Ian stared at the small pair of boots beside the bed. Finn was troubled. Troubled but bright. Ian had noticed that even before Gretna had mentioned the young lad was quick-witted—just a mite different. Well…she’d not said different and had made it clear she found the word odd offensive. So be it. He’d do what he could to help the boy. God help him. He’d best locate the bairn just to be sure all was well. It surprised him the child had moved with such silence.
The sitting room was empty, but the soft lilting hum that had awakened him continued. He followed the sound to Gretna and Miss Hattie’s room, hestitating at the door. It stood wide enough for him to squeeze through without opening it further. But, perhaps he shouldn’t. The sweet tune faded in and out, then splintered off into silence. Naught sounded amiss, but what of wee Finn? What if he wasn’t in the room with his mother? Gretna could’ve been humming to soothe herself after the day they’d all had. He slipped inside.
A whistling snore came from the bed closest to the door. The generous mound rising, then falling in tandem with the snoring assured him his enemy, the crone, rested well. He squinted, surveying the large room lit only by the fire in the hearth. The bed beside the window was empty. Covers thrown back, pillows askew. He eased past the foot of Mam Hattie’s bed, freezing in place as she breathed out a long, mumbling groan, then farted. Praise God, she didn’t wake.
Once past the old woman’s bed, he circled around the chairs in front of the fire. He came to a halt. There she was. Cross-legged on the floor. Arms locked around Finn, who was curled in her lap. Poor Gretna was sound asleep while propped against the chair behind her.
God bless her. Mouth ajar, hair tumbling down around her shoulders, Ian couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a precious sight as this. The firelight’s glow danced across her fair skin and enlivened the coppery fire in her hair. He swallowed hard, noticing for the first time just how much her thin chemise revealed. Christ Almighty. He should go.
As he stood there, her arms gradually relaxed. Her laced fingers eased apart, and her hands came to rest on the floor beside her legs. Finn shifted, snuggling down more comfortably in the nest of her lap. How on earth could she sleep so soundly in such a position? He couldn’t leave her like this. She wouldn’t be able to move come morning. Ian made up his mind. Aye. He knew exactly what to do. Duty and honor demanded it. He’d put them both in the bed.
Silent as a shadow, he slid his hands under Finn, all the while watching for Gretna to waken and ready to calm her as soon as she did. She remained motionless. Poor lass. Exhausted.
The backs of his hands brushed her thighs as he bettered his hold of the lad. Lord have mercy. Warm, sweet-smelling, and soft as silk. Ian held his breath, struggling to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. He lifted the boy and settled him against his chest. Gretna still didn’t rustle, and the sight revealed by moving the boy made him swallow hard to keep from groaning. Chemise bunched up around her thighs, from the knees down, her shapely legs were exposed.
Ian quick-stepped to the bed and settled the child among the pillows. He looked back at the area in front of the hearth. He should wake her so she could join Finn in the bed. Aye. That’s what he’d do. He slipped back to the chairs and squatted down beside her, adjusting his entirely too interested cock that was tangled in the folds of his léine. “Lass,” he whispered and gave her arm a gentle shake.
Her only response was a deeper breath and tucking her head more comfortably against the chair.
There was no helping it. He couldn’t leave her on the cold floor. It would be rudeness itself. He slipped his arms around her and stood, cradling her against him. She exhaled an alluring, purring sound and snuggled closer, nudging her cheek into the dip of his shoulder. He had to get her to the bed before his raging cock crippled him completely.
As soon as he placed her among the pillows, she rolled to her side, tucked an arm around Finn, and melted into the covers. He stared down at her and the boy. Relaxed. Peaceful. A rush of bitterness almost choked him. Fate had denied him such as this. Robbed him of Janet. Snatched away his child. How different would life have been if he’d only had the chance to look upon his own loved ones sleeping like this?
He shoved away the unfairness of it all and pulled the blankets up over them, gently tucking it around their shoulders. Damned, if he wasn’t tempted to crawl in beside her. Just to hold her. Just to keep the aching loneliness at bay for one night. He scrubbed a hand down his face and shook himself. What a damned foolish thing that would be. Without a sound, he slipped from the room, clicking the door shut behind him. He leaned back against the wall and blew out a heavy sigh. “God give me the strength to survive this winter without losing my mind,” he prayed. “Or my heart,” he added with a groan.
He pushed away from the wall and shook himself again. He would get through this, then leave come summer as he’d planned. But by damned if he wouldn’t be at risk every minute of it and have to be on his guard. Gretna might not realize it, but the rumors about her were true. She was a witch. Powerfully so. The pull of her magic dared him to do his best to win her and claim her family for his own. He shook his head against the dangerous urge. Nay. As cursed as he was, ’twould be folly for certain. And neither his heart nor his soul could survive another loss.
Chapter Five
Gretna hurried up to the next floor. She had to admit, tending Mercy would be a great deal easier with them both living just a floor apart in the north wing. A wailing three-year-old met her at the door. Little Effie. Graham and Mercy’s youngest child.
“What’s wrong, lassie?” Gretna scooped up the little girl and hugged her.
“Maxel broke dolly again!” Effie shouted between squalls, not a tear in her eyes. Wee Effie wasn’t heartbroken. She was enraged. Maxwell MacCoinnich was the eldest of Catriona and Alexander’s youngest set of twins, and apparently, Effie’s arch-enemy at the moment.
Even though sightless, her mother crossed the room with ease. Calmness itself, Mercy held out her arms for her daughter. “Effie, come to Mama.”
The little girl dove into her mother’s embrace, and Gretna smiled. The two made a heartwarming picture. Dark hair, amber eyes, Effie Marsalla was the spitting image of her lovely mother, and no one could reason with her as well as Mercy.
“Forgive us,” Mercy said to Gretna with a smile as she swayed and bounced with the child. “We refuse to nap, torment the other children while they try to sleep, and have poor Nanny at her wit’s end.”
“Poor Nanny indeed,” Gretna said. The dear old woman had her hands full with the twins and Effie. Luckily, Alexander and Catriona’s older twins and Graham and Mercy’s seven-year-old son had outgrown the nursery and earned the run of the keep.
A sturdy young girl with light brown hair clipped short appeared in the doorway to the adjoining room. Gretna admired Fenna’s bravery for cropping her hair. It suited the girl’s temperament perfectly.
“Well, ye are here,” the maid said. “I didna think ye’d come today what with yer family just moved into the keep. Thought ye’d need more time for settling.” She strode across the room and held out her hands to Effie. “Come to Fenna, aye? We’ll go downstairs and find some bonnie treats for ye.”
The doll forgotten, Effie jumped into Fenna’s arms. The maid shifted the toddler to her hip, then sidled closer to Mercy. With a sympathetic nod in Gretna’s direction, she advised her mistress, “Dinna forget to tell her what I heard. I’ll do what I can to help, aye?”
“I shall address it,” Mercy said, her usual serenity replaced with a worrisome hardness around her mouth.
“Off to find treats,” Fenna announced as she bounced out the door and closed it behind her.
“Address what?” Gretna repeated. She’d had her fill with matters needing to be addressed and didn’t possess the patience or willingness to face anymore.
“We should sit. This could take a while.”
That comment made her feel even worse. She followed Mercy to a pair of cush
ioned chairs flanking a small table in front of the window. Bright sunlight helped Mercy make out shapes and colors in her world of shadows.
“Is this going to call for something stronger than ale?” Gretna detoured over to a long, narrow table against the wall. Pitchers and bottles, as well as tankards and glasses, were neatly arranged and waiting.
“Probably. I’ll have a bit of port, if you don’t mind pouring?” Mercy seated herself and folded her hands atop the table.
“Verra well.” Gretna filled a short glass with whisky and a goblet with port. She placed their drinks on the table, then settled in the chair opposite Mercy. “Now tell me what Fenna was talking about.” Gretna considered the lady’s maid a trusted friend. Whatever the lass’s dire reminder had concerned couldn’t be good.
Mercy sipped her wine then frowned. “It appears the rumors have already started.”
“Rumors?” Gretna risked a sip of her whisky, then blew out a short, bitter laugh. “Can ye narrow it down a bit, m’lady? Ye know as well as I that Tor Ruadh is always astir with rumors.” She cupped her glass between her hands. “If ye’re speaking about the one where everyone thinks I’m a witch because my herbs and healing are so much better than old Elena’s, that story’s been around a while. In fact, I’d lay odds Elena Bickerstaff started that rumor herself.” She paused for another sip and waved Mercy’s worries aside. “Dinna fash yerself. Alexander keeps that mess at bay as best he can. Ye know how some folk can be.”
As long as those closest to her didn’t believe the foolish tales, that’s all that mattered to Gretna. Well…that, and the fact that the rumors were never allowed to grow strong enough to have her lashed to a stake and burned.
Mercy shook her head. “No. Not the accusations of witchery.” Her face was filled with sympathy and concern. “The talk of your morals in choosing to share quarters with Ian without the benefit of marriage.”
“I didna choose it!” Gretna thumped her glass on the table. “Alexander ordered it so. Ask Catriona.” She banged the glass against the table again. “Mam Hattie and I share one of the bedchambers whilst Ian and the boys share the other. The entire clan knows this. Catriona announced it at the meeting in great hall and made it plain as day, so there’d be no unseemly talk.”
Mercy held up a hand. “I know. Graham told me everything that happened.” She started to say something else but stopped herself.
“What?” Gretna toyed with the idea of refilling her glass, then thought better of it. Nay. She needed to keep her wits about her. More was astir here than the lady was telling. “I would hear it all, Mercy. Tell me now. This ruinous game canna get much worse.”
“Fenna told me of the rumors, and Graham confirmed them after he and Alexander discovered the boys fighting in the stable.”
“Fighting already?” Gretna sagged back in her chair. “Which ones?” It was a pointless question. She knew it had to be Rory and Evander. Rory had a temper as fiery as hers, and Evander never allowed his brother to fight alone.
Head bowed, Mercy’s mouth tightened with displeasure at the topic. “All of them, actually. It appears some of the children had been taunting poor Finn with rude names about you. They cornered him, roughed him up a bit, and had him screaming. I’m sure you can figure out the rest.” With a shake of her head, her frown deepened. “Graham said if Evander and Rory had not shown up, the poor child would’ve taken quite the beating. The smithy’s sons are heartless ruffians.” Mercy lifted her head. “Rest assured, I’ve charged Graham with seeing that their father takes them in hand immediately.”
“When did this happen?” Gretna could care less about the name-calling; she was worried about her child. “Did Evander and Rory thrash those ill-mannered beasts?”
“Earlier today.” Mercy brightened. “According to Graham, they did quite well even though the smithy’s boys are twice their size. I believe Evander walked away unscathed, and Rory ended up with a bloodied nose, but considered it a badge of honor.” She took another sip, set her glass back to the table, then fixed Gretna with a stern look. “But you know as well as I this isn’t the end of it. You just moved into the keep, and the boys already have to defend your honor—and each other.”
“I shall speak to them about the fighting.” She had the sudden feeling Mercy was scolding her and about to pronounce her punishment. “I’ll tell them to ignore the other boys, but I canna say I’m not proud of them for standing together and taking care of their brother.”
Mercy reached across the table, found her hand, and clasped it tight. “They shouldn’t have to live like that. You know they already have so much trouble getting along with the other children. Especially little Finn. I’m not saying it’s their fault, I’m just saying they’ve had so many scuffles that now they always hang back. Keep to themselves. You’ve said so yourself and told me you worry about it as well. Have they ever spoken of any friends?” She squeezed Gretna’s hand again. “It’s as though they’re outcasts. Graham and I worry about them. Worry about you.”
“Then tell Alexander and Catriona to reverse this ridiculous sham and allow me and my boys to move back to our croft.” She pulled free of Mercy’s grasp and rose from the chair. “The lot of ye have gone too far this time. Have ye no other way to amuse yerselves?” How dare they accuse her of being a poor mother. She loved her lads. Loved them more than life itself. “I can take of my boys without any help from anyone, thank ye verra much.”
“It is not amusement to attempt to help those we love. It is our wish for a dear friend’s happiness.” Mercy rose, holding out both hands. “Please don’t be cross. You are the sister I never had, and I pray you understand that everything I say to you, I say with love.” She took a step toward Gretna, hands still extended, waiting for Gretna to take them. “The boys had trouble before you moved into the keep. I don’t think moving back into your croft will help. Be honest, Gretna. You know it’s true.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Gretna ignored Mercy’s outstretched hands, her heart aching. “I am damned if I do and damned if I do not. Tell me, foster sister of mine, what is best for my boys?” She hated the way she sounded. Bitter. Lonely. Ungrateful. But she couldn’t help it. This situation had pushed her beyond all she could bear.
With a heavy sigh, Mercy drew back her hands and clasped them to her middle. “It is my belief that at the feast tonight, you and Ian should be handfasted in front of the clan. Graham suggested it. I spoke to Catriona, and she agrees. It’s the only way other than saying vows in front of Father William to extinguish at least some of the rumors.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I’ve yet to come up with a way to squelch the lingering rumblings of witchery unless you’re willing to have Father William sprinkle holy water on you during the next clan gathering.”
“Handfasted.” Gretna ignored the holy water remark as she massaged her temples. Her head pounded, and it had nothing to do with the whisky. She glared at Mercy, willing her to understand. “I opened my heart to ye. Told ye the tales of my cold, loveless marriage to Colin. Ye say ye care for me? Love me like a sister? I doubt the truth of those sentiments if ye’re so cruel as to suggest I go through the pain of such an existence again.”
“It would be different with Ian.” Mercy sounded like a mother attempting to soothe a fretting bairn. “He is a good, kind man. You already like each other. Didn’t you tell me you barely knew Colin when you wed because he was always off seeking some sort of trouble to get into? Find himself an easy fortune?” She eased a step closer. “And no one knew of his cruelty because you hid it so well.” Mercy lifted her clasped hands as though about to pray. “Think how much such a commitment with Ian could help your boys.”
“I canna believe ye’d suggest such a thing.” If not for the fact that she loved Mercy, she would’ve already stormed out of the room to never return. But she couldn’t do that. Mercy had been her dearest friend for years and never treated her ill. At least, not until now. Gretna lowered herself to a nearby couch and sagged into the cushions
. “I canna do what ye ask of me, Mercy. I can not.”
Mercy joined her. “It’s handfasting. Little more than a betrothal, really. Alexander would remind everyone it would only last for a year and day.” She paused, a daring smile creeping across her lips. “Unless, of course, you and Ian decide to make it permanent, and then I’m sure we’d have a fine wedding with Father William to seal the union properly.”
A peck on the door interrupted them. It cracked open enough to allow Catriona to peep inside. “Has she agreed?”
“Nay, she has not agreed!” Gretna jumped up. “I will ask ye the same thing I asked Mercy. Do ye not have anything better to amuse yerselves with other than my life? I’ve about had my fill with the lot of ye!”
They had her so nettled, she didn’t know what to do. Should she stay in the keep? Would her refusal of the handfasting make it worse for the boys? If she moved back to the croft, would they suffer shame there, too? Should they leave Glen Nevis completely? If she did, how on earth could she provide for her wee lads? How would she feed them? Clothe them? Keep a roof over the heads?
She dropped back to the couch and cradled her head in her hands. “Ye’ve addled me so, I canna think straight.”
Mercy scooted closer and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. Catriona scurried across the room, seated herself on the other side, and hugged her as well.
“We just want to help,” Catriona said, catching hold of one her hands and squeezing it. “We mean no harm, lass. We love ye. Please believe us.”
Gretna couldn’t bear the both of them beating her brow. She pushed them away. “This is madness. Ye understand that, aye?”
“It’s nay madness,” Catriona argued. She shifted her focus to Mercy. “Did ye tell her of the year and the day?”
“I did,” Mercy defended. “I explained it all.”
The Dreamer Page 6
