by Aileen Adams
“Ye did? And I did not know it?”
“Ye slept deeply.” There would be no such sleep for him at Malcolm’s, not without her keeping the men as quiet as she could, and even that mattered little to them. They would do as they pleased, just as they always had. The brutes.
And she sent him back to them. Would that he might forgive her for it one day.
She exchanged a glance with Drew, whose gaze was heavy with meaning. All right then, she wanted to snap, but she held her tongue. Even half-dead with exhaustion, she knew when to do so.
“Dearest, there is something I must speak with ye about.” She took his hands when he turned to face her. His wide eyes looked into hers, so trusting and sweet and dear. Just the sight of that innocent look he gave squeezed her heart until she was certain it would burst. How was she to live through this with a broken heart?
She had to do it, for his sake. The answer was that simple and was, in fact, the answer to so many questions and hardships. Everything she did was in one way or another for his benefit.
Just as this would be.
“Dear, ye are going to go home.”
His brow creased, eyes now moving over her face as if searching for truth. “Home? What of ye?”
“I shall remain behind and look after the bairns. It truly is better this way.” If only she believed it.
“Nay. Nay! I will not go without ye!” He made a move as if to scramble away from her, but her grip on his hands tightened and held him in place. Drew took a step inside the room as if to hold him still, but the bitter look she shot his way stopped him dead.
She could manage this. She needed no help from him.
“Ye must,” she replied in as soothing a tone as she could muster, given the situation. “Ye must, because it is what I want. If I stay, he will let ye go without telling anyone of what ye did. And I will not be punished, either.”
“Ye will if ye have to stay here!”
She chuckled, shaking her head as her insides twisted and clenched. “Not truly, dear. I prefer this to the thought of being in prison.”
“But he will mistreat ye!” Liam’s pleas turned to angry snarls. “I will not have it! I know ye think me a bairn—”
“Liam.” Drew circled the bed, arms folded across his chest. He looked and sounded as though he was deeply serious. “I dinna think ye a bairn. I think ye a man, and as such I will speak to ye as one. Does that seem fair to ye?”
Liam screwed up his mouth in disbelief, but offered no response.
“This is the truth, man-to-man. I have no designs on your sister of any kind. I respect ye for wishing to protect her, and ye are right in wishing to do so—there are many men in the world who would do what ye have in mind. I am not one of those men. Ye ken there are bairns here. Two of them. My niece and nephew. I have not the first idea of how to raise them, and your sister seems to get on well with them. I will give her a place to live, food, clothing if she needs it, and I will not turn her in to the magistrate for reiving. That is as far as this goes.”
When Liam did not scoff or shout or curse him, as Anne half-expected him to do, Drew went a step further by perching just behind her, on the edge of the bed. “Now. Would ye not rather know she is safe, living in a decent home with decent people, no longer forced to steal?”
Liam gasped before turning to her. “Ye told him! He knows!”
“Och, nay. Silence yourself, lad. I told him little, but he knew ‘twas not our doing. That is all.” She glared at Drew, willing him to be silent on this. The less said, the better.
He seemed to understand, for he said no more on it—then, his indignation turned to sorrow, as she had so feared it would. “I canna go without ye. I canna do it.”
“Ye can, and ye must.” She smoothed a hand over his brow, over the top of his head and down the back until she clasped his neck. “As Drew said, ye are a man. Ye deserve to be treated as such, but ye must also behave as one does. And a man knows what he has to do, though he might not wish to do it.”
She saw his struggle, sensed it clearly. He did not wish to be a man then. He wanted to be a bairn, one allowed to throw himself into his sister’s arms and weep. Bairns were permitted to behave in such a manner, but not men.
His chin quivered, his eyes welled, but he contained his sorrow. Something about watching him do this hurt worse than anything else had thus far. Another bit of his childhood over, never to be seen again.
“I shall have a friend drive ye wherever it is ye need to go,” Drew offered, still behind her.
She stared hard at her brother, once again willing him to understand. They could not lead this friend of his to Malcolm’s home. That was the worst possible outcome, for Malcolm would know he’d been exposed and would take his wrath out on Liam.
Her heart seized at the mere thought.
Liam nodded, brows lowered, understanding. He was a man now, after all.
13
Drew did not consider himself a man lacking in understanding.
In fact, he was a rather soft-hearted man when left to his own devices. Certainly, he’d delivered more than his share of grief to many a man, and he’d never been one to back down needed. Why, he’d followed his cousin through the Highlands, cutting nearly clear across the country, all in the name of reclaiming a birthright.
He’d made the journey without question, knowing there could be terrible consequences—for when one dealt with a man such as the late Ian MacFarland, one willing to murder an old man and woman that he might steal their land from beneath them, there was no telling how the story would end.
Yet he never failed to stop and pay a moment’s respect to his aunt and uncle, lying as they did in their graves. Side-by-side they would remain into eternity, beneath a gnarled tree behind the main house. The house in which they’d met their end.
He was not a hard-hearted man. At the root of all he did was a deep belief in right and wrong, good and evil, and the need for able-bodied men such as himself to stand up and fight should the need arise.
Even so, he did wish the pair of siblings currently bidding each other farewell would get on with it already. He had a day to attend to, and there was still the matter of showing the lass what was what. The bairns were still asleep, heaven be praised, like as not because they’d been up during the night.
He would’ve rather seen Liam make his departure before either of them woke. Too many questions he had no desire to answer.
Not to mention the fact that he would rather not have them mention the incident to Davina.
What to do about her? And Rufus? He mulled this over while pretending not to listen to the whispered conversation which took place behind him. There was no reason why he could not leave the bairns in her care that morning—he hoped. If that was the case, they would have no reason to see Davina and speak of meeting the lass the night before.
Was this all a terrible idea? The more he turned it over in his head, the more he questioned it. Rufus would wish to know where the lass had come from—he could easily explain that away, saying he needed the help and he’d met her in the village or something to that effect.
While he lived on Rufus’s land, they had an understanding that his business was his alone. And Rufus trusted his judgment; he was unlikely to question Drew’s methods.
This caused Drew no small amount of guilt, naturally, as he knew he was taking advantage of his cousin’s trust. It also increased his determination to make certain the lass did not make a fool of him.
Or his family.
He cleared his throat. Would they get on with it or would they not? He kept looking at the door to the bairns’ bedchamber, expecting them to launch themselves from the room as they normally did.
“Are we taking too long a time for ye?” Anne asked. Her voice sounded thick, as though she had only just wept or was about to.
“Aye, ye are.” He turned his head to look her way. “Ye must be done with it soon, if ye wish to keep this between us.”
He gave her cred
it for having good sense, at the very least. She seemed to at last understand the urgency. “Very well.”
He led them outside, where the early morning light had already begun to pool over the farm as everything and everyone awakened. They had not a moment to lose. He signaled to the rider who waited with a cart on the other side of the stone wall.
“Ye trust this man?” Anne hissed as they hurried to him.
“Aye, he’s a good man.”
“How do ye know him?”
“He makes his living delivering goods from Avoch and even as far as Inverness, for those who canna make the journey for any reason. He is trustworthy, and he knows when best to keep his tongue still.” He was also a skilled smuggler, having done so during the Jacobite uprising, but Drew chose to keep this to himself.
Though, knowing the lass’s skill with thievery, he thought they might get on quite well.
Before stepping over the ruined bits of wall, Liam turned back to Anne. His throat worked, his chin trembled, and there was no chance of Drew keeping his heart from going out to the lad.
And it caused him to question whether this was the best course of action. Where was he sending him?
He tugged Anne’s sleeve. “Is he in danger of coming to harm without ye? Is it wrong to send him home alone?”
She shook her head, though he thought the gesture a bit too firm. The determined set of her jaw gave him pause as well. Yet she was certain, and she would be the one who would know best.
Like as not the lad was simply heartsick over the notion of being without his sister, who seemed to be more of a second mother.
They brought to mind memories of Bridget and himself, and especially of the last time he’d seen her.
Perhaps it had been because he was a bairn, the youngest child, the one who normally got underfoot when some important matter was going on. The important matter happened to be his sister’s wedding.
He’d understood that she was getting married. He’d understood she might have bairns of her own one day. He’d heard tell of the drinking and carousing done by men at such affairs and had, in fact, tasted ale for the first time that day.
He still recalled the laughter of the men at the way his face had screwed up in disgust.
What no one had told him, likely because they hadn’t imagined he needed to be told—or they hadn’t thought of him at all in the excitement—was the fact that Bridget would be leaving home. For good.
The truth had only occurred to him when she was saying goodbye to the others, to their mam, to her friends. He’d begun to understand that she was not coming back. That he might never see her again.
And he never had.
The memory of that heartbreak, the first true heartbreak of his seven years, haunted him as he watched Anne and Liam bid each other goodbye. He saw himself in that small, brave lad, who tried valiantly to hold back the tears.
More than twenty years had passed. From what he’d heard, Bridget had suffered loss after loss when the time came for her to bear children. Only Moira and Owen had lived through labor, while three other bairns had been born sleeping and others had been lost early on.
Why had he never been to visit her? He might have ridden out, no matter how long the journey would have taken. For some selfish reason, he’d always found a way to talk himself out of seeing her again. She would be too busy for him, or he had too many things to do, or she would have forgotten him after so many years.
Perhaps it was a matter of knowing she would have aged. She would not have been the Bridget he remembered.
Perhaps he’d merely been selfish and instead of cherishing the sister who’d been left him—when the rest of the family had passed on—he’d only thought of himself and had all but forgotten her when she might have needed him most.
Anne held back the tears until the cart rolled out of sight. Once Liam was nothing more than a shadow rolling further away, tears began coursing down her cheeks.
Yet she remained silent, fists clenched at her sides, trembling. As if she were accustomed to hiding her emotions.
He pretended not to notice. It was easier that way.
“The bairns will be awake in a moment, if they aren’t already. I can show ye what ye need for now and tonight can show ye the rest.” He started for the house, assuming she would follow and not do anything foolish such as attempting to follow her brother.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she did follow. “How old are Moira and Owen?” There was no longer emotion in her voice. Nothing but a crisp sort of determination he could not help but admire.
“They just reached four years.”
“When?”
“What does it matter?”
They stepped into the house, where she went to the fire to warm her hands. “Because it does. Would ye not want someone to know the date of your birth, that they might wish ye a happy day when it comes around?”
“I… dinna know who to ask,” he admitted, going to the larder which consisted of a small chest in a cool corner of the room. “You’ll find our supplies here. I shall bring fresh meat later today for stew. Ye know how to make a stew, I suppose.”
“Aye. Why do ye not know who to ask? Ye do not know when they were born? Why not?”
“Must ye ask so many questions?” he grumbled. “The bairns normally eat porridge to break their fast, and ye shall find a barrel of it there, near the hearth.”
“One moment, please.” She placed a hand over the barrel’s lid before he could lift it. “I know what porridge looks like, thank ye very much, and I’m certain I can find whatever I happen to need. Yet if ye expect me to spend time here and tend the bairns, I wish to have my questions answered.”
“Why?” he nearly exploded, barely keeping himself from shouting. “What does it matter? Your being here does not give ye any rights or privileges. Ye are a thief, and this is how ye shall pay for what ye stole.”
Her throat worked. Her brows knitted together, then lowered. After a silent moment, she growled, “I would not want to ask the wrong question or say anything that would upset them. ‘Tis a simple thing, upsetting a bairn.”
He wished he could swallow his own tongue. The lass asked innocent questions, and all he could do was shout at her.
“Their mam and da died of some illness. It was all unclear,” he explained in a steadier tone. “I had not seen my sister in many years, since she was married. I did not meet the bairns until the day they arrived here at the farm. That was the day I found out my sister died.”
Her face fell, and some of the fire left her eyes. “Och, ’tis a pity. I had not imagined.”
“I would not expect ye to imagine. I would scarcely have imagined it myself. I didna know the children existed—everything I learned, I learned from the man and woman who brought them here. Neighbors of my sister. Bridget, her name was. They were kind enough to take them in for a short time after the deaths, then bring them to me after sending word before them. How they knew where to find me, I couldna say. But I’m glad they did.”
He sat in one of the chairs beside the table, suddenly ashamed. “I didna think to ask when they were born. The day, ye ken. There was so much to learn. I wish I had thought of it.”
An uneasy silence hovered between them, and for Drew, it was one filled with questions. What would she think of this? Had he revealed too much? Or was she correct; should he be more forthcoming?
He’d not thought this through, and look where it had gotten him. Sitting in a room with a stranger who he had no choice but to trust with two people who’d come to mean the world to him.
She took a short breath as if preparing to speak, but was too late. The door to the second bedchamber opened and out tumbled a pair of curly-headed bairns eager to greet the new day.
To his relief, she smiled at the sight of them, and it seemed as though the entire house brightened.
14
Anne stared at the bairns.
The bairns stared at Anne.
None of the three of them
said a word for what seemed an endless amount of time, seated around the table. They had only just finished their porridge, the twins, and now waited for her to do something.
What that something would be, she had not the first idea.
“What do ye do during the day?” she dared ask. Why was she nervous? They were children. Nothing to fear.
Moira folded her hands in her lap. A perfect wee lady. Anne forced herself not to smile. “We go to visit Davina.”
“And who is Davina?”
They looked at her as if they’d began speaking in a different tongue. “Davina is Davina,” Owen replied.
Lord, grant me strength, though I might not deserve it. “Who is she, I mean. An aunt? A sister?”
“She is our cousin,” Moira explained.
Anne made a note of this in her head. “Ah. I see. Cousin Davina. And does she have a husband? Or bairns?”
Moira giggled. “She is going to! We will have a new cousin!”
Owen took a decidedly different opinion, judging by the lift of his shoulders. “Och, she will be too busy for us then.” He appeared sullen, perhaps a bit sad.
Anne nodded, thoughtful. “Aye, I expect she shall be quite busy with the bairn. Bairns need quite a lot of time and care.”
“They cry.”
“Aye, that they do. Do ye have other brothers or sisters?”
“Nay. Davina told us. The bairn will cry and when we visit, we ought to be quiet so we dinna wake it.” Owen swung his feet back and forth, arms folded. He was more than sad.
“She will still love ye,” Anne offered in a soft voice.
“Och, I dinna mind.”
“She will still love ye,” she maintained. “Both of ye. A new bairn brings more love, not less.”
“Do ye have bairns?” Moira asked.
“Nay, but I remember when my brother was on his way. I felt the way Owen does.” She was quite a bit older than Owen at the time, already past her tenth winter, but if it made him feel better, she would lie a bit.
“Ye did?” he asked, suddenly interested.
