“All right,” the little girl said. “I’ll remember.”
“Good,” Alexander told her with a smile. He winked at Jamie, then turned to Thomeas. “Shall we?”
Thomeas bowed his head. “Aye, Laird,” he agreed. The two men walked towards the door he’d come through, Alexander disappearing first, while Cicilia and the children waited on their escort.
Just before the side door closed, though, Cicilia could swear that she felt the lingering gaze of those suspicious gray eyes.
When Alexander was quite sure they were alone, he leaned his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and said, “How long have ye kent about Cameron O’Donnel, Thomeas?”
He had half-expected the accomptant to deny it, so he was pleased when Thomeas had the decency to look abashed.
“So he is deid, then. I dinnae ken for sure, but I suspected. When I was out at yonder farm, I kent somethin’ was nae right about that lassie’s story.”
Alexander sighed. “Aye. A fever, she tells me. Cicilia has been runnin’ the farm alone since, an’ raisin’ the bairns, besides. It’s nae wonder they’re half-wild. It’s a tragedy worthy o’ the Bard, I’m tellin’ ye.”
He launched into the story, describing precisely what had happened since he arrived at the farm, including the gory details of the animal slaughter but excluding the events on the stable floor. When he was done, he could scarcely believe all such things had happened in the space of a few days.
After a long time, Thomeas still didn’t reply, and Alexander could tell that the accomptant had something on his mind.
He’s givin’ me that look he gives when he disapproves but doesn’ae want to offend.
“Speak freely, Thomeas,” he insisted. “Ye ken I value yer opinion above most others.”
Thomeas nodded. “I ken, Laird, an’ it means a lot.” He considered for a moment then asked, “So she an’ the bairns are to stay at the castle? Are ye sure that’s wise?”
“Why would it be unwise?” Alexander asked him. “We have the room. More than enough. She can even reside in Catherine’s old bed-chamber. God kens it’s been goin’ to waste since me sister was wed.”
“We dinnae have facilities for children,” Thomeas pointed out. “They’ll run amok an’ we can hardly give them lessons. Yer Lairdship has nae been blessed wi’ bairns o’ yer own yet, after all.”
“Cicilia will continue to see to their education,” Alexander told him with a shrug. “She is a learned woman. She doesn’ae just ken her letters an’ numbers, she’s proficient in Greek, Latin, economics…”
“Aye, she’s quite the woman,” Thomeas interrupted. “But still a woman, nonetheless, an’ women have their limitations. She’s a well-off lass used to a certain way o’ life. We dinnae have any women who are nae servants wi’ a job already in the castle. What o’ her lady’s maid?”
Alexander frowned. It was true. He knew Cicilia could take care of herself, but decorum dictated that she have someone to help her. He ran through the candidates in the castle and came up woefully short. “What o’ the cook’s younger sister, the newest maid? Bertha?”
“Nay, Cook wants her in the kitchens,” Thomeas replied. “We cannae take her away. All the maids are accounted for.”
Alexander drummed his fingers on the table. He wanted to tell Thomeas that it didn’t matter—but of course, it did. Alexander was a Laird, and appearances were everything. If he was to host Cicilia, it must all appear proper and above board.
It was a shame that Cicilia’s own maid, Katie, had retreated to her sister’s home across the border. Alexander cursed himself for not thinking to extend the offer to the lass to avoid this exact issue. It was too late for that now, though, and he needed to do something.
I dinnae want whispers o’ me bein’ some rascal. Though I imagine Nathair would find that right funny.
Nathair! That was it! He had the perfect solution, and he knew it was one his friend would appreciate. “Cicilia’s house matron has a daughter, Jeanie, who lives wi’ her grandfaither in town. The matron an’ her husband are livin’ there since the fire, so I imagine Mr. McCaul wouldnae mind lettin’ us borrow his granddaughter in the interim.”
Thomaes’s expression gave nothing away. “I’m nae sure if we have the coin to pay another maid just for this?”
Alexander chuckled, assuming that his friend was making a joke. “Well, it’s yer job to make sure we do. An’ I would be worried had we nae. Unless there’s somethin’ ye’re nae tellin’ me?”
Thomeas smiled in response. “Forgive me, Laird, I was just concerned. Still, are ye sure this lass will want to leave her parents and her grandfaither in such a tryin’ time?”
“Och, aye,” Alexander said with certainty. “She an’ Cicilia are bosom friends. She wouldnae pass up the chance to help her.”
That, an’ if I tell her Nathair’s here, I imagine she’ll come runnin’. Who’d have thought it would o’ developed like this?
The accomptant nodded, though it was clear he had more to say. Alexander waited in silence for a moment, but no words were forthcoming. Eventually, he sighed and said, “Speak, man!”
Thomeas nodded again. “Aye, Laird. I was just wonderin’ what happens after.”
“After?”
“Aye, after the repairs to the farm. Are ye intendin’ that the lassie should return to how things were?” Thomeas asked. “Clearly, she is nae fit to manage the farm.”
A surge of protective anger flowed through Alexander at that. “Watch yer tongue, Thomeas. Ye’re bein’ disrespectful o’ a fine woman.”
The accomptant held up his hands. “Nay, I dinnae mean any disrespect. But Cicilia O’Donnel is a lass who in less than a year has apparently lost half o’ her faither’s livestock an’ now even her home. An’ she’s unwed, which is suspicious for a woman o’ five-and-twenty, an’ irresponsible besides. How does she expect to provide for those bairns?”
Alexander had thought much the same thing when he’d first discovered Cicilia’s secret, but Thomeas’s words still made him angry. “She’s been providin’ for them well since her faither went,” he argued. “An’ the farm, as well.”
“Aye, an’ how do ye think she’s done that?” Thomeas asked. “A man may have natural business instincts, but a woman has wiles. Ye need to find a cousin or some minor noble if she has nae male relatives an’ hand the land over. It’s best for the farm, for the clan, an’ for her.”
Alexander’s fists tightened under the table. Thomeas was being horrendously unfair. Yes, Alexander had thought similar things—but not after he got to know Cicilia, got to experience the farm for himself.
What’s his excuse? He was there, too!
“The farm is prosperin’, just as much as it was when Cameron O’Donnel was in charge. More, even,” he snapped. “Cicilia dinnae ask me for help, I offered it, an’ I intend to get her back on her feet.”
Thomeas sneered. “As ye say, Laird,” he replied in the most frustratingly condescending tone Alexander had ever heard.
The Laird growled and got to his feet. “I shall tell ye thrice an’ for all, Thomeas Cunningham. Have ye somethin’ to say, then either say it or get out o’ me presence. I am nae in the mood for games.”
Thomeas did not respond to Alexander’s anger in any way, instead leaning back on his chair, looking infuriatingly calm. “Ye ken yer safety is me priority, Laird.”
“Me…safety?” Alexander asked, confused.
Thomeas nodded gravely. “Ye say the farm is prosperin’. Ye say ye offered help and were nae asked. In response, I ask again—how do ye think she managed that? Her sex is nae kent for straightforward dealin’. It is nae an insult, just a fact. May I ask ye a question, an’ will ye answer honestly?”
Alexander gritted his teeth but nodded.
I ken that he’s got me best interests at heart. I must at least listen to what he has to say.
Thomeas’s expression stayed calm and relaxed as he asked, “Did she invite ye for a roll in the h
ay on the first night, or did she wait a few days to suss out how she could take advantage o’ the situation?”
Alexander blanched.
“Dinnae ye worry, ye’re nae the first man to be taken in by such womanly—”
“Stop,” Alexander snarled. Then, taking a few breaths to calm himself, he repeated, “Stop. I am yer Laird an’ Cicilia is me guest. I’ll thank ye nae to cast such aspersions on either me or her. This is beyond inappropriate, Mr. Cunningham, nae matter how much ye claim to be concerned!”
Thomeas bowed his head. “Forgive me, Laird, but ye asked that I should speak freely. I am nae insultin’ ye or the lass. I simply ken how women operate. If yer heart is entertainin’ foolish thoughts, ye should ken that—”
“I dinnae want to hear it,” Alexander interrupted, though he spoke in a gentler voice now. As horribly insulted as he felt, he knew that Thomeas meant no harm.
The accomptant saw things in white and gray with minimal shading in between. No doubt, Thomeas had encountered many such women in his forty years. No doubt he’d even saved Alexander’s own father from some such schemers.
It is nae his fault. He just doesn’ae ken Cicilia. She was so busy tryin’ to scare him away that she couldn’ae show him how she really is.
“Laird,” Thomeas started again.
Alexander shook his head. “I apologize for raisin’ me voice, Thomeas, but I meant what I said. Nae more talk o’ this. Cicilia is me guest, an’ she’ll stay here until the farm is ready for her return. We will deal wi’ everything else then.”
Thomeas nodded. “An’ I apologize for offendin’ ye. As ye ken, I live to serve. Whatever me Laird wishes, so it shall be.”
Alexander sighed and then turned on his heel, heading to exit the room and ensure that Cicilia and the twins had been settled while he and the accomptant were talking. Just before he was through the door, Thomeas called out to him.
“Laird?”
“Aye, Thomeas?”
“Where is yer pin?”
Alexander went still, looking down at his own chest, the glaring white of his shirt unnaturally smooth. There was no pin there, no shine of gold. He hadn’t been wearing his father’s badge when he ran out of the house, he’d left all his belongings where they were in his rush to get everyone out of the flames safely.
He touched the space where it usually rested above his heart, as though that would make it materialize somehow, swallowing down the rising panic in his breast.
Breathe, Alexander. When did ye last see it? When did ye last wear it?
Perhaps it was gathered with Cicilia’s things when they were recovering the small pile from the building? He couldn’t remember. But it had to be there, for if it was not, it was gone. And if he’d lost his father’s pin, he may as well have spat in the dead man’s face.
Without another word, he hurried out of the door, hoping against hope that his salvation waited at Cicilia’s side.
Chapter 16
Cor Ad Cor Loquitur
Heart Talks to Heart
Cicilia had just settled the twins into their new room after they both promised not to go anywhere in the castle without asking someone first. She was a little concerned, but not overly so, when she returned to the chamber which she had been given and found the door askew.
Did I leave it ajar like this? I’m usually so good at rememberin’ to close doors…
She went inside, and what she saw surprised her more—Alexander, kneeling on the floor, holding the saddlebag upside down. Her meager belongings that had been salvaged made up a devastatingly small pile and Alexander was digging through it like a man possessed.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked without anger. He hadn’t read the book, after all. She felt like she could extend him a little trust now, even if the situation looked suspicious. “Why are ye in here?”
Alexander looked up, and she was shocked to see the distress in his blue eyes. She hadn’t seen him looking quite this vulnerable ever before, not even when they’d been kissing on the floor of the stable or when he was gentle with the twins in their grief. “Me pin,” he said in a hollow voice. “It is nae here. It is nae here.”
“Pin?” Cicilia asked, kneeling at his side. “The gold one ye always wear? Ye dinnae have it wi’ ye?”
“It was by me bedside,” he said in a thick voice. “I forgot it when we were tryin’ to get out, I—I hoped it was maybe in wi’ this pile o’ stuff we got out, but—”
Tentatively, she put her hand out, touching his shoulder. “Alexander, I’m right sorry to say this, but if it is nae here, it probably was fuel in the fire. Those flames were burnin’ uncommon hot, an’ there was still wood in the fireplace in yer room…”
To her horror, it was then she saw tears in his eyes, and when he leaned back from the pile, he reminded her of a lost boy.
Is that how I looked when I found me animals slaughtered? He looks like someone just died.
“Alexander?” she asked softly.
“It was me faither’s pin,” he said, his voice breaking a bit as he forced the words out. “An’ his faither’s, an’ his faither’s before him. When me faither—when he died in the Sinclair lands, Catherine got it to me. It was how she told me I was to be Laird now.”
“Catherine? Madame Sinclair?” Cicilia asked gently. “I dinnae ken she was yer sister. Her people love her.”
“Aye, she’s a good soul. Just like me mammy,” Alexander said wistfully. It made Cicilia’s heart stutter to hear him refer to his late mother as he must have as a child. He barely seemed to be talking to her, lost in a world of his own. “Me parents would be proud o’ her. But o’ me? What am I?”
“A good Laird,” Cicilia said firmly and without pause. “As ye well ken.”
“The people are scared o’ me,” Alexander replied.
“The people respect ye,” Cicilia countered. “An’ aye, ye could be a bit softer, an’ a little less harsh on yerself. Ye could stop hidin’ that ye’re a good man. But I understand. I had to harden up when me faither died, too. We’ve got more in common than I ever thought we would.”
Alexander said nothing to this, but a slight calmness appeared under his wild eyes. He let out a breath, and then to her surprise, he leaned his head on her shoulder, obviously exhausted.
Hesitantly, she waited for him to move. When he didn’t, she slowly raised her hand, running it soothingly through his hair. He mumbled something wordless and closed his eyes.
They sat like that for a while, her comforting him in his loss like he had comforted her in her own. Then she said quietly, “What was yer faither like?”
“A good man,” Alexander replied. “The best. He loved his people an’ he taught me to do the same. He kent I was different, that I become worried when things are out o’ order, but he taught me that it was nae a weakness. He and me Mither taught me to lean into it, to use it as a strength.”
Cicilia smiled, her fingers still running soothingly through his hair. “Just like me parents. They kent I was different from other lassies, an’ they taught me that it was nae a bad thing. Me faither always told me he was just as proud o’ all o’ us, boy or girl, dinnae matter.”
Alexander sounded like he had a smile on his face when he said, “I’m sorry that I never got to meet him.”
“Me to,” Cicilia agreed. “He had a lot o’ respect for yer faither, ye ken. Spoke very highly o’ him, even though they never saw eye to eye. Perhaps that’ll be us when I return home.”
Alexander laughed a little, leaning closer into her embrace. “Aye, perhaps.”
They sat in companionable silence for a little longer, then Cicilia asked, “The pin. It had a Latin etchin’, dinnae it? I cannae recall what it said.”
“Audentes fortuna iuvat,” Alexander repeated in the same tone of a reverent man in prayer. “It means—”
“Fortune favors the bold,” Cicilia finished. “Apt. Ye’re a brave man, Alexander. There are nae many who’d be willin’ to do what ye are for me.”
“Cicilia,” he said. “I…I’m glad ye’re safe.”
She smiled gently. “An’ I ye, Laird,” she agreed.
Lord, how I wish he’d kiss me again.
She thought he might now. The air felt tense between them, and she saw an intense focus in his eyes that made her body react in a way as pleasant as it was frustrating.
But instead, he got to his feet. “Thank ye, Cicilia,” he said. “For comfortin’ me. I was bein’ ridiculous, gettin' so upset about a silly pin. I’ll see ye once ye’ve rested an’ we can discuss our next moves, all right?”
A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 14