“Is Sophie back?”
“Naw, sir,” replied Maggie, one of the trusted servants of the house, as she poured gravy on his plate.
“Did she mention where she was off’ ta?”
“Na, ma laird.”
“Did she tell you when she will return?”
“She didnae say so, ma laird.”
Who was he kidding; Sophie would never have told the staff where she was going? She barely ever let Oliver know her plans, let alone the servants. She does whatever she wants whenever she wants without answering to anyone. This aloofness was among many of the things that he disliked about her. Unfortunately, he had no other option than to endure it, all for Max.
Just then, as if on cue, Sophie appears unannounced and strolls into the dining room, smugly looking over Oliver as he sat. She has most likely been out enjoying another night of socializing, dressed seductively in a fine cape and jewels.
“Finally, you decided to come back,” Oliver says to Sophie without looking up from his gravy-covered meal.
“You deh expect me to be home every night. I have got ma life to live,” Sophie says as she picks up a cup of wine and sips from it.
“Living your life, eh? Have ye forgotten you have a child who needs his mother?”
“Oh please! Ah’m not an auld lady that sits in the house taking care of a baby. I’m too young for that.” She sips more of her wine.
“You birthed that child; your absence can cause him sorrow and pain. Does that nae bother you?”
“The maid can take care of his needs. He deh…”
“You are his ma fur God's sake!” Oliver’s snaps out anger. He’d been trying to keep his composure, but the smug look across Sophie’s face has made that quite difficult.
“He deh need a maid nor a nanny; he needs his mother. If you dinnae do the right thing with our son, I will stop you from every outing.”
“Oh, you cannae do a thing! Ah’m not a servant that you can push around as ye want,” Sophie snaps. “This is my life also, and I chose to live it in any way I want.” Pushing her chair back abruptly, she stands up defiantly.
“If you are so concerned about him, take care of him yourself!” With this, she walks purposely out of the dining room, slamming the door on her way out.
Oliver sits as still as a stone statue. What mess has he gotten himself into?
Chapter 26
“Ma…ma.”
The little boy runs inside the small house, calling. In his hands, he carries a small, worn-out sack bag. Amelia turns to look at the little boy as he runs into the house, tracing her eye from the item in his hand to his smiling face as she smiles back at him.
She walks toward him and bends to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. She takes a closer look at his face and sees the dust on it.
“Look, ma, we have grains!” The little boy lets out a squeal of excitement as he pushes the small bag of grains in his hand to his mother's face, blowing grain dust everywhere.
“Oh, that’s grand!” Amelia replies with a smile. She could tell what was in his hand, but it’s a mother’s duty to act surprised, so the moment isn’t ruined for him.
“You picked this at Gavina’s farm?”
The little boy nods and smiles like little boys do.
“This will make a good fine harvest when it grows, right?” Amelia jokingly asks him as she gently wipes away the dirt and dust on his face with a small piece of cloth.
“Aye, ma,” he says.
“For a three-year-old lad, he sure has a green thumb…” Gavina says while standing in the doorway. She had followed the little boy as he ran into the house.
Amelia looks up and smiles at her friend of three years. Hmm, three years … it’s as though they have known each other for a lifetime.
“You are also a good teacher,” Amelia says, smiling. “You taught him that, though.”
“Oft! It’s nothing much,” Gavina says, smiling broadly, then turns to the boy.
“Owen, go put that in the basket together with the others, okay?” The little boy nods and runs off. “He is such a bright lad with much attention to detail.”
“Aye,” Amelia glances from her son to her friend. “He took that from me, I am an intelligent young lady,” she jokingly adds as she continues preparing the evening meal.
“Ah!” Gavina laughs. “Mayhap, but I feel that is more from his da, he must…” Gavina sees the change of expression on Amelia’s face and cuts short her words. “Oft, Ah'm sorry … I have forgotten we don’t discuss that.”
Amelia sighs, “Ah'm sorry, Gav, it’s just that topics as such bring me nothing but sad thoughts. And I want them forgotten forever,” she says as she lifts the pot of soup shaking in her hand. Gavina rushes toward Amelia and takes the heavy pot from her.
“Give me this. We cannae have it on the floor instead of in our bellies.”
She carries the pot and puts it on the table.
“If this lands on the floor, the wee lad will nae have any supper!”
Amelia gently sits on the chair. “It’s a memory that brings much sorrow to me; ah'm sorry, Gav.”
In her voice, Gavina can hear Amelia’s pain. Perhaps, one day, she will better understand the cause of it.
Gavina walks toward her with a smile and nods lightly. “It's okay; only a story bearer knows how it hurts. Maybe one day I will understand it more.” Standing over her, Gavina comforts Amelia with a friendly hug.
“You will stay for dinner, right?” Amelia asks, trying to lighten up the mood.
“Of course, I saved the soup, so I deserve it,” Gavina says with humor. Amelia laughs as Owen rejoins them, and they prepare the table for dinner.
Meeting Gavina has genuinely been a blessing, and she couldn’t ask for a better friend. Aside from Isla, who has been her childhood friend since a young age, she had never made any friends until she met Gavina after arriving in Dunfermline in the late stage of pregnancy three years ago.
Now, eating together in this little dining area as they’ve done countless times throughout the years since Owen's birth, she can remember the first time they met. When Amelia arrived in Dunfermline, she was alone and pregnant, just trying to make a life when she met Gavina.
It was Gavina who had helped Amelia find proper lodging that she could afford, introducing her to the old farmer Marlowe. The little out-building that sat on Marlowe’s land was just perfect for the new mother; small in size and cozy, with a small-sized plot of farmable land behind to grow grains, vegetables, and keep a few chickens. Amelia was able to survive off the land using the experience she gained on her parent’s farm when she was young.; before Clach McColl.
As good friends do, Gavina had asked Amelia about her past. Gavina was curious about what had made her travel from Arbroath to Dunfermline during such a heavy pregnancy. Amelia had been forthcoming with details about her broken marriage to Clach and his brutality. Still, for some reason, she’d kept the details of her time with Oliver in Montrose private. Gavina knew there was more to the story than what Amelia divulged, but she never pushed for more and wasn’t about to.
Instead, she’d been a good friend, a shoulder to lean on, and a good aunty to Owen, even though they were not of the same blood. Upon meeting, Amelia had the feeling they were somehow spiritually connected, as though she were again meeting an old friend after many years apart. It had been a relief to her. To finally have someone in her life that wouldn’t take advantage of her like Clach, or betray her the way her parents had.
Thinking back to the days after her divorce from Clach, she was happy to be home with her parents, finally reuniting with them after so many years apart. They’d been glad to have her back in their lives. All seemed well even as her pregnancy progressed until her father became fraught with worry and panic.
According to him, he simply could not condone a daughter out of wedlock, heavily pregnant, and living in his home. It was her mother who had sided with her, pleading on her behalf; after all, it wasn’t Amelia’s
fault that she dinnae have a so-called husband. For what if Clach had murdered her? They would have lost their only daughter. Is that what he wanted?!
‘Whit need is there? I have a son already, and that’s enough for me!’ He snapped, and it all came back to Amelia like a bad dream. The hatred and disgust in his voice, just as before, just as she remembered.
She couldn’t sleep that night as her father’s words played over and over in her head. Would her father have had any remorse if she’d died at the hands of Clach rage? Had he ever loved her as a child growing up on the farm? He indeed showed favor to her brother, that was without question, but why nothing other than contempt for her?
Feeling the need for answers, Amelia had stood up from her bed that night with a loaded belly and walked toward her father's room, uncertain of how she’d be greeted, only to hear her mother speaking aloud. They were arguing …
“Ya forcefully took her from me to that monster Clach because ya needed money for more farmlands. Whit kind of father can openly sell his daughter even at that tender age,” snapped her mother angrily.
“Ach woman! I had no other option. We needed the money fur more farmland, and Clach was the only laird who had it to give. Aye, and the gurl needed a husband, she should’a been so lucky. It was a fair deal; she was of no good here.”
Hearing her father's words that night had hurt Amelia deeper than all she had endured while living with Clach. She had always thought it odd that her father had not done more to protect her and prevent her from being forcefully taken away that fateful night. Yet she hadn’t harboured any anger toward him. She understood her father could not challenge a laird, and therefore could do little to stop Clach from taking whatever he wanted. However, hearing her father had arranged the marriage to Clach to gain farmland was like a knife through her heart.
Even when most everyone in Arbroath knew the type of man Clach was, and how foul and violent he could be, her father had handed her over to him as though she were a simple piece of property – a commodity like a cow or a pail of grain. She retired to her room that night with a heavy heart, unsure of what her next steps would be.
The next morning, after a very restless night, Amelia got up at sunrise. She packed what little belongings she had into her sack, along with the small amount of money she’d managed to save, and headed outside to face her parents.
She told them of how she had overheard their discussion during the night, and in no uncertain terms explained how disappointed and betrayed she felt. Promising never to be a burden to them again, especially to her father, she announced her plans to leave and never return. Distraught, her mother pleaded for her to stay, that her father just needed time and that he would eventually come around and learn to love her. It was too late, though. Amelia’s mind was made up. Yes, she loved her mother, there was no doubt, but it was clear that she must leave. Her father would never truly accept her as he did her brother, and because of that, she’d feared for the safety of her unborn child.
After promising she would send a message to her mother after she’d found someplace to settle and have the child, Amelia solemnly left her parent’s home again, although this time of her own choosing. Heavy with pregnancy, she headed for Dunfermline, the nearest village. Amelia would have gone to Arbroath, but she knew she was not welcome there any longer. And so, it was in Dunfermline where she’d met Gavina, her one true friend.
Chapter 27
Amelia bends to pick the large melon from the basket and glances at the coins in her purse. She puts the melon back and smiles. Aside from the fruit and some fresh vegetables, she would love to purchase many items from the merchants here in the market, perhaps a new hairbrush or a wooden toy for her son. But alas, money is scarce in her household. There will be no wooden toys today.
She looks at the large fruit and feels a bit sad that she’s unable to buy the treat for Owen. Oh, how he loves melons … and grapes and strawberries, and anything expensive it seems. But purchasing the melon would mean going without more necessary food items, especially flour and, of course, fresh milk, which the lad needs to help him grow strong.
Although she’s now able to grow some crops and sell them at harvest time, it was certainly not enough to give her son the perfect life she wished she could provide for the lad. Well, she should be thankful. She now had a little income of her own. What would life have been like had she not had the wee farm or the ability to sell her crop when finally harvested. Life would most surely have been miserable, forcing Owen and her onto the streets of Dunfermline to steal and beg, or worse.
That would be reekbeek! She said to herself, pushing away such thoughts from her mind, and silently giving thanks for having wee little farm business. The last time she had been so desperate as to steal was under incredibly dire circumstances, ending with the death of a man. Well, not just any man, but a laird. She could hardly bear the memory of that day, and couldn’t fathom ever having to be in such a situation again. The encounter with auld Laird Alexander had forever changed her life. Now here in Dumferline, with her reputation to uphold and a son to protect, she prayed that her current luck would hold and knew if she stayed strong, it could.
One day, she thought to herself, she would own more farmlands where she could grow wide varieties of crops and hopefully plant melons … and grapes and strawberries, of course. She would have enough melon for young Owen to fill his belly to his heart’s content, and plenty left over to take to market. If her fortune held, by that point, she would be one of the wealthiest ladies in Dunfermline or even in Arbroath.
Smiling at her thoughts of grandeur, Amelia bent over and picked up her empty basket. For now, she and her son would have to make do with the little they can afford, and hopefully, one day, she’d see her dreams come true. Walking away from the fruit stand, she heard a man calling out to her.
“Ma’am. Would you like to buy some melons?”
“Naw, I’ll pass,” Amelia replied without looking at the man.
“They look like they are quite tasty. Ah'm sure you know, which is why you smiled at it,” chided the man.
Chuckling at this, Amelia turned to face him. How did he know she’d smiled when holding the fruit?
“And just how did ye know I smiled?”
“I have been watching ye since ye picked up the fruits,” he replied.
“Ah, I see. Well, I have nae interest in buying the fruit. Good day.” As she turns to leave, the man continues …
“Can I buy them for ya? I saw the way ye were looking at them.”
Did she speak out loud when she’d held the melon in contemplation? Had she let her guard down, looking at that fruit? Did she lose herself in thought so intently that anyone passing by would have noticed how much she’d wanted it? Even the fruit seller had noticed, too. But wait, why would a fruit seller wish to buy her fruit?
“So you buy melons for every person who stops by to look at them? Is that any way to run a business? How do you make any coin in such a manner?” Amelia asked skeptically.
The young man chuckled, “I deh na sell them. I am not the proprietor of the stall, either.”
Amelia looked at him in confusion. Now, upon paying closer attention, she notices he does look like the other merchants mulling about their stalls, but rather of one who holds some sort of office or importance. Dunfermline is not the type of village that dignifies or forcibly identifies classes or status from those who live in it, however, one can still recognize a highborn from the lowborn. And based upon his appearance, this man’s station in life apparently falls on the highborn.
Seeing the look in her eyes, he quickly adds, “I am just a buyer like you, not a seller.”
“I heard your first words. Ah’m just wondering why you would want to buy them fur me?” Amelia says.
“I like the way you smile at it,” the man replies with a smile.
“Oh, thanks. But you deh need to,” Amelia says.
“But I insist. I would be most happy if I do,” he persists. “Please,
” he adds as if the words will make Amelia change her mind.
“If I accept it, I can’t carry them hame. Ma hands are full.” She shows him the items in her hands. Now this will make him change his mind, Amelia thinks and turns to take her leave.
“I will be delighted to help ya take them hame.”
Oh, what has she done? She should have known he would offer to come along. So it was that after much convincing, Amelia relinquished and agreed to accept the stranger’s generous offer to buy her some fruit, telling herself she was doing it for Owen.
“Okay, but not much,” said Amelia reluctantly.
“Aye, ma’am,” said the man in a spritely manner as he quickly turned to face the stall, asking the keeper to place a selection of fresh fruit in a bag. The merchant did as he was asked and, in turn, received payment from the gentlemen.
While this is happening, Amelia looks at him closely, now able to take stock of the many features she hadn’t noticed while they were talking. He is quite a handsome young man with clean English. Even though this man dresses well, his good looks do not come from his clothes' cleanliness or texture. Still, his face was pleasant, possessing a gentle look whenever he talked or smiled.
“All done,” he says, “Lead the way lass.”
“I said it shouldn’t be much. This is too much,” Amelia says, indicating the bag of fruits in his hand.
“Naw, it will last you till the evening of the next Saturday when you will be going to market again,” he says, beginning the walk.
This statement catches Amelia's off guard. How did he know that she goes to the market every Saturday evening? Has he been secretly watching her? If so, why? Where could he possibly know her from? Alarmed, she stops him immediately; he has some questions to answer.
“Do you ken me? How do ye ken I go to the market every Saturday evening?”
“I noticed and have seen ya there a couple of times,” he says without hesitation.
Highland Lover: A Historical Highlander Steamy Romance Collection (Highland Lover Series Book 6) Page 11
