“Like hell ye are,” Alistair snapped. “Ye look as bad as Annabelle in there.”
Cailean collapsed down the wall until he sat, leaning against it. “She lost the babe. She lost our bairn,” he whispered. His unfocused gaze sharpened at Annabelle’s scream. Alistair’s hand to his shoulder kept him in place. “I wasn’t with her when she suffered so.”
Alistair sank to his haunches, facing his eldest brother. “Ye weren’t to know, Cail. Ye went to her today. Focus on that. Ye’re doin’ all ye can for her now.”
Cailean raised haunted, wounded eyes to his brother. “I can’t lose her too. I can’t, Al.”
Alistair squeezed his brother’s shoulder, and then he began to pace, his head canting toward the door every once in a while to listen in on the midwife’s words. “Seems to have quite a bit to say about our doc,” Alistair mused. “None of it complimentary.”
“I don’t give a damn about their feud. I just want her to save Belle.” Cailean rested his head on his bended knees, his lips moving as though in a silent prayer.
After over an hour, Sorcha emerged with the midwife. Cailean rushed past them into the room to find Annabelle resting on clean sheets. Although still feverish, she no longer shook, and she appeared restful. He lay down next to her, wrapping an arm around her as he pulled her close.
“Cail,” Sorcha whispered, “we must continue to give her willow bark tea, and the midwife will come back tonight to change the poultice.”
“What did she do, Sorch?” he whispered. “How did she help her when the doctor couldn’t?”
Sorcha watched him with wide eyes. “I’ll not describe to you what she did, but she used herbs and believes she has a chance of saving Annabelle.”
Cailean closed his eyes. “Thank you, Sorcha. I’ll remain here with her for now.”
Annabelle cracked open her eyes and groaned as she attempted to move. Every muscle ached, and she did not have the strength to move her arms. Her finger twitched, tracing a hand held in hers. She gave it a gentle squeeze and gasped as the bed shifted with another’s movement.
“You’re awake!” Cailean rasped, sitting up and jostling her with his movement.
She attempted to croak out an answer but licked her dry lips. She sighed appreciatively as he held a cup to her lips, and she took a few sips of cold water. “Thank you.”
After he set down the cup, he continued to stare at her with wonder. “I can’t believe you’re awake. That you’ve come back to me.” He raised her hand and kissed it.
“How long was I asleep?” she whispered, tugging on her hand until he released it.
“Four days.” He ran a finger over her temple. “I feared I’d lost ye.”
She leaned against the pillow, shying away from his touch. She closed her eyes, and her breathing deepened.
“Rest, Belle.” He kissed her on her forehead before rising.
When the door closed behind him, she opened her eyes and curled onto her side, the motion slow and painful. She held a hand over her lower abdomen, grimacing at a lingering cramp. When it ceased, she hugged a pillow to her and stared out the window. Children’s voices, joyous and laughing as they shrieked while they played, rose to taunt her. She pulled the pillow closer to her but didn’t have the energy to rise and close the window.
She remained with her back to the door when it creaked open. She sniffed, stiffening at the heavy perfume. “Fidelia?” she whispered.
“Oh, Annabelle,” her sister choked out. “I was terrified when Ewan brought the news that you were ill and might die.” Her sister pulled a chair over to sit facing her. She wore her most demure outfit, a light-blue dress with puffy sleeves, covered bodice, and barely visible pantaloons. She wore minimal rouge, and her hair was pulled back in a loose knot.
“Did Cailean see you come in?” Annabelle whispered, reaching for her sister but unable to lift her hand off the bed. Instead, she slid it across the quilt and clasped her sister’s hand when her sister grabbed hers.
“Of course. He sent Ewan to inform me. He welcomed me here from the start.” She blinked away tears. “I’ve been here every day since he found you at your bakery.” She swiped at her tears with her free hand. “I don’t know what I would have done had I lost you too.”
“I hope you were treated well here,” Annabelle said.
Fidelia chuckled. “Your husband’s family treated me like royalty. Made me tea, fed me, and never once acted as though I were below them.” She blinked away tears. “Only at your bakery and in this house have I been seen as more than a prostitute.”
“You’re my sister. I’ve been trying to tell you that.” She closed her eyes with fatigue. “What happened? Why am I so tired?”
Fidelia ran a hand over Annabelle’s matted, sweaty crown. “You had a terrible fever. The doctor said you would die.” Her eyes overflowed, and her grip tightened on her sister’s hand. “Your husband refused to accept that decree and ordered the midwife here. She saved your life.”
Annabelle closed her eyes, her words mumbled from her fatigue. “I don’t know why he’d care. He hasn’t been concerned about me for months.”
Her sister snorted. “If there’s one thing I understand, it’s men. That man of yours was desperate for you to improve. He loves you, sister.” She sighed as Annabelle had drifted to sleep. “You may not want to acknowledge it, but he does.” She kissed her sister on her cool forehead and rose.
Two days later when Sorcha entered Annabelle’s room, as she did often daily to check on her sister-in-law’s progress, she frowned. She marched to the curtains and flung them open, earning a groan from Annabelle as she pulled the covers over her and covered her face. “Ye can’t keep hidin’ in here forever. Ye have to face him sometime,” Sorcha snapped. When Annabelle remained curled on her side, Sorcha sighed and clapped her hands together. “Come, Annabelle. This isna who ye are.”
Annabelle peeked her head out from under the bed linen. “Would you help me return to my store? I’d be most comfortable there.”
Sorcha glared at her. “I would no’. Do ye expect me to run over there, bringin’ ye yer meals three times a day? Haulin’ yer wash from there to here an’ back?” She shook her head in consternation. “Ye need to face him an’ have it out.”
Annabelle remained curled on her side but refused to look at her sister-in-law. “There’s little for us to discuss.”
Sorcha sat next to her and gripped her shoulder, forcing Annabelle to meet her irate gaze. “Except for the fact he fought for ye. Wouldna let ye die. Begged and pleaded and bargained with the devil himself to ensure ye lived.”
Annabelle closed her eyes in exhaustion and defeat. “He was too late in his concern.”
Sorcha shook Annabelle by the shoulder. “Are ye tellin’ me ye’ve never done a thing ye regret? Never acted out o’ fear an’ then learned ye’d been a fool?”
Annabelle looked at Sorcha and shook her head. “I don’t have it in me to forgive him, Sorcha.” Her gaze filled with a dulled grief, she pulled away from Sorcha’s grasp. “Thank you for caring for me while I was ill.”
“’Twasn’t me, ye daft woman! ’Twas Cailean. He never left yer side.” Sorcha’s chest heaved as she breathed heavily.
Annabelle tugged her knees toward her chest, pulling the blankets over her head and blocking Sorcha out.
Sorcha gave a grunt of disapproval and stormed from the room. She marched down the stairs and outside to the livery.
Cailean worked beside Alistair, pausing as he saw his sister’s approach. “Sorcha? Is it Belle?”
She came to an abrupt halt in front of him, kicking up a bit of dirt and horse dung. “’Tis. She’s drowning in despair, and ye’re out here muckin’ a stall.” She hit him on his chest. “Why aren’t ye with her?”
Cailean shook his head. “She’s asleep every time I’m in the room with her. I’ve no desire to interrupt her recovery.”
“She’s feignin’ sleep, Cail. She wants to return to her bakery. Escape from ye. Escape
from feelin’ anythin’ ever again. Ye must make her realize the truth.”
Cailean froze at his sister’s words. “She’s not returning to the bakery. She can’t. She’s not strong enough.” He thrust the handle of his pitchfork at his sister and took off at a run toward the house, leaving his siblings to stare after him.
Cailean rushed through his bedroom door, frowning when he saw Annabelle attempting to dress on her own. “What are you doing?” He watched her in confusion as she turned away from him and sat with a thud on the edge of the bed, her dress beside her. She wore a chemise but no corset.
“I would have thought it obvious. I’m dressing.” She swiped at her brow, sweating from the exertion.
“You’re nowhere healthy enough to be up and about on your own. Every time I’ve looked in on you, you’ve been asleep.” He sat in the chair opposite her. “Why are you intent on leaving now?”
“There’s no reason for me to stay,” she whispered. “I need to learn to be independent again.” She jerked away her head when he reached to stroke her face. “Don’t touch me!”
He dropped his hand as though avoiding a viper’s bite and stared at her. “Annabelle, you must let me explain.”
She shook her head, pulling her dress to cover herself. “There’s nothing to talk about. You were afraid. Cowardly in the face of your fears.” She raised her disdainful gaze to meet his. “I should have known better than to marry a complete stranger.”
“We can be happy, Belle.” His whispered entreaty evoked a shiver.
“How? When will I do something that reminds you of her and causes you to shut me out again? I can’t live life like that.” She swiped at her face as a few tears fell. “I know divorce is not common, but I refuse to live with a man controlled by his past.”
“Annabelle, I love you.”
She slapped him, a half-screech erupting from her. “How dare you! How dare you say such words to me now?” Her expression became livid. “It’s acceptable for you to speak of love now, but not for me the night I told you that I was expecting our child? I will never forget your disdain of my feelings when compared to how you felt for her. What makes you think I’d believe anything you’d say ever again?”
He took a deep breath, but no words emerged as he stuttered around a choked sound. Finally he whispered, “I’m here now, facing my fears.”
“Where were you when I was desperate to share the joy of our baby?” She slapped at his hand as he reached toward her. “Where were you when I lay on my cot bleeding to death from the loss of our child? Where were you when the fever struck? Where were you when I needed someone to hold me when I thought I would die?” She took a deep, stuttering breath. “You were here, moping about your first wife and reliving your agony. You weren’t thinking about me.”
“Belle, forgive me.” His shattered gaze met her irate one, and they stared at each other for long moments.
“I don’t know if I can. I want more from life than a man who’s unable to see the good fortune he’s been given until it’s too late.”
“You don’t want me?” He held himself stiffly away from her as he waited for her to speak.
“No, not any longer. Not now.” She let out a deep breath as her anger abated, and her muscles relaxed.
A tear tracked down his cheek. “You’re not strong enough to leave today, Belle.”
“I refuse to spend another day in your company.”
He gripped his thigh and nodded. “Please remain here until you’re fully healed. I promise I won’t bother you further.” After a searching gaze, he rose and left, silently shutting the door behind him.
Sorcha set down a bowl of boiled potatoes on the table with a loud thunk. Alistair glared from the bowl to her and frowned as he saw his despair echoed in her eyes. “No need to take out yer frustrations on the potatoes.” He yelped as she thwacked him on his shoulder with a wooden spoon. “Hit me with that again, and I’ll break it in half.”
She huffed and moved to the stove, extracting a roasted chicken. After it was carved and set at the table, she sat. “I’m sorry.”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Aye. Me too.”
Ewan wandered in, rubbing his stomach. “Where’s Cail?” He sighed when he met his siblings’ bleak stares. “Still out in the barn?”
At Alistair’s nod, Ewan plopped into his chair. “He’ll have to learn he canna survive on whiskey.”
“I’m afraid that, by the time he wants to learn that lesson, ’twill be too late,” Sorcha whispered. “What if it kills him?”
Alistair gripped her hand. “He’ll improve once she’s out of the house.”
Ewan snorted. “Just because she’s in her bakery doesna mean he’ll no longer want her.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Damn fool. Realizing too late he loved her.”
Their food untouched, they stared morosely at it.
“What did ye mean, Alistair?” Sorcha asked.
He watched her curiously.
“I snuck out to the barn yesterday,” she said, “and I heard ye yell at Cail to quit acting like Father.”
Alistair shot a quick glance at Ewan and then looked at Sorcha again. He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded. “Father had the opportunity to be happy. He had loved another, aye.”
At this Ewan jerked in his chair and stared from Alistair to Sorcha and back.
Alistair continued. “Father could have made amends with Mother. He could have ensured ye were treated better, Sorcha. Instead, he licked his wounds.”
“Making everything worse,” Sorcha whispered.
“Aye,” Alistair said. “For everyone.”
Ewan held up a hand, his gaze flitting between his siblings. “Are ye telling me that Father was unfaithful?” At Alistair’s nod, Ewan asked, “An’ we have another sibling?”
“Aye,” Alistair said.
“We have to find him! He has to know he’s one of us.” Ewan watched them with excited, confused eyes as his siblings met his gaze with calm acceptance.
“She’s right here.” Alistair nodded at their sister. “Sorcha.” Alistair watched as shock, disbelief, and then understanding came over Ewan’s features.
“I always thought ye’d suspected,” Sorcha said.
Ewan shook his head. “I never understood why Mother treated ye so poorly.”
“Father clung to his sorrow and disappointment with as much fervency as Cailean. It seems to be a family trait,” Alistair muttered. “An’ not one to be admired.” He took a scoop of potatoes, plopping it on Sorcha’s plate before repeating that for his and Ewan’s plates. He then served up the chicken and nodded to their full plates, silently ordering them to eat.
As they stuffed forkfuls of food they barely tasted into their mouths, their expressions were distant. “What can we do for him?” Sorcha whispered, her fork falling to her plate. “Even after Maggie, he wasn’t this low.”
Alistair snorted. “Aye, he was. Ye just didna see it.” He shrugged at Ewan’s and Sorcha’s confused stares. “We left soon after the funeral. I could tell he was filled with a need to escape. So I joined him as he fled.” He sighed. “I helped pull him back from the brink that time too.”
“What did ye do?” Ewan asked.
Alistair’s gaze became distant. “Followed him when he went out at night, intent on mischief. He relished a good fight. An’ in New York City, someone was always willing to fight a stupid young Scotsman.” He sighed. “I bandaged his ribs, patched his wounds, and filled the whiskey bottles half full of water.”
Sorcha gripped his arm. “Ye must do that again!”
He half smiled as Ewan laughed. “Ye already have, have ye no’?” Ewan asked.
“Will he no’ ken the difference?” Sorcha asked.
“Cailean’s never been one to drink. He’ll know something’s wrong with the whiskey but blame it on being in Montana.” Alistair shrugged, his brown eyes momentarily lit with mischief. “He has for the past few days every morning in the livery.”
Sorcha pu
shed around the uneaten potatoes and chicken on her plate. “Do ye think she’ll ever forgive him?” Her anxious gaze moved from one brother to the other.
“I half understand Cail. Annabelle’s still a mystery.” Alistair sighed. “We must hope she is able to forgive what she believes is unforgiveable.”
Chapter 12
Annabelle moved around her bakery, her pace slower than usual. She’d returned to her store two days ago and had spent the time restocking inventory and cleaning. Now she stood in her kitchen area and prepared dough for the first day of business. She inhaled the scent of yeast and relished the feel of her fingers digging into it. She patted the dough, covered it, and left it to rise as she moved on to a batch of cookie dough. She had two hours until opening, and she hoped the locals would return after her monthlong absence.
She glanced toward the back door at a gentle tap on the wood. She washed her hands clean and cracked it open, unable to hide a smile as she flung it open. “Leticia,” she breathed, pulling her friend in for a hug. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
Leticia smiled and looked around the bakery. “I can’t believe you’re already back to work.”
“I needed something to do. Besides, I’d been away long enough, and I didn’t want anyone else to get the idea of starting a bakery in my absence.”
Leticia moved into the store, and Annabelle glanced behind her, frowning. “Where’s Hortence?”
“She’s with Alistair before school. He didn’t mind. She wanted to see the horses, and I wanted time with you.”
“He seems taken with your daughter,” Annabelle murmured. “You’re very fortunate.”
Leticia smiled at Annabelle before focusing on her friend. She frowned upon noticing that the smile failed to give her a gentle glow and that an air of despair clung to her. “I still don’t believe you are well enough to be here, working again.”
Annabelle spun away and returned to her cookie dough. “I have to do something. If I don’t, I fear I’ll go mad.” She plucked out small portions of dough with a spoon before placing them on a baking sheet. “Besides, Christmas is approaching, and I hope to have a successful holiday season.”
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