“Aye,” Cailean whispered. “Like Belle pregnant with our child.” He shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his brown hair.
“Ye’ve told her how ye feel?” Alistair asked. When Cailean shrugged, Alistair groaned and fell backward to lean against a stall’s wall. “Ye canna carry on as ye have with a woman—never mind yer wife—and not let her ken how ye feel.”
“She knows I can’t care for her. Not as she might expect.”
Ewan opened and closed his mouth a few times and then shook his head. “Are ye as daft as a donkey?” He kicked his brother in the leg. “Ye have a fine woman. A woman who’s forgiven yer sister for her meanness and spite, who appears to care for ye deeply, and who brings ye joy,” he sputtered into silence.
“Why do ye cling to the past when it will never bring ye happiness?” Alistair rose and clapped a hand on Cailean’s shoulder. “Ye need to consider that. Find an answer for that. And put Maggie and yer bairn to rest at last.”
“How do you put ghosts to rest?” Cailean whispered.
“By not courting their company,” Ewan snapped in a rare show of temper. “For years, ye’ve lived as a ghost yerself. Ye’ve lived no life at all. Finally ye have a chance again, Cail. Don’t be a fool. For now, ye hurt more than yerself. Ye hurt yer wife. An’ she donna deserve such treatment.” He stormed off into a stall, and his grunts of discontent as he mucked out a stall resounded throughout the barn.
“Don’t be Father,” Alistair whispered. He squeezed Cailean’s shoulder and moved to the tack room, leaving Cailean lost in thought.
Annabelle sat on a stool in her kitchen, attempting to plan the week’s specials. She doodled on the paper in front of her, rather than focusing on her bakery’s offerings. After a moment, she sighed and dropped her head onto her crossed arms.
“Penny for your thoughts, Annabelle,” Leticia said as she entered the back door. She met her friend’s dispirited gaze with a frown. “What happened?”
“Ewan found out that my sister is being abused. It’s why she won’t come to Sunday dinner.” She scrubbed at her forehead. “I don’t know how to help her.”
Leticia sat with a sigh. “All you can do is continue to show her that you accept her. That you love her. And hopefully that will be enough someday.”
Annabelle nodded as she drew more shapes on the paper in front of her. “That doesn’t seem enough somehow.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t know what happened with Cailean.” She flushed at her statement. “Just saying those words makes me feel like a failure as a wife. We’ve only been married a few months!”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Alistair told me how he’s never seen Cailean this happy.” She frowned as her words failed to lift Annabelle’s spirit.
“When did he tell you that? A few weeks ago?” At Leticia’s nod, Annabelle dropped her head down again. “That’s just it. He was happy a few weeks ago. Now it’s as though everything changed.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak with you like this.”
Leticia grumbled as she settled in for a chat on the stool across from her friend. “Who else would you speak with? You can’t talk with Sorcha for any number of reasons. I’m your friend. I’ve been married. Nothing you say could shock me.” When Annabelle remained silent, Leticia asked, “What changed?”
“I don’t know why, but he no longer wants to touch me. And, when he does, it’s as though he’s battling against himself and angry that he did touch me afterward.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It’s not like before. Not like we were first married when he seemed to take such joy in our time together.”
Leticia smiled as she gripped her friend’s arm. “Have you ever considered that your marriage is a great shock to him too?”
“I hate that he can shut me out so easily. I miss him, even when I’m in the same room with him. The Cailean I married isn’t the man I’m living with.” She scrubbed at her cheeks and pushed herself up. She glared at the page filled with doodles, rather than a list of items to bake during the week. “I hate that I have no ability to focus on anything else.”
Leticia laughed. “It’s a common occurrence when you are involved with a man. You’ll adapt.” She met Annabelle’s worried gaze. “And he’ll come around. His siblings know how fortunate he was to marry you. If there is a problem, they’ll be on your side.”
The following week, Cailean stood with his arms slung atop a wooden pole of his paddock, staring at the distant mountains. His gaze was unfocused, and he barely registered the arrival of Annabelle. She handed him a cup of black coffee and waited with unexpected patience for some acknowledgment from him.
“These hills are so different from Scotland. There’s a promise in these hills and mountains. And the people here are naive enough to believe in it.” He took a sip of his coffee. “And yet they are similar. There’s a roughness. A barrenness to the lochs and moors and hills of Skye. When the sun glints off the Cuillin Hills, they seem to shimmer as they rise into the sky, their granite peaks covered in snow, melting into the clouds, looking as though they’re one with the heavens.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “The scent of the sea is never far away, mingled with heather and the smell of loam.”
He opened his eyes again and shook his head as though to clear it of memories of Scotland. “Thanks for the coffee.” He took a deep sip before handing the cup back to her.
“I had hoped you’d stay with me in bed a little while this morning. It’s our one morning together during the week.”
He shook his head, never looking at her. “No. I need to help Alistair more. ’Tis unfair to expect him to do all the work.”
She gripped his arm as he began to move away, dropping the coffee mug onto a soft patch of hay. “What have I done to upset you?”
He met her worried gaze with a flat stare and shook his head. “Nothing. You’ve done nothing, and everything is fine. ’Tis a busy season, and ’tis unfair to neglect my family and my duties.”
She let go of his arm, and he slung his long frame under one of the planks in the paddock and entered, clicking to one of the horses inside. After the brindled horse approached him, and he had calmed him with a rub to his forelock, he turned to see his wife watching him. He met her inquisitive gaze with an implacable one, turning to again focus on his work. With another gentle click, he led the horse into the barn and a stall.
“Come, lad. Let’s get you ready for your owner,” he murmured. He entered the barn to curry the brindled horse and to find his brother Alistair. “I’ve a horse needin’ care,” he said to his brother.
Alistair studied him a long moment. “Seems he’s not the only one in need.” He murmured to the horse, earning a snuffle and whinny. “Ye’re unfairly treating yer wife. Ye’d best confront yer demons, Cail.”
Cailean snarled at his brother and turned to muck out a stall. “There’s no need to.”
Alistair clicked and made sounds to the horse that also disavowed his brother’s claims. “It’s been long enough.”
Cailean grunted as he wheelbarrowed out a load of muck before repeating the process. Only after he’d laid down a fresh bed of hay in the stall did he pause. “I refuse to care for another.”
His brother made a dismissive noise to the horse. “Right. Then tell me again why ye invited her sister to dinner? Because ye care so little about yer wife?” He looked over the horse’s back as he ran a brush down its side, murmuring soft words as he worked.
“Yer croonin’ would drive anyone mad,” Cailean hissed.
Alistair half smiled as he continued his work but kept one eye on his restless brother. “Leticia likes my croonin’ just fine.” He smiled at Cailean before frowning. “Cease yer pacin’. Yer unsettlin’ the horses.”
Cailean swore and sat. “I can’t care for her, Al.”
“Whether ye can or canna doesna matter. It’s whether ye allow yerself to.”
“I canna lose another.” He closed his eyes at his whispered words. “I canna live t
hrough it again.”
Alistair gave the horse a pat and moved to sit next to his brother. “I was with ye. From the beginnin’. Travelin’ around, leaving Skye. Understandin’ I’d never see home again. Never see the hills turn purple from heather or the loch glint in welcome as we rambled home. I kent what it meant when we left.”
Alistair sighed and looked around the barn filled with shadows. “I never hated ye for leavin’. But I wanted more than aimless wanderin’.” He turned to look at his brother. “I thought ye’d be dead by now. Ye tempted fate enough. The bar brawls. The drunken nights. The reckless adventures.” He sighed again as he let the memories go. “But we’re here now, an’ our family’s together again. Ye have a chance for somethin’ more.”
Cailean’s brow furrowed. “More?”
“Aye. More.” He slapped his brother on his back and rose. “I’d think ye were smart enough to know its value.”
Annabelle stood behind the counter in her bakery. She smiled as her last patron left and moved to flip the sign to Closed. She sighed as her shoulders stooped, and she tugged the curtains closed over the front windows. When she returned to the kitchen, serving trays and a few bowls remained to be washed up, but she threw her apron on the counter and moved to her small office—her former living quarters. After a moment’s hesitation, she collapsed onto the cot and fell asleep within a few breaths.
She awoke with the sense of being watched. Lurching upright, she rubbed at her eyes and squinted at the figure sitting in the chair at her desk. “What are you doing here?” she asked around a huge yawn. “I thought you didn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”
Fidelia sat stooped over in the chair, her face pale under a thick coating of rouge. Her fingers idly played with the frayed edges of her plain cream-colored shawl. “Why are you sleeping here and not at home?”
Annabelle stretched and yawned. “I’m more tired than usual. I wanted to rest a few minutes before cleaning up and prepping for tomorrow.” She glanced out the window and sighed as she saw long shadows, heralding late afternoon. “I never meant to sleep over an hour.”
“Do you have anything left over?”
She shook her head regretfully. “I sold out.” She rose and walked into the kitchen. “Although I have a few cookie pieces. Ones that fell apart as I took them off the tray.” She scooted the bowl across the countertop to her sister, who sat on a stool across from her. “What happened to you?”
Fidelia curled into herself even further. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
Annabelle snorted. “No woman deserves a beating. I don’t care what anyone believes.”
Her sister raised confused eyes to meet Annabelle’s righteous gaze. “But I’m a whore. I’m not worthy of such consideration.”
Annabelle reached forward and clasped her sister’s hand. “You’re my sister. But that shouldn’t matter. You’re a woman. A person. And deserving of respect.”
“I live in the shadows, Anna. Few care about what happens in the shadows.”
Her sister squeezed her hand gently. “I have a feeling how we act in the shadows reveals our true character.” Annabelle softened her voice. “What did he do to you?”
Fidelia closed her eyes in defeat. “I thought he was going to kill me this time. I’ve asked the Madam to refuse him access to me, but he pays her well, and she’s a slave to money.” Fidelia breathed deeply and winced, her breath exhaling on a stutter. “He slapped me, but that’s nothing new. Then he kicked me, bruised a few ribs. I barely managed to scream loud enough for one of the new girls to hear. When she arrived, he was choking me.” Fidelia fingered her neck, covered by a high-collared dress.
“Who?”
Fidelia met Annabelle’s appalled gaze with deadened eyes at her sister’s whispered question. “It doesn’t matter. All men are the same, at some level.”
Annabelle recoiled from her assertion. “I can’t believe that’s true.” She frowned as her sister shrugged. “Why would only a new girl come to your rescue? Why wouldn’t that Ezekial, who follows the Madam around like a wraith, aid you?”
“The others know never to interrupt a customer.” Fidelia shrugged one shoulder. “And Zeke will only do what she tells him to do. If she were to let me die at a customer’s hands, he wouldn’t stop it.”
“I thought such men were there to protect the women as much as the Madam,” Annabelle muttered, earning a snort of surprise from her sister.
“Generally they are. And he does a lot to discourage the men’s rowdiness downstairs. When we are in our cribs, we must fend for ourselves.” Fidelia shuddered. “However, I think the Madam has come to see the danger in this man. She finally agreed I shouldn’t have to see him anymore.”
“Isn’t he barred from her establishment?”
Fidelia’s mouth quirked with an amused smile. “Only you would call a brothel an establishment. Only you would invite a whore to Sunday dinner with a respectable family.” She swiped at her cheek. “No, he’ll never be barred. His money is too important.” She shared a grim smile with her sister. “And I know he’ll be my customer again. The Madam’s word isn’t worth much.”
Annabelle frowned as she watched her sister. “Don’t go back there, Dee.”
“I have nowhere else to go. I have nothing else to do.” She met her sister’s protestation with an angry glare. “And Ezekial would ensure I returned.” She met Annabelle’s horrified stare. “I don’t have strong men around me, willing to defend me.”
Annabelle bit her lip, uncertainty filling her if she could vow that her MacKinnon relatives would defend Fidelia.
Fidelia nodded her head as though understanding Annabelle’s hesitation.
“You know I have the money set aside from Father for you,” Annabelle said.
She snarled at the mention of his money. “I want nothing from him. He threw me out. Called me vile names when my only sin was to love a man.” Fidelia flushed red. “My only consolation is that he is finally dead and can no longer torment you.”
“Dee, use the money to free yourself.”
“One day you will come to understand I will never be free. I am a whore, Anna. You will accept that, as I have. As the townsfolk have. As every man who looks at me has.” She shook her head as Annabelle began to argue with her, ignoring her sister’s plaintive gaze. “I’m no longer a seamstress with an impeccable reputation, even though I still sew a straight line and embroider beautiful work.” She focused on her sister, and her expression sharpened. “I’ll embroider something beautiful for your baby.”
Annabelle froze. “My baby? What are you talking about?”
Fidelia raised a finger and traced Annabelle’s cheeks. “Your skin is darker. Your hair thicker. You’re napping in the afternoon. How long since your last courses?”
She flushed at her sister’s frank question before furrowing her brow. “I haven’t had one since before the wedding in late June, and it’s early September now.” She paled as she stood and inspected her image in the mirror in her office and returned immediately. “I can’t be.”
Her sister smiled as she shrugged. “I’d think you’ve done plenty to provoke this state.” She laughed as her sister turned a brighter red. “From how he doted on you when I came to dinner, he’ll be a good father. Treat you well. It seems you found a decent man, Anna.” She watched her sister as envy flickered in her gaze. “The opposite of Father.”
Annabelle nodded. “Cailean is a good man. But he’s been very distant of late. Doesn’t want much to do with me. Not like when we were first married.” She took a deep breath and met her sister’s gaze. “How do you keep a man’s interest?”
Fidelia shook her head. “I know you think I have oodles of knowledge, but I’m a jaded prostitute. I’d say keep him in bed, but, if he’s avoiding your bed for some reason, you need to discover why.”
Anna nodded. “I think he no longer wants me.”
Her sister shrugged. “Men can be fickle. But he didn’t strike me as that sort of man. In a
ll his time here in town, he only came to the Boudoir twice. The Madam despairs of him.” She snorted. “Despairs of all the brothers.”
Annabelle tilted her head to the side with curiosity. “I thought Alistair visited before Leticia and that Ewan still frequented.” She blushed a beet red. “Forgive me. Such questions are unseemly.”
“What the brothers do or don’t do is not your business. I do know the youngest spends little, flirts outrageously, and leaves broken hearts with each departure.” She sighed. “The Madam is considering banning him because he brings such discord among the girls.”
Annabelle laughed. “How strange. He seems to turn things right in the family when the siblings are on the verge of coming to blows.”
“Well, they aren’t jealous women after an attractive man.” Fidelia traced crumbs on her plate. “The new ones still believe a man would want to wed her, even with her chosen profession. I haven’t had the heart to tell them that this is where they will be until they die.”
“I refuse to believe that. For you. For women who want to leave that work.” She met her sister’s jaded gaze. “I know you believe me naive, but I refuse to stop dreaming for you, Fidelia, even though you’ve lost the ability to dream for yourself. The money is there for you when you finally dare to dream of a new life.”
Her sister’s eyes filled, and she rose in haste, knocking over the stool. “I must go. Take care, Anna.” Before Annabelle could reply, Fidelia had vanished out the back door.
Cailean tapped on his sister’s door and, rather than wait for her to answer, poked his head in. He stopped short when he saw the large spinning wheel in front of her and her expert movements.
While she worked, she hummed to herself—of loss and love and the beauty of Scotland—her hands moving fluidly as she eased the rough wool onto the wheel as her foot slowly pumped.
“’Tis the first time since you arrived I’ve seen you relaxed,” he murmured. His voice broke her rhythm, and she jerked at his interruption.
Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One Page 16
