The younger girl nodded. “Aye.”
Hannah pushed herself up off the ground and held out her hand. After a moment, Fiona reached up and took it. She kept hold of it as they walked past Hannah’s bodyguards, back toward the house.
* * *
“They tell me ye’ll live.”
Gavan opened his eyes. The sharp-faced redhead suckling an infant in the chair by his bed had a familiar look to her. “Morag?”
“Aye, it’s Morag, ye jackanapes. It’s nae been that long.”
“You were twelve when I left.”
“And for all twelve of those years, we were nigh inseparable.”
“A woman changes a great deal between twelve and twenty-eight, especially when she’s had a litter,” he said, eyeing his old friend’s weary expression and the baby at her breast.
“Ye call my bairns a litter again, and I’ll finish the job yer sister started.”
“Sorry. How is Calum?” Gavan had always treated Morag like a sister, but Calum had believed him to be in contest for her affections.
Morag grinned. “Exhausted.”
Gavan shuddered. “That was unnecessary.”
“Ye deserved it.”
Gavan realized the world outside the windows was dark, and no moon was visible. “What time is it? What day is it?”
“Sun will be up in a few hours. Ye havenae missed any days.”
Gavan rubbed at his eyes. “What are you even doing awake?”
“The bairn got fussy. He’d have woken the rest of them, so we came to see ye.”
Came to bother him in the middle of the night, when he was supposed to be recovering, and people thought he was the selfish one.
“This is a lovely chat, but as you so keenly pointed out, I was recently shot.” Gavan closed his eyes and tried to look unwell. It wasn’t difficult. “I’m supposed to be resting.”
“I’ll get to the point, then. Yer woman, is she a witch?”
He was immediately alert again. “Hannah? Of course not.”
“Ye sure? Ye might be ensorcelled.” Morag switched the baby to the other breast without missing a beat.
“Yes, I’m sure. Stop saying that like you mean it. People will get the wrong idea.”
“What else are they supposed to think? First ye come back, and then Fiona comes down from the graves holding her hand. She’s working bloody miracles.”
“What’s so amazing about Fiona holding Hannah’s hand?”
Morag’s eyebrows elevated in surprise. “Ye dinnae ken?”
“How would I know what I don’t know?” Gavan asked with irritation.
“She’s nae let anyone touch her since Seamus died.”
“That’s ridiculous. Surely someone has—”
“Oh aye. For a while, we’d try and get hands on her, but first chance she’d take off to the trees and wouldnae come back for days. Scared the living daylights out of us, so we stopped trying to touch her.”
Seamus died when Fiona was five. Could she really have gone nine years without so much as a hug?
“Why wouldn’t Ewan tell me something like that?”
“The better question is why weren’t ye here to see it for yerself?”
Guilt threatened to choke his words. “You know why.”
“If I did, I wouldnae be bloody asking. I’ve got too many bairns to chase after to be wasting my time, Gavan Dalreoch.”
The baby chose that moment to illustrate her point by fussing and crying. She shifted it, making soothing sounds, and it settled.
“I’m a blight on the family name, Morag. Red Maggie’s bastard, dragging the whole clan down with shame, because I didn’t have the decency to die in the womb.”
“So?”
“So? So nobody wanted me here.”
Morag did not look impressed. “A clan needs a laird, and a laird needs a clan. When did ye become such a coward?”
“Coward!” Gavan had just jumped in front of a bullet, and now he was being called a coward. Was it any wonder he stayed away?
“The boy I remember knocked the teeth clean out of Brandon MacGreggor’s mouth the day he called ye a bastard,” she said with fondness.
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t family. How do you fight your own family?” It had never hurt Gavan when strangers said it, but with Dalreochs, it hurt every time.
“Same way ye fight anybody else, only dirtier.” It was something she would have said when they were children.
“Why do you care, Morag?”
She leveled her piercing stare on him. “I mean for ye to stay and be the laird, Gavan. Are ye gonna?”
Gavan couldn’t hold her eyes for long. He looked away. “Ewan’s done a decent job here. The clan is in good shape.”
“Ewan’s done the best he can, but it’s nae his job to do,” she berated him. “Ye’ve taken advantage of the debt he feels he owes yer mum.”
“He doesn’t owe my mother anything.” If he ever had, he had long repaid it.
“Aye, and ye dinnae bring shame on yer family. But neither of ye have the sense God gave a trout, so ye keep thinking it all the same.” She stood to go, shifting the child into a burp on her shoulder and covering herself in one smooth motion. “Decide, Gavan Dalreoch, and soon. Some of us still haven’t forgiven the last time ye left. If ye mean to leave again, best be quick about it.”
Chapter 19
First thing the next morning, Hannah started in on the plan. Fiona stared at the bathtub with obvious distaste.
“Why do I need a bath?”
“The first step to convincing people you’re not going to spontaneously burst into violence is to appear more civilized,” Hannah explained.
“Couldnae we just . . . wipe off my face a bit?”
Hannah shook her head. Gavan’s sister was filthy. Her aversion to the bath was evidence enough of how few of them she’d had. Fiona’s face scrunched up, as if in pain, but she started disrobing.
Betsy gasped. “We’re going to need a lot more water, miss.”
Hannah nodded and helped Fiona into the tub. “I’ll start with this. You see about having more sent up.”
Betsy started collecting up Fiona’s discarded clothing, and the girl almost bolted out of the bath when she got to the coat and hat. “Not those!”
“We’re going to need to clean them, Fiona, otherwise they’ll just get you dirty again,” Hannah said in soothing tones.
Fiona didn’t look convinced.
“They were your father’s?” Hannah asked.
The girl nodded.
“Leave them for now,” Hannah instructed.
Betsy clearly disapproved, but she didn’t voice it. When the maid left without the hat and coat, Fiona relaxed considerably. As gently as possible, Hannah started to work with the soapy cloth. The girl’s skin wouldn’t be nearly as much trouble as her hair, but that would have to wait for more water. The contents of the tub were already a murky brown.
When Betsy returned, and Angus and Auld Ian had carried up a second tub, Hannah was just finishing up with the scrubbing. A stream of women bearing steaming buckets filed past. After everyone had filed back out again, they transferred Fiona to the new tub.
Hannah was working a French cream through the girls tangled nest of damp hair when Jane and Mathilda arrived with laden baskets on their arms. Fiona gaped at Jane wordlessly. It reminded Hannah of her own impression seeing Jane for the first time. She looked so elegant and delicate, it made you feel ugly by comparison.
“Fiona, these are my friends Jane and Mathilda.”
Gavan’s sister hugged her knees against her chest and nodded.
Jane’s smile was shy. “We come bearing food.”
“Excellent,” Hannah exclaimed. “We’re almost done here.”
They rinsed Fiona one more time and wrapped her in a towel to dry by the fire, while Mathilda and Jane laid out an impromptu picnic. Fiona was still unsure about Betsy, so Hannah took the brush and started the slow strokes through the younger girl’s hair. Fiona kept her attention firmly on her feet, when she wasn’t sneaking glances at Jane.
“Did you both get settled into rooms?” Hannah asked Mattie and Jane. She felt guilty about not finding out if they were all right yesterday, but they were extremely capable, and Hannah’s hands had been full convincing Fiona to sleep indoors.
Mathilda nodded. “We did. A woman named Morag arranged everything for us. She seems to be the housekeeper, or something similar.”
“She isnae. She’s just bossy,” Fiona said to her feet.
“Housekeepers are usually quite territorial.” Hannah asked with interest, “If Morag isn’t, then who is?”
Fiona shrugged. “Dinnae have one.”
“Not at all?” Jane asked.
Fiona’s eyes slid to Jane again, before coming back to her feet. She shook her head rather than answering.
“It’s hardly fair, is it?” Hannah said, smiling as she nodded her head toward Jane. “She’s so beautiful it makes me want to tear my hair out, but she’s also the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not nearly as beautiful as Fiona,” Jane declared, daintily spreading butter onto a piece of bread. “I’ve always wanted green eyes and thick black curls. Half the women in England are blond. It’s become quite cliché.”
“It is a bit boring to be blond,” Mathilda agreed, gesturing to her own honey strands. “Black hair is exotic, especially with high cheekbones like Fiona’s.”
A blush had risen up Fiona’s neck as the women praised her appearance. She returned to staring at her feet with renewed intensity, but Hannah caught the small smile that was flirting with the edge of her mouth. Compliments were a start, but they could do much better than that if Fiona wanted to feel beautiful.
“Betsy, did you pack the mint walking dress?”
“I did, miss. It’s hanging up already. Do you—?” Betsy realized Hannah’s intention. “Oh, that’s just the thing, that is. It’ll go lovely with her eyes.”
“Only if Fiona wants to.” Hannah didn’t want to push too soon.
“Only if I want to what?” the girl asked, not following the discussion.
“One of the dresses I had made in London would match your eyes perfectly. Would you like to try it on?”
Fiona’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “I’d ruin it, for sure.”
“I doubt it, but if you do, chances are Betsy can fix it.”
“She’s not lying. Hannah covered herself head to toe in mud wearing white silk, and we had that good as new in no time,” Betsy said proudly.
“Plus, she has dozens of gowns. She won’t miss it,” Mathilda said, joining the convincing.
“Would you wear it, Fiona? Please say you will.” Jane’s plea did the trick. Fiona was powerless to refuse the object of her fascination.
Lunch was forgotten in the flurry of excitement as they scoured Hannah’s wardrobe for undergarments and accessories. Fiona’s height and bosom would surpass Hannah’s in time, but for the moment they were a near perfect match. Before, the confirmation that Hannah had the upper curvature of a thirteen-year-old girl would have been disheartening. In light of everything she’d experienced with Rhone, she found it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it used to.
When they were finished, they stood back and let Fiona see herself in the long mirror against the wall. Gavan’s sister twisted experimentally, watching the bell of the skirt swish back and forth. Betsy had been allowed to pin the front of her hair back, leaving lustrous black curls trailing down her back and shoulders. Fiona’s green Dalreoch eyes looked otherworldly sitting atop the mint satin of the dress.
She blinked at herself, as if seeing a stranger. “I look like a lady.”
“You are a lady,” Hannah said. “Your mother was a countess, and your brother is an earl.”
“Yeah, but I never looked like one before,” Fiona said with amazement.
Hannah smiled. “If you like it, you may look like one as often as you want. I have all sorts of dresses that will fit you.”
Keeping her eyes on her reflection, the younger girl nodded.
* * *
Morag’s predawn visit to Gavan’s sickbed was just the beginning of the flood of people who came to issue opinions and disapproval. Eventually he browbeat Bennett into arranging the pillows so he could comfortably sit up without irritating his wound. Glaring at people sideways while lying on one’s stomach was significantly lacking in dignity and authority. He used his new positioning to full effect, now, while glaring at Ewan.
“You should have told me about Fiona.”
His cousin’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Do ye want to be shot a second time?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Ewan said, with every appearance of it being the truth. “Do ye recall me trying to talk to ye about the lass? Ye practically shoved yer fingers in yer ears and ran away.”
Gavan remembered. “Gods, I’ve made a mess of everything.”
“Nae everything,” Ewan said sympathetically. “Ye’ve managed, through complete happenstance and idiocy, to wind up with a woman perfectly suited to be yer wife.”
Gavan shut his eyes. He was going to be shot twice. “Ewan, about that . . .”
A knock on his door interrupted his imminent confession and untimely death. It was both a blessing and a curse. He wasn’t sure he could muster the courage to tell Ewan the truth a second time.
“Come in,” he yelled, feeling suddenly nostalgic for his battles with Magnus.
Hannah entered, looking lovely as ever, and stopped in the doorway. She looked back before saying, “There is someone who would like to speak with you.”
He was going to quip that it was more like a hundred someones, with all the traffic he’d been getting, but it died in his throat. Hannah stepped aside to reveal his sister.
“Fiona?” Ewan said, disbelieving his own eyes.
She swallowed hard and, with a sideways glance at Hannah, who nodded, dropped a rough curtsy. Ewan gaped.
This pretty young girl had very little resemblance to the filthy Pict who’d put a bullet in him yesterday. No wonder Morag had contemplated Hannah being a sorceress. In less than a day, his fiancée had taken a girl allowed to run feral for almost a decade and taught her to curtsy.
“You look lovely, Fiona,” Gavan said, deeming a compliment unlikely to upset this delicate new balance.
Ewan managed to compose himself. “Aye. I never realized how much ye look like yer mum.”
Suppressing the surge of unpleasant memories, Gavan forced himself to really look at the girl standing in his doorway. She had Seamus’s coloring, and her face had a youthful softness he didn’t remember Maggie’s having, but the resemblance in her features was incredibly strong, paired with her hair pulled back in the style his mother had favored. “He’s right. You do. You’ll be even prettier than she was.”
There was something in Fiona’s expression, something like longing. Gavan realized she’d never actually seen their mother. Maggie had died giving birth to her.
“This is an excellent topic, and one I expect you to continue in the very near future.” Hannah pinned him with a look that brooked no argument. “But first there is something Fiona would like you both to hear.”
With Hannah’s encouragement, his sister stepped farther into the room until she was at the foot of the bed. She took a deep breath before beginning, tugging awkwardly at the shoulder of her dress. “I’m sorry I shot ye. I dinnae mean to. I wanted to shoot ye, but I hadnae decided to do it yet.”
Hannah coughed discreetly in the background. Gavan gathe
red that admitting to wanting to shoot him was not in the planned speech.
Fiona flushed and rushed on. “I promise I willnae shoot ye again, and however ye decide to punish me, I’ll accept it ma . . . ma . . .” She looked at Hannah for help.
“Magnanimously,” Hannah supplied.
“Right. That,” Fiona said. She leaned toward Gavan like she was sharing a secret. “That means I willnae complain or try to get out o’ it.”
“That’s quite a promise. We Dalreochs are famous for our complaining,” Gavan said, trying to keep his face solemn.
Fiona nodded, accepting this as fact. “But I won’t. Ye have my word. Even if it’s awful. Even—” She swallowed again. “Even if ye want to beat me, or send me away.”
Hannah nodded encouragingly. His sister’s small shoulders were rigid with barely mustered bravery.
“So, Gavan. What will Fiona’s punishment be?” Hannah was staring at him very intently.
Did he have to deliver a punishment? The guilt for leaving her alone was bad enough; he wasn’t sure he could stomach disciplining her on top of it. Gavan looked at her bowed head, waiting for his judgment. If anything, she should be sitting in judgment over him. He’d been a piss-poor guardian. He could hardly fault her for trying to shoot him and get herself a different one.
This was not a moment he could afford to mishandle. He looked to Hannah for help. She gave him a firm but gentle frown that he took to mean he did have to issue a punishment, but that it need not be harsh. Remembering the time Seamus made him stay with Auld Mary for a fortnight after he’d stolen a pie from her windowsill, Gavan settled on his answer.
“Your punishment for shooting me is to make sure I survive,” he declared. “You’ll have to check on me, multiple times a day most likely. It will be very time-consuming, and I’m sure there are all sorts of complications you’ll need to learn about, as well as the proper treatment and care.”
Apparently, he had chosen correctly. Fiona, who had prepared for the worst, was now doing an excellent imitation of Ewan’s openmouthed surprise from earlier. Hannah looked like she would kiss him right then and there. Even Ewan was nodding approvingly, with a suspicious gleam to his eye.
A Convenient Engagement Page 23