He sat on her bed and watched her graceful movements. “You learned that song from Mother. Just as you learned this skill,” he said with a hint of nostalgia. “I had forgotten both.”
“Mother was an exacting teacher,” Sorcha said, the wheel coming to a halt. She moved away from it and picked up the basket of wool.
“Was she hard on you after I left?”
Sorcha stilled, her gaze on the rough fibers. “Not until Father died. Then she became stricter. Said I had to earn my place. That nothing was guaranteed.” She raised a bitter gaze to Cailean and then frowned at his stoic expression. “Ye knew. All this time, ye’ve known.”
He nodded at her whispered accusation. “Of course I knew. Their arguments were legendary.” He shook his head with remorse. “I simply hoped you had been spared Mother’s bitterness.”
“She never wanted me,” Sorcha whispered through tears. “I was never more than a drudge to her, to do her bidding.”
Cailean made a noise deep in his throat, impossible to know if it was one of agreement or not. “She cared for ye as she could, Sorcha.” His voice thickened as he saw his sister’s anguish.
“But she wasna my mother.” At Cailean’s subtle nod of agreement, a tear tracked down her cheek. “I always wondered, since I was old enough to understand a parent’s affection, why she never cared for me. I tried, as hard as is possible for a daughter to try, to earn her love.”
“How did you discover the truth?” Cailean stoked a hand over his tensed thighs.
Sorcha set aside the basket and swiped at her cheeks. “When Mother died, a man came by the croft. Claimed to be my uncle, but I didna ken him. He wasna a MacKinnon nor one of Mother’s people.” She took a deep breath. “He was one of my real mother’s brothers. Said he’d kept his distance all those years out of respect for Mother.”
“Why did you believe him?” Cailean asked.
“Nothing in my life made sense until that moment. Why my own mother could barely tolerate the sight of me. Why my father cherished me. Why sorrow seemed to cling to Father. Why I didna look like my own brothers.” She met his gaze. “Why did ye no’ tell me?”
“You were a wee lass when I left. I would never have burdened you with it then.” He clasped his hands together. “And then, when Father died, I’d been away too long. Was too far away.” He closed his eyes a moment. “I’d always hoped Mother had come to care for you.”
Cailean paused as an uncomfortable silence descended in the room. “I should have spoken with you when I suspected you had realized the truth. You should never have had to carry that burden yourself.”
“Why do ye even care?” she whispered, her eyes tear-brightened. “I’m yer bastard sister.”
He growled and gripped her hand. “No! You are my sister. In every way that matters. You were Father’s daughter, and he loved you.” Cailean’s brown eyes lit with a fiery intensity, and he maintained her gaze. “I will not allow you to continue to distance yourself from us. You are one of us, Sorcha. You are a MacKinnon.”
She shook her head as tears fell. “I’m no better than the women I disparage. Than your wife’s sister,” she whispered. “My own mother was a whore.” Her voice broke on the word.
Cailean came off the bed to crouch in front of his sister. “No, she wasn’t. She was a woman who fell in love with a man who should never have acted on his desire for her.” He took a deep breath. “I asked Father about her, and he admitted he loved her. She lived in Portree, far away from us. Far from Mother and our croft.” He cleared his throat. “She was a weaver. Mairi MacQueen,” he whispered.
“Did ye know her?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “Sometimes I traveled with Father. I remember him meeting your mother. She had hair that shone like fire in the sun, clear blue eyes, and a smile that would light up a room. Her brother ran the pub Father liked in Portree, and she sold her weavings there.” He shrugged. “I never realized he had formed an attachment with her, but, soon after we met her, I ceased traveling with Father. He gave me more responsibilities on the croft.”
Sorcha crumpled forward and fell against her brother’s strong shoulders as she cried.
“It’s all right, Sorcha. Shh. Shh …” He patted her back and let her cry.
“Why did she no’ want me? Her brother only said it was best I lived with Father and his wife,” she whispered. “Her brother refused to have me meet the other family who lived on Skye. Said he shouldn’t acknowledge me.”
“She died. Took a fever after your birth,” Cailean murmured. “Her family threw her out when they realized she was pregnant out of wedlock and refused to take you. When Father realized you were destined for the orphanage, he went for you. And lived with Mother’s wrath every day for the rest of his life.”
He stroked a hand over the back of her head. “You have to understand your uncle was acting against his family’s wishes to see you. To meet you.” Cailean waited until she nodded her head in agreement.
“How do you know all this?”
He stroked a hand down her back, murmuring soothing words as she cried. “I was with Father when he went for you. I saw his fear when he thought you lost to him and then his joy when he found you.” He kissed her head. “Father loved you, Sorcha.”
She clung to Cailean as her sobs eased. “I’m angry and bitter and sad,” she whispered.
He tilted her head up so her gaze could meet his. “I know you are. But don’t allow the injustices you perceived were done against you to turn you against those who would help you.” He met her mutinous stare. “Against those who would befriend you.” He brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “Against those who love you.”
“I want to hate yer wife.” She pulled out a handkerchief and swiped at her nose. “She didna become bitter and angry, even though her father tore apart her family. How can she remain optimistic amid all she’s faced?”
Cailean squeezed his sister’s shoulders. “That’s no reason to dislike her. That’s a reason to admire her. And to try to emulate her.” He paused. “I’m sorry you had to bear the brunt of Mother’s years of disappointment.” His gaze sobered further as he watched his sister. “She allowed her bitterness at injustices against her to taint her future. Don’t be like her. Be like Father. Like your mother. Grasp the joys. Live a full life. It’s what Mairi would have wanted for you.” He pulled her close as she shuddered out another sob.
Annabelle leaned against the side of the settee in the parlor, half asleep as she awaited her husband’s arrival. One window was cracked open, and she could hear mothers calling for their children to come in for dinner, while the scent of woodsmoke and crisp fall air seeped into the room. She shivered and tugged a blanket over her while her mind replayed the scene with her sister and then her appointment with the town doctor after she left her bakery.
She turned her face into her husband’s soft touch and then curled into his arms when he sat next to her on the sofa. “Cailean,” she whispered.
“My Belle,” he murmured, kissing her on her forehead. “I think you need to consider working less hours or hiring more help. You’re too tired.”
She pushed against him as she struggled awake. She sat with her elbows perched on his chest and her face leaning toward his. “Why are you worried about me now, when you’ve avoided me for weeks?”
He smiled as he stroked a finger down her cheek. “I’ve missed you. I’ve been a fool.” He kissed her softly, and she leaned into him.
She met his smile. “I’ve missed you too.”
His gaze sharpened. “You seem inordinately pleased with yourself, Belle. Did you outsmart Tobias today?”
She laughed as she gripped Cailean’s hand. “No. I’m not tired due to work. I’m tired because I’m to have our child.” She smiled at him as a wondrous joy filled her. “I saw the doctor today, and he confirmed my suspicions.”
She frowned as he froze beneath her before pushing her off him. “Cailean?” She turned to watch his erratic movements as he
rose and paced around the parlor. “I know we never talked about children. But, with what we’ve been doing, I assumed you wanted children as much as I do.”
“Idiot!” He tugged at the hair at the back of his scalp. “Imbecile!” He kicked at a chair leg. At her whispering his name again, he spun to face her. “Do you know why I never spoke to you of children?” His panting breaths and wild gaze killed her wondrous joy. “’Tis because I never wanted a child. Never wanted to go through that hell again.”
“Again?” She swiped at her cheeks as he stared at her with dawning horror.
“Ye’ll die just like her.” He shook his head and gazed out the front window, ignoring her.
“I’m nothing like her! I’m my own person. I’m strong. We’ll have a strong baby.” She leaped forward, tugging at his arm to turn him to face her. “Please, Cailean.”
“I dinna want this,” he said, shaking his head. “Not again.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t try,” Annabelle whispered, her voice breaking on the word try. She swiped at her cheeks and bravely met Cailean’s stony gaze. “I … I love you.”
“I’ve never wanted nor sought yer love. An’ I certainly dinna love ye.” His words were thickened by his Scottish brogue. “Dinna blame me for no’ returnin’ unwanted sentiments.”
“Cailean,” Annabelle breathed. She held a hand to her heart and shuddered. “Please.”
“I swore … I swore I’d never love again. I keep my vows.” His cold gaze raked over her. “How could ye ever think ye could compare to my Maggie?”
Annabelle jerked back as though he’d struck her, the faint hope in her eyes extinguished by his words. “I … of course. How foolish of me.” She spun away and ran upstairs to the room they shared.
His boots thunked with his heavy steps into the kitchen area, and he glared at his siblings. “I’d thank ye not to spread gossip about what ye overheard.”
“Ye’re a damn fool, Cail,” Alistair snapped. “How could ye treat yer wife like that?”
“When I want yer advice, I’ll ask for it.” He slammed the back door shut behind him and stood on the rear porch, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to loosen the tension from them. He took deep breaths and attempted to focus on the early evening sounds of birds chirping as they settled for the night. Instead, all he heard were Maggie’s tortured screams. Her cries for him to help her. Her whimpers to let her die. He gripped the porch railing as he faltered, barely remaining on his feet.
At the soft touch to his back, he growled as he spun to face his sister.
“No amount of groveling can take away the words ye just spoke to yer wife,” Sorcha whispered. “Why were ye mean?” She met his wild, trapped gaze. “Ye know ye love her. Ye know ye’ll love yer bairn.”
“I can’t. I won’t,” he rasped, as though the words were torn from his chest. He stared at the nearby trees, softly swaying in a gentle evening breeze. “Not when they’ll die too.”
“Maggie was like an aunt to me,” Sorcha continued in her soft voice. “I never thought another could take her place. Never wanted to give another the chance.” She gripped her brother’s arm and tugged him to face her. “Yer Annabelle’s special. Ye know that. Ye must accept it.”
“I refuse to lose her too,” he choked out as he bent forward and dropped his head into the crook of his sister’s shoulder.
She stroked his back, holding him close as he shuddered. “Ye daft man. Don’t ye realize? Ye just did.”
Chapter 10
Annabelle slipped into her bakery and moved to the back rooms. Although her living space had become more of an office for her since her marriage, the area retained the small cot for the times she had a chance to take a catnap between baking and opening. She sank onto it and fought tears. Her husband’s voice rang in her ears, and she hugged her belly. “What am I to do?” she whispered to herself. She collapsed to her side, as she lost her battle, and sobs burst forth.
After his shattering comments, she had packed enough items to escape his house. “His house, never ours,” she whispered to herself. She lay on her side, her head pillowed on one of her arms, and contemplated her future. When her thoughts only became more muddled as she replayed what had occurred, she closed her eyes and prayed for sleep. But this evening’s conversation with her husband kept her up most of the night.
She woke with a start a few hours later. She stretched with a loud groan, lit an oil lamp, and checked the time on her small watch. She arched her back again to wake herself up as it was almost time to start preparing her breads for the morning rush. She washed and readied for the day, changing into a simple sky-blue dress. After pulling her hair in a tight bun, she emerged from the back room and began the process of measuring her ingredients.
She relished the monotony of the work that required just enough concentration that her mind couldn’t wander but not so much that she had to fear harming herself or others if she stood staring into space a moment or two. After one such instance, she shook herself and commanded herself to focus on her work at hand, not the devastating words from the previous night.
As the bread rose, she worked on her special of the day, snickerdoodle cookies.
When her first customer of the day arrived, she was busy stocking the shelves. She froze a moment as she watched Sorcha stroll into the bakery before Annabelle forced herself to continue with her activity. “Please let me know if there is anything you’d wish to purchase.”
“I don’t want to purchase anything. Let me help,” Sorcha said. “Ye’ve need of help now that Leticia has returned to teaching.”
“Cailean won’t like you being here, Sorcha.” Annabelle continued stocking the shelves as her sister-in-law shucked her coat and moved to the back room. She frowned when Sorcha returned, having found an apron to cover her dress.
“Teach me the prices so I don’t beggar ye or bleed yer customers dry.” She waited for Annabelle to speak, Sorcha’s eyes glimmering with triumph when Annabelle named each item and its price.
“Are there any special prices? Like buy two, get one half off? Or buy twelve cookies, get another free?”
“The business has been brisk. I haven’t needed to resort to such tactics yet. I may as winter approaches.” She rose and had Sorcha repeat back the names and prices. “Thank you, Sorcha. It’s been a struggle without Leticia.”
Sorcha watched her intently. “Ye aren’t alone, Annabelle. Ye’re a MacKinnon now. An’ we take care of our own.” She frowned as Annabelle snorted and then fought a sob. “He’ll come around,” Sorcha soothed.
Annabelle shook her head and sniffled. “I must see to the rest of the orders and baking for the day. If you need me …” She waved to the back.
Sorcha looked to the front and smiled broadly at the first customer as Annabelle slipped away.
Three hours later, Sorcha poked her head in the back. “Do ye have more of everything? We’re about out.”
Annabelle frowned. “It’s only just past noon. We can’t have sold out already.”
Sorcha smiled. “I sweet-talked most into buying extra.” She winked at Annabelle. “There is little but one cookie left.”
Annabelle looked at what she had in the back and shook her head. “What I have here is for the café, restaurant, and Boudoir.”
“I thought ye already brought food to the café and hotel,” Sorcha said.
“I bring them by breakfast and lunch rolls before I open. These are for dinner.” She sighed as she looked around. “If you are to continue to help me, I’ll need another baker!”
Sorcha pushed Annabelle onto a stool. “Sit down afore ye fall down. I’ve never seen ye look so tired before.”
Annabelle shrugged.
“Let me make these deliveries. Tell me how much they should pay ye, and I’ll collect what they owe ye.” She memorized what Annabelle said and lifted two baskets: one for the hotel and the other for the café. “I’ll come back for the one for the Boudoir.”
“You can’t go there
!” Annabelle gasped. “Cailean would never forgive me for allowing you to be exposed to the Madam.”
Sorcha scoffed. “He didna mind yer sister coming around, and I agree with him. An’ he doesna forbid Ewan from going there.” She shrugged. “It’s midday. I’m working with ye, and I have goods that need delivery. He has no right to complain.”
Annabelle groaned. “He will. Make no mistake.”
Sorcha smiled. “Good. As long as ye rest. Ye look awful, Anna.”
Annabelle nodded. “I feel awful. And I hate every woman who said that pregnancy was a breeze.” She smiled at Sorcha as her sister-in-law carried the two baskets and made her way out the back door.
Annabelle barely made it to her cot before she collapsed and fell into a fitful sleep, overcome by exhaustion.
Cailean stood stock-still in his bedroom and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, the hint of almond in the air. His gaze roved the room, intent to discover something missing. He ripped open dresser drawers and then the closet, unable to discern if they were emptier than last week. He strode downstairs and into the parlor. “Sorcha, have you seen Annabelle?”
Sorcha raised an eyebrow as she looked at her brother. “Aye. Every day at her bakery. She’s lookin’ about as poor as ye, although ye have the misfortune of that beard.” She focused on her needlework and ignored her brother’s growl of frustration.
“Was she here in this house?” he demanded.
His sister raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know why ye’d care. But, aye, she was. Earlier this afternoon, when she knew ye’d be busy at the livery. She came by for a few more of her things.”
“If she refuses to live here, she is not to enter our room,” Cailean snapped.
“Ye’re bein’ unreasonable.” Sorcha’s eyes flared with anger. “She has every right to come for a few of her clothes, an’ I refuse to bar her entrance when she comes here.” She glared at her brother as he silently dared her to defy him. “Fine. But you canna stop me from bringing clothes to her.”
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