by Stobie Piel
She would go to America, because Nathan was stubborn, and because he didn't want her for a wife. Maybe she would meet another man. Maybe she would care for him, too. Enough to raise a family. As the thought formed, a dark pit opened inside her. No matter where she went, or how many years passed, Nathan would be inside her heart's core.
She wouldn't be like Glenna, because Glenna had overcome her tragic situation and found love beyond. No wonder she handled the men with such ease. She'd found her own strength, and lived her life as she wanted.
Glenna looked around the cottage. Her gaze fixed on Miren's bed. Miren's cheeks warmed with embarrassment. The sheets were tangled, the pillows close together. "Nathan sleeps on the floor!" Her voice came high and shrill. All eyes turned toward her. Miren bit her lip at the lie. "Most nights."
She wanted to die, to sink into the floor and disappear. Daniel coughed and cleared his throat, Simon issued a grumbling curse, and Nathan shook his head. Glenna took Miren's hand and squeezed it tight. "Then my son is an idiot."
A squeak came from Miren's parted lips, but she could muster no more.
Glenna eyed Daniel. "You gentlemen should be returning to Oban, shouldn't you?"
"Tonight?"
"That would seem wise."
Daniel looked disappointed, but he shrugged. "Suppose you're right. Sorry to miss it, Captain. Like to see you squirm." He doffed his sailor's cap, then went to the door. The other man who had come in with Glenna doffed his cap, too, but he didn't speak.
Nathan went to the door, too. "We'll reach Oban in a few days. Be sure everything is ready for a quick departure. But keep it quiet."
"You said that." Daniel cast a pertinent glance Miren's way. "You're right, miss. He is a worrywart."
The two sailors left, and Glenna stood up. "Daniel is charming, isn't he? Davidson is a mute, but quite a fine cook." She adjusted her skirt. "We shouldn't ascend to the manor until morning. Nathan must introduce me formally to Lady MacCallum."
Simon replaced his hat and bowed to Glenna. "I'll prepare your new room myself, Your Ladyship. I'm thinking you belong in the master's quarters, but"
Glenna's face darkened. "I will never go in that room again." She caught herself, and her gentle smile returned. "Thank you, Simon. The servants' quarters will be more thanenough. Living on the reservation has equipped me for small spaces."
Simon bowed again. "As you wish, Lady." He opened the door and paused, but he didn't look back. His shoulders straightened, and he went out into the rain.
Glenna watched him go. "So good a man . . ." She sighed and turned her sharp attention back to Nathan. "We have only a few days before the Games. Incidentally, Nat and I will accompany you to the festivities. He will enjoy watching the caber tossing in particular."
Nat peered up at his grandmother. "What's caber . . . What is it?"
Glenna spread her arms wide. "A huge man, like a giant, throws a tree to see how far it goes. Then other huge men try to beat him!"
"Men as big as Uncle?"
"Much bigger." Glenna puffed her chest and cheeks. "Men with chests three times the size of Nathaniel's."
Nathan frowned, insulted. "Bulk doesn't make a man strong."
Glenna eyed him playfully. "Perhaps you'll try your hand, my dear. The Games, as I recall, are open to all."
"A man's value isn't determined by how far he can pitch a tree, Mother."
Miren tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. "There's always haggis throwing."
"What's that?"
"Tossing sheep entrails as far as you can. The winner earns great esteem."
Nathan grimaced. "For a Scottish pastime, it doesn't surprise me. I will attend these Games as a spectator, not a competitor."
Miren clicked her tongue. "A shame. When I was a small child, I won a medal for my rendition of the Highland fling."
"A sight I'd enjoy watching."
"I'm too old to take part now, Nathaniel. The costumes reveal too much, they say."
"Then you'll show me in private."
Tension coiled between them. They recognized it at the same time, and both averted their eyes from each other. Glenna watched them with a too-knowing smile. "Well, well."
"As for you, Mother, posing as a housekeeper is out of the question."
"Indeed? Where do you intend to store me until we depart for Oban?"
"I could hide you in the byre."
Glenna rose to her feet, ready to fight. She placed herself before her son and straightened her back. She wasn't a tall woman, but she held her own well. Miren studied Glenna's stance for future reference. Chin high, eyes narrow. Feet planted firmly apart.
Miren stood up, too. She copied Glenna's posture and faced Nathan, too. "You will resume your position on the floor, as will I. On the other side of the room, of course. Your mother and Nat can have the bed."
Nat hopped up and seized Miren's hand. "I want to sleep on the floor, too!"
"Very well. We'll make you a spot beside mine." She paused, keeping her face serious. "Molly likes to sleep beside me. She might like to use your legs as a pillow. Do you mind terribly?"
The little boy's eyes widened like saucers. "The floor, the floor! I'm a pillow!" He danced around, kicking.
Nathan rolled his eyes. "Just for tonight." He shook his head. "Madness."
Miren straightened. She kept her chin high, her eyes narrowed. She adjusted her feet farther apart. "The matter is settled."
Chapter Fifteen
I have a new playmate. A small human named Nat, who takes particular interest in scratching my ears, and even allowed me to sleep with my head on his feet. I like having young around. A small person to watch over, to keep out of trouble.
I learned from Flip how to keep one's charge in line. Herding a child isn't easy, but it can't be as bad as herding Blossom. Also, a small human is much more interesting.
Nathan has taken the new womanwhom I judged by scent to be his damto the manor. The young mistress and I have Nat in the pasture, where he is chasing sheep. Flip keeps herding them back into place. Blossom is thoroughly peeved, but Earnest stands his ground. He pawed the earth once in warning, and Nat took off after Huntley instead.
Huntley didn't have the energy to flee, so Nat is now brushing what's left of his wool. I may have to intervene. If anyone is brushed, it should be me.
"Lady MacCallum, may I present our new housekeeper . . ." Nathan stopped mid-sentence. He'd gone through with his mother's mad scheme and agreed to introduce her as his housekeeper. And neglected to think of a suitable name.
Glenna bowed twice and hopped to his side. "Call me Poppy, Your Ladyship."
Nathan cringed inwardly. Glenna looked ridiculous. She'd even blackened one tooth. Her hair was done up in an offcenter bun, and she wore a dress several sizes too large for her body. He felt sure she'd padded her chest, too.
Irene MacCallum glared at her in disgust. "Poppy."
"Ain't my full name, you understand. I was born Poppensuch Frittater."
The word popped into her head and came out her mouth. Nathan wondered how he'd reached adulthood with a mother so bereft of good sense.
Glenna looked proud. "It's an American name."
Nathan repressed a groan. Irene looked pained. "A housekeeper must maintain certain standards, Laird MacCallum. Mrs. . . ."
Glenna nodded helpfully. "Frit-tah-ter, ma'am."
"Mrs. Frittater may have served adequately in America, but"
"I did, at that, ma'am! Poor young Nathaniel, he didn't know squat about housekeeping. Had just enough money to bring in help. Even let me bring my grandson along. My daughter's boy. Don't have the slightest notion who his father was."
Nathan cleared his throat. "Mrs. . . ." He paused, glaring at his mother for choosing such a ridiculous name. "Poppy is surprisingly skilled at housekeeping or I wouldn't have sent for her. I'm sure you'll find her work of a high quality."
"I'll start right now! Where's the broom closet?" Glenna spun around, waved her arms, a
nd took off toward the pantry. "Never you mind, Lady MacCallum. I'll hunt it up on my own. You just relax. Maybe I'll fetch you a cup of tea fromthe kitchen. I'll have your whole lovely home fixed up in a twitch. You won't recognize the place, I promise."
Lady MacCallum looked white and drawn. "This is unacceptable . . ."
Nathan couldn't argue. Glenna must have encountered Muffin in the pantry, because a fury of barks erupted. Something barked back. Nathan closed his eyes. Glenna. Muffin growled. Glenna growled, too.
"What is that woman doing to poor Muffin?"
Two barks mingled, then silence. Nathan held his breath. Glenna came around the corner, smiling. Carrying Muffin in her arms.
Lady MacCallum's mouth dropped in unison with Nathan's. For the first time, Muffin seemed relaxed. The little creature actually looked pretty when she wasn't snarling. Glenna patted her with a firm, long stroke. "Such a good dog!"
Irene seized the dog from Glenna's arms. "What have you done to her? All that growling and barking . . ."
"A Pomeranian needs to respect someone before they'll accept them."
"How"Irene's voice lowered nearly to a growl"how would you know?"
Glenna shrugged. "Seen a few in my time. Fat old lady up in Syracuse had a pair. Used to do housekeeping for her, and she taught me a thing or two."
Nathan stared at his mother in amazement. She'd never been to Syracuse. He had to admire the agility of her brain. Another thought struck him. He had to keep her away from Miren. Miren learned too quickly. After a few days in Glenna's company, they'd be staging an insurrection and demanding Scotland's sovereignty from England. He refused to allow himself to speculate on his own fate.
"If you're settled, Poppy . . ."
"You head on back to your fiancée, Laird. I'll turn your house upside-down and set it to rights. Don't you worry."
Nathan headed for the door. ''I wouldn't dream of worrying." The footman held open the door, looking unusually happy. Nathan left, assuming the manor would be rubble by nightfall.
He headed for Miren's cottage. She seemed peaceful compared with his demonic mother. Until he remembered she'd called him a worrywart. And suggested he partake in haggis throwing.
Nathan stopped in the road. The more time he spent in her company, the more his wayward love deepened. She was playing with Nat in the pasture. The boy ran in circles with Molly. The ewes looked annoyed, but Huntley stood solemnly. Nat fed the old ram sprigs of grass as he passed.
Simon oversaw the procedure, chortling and slapping his things. Miren sat cross-legged on the grass, and Nat jumped into her lap. She wore her dark blue dress, her hair tied loosely at her neck, falling over one shoulder.
The sky was gray after the rain, but the day was warm. Tiny openings of blue fought the clouds, lost, and tried again. The sheep grazed at the far end of the pasture, avoiding the child.
David's child. Nathan hadn't returned for David's wedding, nor for the birth of his son. He'd been at sea. When given leave, he chose to spent it cavorting in Louisiana rather than visiting his family. The last time he saw David was when he left for the army. He was sixteen, David twenty.
David told him he was proposing to a girl he'd met at school. He wanted Nathan to wait for his wedding, but Nathan refused. David wrote often. Nathan answered once, and forgot to thank David for naming the baby after him. David's wife died miscarrying their second child. When Nathan returned to New York after the war, he'd intended to visit his brother, but his fight with Taregan drove it from his mind.
He'd brought David's son to Scotland, but he didn't know the boy. Apparently, the child had heard of him. David hadbuilt him up to heroic proportions. Proportions he didn't deserve.
Miren conversed easily with the child. Nathan had no idea what to say. On the ship from America, he'd avoided the boy, but the child followed him. He'd lost his temper, ordered the boy away, and scared him half to death in the process. It wasn't that he disliked children. He'd found himself caring too much, wanting to allow the boy the helm, to carry him around on his shoulders . . . And watching as Daniel and the other crewmen entertained the child instead.
He refused to get that close to anyone. Not a child whose need was so great. Nor a woman who hid her need, yet still declared her love.
They were playing together in the field. Nathan was alone. He was sending her away. He would secure the child's inheritance, then leave himself. He thought of his dream, of returning to Miren only to find she was lost to him forever.
It would be too late, even if she waited for him. He would never be the kind of man she deserved.
He wouldn't allow his nephew to grow dependent, either. He wouldn't play a father. He couldn't. It would be cruel, and if he failed a child . . .
He had a purpose in Scotland. To keep his family safe, to insure that his brother's child had a future. Brent Edgington seemed the most likely threat. Before they met again in Oban, Nathan wanted information. Brent's hunting trips needed to be scrutinized. Nathan considered who might know more.
Brent had mentioned hunting with the Duke of Argyll. A place to start. Nathan took a final look at Miren and the child, then headed for the stables.
"Where's Nathan going?" Miren saw him astride a large gray horse, heading down from the stables. "And should he be going alone?"
Simon tossed a makeshift ball to Nat and shrugged. "Lad knows what he's doing."
Miren hurried to the pasture gate, catching Nathan before he passed. "Nathan! Where are you going?"
He halted, but he didn't look eager for speech. Nat climbed the stone wall and ran to the horse. He patted its shoulder and looked up at Nathan. "That's a fine hoss, Uncle. My papa set me up on his saddle when he was riding. Can I ride with you?"
"No."
Miren shook her head. Nathan seemed to go out of his way to intimidate his nephew. The little boy shrank back, hurt. Nathan must have noticed. His face looked taut, he glanced down at the boy. Maybe he would soften his tone, apologize. Promise a ride later.
"Go back to the pasture before you get stepped on."
Or not. Miren sighed. Nat scurried back over the wall, tears in his eyes. Miren turned to glare at Nathan. He urged his horse forward.
"I'm going to Inveraray Castle. I'll be back late. The duke left me an open invitation. I intend to take him up on it."
"Why?"
Nathan's lip curved in annoyance. "He may have some relevant information about Brent."
"I don't see why it would take all day to find that out."
Nathan ignored her, probably because he had no good answer. "Simon, keep an eye on my mother." He started off, then slowed the horse again. "She's calling herself Poppen-such Frit-something."
Nathan rode away, leaving Miren confused and angry. "He pushes everyone away. Why?"
Simon came up beside her. "Don't have a speck of a notion, lass. Ask his mama. She'll be knowing."
Miren glanced at Simon. "Poppensuch Frit-something?"
Simon grinned. "She's got a Celt's brain and no mistake. Too much imagination and not enough fear. That's something that don't change over the years. I'm thinking she's got it more now than she did when she was a lass. Some women,
they're born like flowers, and they fade. Poppensuch, she gets better every year."
Nathan didn't return for dinner. Irene had informed Glenna that the workday was ended, and Glenna returned to Miren's cottage to eat. She brought a large shepherd's pie, which she doled out to Miren, Simon, and Nat in hefty portions. Miren noticed that Glenna didn't adhere to Lady MacCallum's strict manners, and all four dove into their pie with glee.
"Good pie, isn't it?" Glenna wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then wiped Nat's with a napkin. "The manor cook and I have become friendly. They're all eager for companionship up there. Old Irene doesn't allow for 'fraternizing.'"
Miren frowned. "Nathan should take over."
Simon plunged his spoon into the pie and took another helping. "The lad don't pay attention to the goings-on up there. Got
his eye pegged on Brent and the old lady."
"Which is why we have to pay attention for him." Glenna removed a turnip from her stew, shuddered, and set it aside. "Turnips and I do not get along."
Miren eyed the turnip favorably. "I have an affection for turnips."
Glenna passed her the turnip and explored the pie for other offensive items. She seized a piece of tough meant and gave it to Molly.
"I have learned several things from the cook. First, when Irene came to the manor, she fired all Kenneth's former staff. Even Hodge, who had been butler when Kenneth's father was laird."
Miren's face puckered as she considered Irene's actions. "Why would she do that?"
"She said the old staff 'couldn't be trusted.' Ridiculous, of course. What is also interesting is that she's fired the whole house staff several times since. No one has worked at the manor more than five years."
"Except Grainger?"
"Grainger?"
"The coachman. He's been here since she married Laird MacCallum. He told me so himself."
Glenna leaned forward in her seat. "Interesting! Why would she fire the entire staff, for no reason but suspicion, yet keep the coachman?"
"Perhaps she has reason to trust him."
"She had no reason to distrust the others, according to the cook."
Simon sat back in his seat. "Grainger is a Yorkshireman, but that in itself don't make him untrustworthy. Yorkshire is a lot closer to Scotland than the rest of England. I'd be having more suspicions if he came from London."
Glenna took a sip of water. "Being from London isn't, in and of itself, suspicious." Miren noticed that Glenna didn't sound convinced. "Nor is being from Yorkshire. But there's something else I noticed today. Though she tries to disguise it, occasionally Irene's accent slipswhen she's annoyed, such as when I broke one of Kenneth's priceless vasesindicating that she, too, is from Yorkshire."
"Is that significant?"
"It might be. What do you think of this Grainger, Simon?"
"Seems agreeable. Haven't had much to do with him since we got here. Drives us around, if he ain't driving Brent. He takes young Edgington off to his trips, but that ain't saying too much. Boy could be fooling him, too."
