A Convenient Engagement

by Kimberly Bell

  “Young Mary’s got the care o’ him right now, lass. Go and see her, to find out what ye need to do.”

  “I’ll go straightaway,” Fiona said. Before anyone could stop her, she was gone in a flash of green satin.

  “Did I do it wrong? She seems unduly excited, for a punishment.”

  “She thinks you don’t like her,” Hannah explained. “She expected you to send her away. Instead, you’re making her spend time with you.”

  “Oh.” Gavan didn’t know what else to say to that. He couldn’t blame her for thinking it, after how he’d treated her. He resolved that things would be different from here on out. “How do I fix that?”

  Hannah came forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You did wonderfully, just now. When she comes back, just imagine that she’s you. Give her the praise and attention you would want from someone else.”

  Yes, he could do that. If Fiona craved affection and attention, he would show these misers how it was done.

  Chapter 20

  Their third day at Castle Rhone saw Hannah in the library. Fiona had taken to caring for Gavan like fire to a hayloft, and Hannah was searching for texts that might add to the medical knowledge she was devouring at a rapid rate. Gavan’s sister was, thankfully, literate, but her education had not extended very far beyond the basics of reading. The measurements and calculations required for basic medicine and herb lore were an excellent way to broaden her understanding of mathematics.

  Hannah had found the personal journal of an herb woman who used to live on Dalreoch lands, as well as a slightly outdated text written by a doctor in Edinburgh. Both would serve nicely for Fiona. The book she was currently perusing was, however, much more interesting to Hannah than it would be to Fiona.

  “This is fascinating. Did you know Scottish law allows a woman to divorce a man?” she asked Auld Ian, who was picking his fingernail with a knife. He was scowling at the group of clansmen perusing the shelves.

  “Aye. Doesnae get used hardly at all, though,” he said dismissively. “Most times, if a woman is angry enough to leave a man, she’s killed him before she gets around to thinking about the law.”

  “You’re joking, of course,” Hannah said, skimming the pages for examples of precedent.

  “Nae at all,” he said seriously. “Who was the last one, Angus?”

  “Auld Mary,” Gavan’s godfather said from where he lounged with his eyes closed.

  Hannah noticed that none of the other visitors to the library came near his position, even though he gave every appearance of napping.

  “Aye, Mary!” Auld Ian said with a snap of his fingers. “She married Fat Hugh.”

  “Cruel bastard, that one. Didn’t have a lick of sense,” Angus contributed.

  Auld Ian nodded in agreement. “One day, Mary had enough. She’s a fair hand with the herbs. It was the soup, wasn’t it?”

  “The drink,” Angus said, still not bothering to open his eyes.

  “Aye, the drink! Bit o’ poetry, that was.”

  “It was the drink that brought out the cruelty in him,” Angus explained from his chair.

  “She’s married to Quiet Craig now.”

  “Plenty o’ sense on that one,” Angus declared. “Good man.”

  “And that’s all? They did not hang her? She killed her husband and everyone just went about their business?” Hannah stared at them both in disbelief.

  “Well, technically,” Ian said, in the manner Hannah had come to recognize as a Scotsman beginning a semantical argument, “he died from the fire. Cottage burned clean to the ground. There’s no call for a magistrate in a house fire. That sort o’ thing is just bad luck.”

  Angus coughed a chuckle. “Aye. Especially if ye’ve drunk enough steeped belladonna to be fair paralyzed. That’s verra bad luck indeed.”

  Hannah’s shock must have been evident.

  Auld Ian patted her on the shoulder. “Scotswomen dinnae stand for being mistreated,” Ian explained. “Start ’em young, too. Ye saw the wee murderess. Up and put a bullet in the laird, on account of she was cross.”

  “And it doesn’t alarm you that your women could turn deadly at any moment?” Hannah was having a hard time wrapping her mind around their calm acceptance of the murder of their countrymen.

  “A man doesnae get murdered for no reason,” Angus said, as if that were common sense.

  “Aye, and it keeps things interesting,” Auld Ian chimed in. “Used to be it kept a man from getting soft when he wasnae raiding or fighting t’other clans. Not much of that now, so it gives ye summat to do besides getting fat.”

  “By the look of yer middle, Ian Dalreoch, it’s high time ye remarried.”

  The mystery woman’s arrival snapped both of Hannah’s bodyguards to attention.

  “Pleasant afternoon, Morag.” Angus was fully alert now, eyes open and back straight.

  Auld Ian tugged what was left of the forelock of his hair. “’Lo, Morag. Dinnae expect to see ye in the library.”

  Hannah observed the famous Morag. Fiona had called her bossy. She did have a certain authoritative look about her, as she surveyed the handful of clansmen loitering around the library.

  “What are they about?” Morag asked, gesturing.

  “Come to have a look at the laird’s woman,” Angus grumbled.

  Morag’s eyebrow raised incredulously. She raised her voice to match it. “I seem to recall asking a few men to go check on the outbuildings on the edge of the forest.”

  “Isnae anything in those buildings, Morag. Nobody’s using ’em this year,” one of the men grumbled.

  Argument was the wrong response. Morag’s other eyebrow rose to meet the first, and she started advancing on the man with slow, deliberate steps.

  “Oh aye? And ye ken everything about everything, do ye Tall Ian? Mayhaps ye dinnae care that it looks as though something large has taken to living in one. Might be as ye think ye’ve got a few too many bairns,” Morag said, poking the tall man in the chest, “and it wouldnae be so bad if one got eaten up by a wild thing living so close to the castle. Might be I should tell yer wife ye said exactly that.”

  The library cleared almost before she finished speaking. Fiona might be right about the woman being bossy, but Hannah rather admired her effectiveness.

  “Now for the pair of ye.” Morag turned back to Hannah’s bodyguard. “Off ye go. There’s a fruit pie in the kitchen.”

  “We’re to guard her,” Auld Ian said, full of affront.

  “She’s in no danger from me. Guard the door if ye like, but I mean to speak in private.” Morag’s steady stare overrode any additional arguments.

  The two old men shambled off, arguing about who would stand sentry at the door and who would bring back the pie from the kitchen. Morag sat down across from her and inspected Hannah openly.

  The Scotswoman frowned. “I thought ye’d be taller.”

  “As did I,” Hannah said, amused.

  The tone disrupted the other’s woman’s assessment. Morag looked up in surprise. After a second, her wide mouth turned up into a smile.

  “I’m Morag,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Hannah,” Hannah replied. She tried to behave as if shaking hands like a man were an everyday occurrence for her.

  Morag sat down in the chair Angus had vacated, and she smiled as the weight came off her feet. “Been shearing sheep since dawn, and nursing a fussy babe before that. Some days are longer than others.”

  “I’ve never sheared sheep.”

  “It’s nae so bad. Daft animals, too stupid to be much trouble. It’s the bairns that take it out of ye,” Morag said with a warm smile that robbed the words of ill intent.

  “They do seem to have a lot of energy,” Hannah said with an answering smile. “I hear them running through the halls, and I’m tempted to chase off after them. They always l
ook like they’re having so much fun.”

  Morag gave her a strange look. “Yer nae what I expected of an Anglishwoman.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not what the English expect of an Englishwoman, either.”

  “No?” That seemed to surprise her.

  “I’ve caused something of a stir in London,” Hannah confessed reluctantly. “I don’t mean to, but I spent most of my life alone in the country. It’s harder to fit in than I expected.”

  Revelation dawned on Morag’s face. “That’s why Maggie’s children take to ye. Yer all in the in-between, nae sure where ye belong.”

  Was Hannah unsure where she belonged? She had avoided thinking about it, not wanting to skip ahead to the time when she would leave Gavan and Jane and Mathilda and all the joys of the past few weeks. Where would she belong, then? London wouldn’t welcome her. There was no home for her at Idyllwild. Castle Rhone was not her home; not when she had no plan to marry Gavan. Where did Hannah belong?

  “The in-between,” Hannah repeated quietly. “But Gavan and Fiona belong here.”

  “I’ve always thought so, aye, but it’s never been enough. Nae until ye came.” Morag speared her with that knowing gaze. “Ye’ve got a leaving look. Do ye nae mean to stay?”

  “I—” Hannah didn’t, but she didn’t want to say it, either. She didn’t want it to be true.

  “He loves ye. He wouldnae have come back for less.”

  “I know.”

  “Do ye love him?”

  Hannah closed her eyes on the answer. “Probably.”

  “Aye, all three of ye, blind as beggars on where ye belong,” Morag said with certainty. “Sort it out, lass. There’s a place for ye here, but ye must choose it.”

  That apparently concluded their discussion. With a nod and not another word, Morag strode out of the library, leaving Hannah to consider her future.

  * * *

  Gavan tried to maintain an expression of regal dignity. Grant McConnel was at his bedside, airing some asinine grievance or another, while Fiona changed the bandage on his shoulder. She squeezed hot liquid over his wound, and he couldn’t stop a yelp of pain.

  “What the devil is that?”

  “Water.”

  “That is not just water.”

  “Mostly water. Summat to ward off infection, too.”

  “Would that ‘summat’ be brimstone? It burns like hellfire.”

  His sister frowned. Before he realized what she was up to, she had taken the knife she was using to cut bandage strips and sliced it across her arm. She grabbed the wet cloth and squeezed the liquid over her cut. Other than a tightening around her mouth, she gave no reaction to the sting.

  “Ye’ll manage,” she said heartlessly. “It doesnae hurt that bad, and I’ll nae have ye getting an infection on my watch.”

  He had created a monster. This was just one of many examples of Fiona’s dedication to the task he had given her. Due to inconclusive evidence regarding which common remedies were superior, she resolved to leave nothing to chance and forced him to take them all. By the time his wound was healed, Gavan would either be healthy as a horse or dead from Fiona’s concentrated attentions.

  The worst part was, he couldn’t complain about it. She wanted his approval, and he wanted her to be secure in it. So each time she drowned him in foul-smelling mixtures, he would thank her for taking such thorough care of him. Her beaming smile almost quelled his desire to crawl into a hole and let death have him.

  Gavan turned back to Grant to find him staring at Fiona with a dazed expression. Any sensible person would be distracted by the fact that she had just willfully lacerated herself, but Gavan knew it was her freshly washed appearance and one of Hannah’s borrowed dresses. Everyone who visited while Fiona was tending to him had been brought up short by the transformation of his sister.

  “McConnel,” he said. “Quit gawking at my sister.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” To Fiona, Grant said, “Ye look just like her.”

  Gavan didn’t need to look to know Fiona blushed and ducked her head down shyly. He had seen it enough times to have the gesture memorized.

  “As I was saying, you and Young Ian and Calum are going to clear a section of the Blackwood.”

  “The hell I am. Young Ian still owes me two sheep in trade for fixing his roof last spring. I’m nae doing anything with that blackguard.”

  Who the hell cares, Gavan wanted to shout. It’s two sheep from a year ago. He knew, however, that these were the sort of grudges a Scotsman would hold for a lifetime.

  “No, he doesnae,” Fiona said from over Gavan’s shoulder.

  “He does so!” Grant blustered.

  “Yer a filthy liar, Grant McConnel.”

  This was an interesting development. Gavan kept quiet and let the argument play out.

  “We made a deal for four sheep, and I only got two!” McConnel complained.

  Fiona put the bandages down and gave Grant the same piercing glare Gavan had seen his mother stare people down with. “Aye, and Young Ian made a deal for a fixed roof, but ye got piss drunk and never finished the job.”

  Grant buckled under her stare. “I would have, I just needed an extra day.”

  “And wait around for a rain to come rushing through the hole? He didnae cheat ye and ye know it. Ye’ve been selling that lie all year, Grant McConnel. Yer lucky he gave ye any sheep at all, leaving a job unfinished.”

  Well now, this was unexpected. Not only was Fiona extremely well-informed, but his kinsmen seemed to hold her in the same fearful regard they had held his mother. Pressing the advantage while he had one, Gavan said, “You’ll work with Young Ian and Calum clearing the Blackwood, or I’ll give Ian exclusive rights to the pastures west of the river and you and your cattle can go hang, Grant.”

  Another well-timed look from Fiona stifled the follow-up argument, and a dejected Grant McConnel left his rooms with an agreement to show up to clear the Blackwood day after tomorrow.

  “That was quite helpful. Thank you, Fiona.”

  “It was just the truth.” She shrugged, rubbing a soothing salve over his shoulder.

  She re-bandaged his shoulder and packed up to go wherever she went between dosing him with foul elixirs.

  “Fiona, would you be willing to stay?”

  “Is something wrong? Are ye feeling poorly?” She immediately pressed a hand to his face, checking for fever.

  “No, no. I feel perfectly fine. I just thought you could stay, and maybe help me with some of the clansmen.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I dinnae think I’d be much use for that.”

  “Nonsense. You were infinitely helpful with Grant. I don’t know anything about what’s gone on since I left, and I’d hate to make a decision off of false information. Dalreochs can be quite deceptive.”

  Fiona nodded seriously. “They can at that. Aye, I’ll stay, to make sure they dinnae take advantage.”

  When Ewan came to visit them an hour later, Gavan and Fiona sat side by side on the bed. Gavan was telling a story, and Fiona was shaking with laughter.

  “Ewan!” she cried. “Did ye really jump off the barn, thinking ye could fly?”

  Ewan stared at them for a moment before shaking himself. “Aye, I did, but only because yer vile brother gave me a counterfeit set o’ wings and told me they would work.”

  Fiona burst into laughter again, and Gavan smiled widely at his cousin. That was a great day.

  Ewan settled into the bedside chair, which was currently empty of clansmen seeking audience. “Is this what ye’ve been up to all day? Bragging about yer wickedness and poisoning young minds?”

  “On the contrary. Fiona and I have been holding court.”

  “Do ye like our throne, Ewan?” she asked with a grin, spreading her arms wide to take in the headboard and pillows.

 
“Yer both bedlamites,” Ewan declared, but he did it happily. “What great judgments have ye made, then?”

  “Well,” Gavan began, “Grant, Young Ian, and Calum will start clearing the Blackwood day after tomorrow.”

  “Which will make more pasture space for Ian’s sheep,” Fiona added.

  “The stones and wood will be used to build a new house for Calum and Morag,” Gavan finished.

  “Nae just an extension?” Ewan asked. “Ye could also rebuild Auld Ian’s barn if ye only gave them a new room or two.”

  Fiona shook her head. “We think Auld Ian should move into the castle. He’s getting too auld to live out so far alone.”

  “We will supply his room and board in exchange for use of his horses, which we will put in the castle stables,” Gavan explained. “And Morag probably deserves a real house by now.”

  Ewan nodded. “It seems ye’ve done a great deal today.”

  “We still need to get a few people to agree,” Gavan said.

  “It’ll be nae trouble. No one wants to stand between Morag and her new house,” Fiona declared wisely.

  “Well, then, what do ye intend to do now that ye’ve solved all the clan’s problems?” Ewan asked.

  “Gavan was just going to tell me about the time ye went border reiving against the MacGreggors,” Fiona said, biting her lip in anticipation.

  “Yer nae telling her that story.”

  “Oh yes, I am.”

  “No, yer nae, because ye’ll tell it all wrong.”

  Gavan was completely insulted. “I will not. It was my plan, and it was brilliant.”

  “Brilliant! Yer already telling it wrong,” Ewan scoffed. “We couldnae sit for a week after Seamus caught us. It was a terrible plan.”

  They argued back and forth for the rest of the afternoon and better part of the evening, while Gavan and Ewan retold the stories of their great childhood adventures. Fiona listened with rapt attention, laughing and asking questions to spur them on. When Ewan finally carried a sleeping Fiona back to her own rooms, Gavan realized he had spent all night talking about the past without dwelling on the pain at all.