He dreaded the upcoming céilidh, having no desire to watch as Tuck wooed Rachel further, holding her in his arms and flaunting how Brodie had failed.
Remembering New Year’s Eve made Brodie’s blood boil. “Whisky,” he growled at Bonnie, who manned the bar.
The last céilidh had been a disaster. Brodie’s misadventure hadn’t been the only one on Hogmanay. There must’ve been something caustic in the wind blowing off the ocean that night—several of the men claimed to have slept on the sofa because their wives had been teed off for one reason or another. The only one who seemed truly happy with the outcome of Hogmanay was Lochie. Rumor had it he’d abandoned the other musicians to dance with Bonnie. Brodie thought the man had been mooning over her ever since. Night after night, Lochie hung out at the pub—like tonight—strumming his acoustic guitar while sitting at the bar, and stealing glances at Bonnie whenever he thought no one was looking.
Brodie sat down next to Ross, taking his drink as Bonnie slid it to him.
“Have ye been wondering about this?” Ross asked, motioning to Lochie.
Brodie nodded while sipping his dram.
Ross tapped Lochie on the shoulder. “Whatever happened to that American lass? Morgan was her name, right? The one ye were seen kissing . . . the first time Kit brought her American clients to town?”
Lochie stopped playing and leaned on his guitar. “Ah, well, it seems my eyes wandered one time too many.” He glanced over at Bonnie. “Kit set Morgan up with a bloke from Aviemore. I hear they married last month. I wish her my best.” He went back to strumming.
The background music didn’t soothe Brodie’s soul. He finished his drink and walked out with Ross. They were quiet until they reached the walkway up to Ross and Sadie’s cottage.
Ross grinned over at him. “Are ye concerned about who might ask for yere hand on Leap Year Day?”
“Nay. It’s only a headache to endure,” Brodie said. “Ye no longer have to worry over it.”
Ross glanced at his house as Sadie’s silhouette crossed the curtained picture window. “I’m a lucky man.” He clamped a hand on Brodie’s shoulder. “I wish ye the same luck.”
“Nay,” Brodie said again. “I’m satisfied with the life I have.” But the truth was he was miserable.
When he arrived home, Abraham was coming down the stairs in his Sunday suit.
“Where are ye headed off to?” Brodie asked.
“I’m going to take a walk,” Abraham said.
“Where are ye going? Did Doc give you his stamp of approval?”
Abraham hitched his eyebrow, which had lesser men running for the hills. “I don’t need another man to tell me what I can and cannae do.”
This was a good sign that Grandda was better. Much better.
Abraham sauntered the rest of the way down. “So ye don’t worry like a mother hen, I mean to walk to Deydie’s.”
“What? Deydie? You fancy that”—Crone? Brodie amended himself before letting it slip—“I mean, bossy quilter?”
“Watch what ye think there, lad. Deydie is a good soul.”
Certainly they were speaking of two different people.
Abraham looked at the curtains as if he could see beyond them. “Deydie is braw.” But then he turned his razor-sharp gaze on Brodie. “What about ye? Are you ready to tell Rachel how ye feel about her?”
Brodie walked away, down the hall. He should keep going—straight out the back door.
The old man chuckled in his wake, following him into the kitchen.
“Too close for comfort?” Grandda chided. “Rachel’s a good lass. Always been good to me. Deydie and Rachel got me to think that maybe I haven’t had the right of it about women . . . all these years. Maybe some of them are the trustworthy kind.”
Brodie wanted to argue. His grandfather didn’t have firsthand experience with the pain Rachel could inflict. Brodie did. Not to mention that she’d taken up with Tuck and had shredded what was left of his heart.
“Ye know, I even respect the lass for honoring her commitments.” Abraham paused. “I never said anything when she was here before, but that must’ve taken some gumption to marry Joe—because she’d promised him she would—when she clearly didn’t love him. Like—”
“Nay.” Don’t say another word. Brodie had stopped halfway to the stove with the filled tea kettle in his hand. Surely Grandda hadn’t known how Brodie had once loved Rachel. The thought caught in his mind, but he wouldn’t admit anything about his feeling for her now.
Abraham laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sit. There’s something I need to tell ye.”
“I’m not in the mood to talk,” Brodie said truthfully.
“Good. Because ye won’t have to. Ye’ll listen.” Grandda really must be better, because he was back to being the captain. “I done ye wrong all these years.”
“Not true. Ye’ve done everything for me,” Brodie countered.
Abraham held up his hand. “Not just ye, but Joe . . . and Richard.”
Brodie couldn’t ever remember Grandda mentioning Uncle Richard’s name since that horrible night.
Abraham looked Brodie square in the eye. “I filled my son with bitterness for women. I did the same with Joe . . . and with ye. I couldn’t see past what Margaret had done to me.” He seemed to struggle with her name, the grandmother Brodie had never met. “Being ill gave me a lot of time to think. I should’ve forgiven her a long time ago. Things might have been different.” He shifted, looking out the window as if it were the past. “I could’ve found love again. Had more children. Had someone by my side in my old age.”
“I’m here,” Brodie said. “I won’t leave ye.” But he had left him. For six years, while Brodie was licking his own wounds from his broken heart.
Abraham smiled at him. “It’s not the same, lad. A woman can brighten a life in a way us men can’t imagine . . . until she’s gone. Rachel and her bairn have made me remember that.”
Brodie wasn’t going to agree with him out loud on that count.
“If I had forgiven yere grandmother, maybe Richard’s heart wouldn’t have turned black. It’s my fault Joe suffered at Richard’s hand.” Abraham’s words caught. “I wish I could take it all back. If only I’d figured it out sooner.”
The room was filled with the silent message of what the long arms of unforgiveness could do. Even reaching the innocent.
Brodie couldn’t imagine having something terrible happen to Hannah, as fate had dealt to Joe. Brodie felt like a father to the lass. He felt Abraham’s pain for what had been done in this house to Joe and what it must be like for Grandda to know his own child had turned out bad.
“It’s been a heavy anchor strapped to my heart,” Abraham said, bringing Brodie back. “I never meant to pass my burdens to anyone. I thought I was just warning ye lads so ye wouldn’t get hurt. But my unforgiveness only magnified the damage, spreading it on to the ones I loved.” His gnarled hand reached out and gripped Brodie’s, the strength behind it becoming part of the message. “Don’t do what I did. I missed out all these years. Don’t turn into the person my son became, and I suspect Joe was becoming, too. Ye have a better heart than most men, Brodie. Don’t throw it away because of me and what I’ve said and how I’ve lived my life. I’m beggin’ ye, lad.”
Brodie’s hand was going numb, but the pain was driving home the point.
Water swam in Grandda’s rheumy eyes. “Promise me ye’ll do better and not be like yere foolish old grandda.”
Brodie nodded, but he wanted to cry out like a little boy, But I don’t know where to start.
Grandda released him. “Ye’re a good boy, laddie. A good boy. It’s time to take a chance and put yere heart out there.”
* * *
Cait hung up the phone and went to find Graham. As she stomped up the stairs, her anger increased. Why did Graham have to be this way? Everything
was going so well. Mattie had been speaking more and more since singing at the Christmas Eve service. The babe inside Cait was growing. The only problem she had was her husband, and last night had been the last straw. He’d slept in the den, refusing to be in the same bed with her, so she did something drastic. She wasn’t proud of herself either.
For two months she did everything she could to get Graham to ravish her. She tried every trick, every caress, and every naughty whisper. She’d ordered lingerie and dressed up like a five-pound hooker. She scoured the Internet for advice. Nothing worked. He’d wasted their two months together. He had to leave again soon. The idiot was steadfast and it annoyed the hell out of her. Sex did not cause my previous miscarriages. She was feeling desperate. Graham was heading out on location in a week, and Cait was in the mood!
“Graham!” she hollered when she reached the top step. I really don’t have time for this today. Even though Deydie wouldn’t let her oversee the decorations for the dance tonight, Cait wanted to be there. But instead of helping, she was forced to make her pigheaded husband go to Inverness.
“In here,” Graham said. “Why are you yelling?”
She marched into the office, feeling too much like Deydie to be the sweet loving wife she should be. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself so she didn’t come off as a banshee. “I need ye to come with me.”
He looked up from his book, wary.
Yeah, she’d used this same phrase before . . . to lure him down to the wine cellar. She’d put the moves on him, but he hadn’t caved.
He didn’t look happy with her now. “I’m busy.”
“Ye’re reading. I need you to take me to the physician in Inverness.”
He quickly stood, his book hitting the floor. “Is it the baby? Are ye feeling okay? Does Doc need to come along?”
Cait started to say she was fine, but didn’t. She didn’t want to scare him, but she needed him to go. She needed to fix him. She needed Graham to be normal. At least she’d finally gotten Deydie straightened out and being nice to her. Rachel had been right. Cait just needed to explain that she hadn’t meant to exclude her; she just needed time for the babe to grow.
She laid her hand on her belly. “No. I don’t want Doc to go along.”
Graham looked around wildly. “What about Mattie?”
“He’s playing with Dand.”
“Let’s go.” Graham gently took her elbow as if she were a geriatric. Nearly the same way Deydie had been treating her, but her gran wasn’t nearly as tender as her husband.
Once outside, he shot her a concerned look. “I should’ve called a helicopter.”
He’d done that when she lost baby number two.
“We don’t need the helicopter,” she said.
The line between his eyebrows wasn’t put there by some Hollywood script. Graham looked as if he was praying. “Stay here and let me get the Range Rover.” Ever since he’d found out she was pregnant again, he’d been threatening to have a road built to the big house, whether the ground was thawed or not.
She took his hand and pulled him to a stop. “I’m okay. We’re okay. I didn’t mean to worry ye.” In her heart, she knew this baby would go full term. Her previous pregnancies had ended so very early with her having cramps almost from the start. But this baby had made it well into her second trimester. This baby was strong. Cait hadn’t sensed whether the baby was a boy or a girl, but she could feel its fighting spirit. “We’re going to see the doctor for a visit.”
“Are ye sure?” His worry-lined brow started to ease.
“I’m sure.” She squeezed his hand. “I love you.”
“I love ye, too,” he said hoarsely.
She leaned up and brushed her lips against his. He wrapped an arm around her and they walked the rest of the way to the car.
Two hours later, Graham’s grimace suggested he wasn’t so thrilled with her now, or the ambush she’d orchestrated with her obstetrician. Cait’s young physician explained very clinically that having intercourse with his wife hadn’t caused her two earlier pregnancies to terminate. Unfortunately, the doctor took it a step further and suggested that if his fears continued, then maybe Graham should seek counseling. The way he stomped from the office made Cait certain her plan had backfired and it would be a long drive back to Gandiegow.
She chased Graham down the hospital hallway. “I’m sorry.” She took his hand.
He stopped and scowled at her. “Ye made me out for the fool.”
“I didn’t mean to. You weren’t listening to me. I thought if the doctor explained then, well . . .” Her eyes fell to the floor. She might’ve gotten this all wrong. Maybe Graham didn’t find her attractive now that she was getting so big. She’d heard some men had a hang-up and would no longer have sex with their wives because they were going to be mothers. She chewed her lip. From the beginning of their marriage, she’d wanted to have Graham’s baby more than anything. But not at the cost of losing him.
He tipped her chin up with a finger, the anger on his face gone. “What are ye thinking, lass?”
She searched his eyes. She really didn’t want to ask, but she had to know. “Is it because I’m getting as big as the Titanic?”
Graham chuckled and soaked her in. “Ah, lass, wanting ye has never been the problem. You know that.” His gaze turned serious. “It’s true. I was scared. I just didn’t want to hurt you or the babe.”
She laid his hand on her belly. “Our bairn is fine.”
He rubbed her abdomen and then gazed at her as if she were the only woman in the world for him. Which was amazing since he’d been an international heartthrob for his whole adult life. “Then I don’t have to worry?” he said.
“Everything is going to be all right.”
At that moment, the babe put its two pence in and kicked . . . hard. Cait jumped. Graham jumped. Each stared at the other in wonder.
Graham pulled her close, laughing. “I’ll take that as a sign. Ye’re right, my luv. Everything is going to be all right.”
Chapter Nineteen
Robena tapped on Abraham’s front door, but then went in. No one but her father would be home at this hour as Brodie and Harry would be on the boat. She hadn’t been to the cottage since Christmas as she didn’t feel welcome in his house. But tomorrow, March first, was his birthday and she’d made him a shepherd’s pie. She didn’t expect an invitation to his birthday dinner, but as always, she wanted to do something special for him just the same.
She went straight to the kitchen to slip the dish into the refrigerator. She left the paper with the cooking instructions on the counter for the men to find. Though the kitchen was nearly spotless, she grabbed the dishrag from the sink and wiped a smudge from the stove.
On her way back to the front door, she stuck her head into the parlor, knowing this would be the hardest and most uncomfortable thing she did today . . . speak to her father.
Abraham was in his wingback chair, staring across the room as if he were looking upon the North Sea.
“Da?”
He looked up. “What are ye doing here?”
Aye, uncomfortable. “Tomorrow’s yere birthday. I made you a shepherd’s pie so you could start celebrating early.”
He nodded, then his eyes drifted back to where he’d been staring.
She stepped into the room to see. On the far wall, in a blast of whimsical color, a mural had been painted. The scene was indeed the ocean with many boats sailing in the distance with a large boat in the center. A laughing girl, resembling Hannah, was at the helm, delighted to have the North Sea as her playground. Robena turned back to her father. “Who?”
“Harry. He’s been working on it for the past week, but keeping it covered so I couldn’t see. When I came down this morning, there it was. An early birthday present. He’s a good lad.”
Robena’s shepherd’s pie seemed like a lark c
ompared to Harry’s artistry. She wanted to remove it from the refrigerator and feed it to Dominic’s pig.
“What’s wrong?” Abraham stared at her as if this was the first time he’d noticed his only daughter.
Everything. She looked down at her hands, feeling as inadequate as she had when she was nine years old. She was ashamed, too. She should be happy her father received such an amazing and thoughtful gift from his young boarder.
“Sit,” he said. “I’ve something to say.”
She exhaled and shuffled farther into the room. When she was here in this cottage, she didn’t recognize herself. At home with her husband, she was a force to be reckoned with . . . Keith had said it many times with love in his eyes.
She sat on the far end of the sofa, not sure what her da wanted from her.
Abraham stood and walked steadily to sit near her. He really was feeling better and she was glad of it.
“Robena,” he started, but then he stopped, looking down at his liver-spotted hands. Hands that had made a living for her and Richard when they were children. “This isn’t easy for me.”
She didn’t have the fortitude to question what he was saying, so she remained quiet.
“I haven’t been a good da to ye.”
She opened her mouth—not sure what she was going to say—but he held up his hand.
“I never minded what I said around you and I should’ve. Around both ye and Richard and the boys. I’m sorry for it.” Da went quiet.
She didn’t know how to respond. “I’m not sure what ye’re speaking of.”
Da took her hand and squeezed it. The feeling was foreign. She couldn’t remember him ever holding her hand or giving her a hug in her life. She always thought they were just one of those families who didn’t show their affection. But when she’d had Brodie, she’d smothered him with hugs, kisses, and love. In the end, it hadn’t mattered; their relationship was still tattered and torn.
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