the forest. The warmth of his hand holding hers sent tingles racing to Elspeth’s soul.
She sucked in a steadying breath as her eyes darted back to her husband. Ever since she’d agreed to this outing, she’d worried it was a mistake. Spending time with him would only make things more painful when he left.
Ben scooped up a picnic basket and plaid in one hand, then offered his free arm to her.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Home,” he answered, with a smile in his voice. “Do you like it?”
“Home?”
“This is the land I bought, Ellie,” he said, gesturing to the open space. “We’ll have the grandest home in Edinburgh, save the castle. Society will be lining up to attend your parties. And out back by the woods you can have your own wing to tend to as many sick Scots as you want. Just say you’ll come back to me.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek.
She closed her eyes at his touch, momentarily lost in a happier time when she thought they were in love. “Ye doona have ta do this, Ben. I doona blame ye for anythin’, ye ken.”
Ben looked away from her and spread the Campbell plaid on the ground.
“We just weren’t meant ta be,” Elspeth continued softly, though her heart protested.
She remembered when Will had uttered the same words about his Prisca and the sadness that emanated from him. The sentiment hadn’t made much sense to her back then. Now she understood it too well.
“We were meant to be. We’re connected, lass, in more ways than one.”
Distance and time would solve those problems. Elspeth stepped away from him and took a spot on the corner of the plaid. She smiled, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “What have ye got in yer basket?”
He sat beside her; his warm hazel eyes raking across her seemed so sad. “I’m told that roasted pheasant with currants is your favorite.”
Elspeth grinned at him. Who had he been talking to? “No blueberries?” She couldn’t help but ask.
Ben groaned and squished up his nose. “I don’t think I can ever look another blueberry in the face.”
Elspeth laughed. “They’re really very good for ye.”
“I’ll survive,” he replied, leaning back on his elbows.
She glanced at him, relaxed on the plaid and staring out at his land, his hair hanging rakishly across his brow. Elspeth didn’t think it was possible for her to ever stop loving him. Why was he intent on making this harder for her? “Ben, sell the land. Go back ta London. Yer life is waitin’ for ye. The right girl is out there somewhere waitin’ for ye.”
In the blink of an eye he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. “The right girl is here, Ellie. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Ben,” she sighed, staring at his neckcloth to avoid his eyes. “I ken ye care about me. But—”
“I do care about you. I love you, Elspeth Westfield. And I was a fool not to realize it sooner. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make that up to you.”
Elspeth’s eyes slowly rose to meet his, and her heart leapt at his words. She wanted to believe him. She wanted it more than anything.
“Tell me the right thing to say, Ellie. Everyone seems to think I’ll say something stupid and you’ll bolt.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Everyone thinks that, do they?”
“Caitrin pounded it into my head.” He nodded, his eyes searching hers.
“Cait?” she asked in amazement. Her friend was the very last person she would expect to aid Ben in this quest. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant.
He smiled at her. “She said she was going to be our children’s godmother.”
Elspeth’s hand flew to her belly. This was about the bairn. He didn’t want her to raise their child alone. Her heart plummeted again, and she scrambled from his lap.
“I doona need yer help, ye ken. I’ll manage just fine on my own.”
Ben’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “What did I say?”
“She never should have told ye,” Elspeth snapped as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. How could she? Elspeth had planned to tell him in her own time, in her own way.
“Told me what?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together as he reached for her.
Forty-eight
ELSPETH AVOIDED HIS TOUCH AND HIS GAZE. THEY’D immediately gone from having a casual, comfortable conversation to her pulling away from him.
“What did I say? Please tell me so I can avoid saying it in the future.” He recognized the bite of sarcasm in his own voice and chastised himself. This wasn’t the time to show her his bruised ego. Caitrin told him not to say anything stupid, and he’d somehow done so anyway.
Elspeth sighed and raised her knees to wrap her arms around them. Then she dipped her head to rest on her knees. Her voice was muffled when she finally spoke. “Nothin’.”
“I seem to have a way of putting my foot in my mouth, Ellie. I’m still learning, though. And I’m a quick study.”
“I ken ye are,” she said, her voice still muffled as she refused to raise her head.
What could he do to bring her back to him? He reached into the picnic basket and started to unload it. “Can you tolerate my presence long enough to eat with me?” He tried not to sound defeated, but it was difficult.
“Aye, I can tolerate ye.” She finally raised her head and looked at him. “Her cook makes the best pheasant.”
If he couldn’t win her with his personality, at least he could win her with food. But when he unwrapped the roasted bird, Elspeth’s hand immediately flew to her mouth. Her eyes grew round. And she turned a most horrid shade of green.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She stood up quickly and ran to the bushes. He closed his eyes and pounded his forehead with his fist when he heard her cast up her accounts. Now his very presence made her sick. The situation was beginning to look hopeless. Instead of Caitrin telling him not to say anything stupid, she should have told him specifically what not to say.
A few minutes later she returned. Thankfully, the greenish tint to her skin had receded. “I’m sorry,” she started.
He held up a hand. “That’s quite all right. You can’t help it if being with me makes you ill.”
“It’s no’ that,” she said as he passed her a cup of water to rinse her mouth out. “It was the smell of pheasant. I havena been feelin’ my best lately.” She looked toward the dish and shuddered. “I appreciate ye havin’ it prepared for me, though.”
Her hand lifted as though to caress his face, and he was so happy he nearly bumped his nose to her hand like a pup who wanted to be petted. But then she pulled back.
“
So how do ye feel about what Caitrin told ye?”
“I was quite put out by it at first.” Wouldn’t anyone who’d been called an idiot be a little upset by it?
Elspeth gasped and pursed her lips.
“What did I do now?” he groaned.
Tears filled her green eyes and welled up behind her lashes but threatened to spill over at any moment. “I’d like ta go home, now.”
Ben took Elspeth back to her cottage, his heart breaking the entire journey as she sniffed back tears. Her breathing was labored, and he felt like the biggest cad. If only he knew what stupid thing he’d said.
Once at her cottage, Ben walked her to the door, where he kissed her forehead softly and watched her as she brushed past him into the house. Her stance, which was usually so proud and erect, seemed almost defeated.
He stayed outside until she blew out the candles. Then he went to the Thistle and Thorn to get properly foxed. He could have gone back to MacQuarrie’s, but the man would only try to talk to him, and Ben wasn’t in the mood to converse with anyone.
He entered the taproom and found Major Forster at a corner table with a glass of whisky, talking amicably with the townspeople. He should have realized the major would still be there. After years of traveling with his regiment, the man naturally made friends wherever he went.
Ben sighed. The major was his fatherin-law; perhaps he had some insight into Elspeth. As Ben approached him, the major kicked a chair from beneath the table by bumping it with his boot. Ben sank heavily into it.
“Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying dinner with my daughter?” the major asked, pulling out his pocket watch to glance at the time.
“I was. She asked me to take her home. It appears as though my presence makes her physically ill.”
The major chuckled and motioned for another whisky for Ben. “You turn her stomach, now, do you?”
“Obviously. She was sick in the bushes as soon as I brought the food out.” Ben threw back his whisky and motioned for another.
“You mean she’s truly sick?” The major’s eyebrows shot upward. “I should go check on her.”
Ben shook his head. “I stayed until she turned out the light. She’s fine.”
“I wonder what’s wrong. Maybe she ate something bad?”