Sweet Home Highlander_Tartans and Titans

by Amalie Howard

  Aisla stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “Is there something the matter?”

  Makenna shook off the pensive expression, and smiled. “Just concerned for my baby brother. Come, here’s a shop ye might like.”

  She led Aisla across the street, into a small shop filled with glittering pieces of jewelry and trinkets. The sunlight cut through the pieces on display in the windows and set the whole shop into a kaleidoscope of warm amber colors.

  “Oh my,” Aisla whispered, her heart caught in her throat and her feet coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Her lips parted in awe as she took in the sheer magnificence of the shop. Practically everything on the shelves and in the display cases was topaz, the same gemstones she’d seen on various things in the castle, on swords and shields, and also on Makenna herself. The brooch her sister-in-law had worn before, the one Aisla had admired, must have come from this shop.

  There was a little of everything here; necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and all manner of trinkets.

  “These are all so gorgeous,” she said, picking up a small blown-glass paperweight cast in the shape of a hawk. Its eyes and beak and many of its feathers were carefully carved pieces of prismatic yellow topaz.

  “Thank ye, my lady,” an older gentleman said as he came out from a back room. “The gems are mined right at Tarbendale.”

  She set down the paperweight hawk and was drawn toward several bracelets. The jewels set in the bands were all different sizes and carved into different styles, and each one was a slightly different hue. One, a clear yellow; another, a marbled amber; and a third, a rum-colored jewel darker than the rest. All were stunning, the silver and gold settings carved in detailed filigree.

  “I thought ye’d like this shop,” Makenna said as she ambled around the room.

  Aisla stopped to admire a shelf of hollowed, blown-glass animals, each one with a flare of topaz. A bear with jeweled snout and claws, an elk with glittering antlers, and the most beautiful one of all, a wolf with a topaz heart set inside the animal’s clear glass chest.

  “These must have all been done by the same artist,” Aisla said, moving on to a row of silver and topaz goblets.

  “Why, yes, my lady, o’course. The l—”

  “Aisla, come have a look at these.”

  She peered back at Makenna, surprised her sister-in-law had interrupted the shopkeeper, but curious at the excitement in her voice. When she reached Makenna’s side, she understood why.

  Her hands had minds of their own, and they reached for the first in a line of several bejeweled throwing daggers. They were on display in a long wooden case, a bed of jet velvet accentuating the bright clarity of the topaz set into the handles of each dagger. No design was alike…some handles were dainty and curved, while others were more regal and solid-looking. The blades of each were polished to a high shine, the edges stone-ground to lethal sharpness, and each one had a glittering array of topaz jewels. And when she lifted the first dagger, she could feel the quality of the design. The balanced weight between the blade and the handle.

  “These are…well, they’re simply…” Aisla was at a loss for words. Beautiful wouldn’t do the daggers justice.

  “Something ye would like to purchase?” Makenna prompted.

  Aisla laughed, setting down the first dagger and selecting another one that had caught her eye. This one was polished silver, and the topaz had been inlaid into the shape of a craggy mountain. It nearly looked like the mountain that stood at the back of the Montgomery stronghold, where she grew up.

  “Yes,” she said, admiring it, and looking forward to the first chance she had to throw it. “Most definitely. The craftsmanship is exquisite. Pieces like these should be in a museum, on display. Why, in Paris, I don’t think I saw anything in any jeweler’s shop that was its equal. Pray tell, who made these?”

  “A recluse, if you would believe.” Makenna took the dagger carefully from Aisla, and with a puckish grin, extended it to the shopkeeper. “Please have this boxed and wrapped for her ladyship, and add it to the laird’s account.”

  The man looked puzzled for a moment, but then bowed and reached for the dagger.

  “Oh, no. That’s not necessary,” Aisla said, her stomach crimping at the thought of sending yet another bill to Tarben Castle. “I’ll purchase it now. And I’ll take the wolf over there.” She paused with a smile. “And that bracelet with the braided filigree.”

  Makenna frowned. “But—”

  “I insist,” she said, not wanting to explain. She wasn’t sure she knew how. Only that yesterday, Niall had forgiven her, and she him for past deeds, and she had even more apologizing to do when she saw him next for acting the way she had. She just didn’t feel right buying this dagger on his credit. And the wolf, well she’d decide what she wanted to do with that, if and when the time came. But something about it reminded her of Niall. The bracelet was purely an impulsive purchase.

  “Please have that delivered to the keep,” she said, watching as the shopkeeper wrapped the glass wolf with infinite care. Her heart felt like a bird caught in her chest. She would thank Niall, she thought. For his care. A heated blush scorched her face, and she sucked in a shaky breath, hoping Makenna would not notice her suddenly flushed countenance.

  “I’ll take the dagger and wear the bracelet, thank you.”

  After he fastened the delicate clasp around her wrist, Aisla admired the simple beauty of the jewelry. The topaz gems shone, flanked by gorgeous blue stones on either side, and the braided metal gleamed.

  “What are these stones called?”

  The shopkeeper peered down. “Apatite from the Western Isles.”

  It was truly lovely, not that the blue stones reminded her of Niall’s eyes at all. She paid the man and pocketed the dagger, and when she left the shop, she felt better. More grounded. She wasn’t sure if it was the whimsical beauty that had been inside the shop, or knowing that her husband’s mines had provided the gems, or even just having a new stunning throwing dagger in her pocket. But she liked Maclaren village, and that made the things she said the day before weigh even heavier.

  She didn’t hate this place, or the people here. Or him, for that matter. Far from it. The knowledge lodged like a stone in the pit of her stomach. Time, it seemed, was more dangerous than anything else. Not only did it heal wounds, it made one dream of possibility.

  That was something she could not fall prey to, not if she hoped to escape Scotland with her heart intact.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next week passed in a blur. Niall could not recall being more exhausted. They’d discovered another vein in one of the older mines that had been overlooked. It’d been purely by chance while repairing the broken pulley, but by all accounts, it was shaping up to be more profitable than anything they’d uncovered so far. The pulley itself had been another matter. While he could not prove anything, it seemed as though the ropes had been cut and not frayed due to time and use. Once more, it pointed toward foul play.

  Between working the new vein, dealing with another unlucky collapse, and keeping a watchful eye on things, it was busy. Which meant that Niall spent most of his days in the mines with his clansmen and his nights in complete, exhausted stupor. He felt somewhat guilty that he hadn’t furthered his progress with his own wife, but she seemed content to spend her days with Makenna. He wondered at his sister’s lengthy visit, but he was more than grateful that Aisla had her for company. They were as thick as thieves lately.

  “What do ye do all day with Makenna?” he’d asked Aisla one night after he’d returned, filthy and late. She’d taken one look at him and rung for a bath. In the past, he probably would have collapsed, filth and all, to bed, but it was…nice to have someone looking after his comfort.

  “Stay,” he’d told her when she made to leave after the bath had been prepared. Niall hadn’t been able to resist teasing her. “I’ve recently seen ye naked, after all. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

  Her skin had burned bright with color
, but she hadn’t left. “As you wish.”

  He’d been a prize idiot for mentioning the night he’d returned Aisla to her room at Tarbendale. Not for her sake, but for his own. Because all he could think of then was her creamy skin and ruched pink nipples, and how much he’d ached to take them into his mouth…even if she’d been entirely unconscious. It had not been one of his best moments, he conceded, but the woman erased all evidence of any good sense. He’d only been able to cleanse the skin of her sumptuous upper body with the greatest of effort. He had been shaking by the time he had finished. He’d have qualified for sainthood, he reckoned.

  “Ye and Makenna, what do ye talk about?” he’d asked.

  “We talk about Tarbendale,” she had replied. “And what you’ve done here. She’s very proud of you, you know.”

  He’d been unable to hide his discomfort. “Aye, I ken.”

  “You should be as well.”

  “I am, though there’s a lot more to do,” he said. “’Twill be years before the lands start to turn a profit that doesnae go right back into the quarry. And I owe Ronan a sizeable sum. He lent me the money to buy the equipment early on.”

  Aisla had gone quiet a moment, glancing at him while biting her bottom lip. As if she wanted to say something. But then she leaped to another topic.

  “I saw the jeweler’s shop in town with all the topaz from your mines,” she’d blurted out. “The pieces there are beautiful. Enough to showcase in a Parisian gallery. I’ve written to my friends to see if they would be interested in purchasing some to show.”

  Niall had been dumbfounded. “To show?”

  “Yes, the art is quite stunning. Look at this,” she’d said, showing him the filigreed bracelet inset with topaz and apatite that she’d been wearing. “Whoever designs the pieces has uncommon talent.” She’d blushed and faltered at his expression. “I hope I haven’t overstepped.”

  He’d shaken his head, stunned by her generosity as well as the sight of the bracelet on her delicate wrist, but his valet, Dunkirk, had entered then, curtailing any more talk between them. But the admission had left him with a warm feeling for days.

  Even now as he sifted through a tray of dirt and stone in front of the mine, his thoughts couldn’t help centering back to her. The old anger that he’d felt about Dougal Buchanan had all but gone. Was that how forgiveness worked? Did it release a person so completely? He only knew that he felt lighter than he had in years.

  “Laird, laird!” a man shouted, and Niall looked up to see his head foreman running toward him, sweat pouring down his face.

  “What is it, William? Another collapse?”

  They could not bear the loss of another mine. The last collapse a few days ago had been devastating, not only in the loss of profit, but in the loss of life. He’d lost three good men that day, men he could not afford to lose. After the cut ropes from the pulley, Niall could not push away the feeling that their run of bad luck was something more. William had found more than loose boards this time; he’d found a torn piece of tartan. Campbell colors, and evidence that his recent spate of misfortune was likely not by chance at all. Someone wanted him and Tarbendale to fail. It wasn’t much, but he’d taken it to Ronan. At the very least, he’d have something to show the Campbell as proof.

  “Nae, my laird. ’Tis my wife, Fiona. The babe is coming.”

  Niall frowned, knowing the man’s bairn wasn’t supposed to be due for a few more weeks. “’Tis early, nae?”

  “Aye,” he said, the word catching on a strangled sound. “The midwife, laird, she’s visiting her sister in Inverness.”

  It was horrible timing for the midwife to be gone, but there was nothing to be done for it. “What about the midwife at Maclaren?”

  “We’ve sent for her, but she’s gone to check on the bairns for the MacLeod. ’Twill be hours before she returns, and Fiona…there’s so much pain.”

  Niall stood and dusted his hand on his kilt. He called for his horse. “I ken someone who might help.”

  He hoped.

  Niall rode like the devil was on his heels back to the keep. “Where’s my wife?” he demanded of a footman.

  “In the gallery, laird.”

  He was no time in finding her, but paused at the sight of her and her maid standing watch as two footmen hung another painting. It was a landscape, he noted with some relief. Her eyes met his, and he strode forward. “I need yer help. With a birth.”

  “A birth?”

  “My head foreman. His wife is in labor and there’s no’ a midwife on hand to assist.” He paused, noticing the sudden lack of color in her face. “Ye used to help yer mother, Lady Glenross, with births at Montgomery.”

  “I helped my mother boil water,” she said, eyes wide. “Get fresh linens, that sort of thing.”

  “Aye, and how many times did ye accompany her?”

  “I don’t know, dozens, I suppose. But Niall—”

  “We have nobody else with the kind of knowledge ye have, Aisla.” He drew a harsh breath. “Please. I need ye.”

  Niall flushed. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He did not want to be indebted to her in any significant way, but the words had just slipped out.

  However, the transformation was instant. Squaring her slim shoulders, she nodded to her maid. “Pauline, fetch as many fresh linens as you can carry, and any other help you can gather.”

  Niall led her from the hall to his horse, and informed one of his men to accompany Pauline once she was ready. He shouldn’t have savored the feel of his wife’s arms wrapped tightly around him, but he did. The journey to the cottages was far too short.

  They entered a cottage, and instantly Aisla became someone else. She didn’t display one ounce of the anxiety she’d shown up at the keep. “It’s much too hot in here,” she said. “Open the windows for some fresh air. Heat some more water and give us some room.”

  The foreman’s wife, Fiona, was propped in bed, her face flushed red and brow furrowed. Tendrils of hair clung damply to her skin. “How long have you had birthing pains?” Aisla asked her gently.

  “Since early this morn, my lady.”

  She signaled for Pauline, who had arrived with an armful of linens. “Strip as much of the sodden bedsheets as you can.” She turned back to the woman with a soft smile. “Try to stand. Walking will ease the pressure. There’s no blood, and there’s no danger. Your babe is eager to arrive, that’s all.”

  Niall swallowed, watching her give orders, her calmness belying the fright he saw in her eyes. But she bore it bravely, doing what she could to calm the other woman and making sure she was comfortable. When the woman’s pains started coming closer together, Aisla put her back into bed, her hands gently pressing into the distended belly and peering between her spread legs. He did not miss the flash of fear that marred her exterior calm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He has not turned,” she whispered. “Babes are born head first. This one is feet first. His legs could break.” She sucked in a sob. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What would yer mother do? What would Catriona do, Aisla?” He saw some reason penetrate the fog of fear.

  “She would guide it out.”

  Niall kissed her brow. “Ye can do it. I ken ye can.”

  She rose to scrub her hands thoroughly in hot water, her beautiful face white, before resuming her position at the base of the keening woman. Niall couldn’t see what she was doing beneath the sheet, but the woman’s screams were terrifying as Aisla’s hands did their work.

  “There’s one foot, and I have the other,” Aisla said. “Now push.”

  Another piercing scream split the air. “There’s one arm and the other. Now the shoulders. It won’t be easy at this angle, but you can do it. Push, Fiona, push.”

  With one final cry, Aisla cradled a bloody but squalling newborn in her arms, wrapping the babe—a girl—in swaddling from Pauline. She handed the bundled infant to her exhausted mother, who put her to her breast, and quickly took care o
f the remainder of the birth.

  “Oh my heavens,” the foreman’s wife crooned, “she’s so wee and bonny. Thank ye, my lady, thank ye.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Niall met Aisla’s eyes, and she gave him a wan smile. He waited until she had finished before gathering her into his arms outside the cottage and settling her in his lap atop his horse. All her composure fled in that one instant and she collapsed against his chest, sobbing. Niall rubbed slow circles on her back, letting her cry as he rode them back to Tarben Castle. It’d been an overwhelming, emotional experience. For him, too.

  Once Pauline had finished helping her mistress with her bath and left the bathing chamber, Niall returned to hand her a glass of warmed brandy as she sat in the chairs before the fire in his room. He’d also bathed and changed. “Drink this.”

  “I don’t want any spirits.”

  “’Twill help settle yer nerves, trust me.” Obediently, she sipped. “Ye were incredible in there, Aisla.”

  “I was terrified.”

  “The Aisla I ken was never scared of anything. She was there tonight like a force of nature. Ye saved that woman and her bairn, ye ken?”

  She didn’t answer him. He crouched to his knees beside her, watching the firelight play off her face and in the drying lengths of her amber curls. She’d never looked more beautiful. Or more vulnerable. “Did you see her?” she said softly after a moment. “She was so perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, rosebud mouth. She was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Aye,” he said.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” she said with a winsome smile. She reached for a wrapped package resting on the table beside the chair. “Oh, I forgot. I have something for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, I found it in the jeweler’s shop in the village, and it reminded me of you.”

  With an odd choking sensation in his chest, he unwrapped the package with exquisite care. He recognized the piece instantly as he cradled the glass wolf in his palms. It’d been one of his favorites.