by Anne Greene
“Physically, I’ve never felt better. No morning sickness.”
“And emotionally?” His proud grin had turned tender.
Tentatively she touched his lips. “I have ups and downs.” She was so worried about him.
He smiled and stroked his bare chest. “That’s very normal, I think. Though I’m not so sure I believe in prayer, this is definitely an answer.” His warm hand cupped hers. “Having a son will take a heavy burden from my shoulders.” A frown puckered his fine forehead. “You must take care of yourself. I think no horse riding until the baby arrives.” With his free hand, he stroked her hair. “Now come, my sweet little kitten. I’m glad the royal mother is visiting, but you’re the one I really want to see.”
The familiar warm, loving feeling gathered inside her heart.
Perhaps the scene last night had been caused by taut nerves.
Avondale had returned over soon from the boar hunt in order to be in time for the masquerade Mums and Megan had planned for Fiona.
Papa had been grumpy as well, when the men had reappeared empty-handed.
Yet Avondale had seemed on edge during dinner. Had something else happened to her husband between dinner and when she found him so agitated in the bedchamber? Were affairs of his estates causing him concern? Was Bloody Billy a hired assassin?
Father, whatever Avondale’s problem, please do not let him become so unsettled again. Help me make him happy. Help me share his burdens. Help me to be a good wife. Give me wisdom.
She slid into bed next to her husband.
10
Cailin and Avondale spent a happy hour reading the Bible together and discussing the various passages before going to bed.
Once the single candle he permitted was doused, he held her in his strong arms. His full, warm lips pressed sweet love onto her neck and lips. “I fear so for the child, my bride. I would not put his life into any danger. Having a son is not to be taken lightly.” He stroked her hair and cradled her against his muscle-ridged chest.
She heard the rock-solid beat of his heart. “But I’m a strong, healthy woman. We should have no fear—”
“You look as delicate as a fine china cup.” Avondale’s eyes, shining in the moonlight, held shadows that darkened them to onyx. “You are my treasure, and I will not risk putting you or our child in the slightest danger.”
For the next several nights she contented herself with enjoying his presence and explaining the meaning of various passages in Scripture. One passage in Colossians seemed to particularly attract his attention.
Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son: In Whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins.
Yet, each morning his side of the bed was empty.
After taking breakfast with the family, Cailin found herself walking in the garden savoring the freshness of the morning, listening to the songs of birds, and inhaling the scent of roses.
More often than not, Brody measured footsteps with her.
“Where is Megan?”
“Ach. She seems taken with some of the English gentry. I think yer ma has given me wife the chore of entertaining the ladies.” He walked, hands clasped behind his broad back, a frown between his straight brows.
“I see.” Cailin avoided brushing her morning dress on the roses thrusting their thorny branches over the paved path.
They walked together in silence, each trapped inside their own thoughts until they reached the sty over the hedgerow that marked the end of the garden. He reached out a huge hand and helped her over, though she’d easily scampered over the sty since she was a child.
“I wrote a new tune for Megan. Would ye hear me before I play it for her?”
Perhaps if she went with him, she would dredge up the courage to ask him what he thought about Avondale’s odd behavior. “You have your bagpipes hidden?”
Of course he did. The English forbade the playing of bagpipes and confiscated any they found, imprisoning the owner inside the Tower of London.
“Aye. They are hidden inside the mews. If ye have the time we could trot over there and I could play for ye. Ye could tell me if ye thought Megan would like her song.”
Already their feet were pointed in that direction.
“And do ye think that His Grace will turn me in to the Duke of Cumberland?”
And so it went, each day falling into a pattern.
She, asking simple questions which might help her form a picture of why her husband acted so strange that he needed a bodyguard, and Brody looking lost while the woman he loved with all his heart spent her days with others.
****
Aunty Moira shared the drawing room with Cailin and the one or two wedding guests who seemed to have decided to set up residence inside the castle.
Ian often stopped in for tea as well. He seldom spoke, but his adoring looks and hovering tenderness, so at odds with his large stature and clumsy feet, proclaimed to even the most jaded English lady that the two were very much in love.
Aunty Moira blossomed in his presence, her hazel eyes shining, and her complexion glowing like a lass’s. They sat close, knees touching, on the settee facing the low table holding the tea things.
One glance at Ian’s proud face and Cailin guessed their secret.
“You are in the family way, are you now?” She wagged a buttered cake at her aunt.
A becoming pink flushed Moira’s face. Her lips tilted at the corners. “Whatever makes you think so?”
“You have that almost holy look of expectation.” Cailin touched her own rounding stomach.
A grin split Ian’s homely face. “That we are,” he burst out, his chest swelling and his blue eyes alight.
Several of the ladies covered their mouths. One choked.
Cailin leaned forward and took Moira’s hand. “I’m so very happy for the two of you.”
Moira tilted her head and smiled. “I did catch your bridal bouquet.”
“Good heavens! Surely you don’t believe that superstition.” Aunt Aley shifted her portly body on the sofa. She had grown grumpier each day in proportion to Aunty Moira’s happiness.
“No, of course not. But I do believe in God’s abundant blessing.” Moira gazed around the clusters of people taking tea and cakes. “The Scriptures say there is no difference between Jew and Greek—the same Lord is Lord of all, and richly blesses all who call on Him.”
Cailin nodded. Yes. Scot or English. Fugitive or gentry.
God was no respecter of persons. He doled out blessings for all.
Still, she would be happier if Avondale sat beside her in this cozy room rather than being out somewhere attending to whatever business kept him away so often.
His demons seemed tamed. But for how long?
11
The evening of the masquerade arrived.
Cailin was elated. During the past two days Avondale had remained wonderfully attentive at night and had been somewhat less snobbish during the small amount of time he was home during the day. And he’d had no more strange spells.
Perhaps she had called needlessly for his royal mother. Certainly she wasn’t looking forward to the dowager’s visit. And yet she feared not to ask her counsel. What if Avondale had another episode? Certainly the woman could enlighten her in regard to Avondale’s actions.
“Are you ready to go down, Cailin?” Wearing a shepherdess gown and carrying a curved staff, Fiona looked as fresh and lovely as an angel. Her long auburn locks were bound with a thick yellow ribbon that matched the yellow grosgrain of her gown. She possessed the same good looks as her brother, only hers were far more delicate. She no more resembled a real shepherdess than a horse resembled a mouse. She was exquisite. Her red curls fell unbound to her waist. Her azure eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were pink above her pretty bow of a mouth.
She and Fiona met Megan in the hallway. Megan looked ethereal in her green Queen-of-the-Fairies dress with its gauzy wings. All of them glided down t
he stairs together.
Once again, the ballroom looked festive. Tall centerpieces of late June flowers graced the tables above every type of finger food and crystal bowls of punch. Not even the haggis that must be served at all occasions caused the slightest sickness in her stomach.
She held the stick high until the gold mask covered her eyes.
Avondale should arrive soon. He’d been detained by some matter about one of his estates, but sent word he would arrive as soon as he solved the problem.
She gazed through the eye slits at the effervescent crowd. Many of these people had attended her wedding. All wore elaborate costumes.
She and Avondale dressed as the Queen and King of England. The gold crown circling her head was a bit heavy, yet she loved it, and the gold gauze over her silk dress was fashioned after what King George’s queen would have worn, had the German had a queen.
Mums and Papa came as the Queen and King of Hearts. Her seamstress had sewn a large white heart that covered most of the front and back of Mums’s red satin bodice that could easily be removed so her expensive dress could be worn for other occasions. Were not her family and most Scots known for being frugal?
The joyous music lifted Cailin’s heart, and she tapped her toes. Life could not be more wonderful. Her husband loved her, and she was carrying his child.
And Rafe shadowed Avondale at night while Hennings hovered over him during the day. And her husband had not even caught a sniffle from his wet ride.
Tonight was Fiona’s welcome to Scottish society, with some English sprinkled in as future courters for Fiona. The engraved invitations had mentioned Fiona’s introduction to society—not her debut, which Mums planned to hostess at a later date. Mums adored throwing parties, and this ball helped compensate for her disappointment at missing Megan’s wedding.
As Cailin expected, but Fiona had doubted, multiple suitors surrounded Fiona from the moment she shyly entered the ballroom. Young English and Scottish lords had been instructed by their parents to look over the new lass in anticipation of her having a large dowry. Even had there been no dowry, Cailin was certain Fiona would never lack suitors.
When Aunty Moira and Mums came by to greet her, Cailin hugged them.
Papa bent and kissed her cheek. His square face and rugged features appeared happier tonight than he’d looked since Megan brought Brody home. Perhaps her parents were accepting the Highland fugitive.
A sense of rightness filled her.
Brody and Megan were also doing well. No outsiders suspected Megan’s delightful husband was really a Highlander with a price on his head.
Cailin smiled.
And never had Fiona look so happy…or so beautiful. Taller than the English lasses, she moved with the in-born grace of a ballerina.
As guests arrived for the party, Papa stood at the entrance to the ballroom, leaned on his elegant hand-carved ebony cane, and shook hands with Scots and English alike.
When most had gathered in the ballroom, Papa walked to the raised dais, stood in front of the seated musicians and banged the floor with his cane. After he had secured all the guests’ attention, he signaled the orchestra. The strings and piano broke into a fanfare. Papa motioned to Fiona.
Pink flooded her face. Looking elated and flushed, Brody’s sister took her place of honor at the dais.
Papa held up her hand. “This is my son-in-law’s sister. I think she is something like a cousin twice-removed. She has come to live in our castle and is a part of our family, and I trust you will treat her as such.”
The guests clapped.
The young gentlemen, invited for just this purpose, clapped mightily and sported grins. Most wore satins, powdered wigs, knee breeches, buckled shoes, and black masks. Others, Fiona’s costume having leaked out via the servants, dressed as simple shepherds. They strutted about the room vying for Fiona’s attention.
Fiona kissed Papa’s cheek and thanked him prettily, her burr hidden with the strict English lessons Megan had been giving. She blushed even pinker at the toasts and well wishes many of the guests voiced.
Cailin toasted her, and then ran forward to hug Fiona, who already seemed like a younger sister.
The butler announced Avondale’s arrival. He looked magnificent. Gold became his brown hair and chocolate eyes. The crown circling his high forehead fit as if he was born to royalty. The tailored swallow-tailed jacket showed off his broad shoulders and tall stature. He hadn’t bothered to mask his handsome face and his eyes danced. So, his estate problem must be solved. He appeared relaxed and in a fine mood. He raised his stemmed glass and spoke to Fiona. “We are happy and proud to have you living in Castle Drummond.”
As the party ran its course, Avondale, less haughty than usual, danced with his strong arms around her, causing her heart to soar to the vaulted ceiling. His white teeth showed in a smile as he whispered, “Motherhood becomes you.”
She loved whirling around the floor in his arms with his eyes staring into hers.
“You will not overexert, will you my darling?”
“I shall be very careful. Our child is precious to me.” Yes, God was in His heaven and He loved her. That was apparent from all these blessings. She smiled and gazed around. She must share her feelings with Megan and Fiona.
But where were they? Both had disappeared. She had little time to think of their absence since Avondale whirled her back onto the dance floor.
At least three dances later, Fiona reappeared, her cheeks pink and her blazing blue eyes huge. She looked even more beautiful. Certainly the girl was catching the eye of every available titled bachelor present. Then Fiona dropped gracefully into one of the chairs situated artfully in clusters around the room. She motioned to the lord of the moment that she wanted a drink.
“Cailin, you must rest now. Think of your condition.” Avondale’s jaw jutted, so she decided he might be right.
She took leave of him and slid into the one available chair by Fiona’s side before the gallant who obviously planned to do so was able to sit.
A frowning Lord Winslett bowed and reluctantly left.
They rested together, plying their fans to warm faces.
“Brody is back. He’s wounded. But all is well. Megan and I made him comfortable,” Fiona whispered behind her fan.
“Praise God.” Megan had worried about Brody disappearing from the boar hunt, but Avondale and Papa had not known the reason.
Cailin heaved a sigh. She was certain Brody had gone to rescue more fugitive Highlanders, but she’d kept her thoughts to herself. No need to worry Megan. She smiled. Brody was back and all was well! Perhaps she and Megan would have babies at the same time.
How sweet for the cousins to grow up together. What fun to have new life in the castle. How wonderful that Avondale provided the protection they all needed to live safely in the aftermath of that horrible battle.
Without Avondale, Brody would be outlawed, sold into slavery, or dead. And because of their location so near the battlefield, both they and their castle would be vulnerable to attack by both English and Scottish soldiers. Everyone living inside this castle owed their thanks to Avondale, from Papa down to the youngest child of the poorest serf.
And Fiona’s life had changed drastically. She now stood a chance to marry well and live happily in the Lowlands, where before she would have only become wife of a highland clan leader…or worse, to a renegade. It was so good to see her clear blue eyes shine. She obviously loved life inside the castle with all its opportunities.
Papa approached and bowed. “Aye, my sweet colleen, will ye take a turn on the dance floor with me?”
“Delighted, Papa.”
He swung her into a jolly reel. His dancing was not so elegant and protective as Avondale’s, but he was enthusiastic. He smelled of new material, smoke, and even slightly of horses. At the dance end, he patted her cheek. “Yer a lovely lass, ye are, Cailin. Ye have done your old papa proud.”
He would be elated when she told him her news.
B
ut Avondale wanted her to wait until the first dangerous months passed for her to unveil her secret.
She smiled. “Thank you, Papa.” When she turned from his big form dressed in red satin, a breath of fear shivered the nape of her neck. She gazed over the entire room full of dancing, laughing people.
Just as some sixth sense had warned her, Avondale had disappeared. Where was he? In the flurry of dances, she’d lost sight of her husband.
And now, where was Fiona? She scanned the room, but saw no lovely apparition in a yellow dress with auburn curls cascading to her waist. Saw no smiling face with a light sprinkling of freckles. Saw no long queue of gentlemen awaiting a dance.
Fear churned inside her breast. Had she gone somewhere with Avondale? Impossible. Fiona avoided Avondale.
Since the Battle of Culloden, when the redcoats slaughtered all her family except her widowed mother, herself, and Brody, the Highland lass had little taste for Englishmen. But she carried this too far. Avondale was an upright, just man, and Fiona had no right to condemn him simply for being born English.
Cailin had not judged Brody for being a Highlander. For bringing danger to their castle by his very presence. She blinked rapidly.
Brody was lying wounded from his attempts to help other Highlanders. Hidden somewhere inside the castle. Were there other hunted men now hidden in the old broch? How long could they continue to help the Highland warriors without being caught?
She stilled the worry churning her stomach. Not even the king would dare enter the castle looking for fugitives. The family all owed a great debt to Avondale.
But he feared someone. Who? Why?
Almost everyone had removed their masks. There was no athletic figure dressed in gold. No enchantress dressed in yellow. Had Avondale gone for a cigar? Had Fiona hurried back to check on her brother? Had she gone to the garden to take a walk with one of the lads so eager to spend time with her?
Ghostly fingers traveled down Cailin’s backbone until her hands grew icy. What if Avondale had another spell? This one during a public event? Surely not, he’d been so relaxed.