She shivered. “I don’t relish walking through town alone at night.” She leaned into him as he sat behind her. “There is no good solution.”
Just then Ewan poked his head into the small crib. “What are you two doing here?” His eyes narrowed as he saw a motionless Fidelia lying on her cot. He met Cailean’s grim gaze. “Want me to get the sleigh?”
Cailean nodded and Ewan disappeared. “Who would have thought I’d be thankful my brother visited the Boudoir?” He sighed as Annabelle sniffled around a chuckle. “She’ll recover, Belle. She’s strong, resilient, and stubborn, like you.”
“I don’t want her to return to work here,” she whispered.
“Why don’t you worry about that another day?” Cailean murmured, leaning forward to breathe in her almond scent and kiss her behind one ear. “I’ve missed you.”
She shook her head as she first leaned away from him before sagging into his embrace. “I’m not rational tonight, Cailean.”
“I know, and it’s unfair of me.” He nuzzled her nape. “Thank you for coming to me to help you. Thank you for not coming here alone.”
“All I could think of was that I needed help, and I knew you would help me. I never doubted, not for a moment, that you would.”
His chest expanded with relief at her words. “Thank you.”
After a moment, where she held her sister’s hand but was cocooned in his embrace, she whispered, “I don’t know what this means for us.”
He shushed her. “I know it’s a step forward, rather than the long slide backward I’ve been experiencing.” His arm around her waist tightened for a moment. “And I refuse to ask why or doubt it.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Ewan and Alistair. “I woke him up. Thought the more help, the better.”
Annabelle rose and slipped from the room. She flinched as Fidelia moaned from being moved and followed as Cailean carried her outside. A two-seater sleigh awaited them. Alistair helped Annabelle in, and she slid all the way to the far side of it. Cailean hefted Fidelia in with Alistair’s assistance so that her head rested on Annabelle’s shoulder, and her bottom was on the seat.
He clambered in the back seat and lifted Fidelia’s legs so they stretched over his lap, and he smiled at Annabelle. “I hope she’s comfortable like this.”
Ewan and Alistair sat on the front seat of the sleigh, and Alistair eased them into motion for the short ride home. Fidelia moaned again as the sleigh rocked.
“I’m surprised ye couldna have carried her to the house,” Alistair teased.
“She’s heavier than she looks,” Ewan said, with a wink over his shoulder to his brother and sister-in-law. “I should think Cail wouldna have wanted to drop her.”
“Hush, ye two jabberin’ idiots,” Cailean groused. He stilled when he heard Annabelle giggle. “Does their bantering amuse you?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s how easy they can rile you. I’ve missed it.” She met his gaze filled with longing for a moment, until Fidelia moaned again. Then her focus returned to her injured sister. When they arrived at the house, Alistair moved to help ease Fidelia into Cailean’s arms, and Ewan flung the front door open after tying the horse to the hitching post.
Sorcha stood in the entry to the kitchen, and she paled as she saw the bruises already forming on Fidelia’s face. “I have warm water and cloths ready. I don’t ken what else ye might need.”
Annabelle gripped her hand. “I don’t either, except your support. Thank you.” She followed Cailean upstairs, where he placed Fidelia in Alistair’s freshly made bed. Sorcha entered with a pan of water and cloths over her arm. Annabelle turned to her. “Can you help me undress her so we can better see her injuries?”
Cailean squeezed Annabelle’s shoulder before leaving. He muttered something to Alistair that she didn’t hear, and she began the torturous task of attempting to remove her sister’s clothes without causing her undue pain. She resorted to cutting away her gown, corset, and petticoats. Sorcha swiped away dried blood and cleaned her as best she could.
“Oh my,” Sorcha breathed as she beheld the bruising along her left ribs. “Who would do such a thing? And why?” She raised tormented eyes to Annabelle.
“A horrible man.” Annabelle’s mouth firmed as she swiped a hand over her sister’s ribs, eliciting a yowl of pain. “The doctor suspected she had two broken ribs,” Annabelle murmured. “Although how he ascertained anything through all these layers of clothing is beyond me.” As they finally stripped Fidelia of her Boudoir outfit, a knock sounded on the door.
Sorcha pulled the sheet over Fidelia as Annabelle answered the door, opening it only a crack. “Yes?” she asked. She frowned as a short, stocky woman stood in front of her. “Who are you?”
“I’m a midwife, but I also have experience with other healing needs.” She pushed Annabelle aside and barged into the room. “I wouldn’t look doubtful, miss. I’m the reason you’re alive.”
Annabelle bit back a protest when Sorcha nodded her agreement. “Who sent for you?”
“Your husband. Seems he has quite a bit of sense.” She grumbled as she looked at Fidelia. “Quite a bit more than this poor woman.”
“My sister,” Annabelle said.
“So the rumors are true. However, I’d recommend she give up her trade if she cares to see thirty.” She opened up her bag, extracting herbs and lotions. “I need you to steep these in water, like a tisane, for five minutes. Then she must drink it. It will help with her swelling and pain.”
Sorcha snatched the packet of herbs and left for the kitchen.
Annabelle remained and aided the woman to massage soothing oils and lotions into her sister’s arms, legs, and neck. The midwife bound Fidelia’s ribs and gently probed for other injuries. Annabelle heaved a sigh of relief as the woman shook her head.
“I believe she was fortunate and was spared anything more than broken ribs and bruising. However, she will feel tremendous pain for many days to come.” The midwife swiped at her hands with one of the clean cloths.
Sorcha returned with the tisane, and they eased Fidelia up where she could swallow and not choke. Fidelia struggled for a moment but eventually drank it down when she realized she would be left in peace when it was gone.
The midwife rose, turned to her bag, and extracted more satchels, placing them on a table. “I will leave these with you. Give her a tisane four times a day. Watch for fever. And if she has trouble breathing, call for me immediately. Otherwise I will be here tomorrow evening to ensure she is improving. That is, unless I have a baby to deliver.” She disappeared from the room as quickly as she had appeared.
“What a remarkable woman,” Annabelle breathed as the door closed after her.
“’Tis one way of describing her,” Sorcha said around a chuckle. “Come. Ye need some sleep.”
Annabelle nodded, fatigue suddenly overwhelming her, and she moved to the room she had shared with Cailean. She crawled under the quilt, fully dressed. Her last thought before she fell into a dreamless sleep was that she would finally sleep in his arms again.
Cailean woke the next morning, stretched his arms out, and groaned with a feeling of regret to find the space next to him empty. He had never expected to find Annabelle asleep in their bed last night, and he had curled around her as she slumbered, cherishing each moment she spent in his arms.
He rose, scrubbed at his face, and dressed. When he walked into the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee before returning upstairs. He poked his head into Alistair’s room to check on their patient, finding Sorcha sitting beside the bed, reading a book. She motioned for him to remain quiet.
“Where’s Belle?” he whispered.
“At the bakery. She has much to do to prepare for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Valentine’s Day.”
“Damn,” he muttered. He nodded toward Fidelia. “Thanks.” After backing out of the room, he returned downstairs where he took two large sips o
f the tepid coffee before donning his winter outerwear.
He trudged through the snow to the back door of the bakery and let himself in. He frowned when he saw the dark smudges under his wife’s eyes as he stepped inside the warm sweet-smelling haven.
“Cailean, I can’t right now,” she said, her arms elbow deep in dough. The front door jingled, and she groaned.
He motioned for her to remain where she was, and he met her customer. After ascertaining the prices, cajoling them to purchase more, and sharing bits of gossip, he returned to her. “You can’t run this place on your own.” He shook his head in apology as he sounded grumpier than he intended.
“I know. I wanted to wait until Leticia is done with teaching so she could work with me full-time after she marries Alistair, and Sorcha has been helping, but today …” She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing has gone right.” She sighed. “Except you walking in the door and seeing to my customers.”
He smiled at her olive branch and attended to the suddenly steady stream of customers who arrived. He had little time to talk with his wife until the shelves were nearly empty. “That didn’t take long.”
She smiled. “It took you thirty minutes longer than Sorcha,” she teased.
“You’ll have to dock my pay.”
She flushed at his words, his deep voice rolling over her. “Why are you here?” she asked as she poured batter into heart-shaped cake tins.
He shook his head, fascinated as he watched her work. “What are you doing?”
“I advertised a special for Valentine’s Day. I thought if I set the limit at fifteen cakes, I’d never have to make so many. I’m the fool as I had presold all of them the first day.”
“You have to make fifteen of those heart-shaped cakes today?”
“Yes, and decorate them. I won’t get much sleep tonight.” She frowned. “And it means I won’t have any time with Fidelia tonight.”
He settled on a stool beside her. “You know we’ll take care of her. She’ll want for nothing, except your company.” He watched as she washed bowls and prepared to make more dough. “What can I do?”
She smiled. “You’ve done plenty by manning the front. I’m hours ahead of where I thought I’d be because you came by.” She paused and poured herself a glass of water before she swiped at her brow. “Why are you here, Cailean?”
He shrugged before meeting her gaze. His intense hazel eyes bore into her light brown ones. “I missed you. I woke with instant regret, somehow knowing you were no longer in my arms.” He watched as she broke her gaze from his. “I miss you, Belle. I want you back.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her hands on the counter. She bowed her head forward as though in prayer.
“What do I have to do, Belle, to prove to you that I’m sorry? To show that I love you?”
Her head jerked up, and her eyes shone with intense emotion.
“Because I do,” he rasped. “I love you, and I don’t know what else to do.”
She shook her head. “There isn’t anything else you can do, Cailean.” She swiped at her cheeks and looked at the mess around her. “I can’t discuss this right now.”
His eyes became bleaker than when she remembered him speaking about his beloved Maggie. “I understand. I’ll try to be out of the house when you visit your sister.”
“Cailean …” she whispered and then sighed as he slammed the back door behind him. She took a deep breath, battling her own regret and the urge to race after him before focusing on her baking. “Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself. “Tomorrow.”
That evening Annabelle groaned at the tapping on her back door. She set aside the bowl of frosting she was mixing together for the cakes and absently licked a finger as she moved to the door. “Yes?” she asked as she inched it open. She smiled, opening it farther and motioning for Harold to enter. “How lovely to see you.”
He laughed and moved into the room with alacrity as though he feared she would change her mind and shoo him from the room. “I always love visiting. Smells like paradise in here.”
“Well, it should smell better than usual with all the cakes I’m baking for tomorrow.”
He smiled. “It’s why I’ve come. Irene wants to know if you can make two more.” At her groan, he shrugged. “Seems word got out you’d be supplying us with a few cakes, and many are clamoring for a piece.”
Annabelle sighed, and her shoulders stooped. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Which is considerable.” He settled onto a stool and motioned for her to continue working. He smiled as she stirred the frosting and then watched with fascination as she decorated a cake. “You make it look easy. Irene grumbles the entire time she’s doing such work.”
Annabelle laughed. “I doubt she’d want you spreading such tales.”
He grinned. “Seems you had a visitor today.” At Annabelle’s confused expression, he said, “Heard that husband of yours came by and helped you run the bakery today.”
“Oh. Yes, he did. I don’t know what I would have done without his help.” She stilled her movements at Harold’s prolonged silence, his gaze inquisitive and confused. “What?”
“If you appreciated his help, why’d you send him away as though he were no more than hired help?”
Annabelle set down the spoon and rubbed at her forehead, smearing it with powdered sugar. “I can’t have these conversations today. I’m too busy.”
“When can you have them? When you’ve torn out a man’s heart and tossed it aside as though it were of no significance, you should know the damage you’ve wrought.”
She tugged out a stool and sat across from Harold, her cakes momentarily forgotten. “Did he come to the café to talk with you?”
Harold grunted his disappointment. “I ventured to the livery. My horse is ornery.” He speared her with a glare as she giggled, as most recently his horse Brutus had ripped away his pantaloons bottoms in a fit of pique. Besides her ongoing separation from Cailean, his horse’s antics were the talk of the town. “And I wanted to see if Alistair or Cailean could find a way to soothe him. I’d read about men out East who put people under a sort of spell, and I wanted to know if they could do that for my cantankerous horse.”
He shook his head. “Alistair said there was no hope for a horse as old and set in its ways as Brutus but agreed to work with him for a bit. I followed your husband into the office to tease him about changing professions.” His jaw clenched, and his glare intensified. “I’ve never seen a man brought so low.”
Annabelle rubbed at her eyes. “I’d thank you to remember I’ve been hurt too.”
“Don’t you sound righteous?” He met her glare with an implacable stare. “Have you found that clinging to your hurts and disappointments has brought you comfort? Does your indignation keep you warm at night?” He paused at her sharp intake of breath. “What more do you want that man to do to show he’s repentant?”
Annabelle shook her head. “My sister told me that she wouldn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t have her resentments to feed.”
“Do you want to be like her? Alone? Bitter?” He sighed. “You have the chance for a full life, Miss Annabelle. I know that man of yours disappointed you. But you’ll disappoint him some day too. It’s the nature of being human. None of us are perfect. We must hope that those we love are brave enough to believe in our love rather than cling to resentments.”
He huffed out a breath as she remained silent. “Life is a balance between joy and despair. Those who have a good life find a way to focus on the joy. Don’t cling to despair, Miss Annabelle.” He rose and stroked a hand down her arm. He slipped out the back door, leaving Annabelle deep in thought.
The next evening, Annabelle woke with a start from her nap. She fumbled as she looked for her watch and stretched with a groan. It was seven, and she hoped it would not be too late to visit Fidelia. Or her husband. She rose, arching her back and moving her neck from side to side. She had done a brisk business of her specialty cookies, muffins, and cakes, a
nd she had decided to take the next two days off.
She slipped on her boots, donned a jacket, and hefted a box before she exited out the front door, locking it behind her. She walked slowly to Cailean’s house and knocked on the door. She smiled at Sorcha when she answered. “How is Fidelia?”
“Asleep. She hasna woken much in the past few days. I think that tea is a sedative.” She bit her lip as she studied Annabelle’s reaction.
“Good. She’d be in too much pain if she were awake as the doctor has nothing else to offer us for her.” She fought a frown. “Said he couldn’t waste good medicine on a woman like her.”
Sorcha gasped. “He never.”
Annabelle fidgeted, moving from foot to foot as she held the box. “Is Cailean here?” Sorcha shook her head. “Do you know where he is?”
“She doesna ken,” Alistair said from the parlor. “But I do. Why do ye want to see him now? Ye near destroyed him yesterday.”
“Please, Alistair. Tell me where he is. I have to talk with him.”
He rose and met her in the front hall. “Did ye think it’d soothe yer aches if ye broke his heart?”
She gasped. “No! Of course not. And I refuse to believe I broke his heart.”
He bent down and was nose to nose with her. “Why? Is it because ye don’t believe he has one? Because he does. And I never thought to see him this low. Not again. Not after Maggie.” His eyes shone with anger and concern for his brother.
“Please, let me make this right.” She moved to the kitchen and set down the box. She shook her arms as they ached from holding it.
“He’s in the livery. In the small office off the stables.” Alistair watched her a moment before he returned to the parlor.
Sorcha held open the back door for Annabelle, and she hefted the box again. Sorcha smiled her encouragement to Annabelle, closing the door after her.
Annabelle trudged across the slick pathway between the livery and house, almost dropping the box once. She paused, catching her balance at the last second. After a minute, she edged forward until she reached the door. She set down the box and pulled the barn door open with a grunt. Warm, humid air greeted her, and she grabbed the box, shutting the sliding door behind her by using one hand, her hip and a foot.
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