Sleepless in Scotland (28 page)

Oh, Triona had been up much longer than that. She’d awakened with the dawn, cold and alone and missing being tucked against Hugh’s warm, naked body. Each morning as she’d stir sleepily, he’d tease her to a passion to match his own.

But she missed him for more than their lovemaking. Over the past few weeks, he had become a part of her life. She enjoyed their conversations over breakfast before the girls were up, about their childhoods and their expectations and even nothing at all. Added to their physical bond, it was a beginning.

If only she could convince him to unleash some of his passion out of bed as well…but after their argument, he’d be even more determined to keep her at arm’s length.

Worse, she was just beginning to realize the effect his actions had on the girls. They were resisting her not because they resented her position in the household, but because they could sense their father’s reluctance and feared her influence over him. If they only knew the truth, that she not only had no influence over their father, but she’d been completely unable to engage him in any way except on a physical level. Well that, and she apparently possessed the dubious talent of stirring his temper to boiling heights.

She rubbed her arms, suddenly restless. Since Hugh had left, she’d been having the same thoughts over and over. Left alone in such a huge house and filled with regrets over her final words with her husband, was beginning to take its toll. She needed a project to keep her busy, something that would leave her good and tired when the sun sank below the horizon and the empty house suddenly seemed bigger and even emptier.

“Will there be anythin’ else, m’ lady?” the housekeeper asked.

“Mrs. Wallis, how many years have you been with Lord Hugh?”

“Fifteen,” she said proudly.

“So you know MacLean very well.”

Mrs. Wallis’s gray eyes met hers steadily. “Aye. Well enough to know when one o’ them has lost his temper.”

“It would be difficult to miss,” Triona said dryly.

“Why did ye wish to know?”

“Because I’m of a mind to make some changes. Nothing drastic, but it would be nice if I could add something—something of myself—to Gilmerton.”
Before I leave.

“That seems a fair idea. Wha’ is it ye have in mind?”

“I would like to surprise his lordship by making the house better in some way. But everything is so well run that there’s really no room for improvement.”

Mrs. Wallis beamed. “Thank ye, m’ lady. I dinna know if this is what ye had in mind, but I’ve thought fer several years tha’ perhaps we should move the furniture. If ye keep it one way too long, it mars the wood floors as people walk just one way through the room.”

“A wonderful idea. Perhaps we can do that after lunch—”

There was a loud knock on the door, and Liam came out to open it.

Mam swept in dressed in her Sunday finest, a lavender gown with a sober gray cape, her sober brown boots peeking out from beneath the hem. Her iron gray curls were tucked beneath the largest flowered bonnet Triona had ever seen.

Leaning upon her cane, she looked Triona up and down. “Well? Are ye goin’ to offer me a drop o’ tea? I traveled a whole hour to get here, and me bones are creakin’ wit’ a powerful thirst.”

Mrs. Wallis dipped a curtsey. “I’ll fetch ye some tea right away. By the way, Mrs. Hurst, I’m sorry I dinna know before tha’ ye were Nora the Healer or I’d have thanked ye fer helpin’ me bairns.”

Mam lifted an interested brow. “Oh? An’ who might yer wee ones be?”

“Mary Wallis and Lara Kirkland.”

“Och, I remember them both! How are yer bonny daughters a’doin’?”

Mrs. Wallis flushed with pleasure. She spent several minutes telling Nora about her daughters, then scurried off to fetch tea and scones.

“Don’t forget the marmalade!” Mam called after her. “I do love some nice marmalade when I’m out visitin’.” She sent a guilty glance at Triona. “I don’t like to serve it meself, as ’tis mighty dear.”

Triona laughed and hugged the old woman. “You are just the woman I was hoping to see.”

“I figured ye might could use an ear.” Mam cocked a silver brow as Triona escorted her into the sitting room. “I suppose ye could say the thought came a’ me in a rush.”

Triona sighed. “The wind?”

“Aye. Tha’ had to be his lordship and no one else.” Mam sat on the settee by the fireplace and patted the cushion beside her. “Come, child, and tell me what’s happened.”

Soon Triona was pouring out her heart to her grandmother. Mam listened to it all, asking shrewd questions along the way. They stopped only when Mrs. Wallis brought in a tray of scones with marmalade and tea.

Finally, long after Mrs. Wallis had departed, Triona finished.

Mam sat in silence for a moment and then tsked. “Ye both lost yer tempers.”

“I was so frustrated.”

“I can see tha’.” Mam took a noisy sip of her tea. “Lassie, wha’ do ye want from MacLean?”

“I want him to fully accept me as his wife.”

“Ah. So ye wish fer a commitment of the heart.” She patted Triona’s hand. “Ye wish him to be in love wit’ ye.”

“No, no, no. I just want him to…” What
did
she want? Acceptance? Yes, of course, but she wanted more, too.

Was Mam right?
Did
she want a commitment of the heart? Could she ask for such a thing?

“Easy, now! Yer head will explode if ye keep thinkin’ so hard. ’Tis no’ a complicated matter. From wha’ ye said, it sounds as if ye were both barin’ yer teeth at one another. Ye each owe t’other an apology.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Mam patted her hand. “La, lassie! Is tha’ so bad?” Her bright eyes locked on Triona’s. “Tell me—and this is important, lass—do ye love him?”

Good God, what made her ask such a thing? “No! Of course I don’t. I mean, I care for him, but—” She blinked. Finally, she said slowly, “It’s possible, I suppose. But I surely hope not.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be the only one,” Triona said softly.

“Ahh. Tha’ could be a problem indeed.”

“I think about him a lot, and I can’t help but remember how kind he is and how much he loves those girls.” A wistful feeling twisted in her heart. “I just wish he’d share some of that with me.”

“He will, lassie. He’s just no’ a person to absorb changes quickly.” Mam frowned. “One o’ the problems with the curse is tha’ it teaches those involved to guard their emotions carefully. Think o’ it, child: if getting angry could raise the ocean and sink ships, ye’d be a mite cautious about feeling anything at all.”

Triona nodded thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“’Tis a terrible responsibility. One tha’ can shape a person, and no’ always in a good way.” Mam patted Triona’s knee. “Before ye decide how to react to MacLean, ye need to walk in his boots.”

“You’re right. I’ve wanted to ask him about that, and other things, but I keep tiptoeing around, trying to find my place.”

“Och, that’ll never do! Wha’ did ye do when MacLean lost his temper and tried to blow ye head o’er heels?”

“I told him I was angry.”

“Good. And then?”

“And then…he left.”

“Wha’? Ye didna make him stay to listen to yer complaints?”

“I did at first, but then I was angry, too, and I just wanted him gone.”

“Then tha’ was a good idea, as ye were both mad as hornets. Wha’ are ye goin’ t’ do when he returns and ye’re no’ so mad?”

Triona thought about this. “I am going to ask—no,
demand
—that he allow me some say in all parts of our household, including the children.”

“And if he forgets ye’re the apple o’ his eye and foolishly says no?”

She smiled. “Oh, I’ve already let him know that he’s not the only one who can shake the house when he’s upset.”

“Good fer ye, lass! That’s the spirit!” Mam’s grin creased her weathered face. “A fight is no’ always a bad thing.”

“I’ve never seen my parents fight.”

“An’ ye never will. Yer mother canna stand fightin’, which is a pity—they’d be happier if they’d clear the air sometimes. Fightin’ lets ye both say wha’ needs to be said. Just be sure ye fight clean, and dinna bring up old hurts or blame one another. That’s never a good thing.”

“But won’t it make MacLean angry?”

“Tha’ depends on wha’ sort o’ fight ye have. MacLean has more control over his powers than his brothers.”

“He does, indeed.” Triona looked curiously at her grandmother. “Do you know how much?”

“La, lassie, o’ course I do.”

“How?”

“There is another MacLean they dinna speak of—Lord Hugh’s younger brother who was killed in cold blood. When he died, the skies shook and roared fer days.” Mam’s gaze darkened at the memory. “The valley flooded, lightning snapped till the air was thick with sulfur, and icy winds roared. A good bit o’ the village was washed away or burned to the ground. The villagers were huddled in their homes, frightened to death. One day, I saw yer man upon the castle roof. He stayed there fer two hours straight, and when he left, the storms were gone.

“His brothers came fer me to help him. He was too weak to walk, and they almost lost him, so they’d sent for me to tend him. I knew wha’ had happened, but he didna wish me to tell a soul—not even his own kin.”

Mam frowned. “’Tis the nature of a curse to punish those who find ways around her. So when he puts his will against her, she pushes back. I think it could kill him, if he pushed too hard.”

Triona found that she couldn’t swallow.

“Och, dinna look so scared!” Mam patted Triona’s hand. “He’s a good man, and ye need to know it. But dinna look fer a man to tell ye ye’re right. It takes a true love to tell us when we’re in the wrong.”

A true love. Triona had never thought of herself as a romantic, yet…perhaps she had idealized her parents’ relationship. There had always been some tensions between Mother and Mam, and Father had to have felt caught in the middle. Yet never had she heard him say so. It made Triona wonder what other issues she didn’t know about.

Perhaps the truth was that there were no perfect marriages, just some really good ones. And that was what she wanted: one of the
really
, really good ones. Suddenly, Triona realized that somewhere along the way, her goal in this relationship had changed. She no longer wished to leave her mark upon Gilmerton when she left. Now she didn’t wish to leave at all. What she really wanted was a full-fledged, normal relationship with Hugh and his daughters. She didn’t know if she could convince her husband to take such a chance, but she was willing to try.

“Thank you, Mam.” Triona hugged her grandmother. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Good. People dinna think as much as they should anymore. Always doin’ this, and doin’ that—if ye never think, how do ye know what ye’re doin’ is what ye ought to be doin’?”

Triona agreed. It was far too early to tell whether she and Hugh could find love. But by living well day to day, including one another more and having frank—maybe even loud—discussions, they could work their way in that direction.

Mam grinned widely. “Now, lass, on to more important matters.”

Triona leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“If ye’re not goin’ to eat tha’ scone, could ye put it on me plate? I’ve a long drive home, and I dinna wish to starve along the way.”

Triona laughed and put the last scone on Mam’s plate, smiling as she watched the older woman slather it with marmalade.

“There she is,” Devon whispered as she peeked in the sitting-room window. “She’s with an old lady.”

Christina moved beside Devon. Caitriona was sitting beside a woman who had to be over a hundred years old. Her face was a mass of wrinkles and lines, her nose large and crooked, her gray hair wispy. “She looks like a witch!”

Devon dropped back to her hands and knees. “We need to go to the other side. They’re sitting closer to those windows.”

Christina nodded and whispered, “Through the rose garden, then. And be careful you don’t tear your dress. Uncle Dougal will be suspicious if we go home all mussed.”

Devon led the way, bent almost double as she crept through the shrubbery to the window closest to the settee. She took a position on one side, Christina on the other. But they were too late to overhear Caitriona and her guest, for the old woman was leaving.

They heard Caitriona say good-bye, and then Mrs. Wallis entered the room. “How nice to see yer grandmother!”

“Yes, it was.”

“Shall we move the furniture now?”

Devon scowled.

“Oh, yes!” Caitriona said. “What do you have in mind?”

“First of all, I have a mind to get Angus and Liam to do the work fer us!”

Devon peeked over the edge of the window to see the two women talking and laughing. First they moved the escritoire to a place where the sun warmed it, and then the settee so that it faced the fireplace instead of bordering it. From the looks of it, nothing—chairs and tables, candelabra and rugs—was to be left untouched.

“What’s she doing?” Devon hissed, her lips almost white with fury. She whirled away and angrily scrambled through the bushes.

Christina hoped the women inside were too busy to hear, for Devon’s movements were far from quiet. Shaking her head, she followed.

They made their way through the garden and out the gate to the clearing hidden by a stand of trees. There, the horses were tethered to a low limb as Aggie contentedly munched an apple.

As soon as they reached the trees, Devon wheeled on Christina. “Did you see that? She’s doing just what I said she’d do—she’s
changing
things!”

Christina frowned. “She’s only moving furniture.”

“That’s where she’ll
begin
.” Devon’s hands fisted. “But it’s not where she’ll stop!”

Christina didn’t answer. She’d agreed to this little jaunt because she’d been curious about what Caitriona had been up to since Papa had been gone. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but hoped they might have seen Caitriona doing something really bad. That would be nice, because then Christina wouldn’t have this sinking feeling that perhaps they weren’t being fair to Papa’s new wife.