Highlander's Hope

by Cameron, Collette

  She hesitated in the entrance, uncertain. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She half-turned to leave. “I shall come back later.”

  “Yvette, won’t you join us?” Giselle motioned to the table.

  A tentative smile on her lips, Yvette walked forward. “Yes, thank you.”

  Giselle called for another place setting. Gregor stood, then pulled the chair out beside his.

  “Thank you.” Sending him a grateful smile, Yvette took a seat.

  Adaira beamed and reached under the table to squeeze her hand.

  Isobel smiled. “‘Tis wonderful to see you.”

  “Have ye need of something?” Hugh’s kind eyes met hers. He looked pointedly at the letters in her hand.

  Yvette nodded, glancing at the letters. “Yes, I sought an audience with you and Duncan.”

  “Lass, ye are the lady of Craiglocky now. Ye need not ask for an audience,” said Hugh kindly.

  Yvette blushed, uncomfortable with her new title. “I’ve a proposition I need your help with.” She gazed round the table. “If you don’t object, I could share my plan with everyone now.”

  Hugh’s gaze roamed those seated. “Aye,” he agreed.

  As efficiently as possible, Yvette revealed her plans. She finished by asking Hugh, “Do you think it possible?”

  Brushing his chin with his hand, he looked first to Duncan, then at the other astonished faces. “Aye,” he said. “It can be done, but it would be costly, lass, very costly.”

  Meeting his eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Money is not an issue. Ewan did indeed marry an heiress.” She colored when she acknowledged the marriage, but forged on. “Even he doesn’t know the extent of my wealth.”

  Hugh raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, lass?” A touch of disbelief etched his voice.

  Yvette’s lips twitched. “Indeed.” She named a sum which wiped the humor off everyone’s face. “And those are only my holdings in England.” Her gaze skimmed their faces. “I’ve interests around the world.”

  Duncan’s, “Holy Mother of God,” was smothered by Alasdair’s, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

  Hugh grunted, “I’ve never known anyone that wealthy.”

  Suddenly feeling doubtful, Yvette glanced at the others. They were too quiet. “Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound boastful.”

  Giselle shook her head. “Please don’t mistake our silence for disapproval. I think I speak for each of us,” she paused, sweeping her hand to indicate those seated at the table, “when I say we’re amazed at your generosity. You’ve been here but days, ill the first few and, I’m ashamed to say, treated abominably by some thereafter, though our intent was never to hurt you. What possible motive can you have for wanting to do this?”

  Yvette frowned, baffled. “You don’t wish me to?” Studying their sober faces, she tried to determine their thoughts.

  Duncan regarded her. “Nae that, lass.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “What we are trying to understand is why ye would do something kind when ye have been treated shoddily?”

  Faith, they doubted her motives. Yvette folded her hands and angled her head. “I want to do it for Ewan.” Her gaze traveled the table, searching the faces of everyone seated there. “Will you help me?”

  Hugh stood. Duncan followed suit. “Who be with us?”

  She watched in tearful amazement as everyone present stood in acknowledgement of their commitment. They would help her.

  Yvette smiled, eagerly informing them, “I’ve a letter drafted to my solicitor. I need a list of supplies, materials, laborers, anything and everything you can think of. I’d like to get started at once, and if possible, send a rider to London today.”

  “Lass, ye need to present yer case to the folk if ye are to be successful,” Duncan said soberly.

  Doubt kicked her in the chest. The smile waned from her face. Her gaze darted to him in alarm.

  Giselle laid her hand over hers. “You’re their laird’s wife now. Tell them what’s in your heart, chére. Why it’s important for you to do this.”

  Hugh nodded. “We shall call for a council o’ the folk in the morning.”

  Tomorrow?

  Hugh’s proclamation wrenched Yvette’s stomach. Her face must have registered her panic, because he chuckled, “Don’t look so worried, we’ll help ye.”

  Aubry flounced into the Hall, and Yvette’s muscles tightened into hard knots all along her neck and shoulders. She wasn’t prepared to speak to her yet. No, that wasn’t true. She’d never wanted to speak to Aubry again.

  Yvette stood, then passed Hugh the letters. “Will you please see these are posted for me?” She smiled at the others. “Thank you. Please excuse me.” Head lowered, she made for the Hall’s massive carved doors.

  Aubry sidestepped, blocking her escape. “Yvette, please wait. I’d like to apologize for my appalling behavior. I was distraught and said a number of things I shouldn’t have, intolerably unkind things.”

  Yvette stood, head bowed and fists clenched. Should she thank Aubry for the apology? Give her the cut direct? Plant her a facer? She rather liked that last choice.

  “I wronged you,” Aubry said. “I’d like to start over, should like for us to become friends, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  Friends? Yvette would sooner sleep with a venomous snake.

  Adaira snorted in blatant disbelief. “And I’m a horse’s arse.”

  “Hush, Addy, there’s no need to be vulgar,” Giselle chastised.

  “Mere words are not enough to undo the harm ye did, Aubry. The laird may yet send ye from the Keep, so furious he be.” Duncan made the dour proclamation in Ewan’s stead.

  Addy muttered under her breath. “I hope Ewan does send her away. Far away.”

  Aubry ignored her, saying, “I’m certain I can be of help in the endeavor Yvette has suggested.”

  Several brows rose in askance at her remark. Yvette looked her square on for the first time. How did Aubry know of her plans? Yvette’s gaze shifted to the open Hall doors.

  Aubry confessed, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was reluctant to enter the Hall. I was—that is—I am ashamed of my behavior.” She looked at the others, waving a hand in Yvette’s direction. “Aren’t you willing to help her?”

  From beneath her lashes, Yvette scrutinized Aubry. She didn’t believe a word of it. From the wary looks on everyone’s faces, it didn’t appear they didn’t either.

  Aubry flashed a bright smile. “You’ll see how sincere I am. I shall prove myself to you.”

  Her lower lip tucked between her teeth, Yvette stared at Aubry. Her mind waged a soundless battle between her convictions and emotions. She didn’t think for a minute Aubry was the least remorseful.

  She glanced at the others. They were waiting for her. Blast it. She wanted nothing to do with Aubry. Lord, this is asking too much, too soon. She glanced at Giselle. An idea took hold. But perhaps—

  “Aubry, your help would be appreciated.” Smiling at Hugh and Giselle, Yvette suggested smoothly, “I’m sure you know where Aubry will be helpful. May I rely upon you to place her where her talents would be the most useful?”

  That way, Yvette was spared Aubry’s company.

  Giselle nodded and smiled. “Of course.”

  “I’ll leave you, then.” Aubry curled her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Please let me know how I can help.” She turned in a flurry of russet-colored skirts, then hastened from the room.

  Yvette watched her go, a mixture of relief and trepidation engulfing at her. No, indeed, she wasn’t so short on wit she’d believe Aubry had had a change of heart, but at least the woman had quit the room.

  Yvette stood on the top step of the Keep. Fingering the Luckenbooth brooch at her shoulder, she sca
nned the crowd before her. Lord, would that her stomach would stop frolicking about.

  Determined to be taken seriously as their laird’s lady, she had donned the kirtle and linen blouse Giselle brought her. With her help, Yvette had secured the scarf across her left shoulder.

  The Luckenbooth brooch gleamed triumphantly against the plaid, its jewels complimenting the tartan to perfection. In traditional Scot’s fashion, she let her hair hang loose with a simple blue ribbon tied across her crown. Ewan’s family and clan formed a half-circle behind her. She wiped her damp palms on the plaid skirt. Taking a deep breath, she explained what she wanted to do for the orphans and Ewan’s people.

  “I can’t do this alone. I’ve seen the sturdy homes built by the skilled craftsmen in the clan. I need your help to build a school, an orphanage, and a woolen mill. These new buildings will require all of your skills and talents. And I’ve not forgotten the sick and elderly. I sent a missive to my solicitor asking him to obtain a physician for the village.”

  “You don’t know me and have no reason to trust me, but I ask you to do this for your laird.” She lifted her hands, palm upward in entreaty. “Help me in this. I can’t do it without you. I want to make your laird, now my laird, proud.”

  Yvette would never forget the nerve-wracking silence that greeted her final words. It stretched on for endless minutes. She started, her mouth dropping open astonishment, when rousing cheers erupted moments later. They had accepted her propositions. Elated and grinning, she turned to Hugh.

  He gathered her in a crushing embrace, lifting her off her feet. “Och, well done, lassie.”

  Several other enthusiastic hugs followed. Even Aubry condescended to touch Yvette’s cheek with her own.

  A grand celebration was held that evening. Everyone, including Yvette, danced into the late hours. When she at last found her bed, she sank in to the welcoming softness and snuggled beneath the satiny cover’s weight.

  They’d accepted her as the Chieftainess.

  Yvette and Hugh reined in their mounts. Tilting her head, she surveyed the building before her. “I’d no idea this much progress could be made in two days.”

  “Aye, the second story is framed, and the roof beams are in place.”

  Yvette grinned. “Things are shaping up, aren’t they?”

  Hugh chuckled as he peered around. “Och, they are lass.”

  The transformation in the village since she had presented her idea to the McTavish Clan a fortnight ago was nothing short of phenomenal. Clan’s members and villagers worked side-by-side, calling cheerful greetings to those passing by. A continuous stream of workers, vendors, clansmen, and Ewan’s family traveled from the Keep to the village, then back again.

  She was hard-pressed to remember the names of the men assigned as her escort, for their faces changed every day. A contingent of twelve Scots was her constant companion outside Craiglocky’s bailey. Half-score more accompanied her on more far reaching outings.

  Yvette allowed herself a small, mockery tinged smile. Ewan would be gratified to know how diligent his clan was. She was as safe as a trussed hen. Her heart twinged. There had been no word from him, though given he was an agent in the Diplomatic Corps, that wasn’t cause for alarm.

  How her life had changed since stepping off the Atlantic

  Star. She was married, and she’d found something meaningful to do with the wealth she’d been blessed with.

  A villager waved calling, “Good day, me lady.”

  “Good day to you.” Yvette returned the waves of several villagers. Turning her mare around, she rode to the rear of the building. Hugh followed. At her insistence, the first structure to be built was the orphanage’s kitchen so meals could be prepared for the hungry urchins. Two cooks were employed to prepare the meals. A crude temporary shelter was assembled and now provided a place for the foundlings to sleep. Once the ragamuffins realized what was happening, they began to venture from the woods and surrounding areas eager to help.

  Whenever possible, native Scots were hired to fill the numerous positions. Yvette retained a sweet orphan named Nessia to train as her personal maid. Pippa was getting along in years and could use an assistant. Yvette’s heart wrenched thinking of her dear companion. Surely Pippa and the Fairchilds would be arriving in England soon.

  Twisting in her saddle, she met Hugh’s eyes. “I’d not dreamed we’d accomplish this much this fast. Mr. Dehring and Rory have been godsends. Without their influence, we’d be awaiting supplies.”

  Smiling, brown eyes twinkling kindly, he agreed. “Aye, lass, ‘tis a wonder to behold.”

  Yvette’s teeth worried her lower lip. “Have I overstepped my bounds? Will Ewan be angry?”

  Hugh’s penetrating gaze met hers, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. “How can he be displeased, lass? Look at the folk. Their pride has been restored.” Swinging his head to survey the projects, a grin erupted across his rugged face. “Nae, lassie, he’ll nae be displeased with ye.”

  Chapter 27

  Kicking Shaidae, Ewan urged the stallion on. Every mile that brought him closer to Yvette, magnified his desire to see her. And, with each mile, his sense of trepidation mounted.

  Lord, he had missed her. She consumed his thoughts, day and night. Poignant memories of her replayed in his mind. Never before had he been as uncertain of anything. Nothing had ever mattered as much as her decision about their marriage.

  Had she decided to remain his wife? With everything in him, he hoped she had.

  Cresting the last hill before descending into the village, Ewan jerked Shaidae’s reins. The horse reared and snorted in disapproval. From his vantage point atop the knoll, Ewan stared dumbfounded at the landscape before him.

  What-the-hell?

  Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, he tore down the hill. Cantering into the village, he slowed Shaidae to a walk. Ewan turned his head this way and that, trying to absorb all the changes since his departure over three weeks ago. What was going on?

  A man atop a building under construction called to him, “Laird McTavish, bless ye.”

  An ancient crone seized Ewan’s boot, giving him a toothless smile. “Yer lady be an angel, me laird.”

  Ewan heard, “Thank ye, yer lairdship. God bless ye and her lady,” over and over again.

  At a complete loss, he stopped Shaidae in front of the two largest new buildings. He glimpsed his stepfather between the supporting beams of one of them. Staring at the workers bustling around him, he waited for Hugh to approach. He needed some answers.

  “Good to see ye, Ewan.” Hugh clasped Ewan’s hand. “Ye have been missed.”

  Bewildered, looking around the thrumming community, Ewan finally met Hugh’s amused gaze. “Hugh?”

  “Ye have to ask yer wife, son. She’s been very busy while ye be gone.”

  Ewan stood in his stirrups, craning his neck and peering at the commotion. “I can bloody well see that.”

  Yvette was responsible for this?

  Hugh chuckled. “Come, get off yer horse, and take a wee peek inside.”

  After a tour of the buildings, Ewan stood in the middle of the street scrutinizing the dynamic scene before him. Yvette, was responsible for this. He shook his head, amazed. “How did you . . . ? Did she manage it?”

  Hugh grinned. “She’s a rich lass with powerful connections.” Palm upward, he extended his hand to indicate the villagers. “Yer clan is eager to please both of ye.”

  Ewan lifted his hat, smoothing aside the hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “Aye, I can see that.”

  “I want to show ye the woolen mill. It be over by the river.” Hugh mounted his horse. “Duncan be overseeing its construction.”

  A woolen mill too?

  Ewan put his hat on, then gripped Shaidae’s reins and hoisted himself onto
the stallion. He and Hugh trotted their mounts the mile to River Falkirk. It was a half hour later before Ewan stood outdoors once more.

  Yvette. He shook his head again. She’d thought of everything.

  A smile started at the edges of his mouth, and split into a grin of primordial male triumph. No wife intent on leaving her husband would go to this much effort. Yvette had decided to stay, to remain his wife. An overwhelming joy filled him.

  Sprinting to his smoky black mount, he leapt into the saddle. Though the castle wasn’t visible from the hamlet, Ewan knew his heart’s desire lay within reach. With one last look round the village, he trotted Shaidae to the path leading to home and a welcoming wife.

  Had news of his arrival reached her yet?

  Yvette entered the kitchen unsure of her welcome.

  A large woman with well-muscled arms, her hair hidden by a bright scarf tied about her head, smiled a cheerful greeting.

  “Can I help ye, me lady?” The look the cook sent Yvette was curious, though not unkind.

  “Yes, please. You’re Sorcha?”

  “Aye, lady.

  “I’m looking for Iona.” Indicating the basket she carried, Yvette said, “I’ve something for her.”

  “The bairn will return soon. She ran to the garden for some onions and carrots.”

  “Might I wait?”

  “Of course. Would ye like some fresh bread? I took it from the oven minutes ago.”

  Sitting on a rough chair at a simple table, Yvette sniffed the fragrant air. “Yes, please.”

  Placing the basket on the table, she took stock of the kitchen. It was immaculate. Herbs were drying from hooks inserted in one rough-hewn beam, and two women were cutting vegetables. Another was straining cheese.