by Cathy MacRae
“I will put him in his cradle so ye can get some rest as well.” Ma lifted the babe from Gilda’s tired arms. “Yer da and Lissa can take a peek at him, then ye must sleep.”
Gilda sighed drowsily as she drifted on the edge of exhaustion. Tavia tied the lace at the neck of her gown and pulled a blanket over her, then tiptoed to the window and closed the shutters, dimming the room. Gilda heard the soft creak of the door and the muffled whispers of her ma and da as he entered the room.
Lissa’s feet pattered across the floor as she darted to the cradle beside the bed. “How tiny he is!” she exclaimed.
“A braw lad,” Da proclaimed with curious muffled quality to his voice that made Gilda smile.
“Wheesht, now, the bairn and his ma need their rest,” her ma scolded in a whisper.
“Does he have a name, yet, lass?”
Gilda opened her eyes. “Aye. His name is William.”
“’Tis a strong name.” He nodded in approval.
“Oh, look!”
Gilda shifted her gaze at Lissa’s soft cry. Snuggled within his bunting, William stared at his aunt.
Lissa pointed to him. “His eyes. They have golden rims.” She bent closer to the babe. “They’re going to look just like mine.”
* * *
Candlelight glinted off the rich appointments in the long hallway outside the manor’s ballroom, imparting a satin sheen to the highly polished furniture. The scent of freshly cut flowers permeated the room, their bright colors highlighting tables in enormous bouquets throughout. Ferlie dodged the overhanging blooms in a particularly large vase as he approached the doors to the room. After nearly a week at the captain’s house, he knew his way around the impressive manor’s corridors and doorways, though he could not say he felt at home.
As he endured the time it took to obtain passage back to Scotland, the tug to leave refused to ease. Fruitless days and nights of running the name ‘Macraig’ through his mind brought him no closer to knowledge of his identity. Fractured memories failed to form any recognizable picture, and he felt the lack sorely. Were it not for his host’s generosity and the friendly attentions of his youngest daughter, he feared he would have lost his patience and his mind days earlier.
This was his last night at his host’s house, and the captain’s wife insisted on a dinner party. He and Greum would take their leave on the morrow and ’twas her way to show her gratitude once more. Ferlie fingered his waistline. Another week of their excellent cook’s food would see him well recovered from the starvation diet he’d faced during his time with the pirates.
Too many people. He stared into the room from the shadows of the doorway. Though appreciative of his hosts’ thoughtfulness, being on display before their friends made his stomach clench. At least I can claim an early rising and leave the gathering without waiting for the last guest to depart.
“I would rather drink poison than join that crowd.” Greum’s muttered words shook Ferlie from his thoughts. He noted the smaller man’s disapproving stance. Hands fisted on his hips, face pressed into a disapproving frown, Greum echoed Ferlie’s own reticence.
Ferlie clapped the man on his shoulder. “Be thankful ye are alive to make the point,” he declared, more to himself than to Greum.
His friend tossed him a look of disgust and motioned to the room with one gnarled hand. “Ye first.”
With a chuckle, Ferlie stepped amid the glitter and pomp.
“Here he is! Bienvenue, mon ami!” Speaking loudly enough all could hear, Captain Rousseau gestured grandly to the doorway. Ferlie gritted his teeth, hiding his cringe as he forced his lips upward into a more pleasing mien.
He met the captain mid-room and gripped his arm in greeting. Turning to the crowd, he motioned to his host. “This man is responsible for saving many lives. Greum and I wouldnae be here today were it not for him.”
Spots of high color stained the jolly captain’s round cheeks. “You are the one who saved us, mon ami. We needed a friend on that cursed pirate ship, and, Dieu merci, He sent you.”
“Bravo!”
“Tout me félicitations!”
Shouts and cheers erupted around the room, glasses raised high in salute. Someone shoved a slender glass into Ferlie’s hand and he lifted it in acknowledgment. He tilted the pale golden contents to his lips, twitching his nose at the subtle bouquet. Men crowded around, buffeting him with their hearty congratulations. Women on the edge of the crowd tittered amongst themselves, eyes slanting at him with interest.
Ferlie grew weary of the crush and slowly made his way to the edge of the room where tall doors opened onto the first floor gallery. Cool evening air fanned his face and he breathed deeply.
“Good evening, monsieur. It is quite overwhelming, no?”
Ferlie smiled at the young woman at his side. Her red hair swirled in glistening waves of molten fire at the back of her head. Tiny diamonds winked at him from the fine crespine of delicate metal mesh holding the coppery curls in place. Thick golden embroidery accented the neckline of her green silk gown, casting a glow against her creamy skin. Ferlie dragged his gaze to her face where her blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
“After months at sea, there are many sights which overwhelm. A room full of cheering people is one.”
“And what of the other sights, monsieur? Do they overwhelm as well?”
The grin on Ferlie’s face was genuine. “Mademoiselle, yer ma would do well to keep an eye on ye. Ye will break many a poor man’s heart.”
She tapped his arm lightly with her fingers in mild reproach. “Och, I have given ye leave to use my given name, monsieur. Must we blame the salt and sun for that as well?”
“Careful, Murielle. Yer Scots is showing. Though why ye insisted on practicing yer English words on a poor Scotsman, I couldnae guess.”
“I am proficient in several languages. I wished to learn another.”
Ferlie interpreted the insinuation that he was the experience she craved. Something inside him stirred and he cast a quick glance around them, seeking listening ears. He spied her mother’s sharp look from a nearby group of women, and he gave Murielle a short bow.
“As always, m’lady, I am yer servant. But ye must cast yer hooks, lovely though they are, in someone else.”
Murielle tossed her head and the diamonds twinkled in her hair. “Maman is watchful, but owes ye much. And I am but her youngest daughter.”
“And I dinnae know who I am. She wouldnae welcome me as her son, no matter her gratitude.”
“I think ye are wrong, but no matter. I am part Scots on ma mère’s side, ye see. It would not be such a blow to her.” She clasped her hands before her, her words turned serious. “I wish there was some way of helping ye further.”
Relieved to hear the simple emotion unclouded by her earlier flirtation, Ferlie softened. “Ye have helped tremendously, lass. From my first day here ye have befriended me. Ye remind me of someone…” His gaze slipped to a spot beyond Murielle’s shoulder.
“Vraiment?” Her voice, breathless with excitement, pulled his attention back.
“Aye, truth. Yer sweet disposition is of a younger sister, if I have one…” He laughed at her moue of disappointment. “And yer hair reminds me of…”
“Of whom, monsieur?”
Slowly, Ferlie shook his head. “I dinnae know, lass. I dinnae know.”
Chapter 25
Gilda laughed as William gurgled and churned his chubby legs. “I think he smiled at ye.”
Conn shot her a questioning look full of surprised pleasure before turning back to the bairn. “I believe he did.”
Tavia bustled about the room, straightening cloths on the wash stand, fluffing pillows on the bed. “Och, the bairn isnae old enough to smile at ye, lad. ’Tis likely a wee stomach ailment passing or a faerie wind tickling his bum.”
Conn roared with laughter. “I prefer to believe the lad is happy to meet me at long last.” He lifted an eyebrow at the old woman in a mock scowl. “Ye have been telling him
about me, aye?”
Tilting her nose in the air, Tavia scoffed. “Any stories told him about ye are likely to be tainted with the truth of yer paukie ways.”
Conn clasped his heart in a dramatic gesture. “Did ye hear yon cailleach call me roguish and wily?”
Tavia snorted, forestalling Gilda’s answer. “Obviously this auld woman knows what she is talking about!”
William’s arms and legs flailed and his face puckered, capturing everyone’s attention with a cry. Gilda settled his blanket about him as she lifted him into her arms. His face turned eagerly against her bosom and she felt her cheeks heat.
Tavia tugged at Conn’s arm and steered him to the door. “Yon bairn needs his ma now. Ye can visit with her anon.” With a light shove, she pushed the young man through the doorway and closed the portal between them. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Gilda.
“Now, lass, ye can feed young William before the fisher fleet on the coast hear him.”
With a dexterity born of a sennight’s practice, Gilda unlaced her gown with one hand, jostling an increasingly distressed bairn in the other. Cradling him gently, she nestled him against her. With a snuffle and a sigh, William began to suckle.
Tavia gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Ye are a good ma to the wee lad, Gilda.”
Warm reassurance rose in Gilda, but Tavia’s next words caught her off guard.
“What do ye want with young MacLaurey?”
* * *
The room throbbed with the heat of a thousand candles and more than a score of overdressed bodies. Chattering voices rose to a crescendo above the merry clash of musicians, and Ferlie winced.
Murielle tapped his arm.
“Regardez! Mon frère, Bray, has arrived!”
Ferlie followed the line of her arm pointing to a tall young man entering the room. She bounced excitedly on her toes, instantly transformed from flirtatious young woman to the red-haired lass who’d befriended him a week ago. He smiled, agreeable to the change.
“Yer brother made it back from the horse trader’s, then?”
“Not just any horse trader. The man raises fine Iberian horses. Mon père sent him over a month ago to choose and collect several mares.”
“’Tis why he wasnae with ye on the ship,” Ferlie murmured, though he knew the story well by now. “So, the impatient stallion in yer stable is to receive his mates?”
“Don’t be impertinente, Ferlie.” Murielle’s soft chiding was distant, her attention clearly on her brother. “Suivez-moi! Let me introduce you.”
Ferlie allowed himself to be led across the room. With a nod to well-wishers and a clout to the shoulders of the more boisterous among them, he followed the gentle sway of Murielle’s skirts as she wove her way through the guests to her brother’s side.
The slender Frenchman swept to attention as Ferlie and Murielle approached.
“Voilà ma petite sœur! As pretty as ever.” Catching her hands, he dangled her before him. “Juste ciel! How you have grown, ma petite! I can scarce believe the beauty you have become.”
Deep color suffused Murielle’s cheeks as she laughed and fluttered her lashes at the brotherly flattery. She edged closer and kissed his cheeks. Grasping his upper arm, she turned him to face Ferlie.
“Mon frère, I would like to introduce you to Ferlie. Ferlie, this is my brother, Bray Rousseau.”
Keen brown eyes swept over him, and Ferlie felt a twinge of recognition. A jovial manner hiding a canny awareness… But the vision was gone in an instant, leaving an unexpected emptiness inside, as though he’d lost more than his place in the conversation.
“C’est un véritable héros! Mon ami, you have my deepest gratitude for bringing my family home safe and sound.”
Bray’s eyes narrowed slightly, questioning, and Ferlie felt heat rise in his cheeks. What had he missed?
Hurriedly, he replied, “Och, ’twas my good fortune yer da decided to take my word I would fight on his side.”
“’Tis an amazing stroke of luck, indeed, for I have rarely known mon père to make a hasty decision.”
Laughter erupted around them and the tension coiled inside Ferlie began to ease. “’Tis good to meet ye, Monsieur.” He accepted Bray’s outstretched hand and they clasped the other’s upper arm—like brothers. Again, a flash of vision swept through Ferlie, a feeling of brotherhood so strong he struggled to contain the gasp of surprise.
“S’il vous plaît Monsieur, my name is Bray.”
Ferlie grinned. “I am called simply, Ferlie. ’Tis Scottish for ‘luck,’ and I am verra lucky to be alive.”
“Voilà mon héros!” Captain Rousseau breasted the crowd like a cog ship in heavy water. His beaming gaze encompassed Ferlie and Bray. “And you have met mon fils. Bray, how was your trip? Was it successful?”
“Oui, Monsieur. I have four of the loveliest mares one could ask for in the stable as we speak.”
“It is more important they are just what the stallion asks for, c’est ça?”
“Mayhap you would care to see them after dinner?”
Captain Rousseau swept a hand toward Ferlie. “The two of you should inspect them. Scotsmen are known to have an eye for horseflesh. Though I doubt such as these has been seen in the Highlands.” He ducked his head. “No offense, Ferlie, but these are not as your Highland ponies.”
“No offense taken, Monsieur. I would very much like to see them.”
“Then it is settled. Ah! Suivez-moi! It appears dinner is served.”
The crowd turned to follow their host to the tables where gleaming white tablecloths boasted platters of food and flagons of drink, and each seat offered the diner his own bejeweled knife. Ferlie took a deep breath. An hour past. I can surely make it through a couple more.
* * *
Gilda’s startled glance as she responded to Tavia’s direct question betrayed her. Her concern with Conn MacLaurey was new even to herself, and she could not stop the heat stealing beneath her skin. She fussed with William’s wrapping, murmuring soft, encouraging noises to the suckling babe as she struggled to make sense of her thoughts.
“He is verra interested in Ryan’s son.” Her words were weak and unconvincing—the first thing she could voice.
“Och, the lad has eyes for his friend’s babe, and bigger eyes for ye, lass.”
“Aye. I know.”
“He has been here often. What has he said? Has he promised ye anything?”
Gilda drew a deep breath. William’s soft scent enveloped her, tightening her insides with love and regret. “’Tis true he has a fondness for William because he is Ryan’s son. The bairn helps keep Ryan’s memory alive, and that is a bond between the two of us as well.”
The old woman waggled her head sagely. “Aye. But I am nae so old I cannae see he has eyes for more than Ryan’s memory.”
Conn’s words, so startling only a fortnight ago, mellowed in Gilda’s heart. “Auntie, Conn has asked me to marry him.”
With a sigh, Tavia sank to the foot of the bed. “Have ye said aught to yer parents? They are neither blind nor daft.”
“Nae. I told him I dinnae want to marry him.”
Tavia sent her a piercing look. “’Tis not what it looked like a moment ago.”
“Weel, mayhap I had a change of heart.”
“Do ye love him, lass?”
Gilda pulled the protesting babe from one breast and presented him with the other. Crooning softly to mollify him, she pondered Tavia’s question. Did she love Conn? What had changed in such a short amount of time?
“I cannae say, Tavia. I certainly dinnae love him as I did Ryan.” Her voice caught and she bit her lip to control its tremor. “My feelings for Conn are verra different. Seeing him with William, the look on his face—I know he would love him like his own bairn.”
Gilda lifted her chin and stared in challenge at the old woman. “I know it isnae easy to get a man to take another’s child.”
Tavia rose to her feet, hands on her thighs to assist the move a
s her joints creaked audibly. She shuffled to Gilda’s side and draped her hands across her shoulders, hugging her tight against her bony chest.
“Och, lass, dinnae judge every man by Laird Macraig’s standard. He cannae see what a beautiful child he lost that day. Only the woman who would have brought his clan much wealth and land and prestige. Young MacLaurey seems a much different sort.”
Gilda patted Tavia’s hand. “I know, Tavia. That is what draws me to him. I believe William and I could have a good life with him.”
“Weel, ye dinnae have to make a decision today. Ye need to talk to yer ma and yer da before ye say aught to young MacLaurey. They are well aware of his visits and likely wish for ye to bring up the subject.”
“I would like to get to know Conn a bit better.” She gazed down at her son, his mouth now lax on her breast as he drifted off to sleep. “I will talk to Ma and Da soon.”
* * *
Finn clung to Conn’s arm as he balanced his feet on the rungs of his chair, peering at William as the babe opened and closed his tiny hands.
“He’s not much fun yet, Conn,” the lad confided. “But me and Jamie will teach him a thing or two when he gets older.”
Conn laughed at the firm assurance in the boy’s face. “I am sure ye will, Finn. Are ye a help to yer sister with young William right now?”
Jamie and Finn exchanged looks and Finn stepped down, away from Conn’s close scrutiny. “We have been verra good to stay out of her way,” he declared.
Jamie bobbed his head. “Aye. We dinnae get into trouble anymore.” His cheeks reddened. “Much.”
“What is there to help with?” Finn frowned as he considered the bairn. “All he does is eat and sleep.”
“And poo!” Jamie snickered behind his hands.
Finn looked abashed. “I dinnae want that job!” Both lads scrunched their noses and Conn bit back his laughter. He cast a sideways glance to Gilda who watched the exchange, amusement in her eyes.
“Have ye brought yer sister flowers? Watched young William sleep so she can do other things? Ye know the bairn keeps her verra busy.”
The twins dipped their heads in unison. “Aye. She doesnae have time to go to the beach with us anymore.”
