He hadn’t had much information to give the recipients of his letters—Jamie knew his grandfather’s name was Fearghas but didn’t know a surname—but Conall sent the inquiries all the same, hoping someone would know what had become of Fearghas the beekeeper of Glencalvie, member of His Majesty’s Ninety-Second Highland Regiment, tenant of the Duchess of Sutherland, father to Aileen Leslie, and grandfather to James.
Perhaps an old neighbor or a military comrade or a church man would come forward. Someone like Mr. Douglas. His thoughts came again to the letter in his hand. He tucked it into his coat pocket, returning to his original dilemma. Should he leave Dunaid and journey to find his family in Canada? Merely the thought of leaving the Highlands pained him. And how could he say goodbye to Jamie? He loved the boy like a son. And his mother—Conall stopped short, his outstretched hand nearly to Nellie’s reins. He stood for a moment as the question in his mind settled and he could see the quandary clearly for what it was. He no longer wondered whether he could leave the Highlands but whether he could leave them. Her.
Would she join him? His heart pounded in his chest as he came to the realization: he wanted Aileen and Jamie in his life whether here in Scotland or in Canada. They were his family. Or would be if he could convince her. He, of course, wouldn’t take her away until the questions about her father were answered.
Conall felt a sudden burst of energy—of purpose. He mounted Nellie and rode toward the house. The course of action was not one he’d previously considered, not consciously anyway, but it felt right. Perhaps it had been there all along, waiting for him to see it for what it was. He loved Aileen Leslie. Whatever his future held seemed optimistic.
His heart felt light as Nellie followed the path along the orchard wall. Now that he had a plan, he was eager to see it through. He reined in when he spied a flash of plaid fabric in the orchard. Dismounting, he walked closer. His smile spread when he saw Aileen at the apiary, one of Mrs. Ross’s shawls around her shoulders. She stood with her back to him, bending slightly as she watched the bees.
Conall stopped, not wanting to get too near the wee stinging devils. “Good day to ye.” He took off his hat, leaning forward in a bow.
Aileen turned quickly spreading her fingers over her breastbone. He’d obviously surprised her. She must have been intent on her observations. “Oh. Good morning.” Her cheeks went pink. She dipped in a curtsey, seeming not to know where to look. “I was jes’ watchin’ the bees.”
Her shyness reminded him of their last meeting, most specifically the kiss that preceded her departure. He smiled, amused that he could cause the practical woman to become so flustered. “And what are the bees doin’ that has ye so interested?”
She pointed to the small opening on one of the hives. “They’re expellin’ the drones.”
Conall pretended to look interested while maintaining a good distance. “Why would they be doin’ that?”
She looked back into the small opening, obviously seeing something in the bees’ behavior. “The nectar stores must be strained, but I won’t know for sure until I’ve my equipment and can open up the hive. See here?” She pointed toward some bees that, from Conall’s view, looked the same as all the other bees. “Drones are larger than worker bees, with big eyes. They don’t contribute to carin’ for the brood nor do they retrieve pollen.” She squinted, turning her head to peer through the small opening. “They just loll about eatin’ all day,” she muttered. “Rather like unwelcome houseguests.” Aileen straightened and turned to him with a self-conscious smile. “I suppose I’m one to talk, aren’t I?”
“Jamie and yerself are welcome houseguests.” Conall mustered his courage and took a few steps closer. “In fact, I’d call the both of ye delightful houseguests.”
“Ye’re a verra considerate host, but we’ve outstayed our welcome.”
He pulled off a glove, touching her forehead with the backs of his fingers in the pretense of checking her temperature. Her breathing sounded shallow, and she wheezed a bit. “How are ye feeling, Aileen?” He brushed her soft cheek and rested his hand on her shoulder.
Her face flushed a fiery red. “Much improved.” She looked down, lashes spreading over her cheeks.
From this close, he could see a small freckle near the corner of her eye that he’d never noticed before. “I told ye I expect ye to stay until yer fully mended.”
“Aye, but I’ve still hives to deliver—”
“Nay to worry aboot tha’. ’Tis done already.”
She looked up, her brows pulling together over her bright eyes. “Done?”
“Aye. Jamie and I delivered them a week ago.”
Her mouth rounded. “I didna know that.”
He shrugged, his thumb brushing her collarbone.
She appeared to be rattled by his nearness but attempted to keep a detached manner. “I’ll still be needin’ to leave. Even with Mrs. Campbell here, ’tisn’t appropriate for me to stay in a single man’s household.”
“I’ll be sorry to see ye go.” Conall moved even closer, and Aileen tentatively laid a hand on his chest. He settled his other hand on the curve of her hip. Her eyes closed as he bent forward, touching his lips to hers. Aileen’s lips were soft and warm, and—
A buzzing sounded in his ear, and Conall jerked back, his hat falling to the ground as he swatted the air. He rushed away from the apiary and uttered some very unromantic obscenities as he shook his head, fearing the insect had landed in his hair.
He was nearly to the wall when he turned and saw Aileen’s wide eyes. In an instant, understanding dawned, and her confused expression turned to a wide grin. She put a hand over her mouth as she let out a small giggle then drew in a breath that sounded far too shallow. She picked up his hat as she came to the wall and sat, holding it on her lap as she breathed in then giggled again. “Oh, my lungs aren’t well enough for this.” It took a moment for her breathing to calm—especially as she fought against laughter.
Conall sat beside her and fixed her with an exasperated gaze. “I don’t think ’twas that amusing.”
“I am sorry. I—” She shook her head, another giggle bursting forth. “’Tis just . . . yer so large and strong, and the bees. Och, I should no’ have laughed, but if ye’d seen yer face. And how fast ye leapt away.” Another small laugh escaped. “Truly, I’m sorry.”
Conall gave a wry smile that made her laugh again. “Careful, lass, ye’ll hurt yerself,” he said dryly. But he couldn’t hold in his own laughter and shook his head at the absurdity of his reaction.
She stood and faced him, setting down the hat and turning his head to the side. “Ye know, swatting at them just makes them angry. Now where were ye stung? Mrs. Campbell will have some lavender oil to . . .” She squinted, studying the side of his face and running her fingers over his cheek and behind his ear. “I don’t see . . .”
“It didn’t sting me,” he confessed. “I just thought ’twas goin’ to.”
She pressed her lips together, and he thought she was stifling another laugh. But the corners of her mouth turned down, and he realized she’d become serious. Her hands were still holding the sides of his head, and instead of pulling away, she brushed back his mussed hair with her fingers. Her eyes softened. “And why are ye so frightened o’ the wee creatures?” she asked. “Were ye stung as a lad?”
“Aye. An entire swarm chased me after I threw a rock at their hive.” He shivered at the memory. “I was covered in stings.”
Aileen moved back to sit beside him on the wall. She slipped her hand into his. “I imagine ’twas terrifyin’.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “And ye still delivered my hives with Jamie.”
“I was more o’ a cart puller than a hive deliverer,” he said, enjoying the feel of her beside him. He didn’t mind her sympathy in the least, not when it meant she nestled up against him. He tightened his fingers around hers, liking how her small hand was completely enveloped within his. Even though he was confessing to a fear of something she dealt with without a
bit o’ apprehension, he felt strong with her hand in his.
“Well, I’m all the more grateful, knowin’ how difficult it must have been for ye. Ye made a sacrifice, and ’twas verra considerate.”
Conall smiled. He released her hand and put his arm around her shoulders pulling her close against him. Making a fool of himself was a small price to pay for a pleasant moment such as this one. She shifted, and the paper in his pocket rustled against his chest. He thought again of his purpose in coming to find Mrs. Leslie and was more certain than ever about his decision. But ’twould be best not to rush the matter. He’d do things in the correct order, and before anything else, there was someone he needed to speak with.
***
A week later, Conall hefted his shovel and walked along the drainage ditch to where Jamie was working. The lad didn’t have the strength of a man, but what he lacked in strength, he made up in sheer determination.
Jamie lifted another shovel full of dirt, tossing it to the side. He saw Conall and smiled, wiping his hand across his forehead and leaving behind a muddy streak. The boy stepped out of the trench and came to stand next to him.
The sun was getting low. “Fine work, lad. I think ’tis enough for today.” Conall dug his fist into the small of his back, wincing at the stiff muscles. “We’ll worry aboot drainage on the other side o’ the field tomorrow.”
Jamie balanced the shovel’s wooden handle in the bend of his elbow as he rubbed his fingers over his palm. He looked across the field and squinted in what he must have thought was a very adult-like manner as he nodded.
When Conall looked closer, he could see open blisters on the boy’s hands. Why hadn’t he thought to find the lad some gloves? Yet there had been no word of complaint. Just the idea of another day of digging must fill Jamie with dread, but Conall knew the lad would agree to any chore without protest. “Although the diggin’ could wait a few days. Come. Let’s go home.” He patted Jamie’s shoulder and started down the path toward the manor house.
Jamie lifted the shovel over his shoulder and walked beside Conall. The boy’s lack of chatter indicated he must have been more tired than usual, and Conall was annoyed with himself for continuing on so long without giving the lad a rest. His mind had been so occupied that he’d not noticed the time pass.
Once they’d returned the tools to the shed and Jamie’d paid a visit to Barney, they walked around the side of the house toward the road. Conall missed the two o’ them heading into the house to have supper with Aileen, but true to her word, she’d departed, returnin’ to her cottage with Jamie.
“Good evenin’ to ye, Sergeant,” the boy said in farewell, giving a salute.
“Jamie lad, if ye please, there’s somethin’ I’d be speakin’ with ye aboot.” He pointed with his chin toward the front door of the manor house.
“Are ye angry with me, Sergeant Stewart?” Jamie asked, following him up the path.
Conall realized his brooding might be mistaken for irritation. “No, ’tis nothin’ like that. I . . .” He opened the door, stepping aside for the boy to enter. “I’d jes like yer advice.”
Mrs. Ross met them in the entry hall, but Conall sent her away, telling her he’d take supper later. He led the way to the library, closing the door behind them. “Sit down, Jamie.”
Jamie sat in his usual chair near the fire.
Conall glanced toward the side table, thinking he could use a bit of a drink for courage but decided against it and sat on the sofa facing the boy.
Jamie’s face was confused, and Conall thought he looked rather uneasy. But the boy’s apprehension was nothing to what Conall was feeling. He’d sat in war councils, punished prisoners, and faced reprimand from commanding officers, but the discussion he was about to have with this small, curly-haired lad made all of those other exchanges seem trivial.
Conall had thought for days of how best to approach this but, in the end, decided there was nothing to do but to jump straight in. “Jamie Leslie, I wish to marry yer ma. I hoped ye’d give me yer blessin’.”
Instead of looking surprised or pleased or even irritated, Jamie’s brows drew together, and he chewed on his lip. He remained silent so long that Conall started to worry he wouldn’t answer.
“Do ye love my mam?” he finally said, speaking slowly, as if choosing the words carefully.
“Aye.”
Jamie nodded, continuing to chew on his lip as he looked down at his hands. “And will ye have babies?”
Conall hadn’t expected that question, but he hadn’t fully considered what his mother’s marriage would entail from the lad’s perspective. Of course ’twould be of concern to him, wonderin’ about the changing roles in the family. “I hope we might . . . someday. If yer ma agrees . . .” He ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
“And ye’d be their da, and Mam would be their mam.”
“She’ll always be yer mam first of all. Havin’ more babies won’ change that.”
“But ye won’t be my da.”
Conall studied the boy’s face but, for the life of him, couldn’t make out his expression. Was he insisting that Conall could never be his father? Or wishing he would? Was he feeling jealous? Resentful? Conall wished more than ever that he’d taken a drink. As much as he’d thought he was prepared for the conversation, he hadn’t realized how delicately he needed to tread.
“Jamie lad, the reason I came to ye before yer ma was because I know how the two o’ ye care for each other, and I want ye to know that’ll not change. Not with her married or with babies or anythin’.” He watched the boy, hoping for some clues as to how he was receiving the words. “I want ye to feel comfortable. If ye prefer to call me Sergeant Stewart or Conall, ye can do that. ’Twon’t hurt my feelin’s if ye don’t consider me to be yer da.”
The wee lad looked even smaller with the high back of the chair looming over him and his feet dangling above the floor. His forehead was creased, and his mouth turned down into a pensive frown. Again silence stretched, and Conall felt like a misbehaving child awaiting a reprimand.
Jamie looked up. “Remember that day when ye showed me how to mix mortar and stick together stones?”
“Aye, I remember.” Conall’s stomach sank, remembering the day before that, when he’d dragged Jamie home and told Aileen the lad was a criminal in the makin’. He didna think he’d ever been more wrong in his appraisal of a person. No wonder the lad was unsure about accepting him into his family.
“When we were sittin’ on the wall eatin’ sausages and ye told me about Napoleon?” Jamie looked down at his hands. “Tha’ day, I wished ye were my da.”
Conall blinked. He slid forward to the edge of the sofa then knelt in front of Jamie, tippin’ his head to the side to see the boy’s downturned face. “And do ye still wish it, Jamie?”
The boy nodded then glanced up. “Aye,” he whispered.
Conall’s throat grew tight. “Then I shall be.” He held out his hand. “And we’ll shake on it. A gentleman’s promise.”
A small dirty hand slid into his, and Conall shook it, careful not to press on the blisters. He pulled the boy forward into an embrace, blinking his eyes against their stinging. Jamie rested his head on Conall’s shoulder, and he leaned his cheek against the red curls. His heart felt near to burstin’. He’d no idea he’d ever come to love a child so much. Suddenly, a new concern entered his heart. What if Aileen were to refuse him? He feared losing the two of them would be more than he could bear.
Chapter 15
The sun shone through the high windows of the kirk, catching dust mites in its rays and heating the Sunday service. Aileen stifled a yawn as her gaze roamed over the congregation. She’d intended to sweep her eyes past Conall—of course, ’twas happenstance that she’d even looked in his direction at all—but at just the right time, he glanced over his shoulder, catching her eye. He gave a wink, and she smiled reflexively, heat spreading over her cheeks.
She snapped her gaze away, certain the entire congregation had s
een the exchange, and returned to watching the minister.
Dores poked an elbow in to her ribs. She’d seen the wink.
Aileen poked her back, schooling her expression and looking piously toward the minister’s pulpit. Her face continued to burn as she tried to concentrate on the sermon. Had Conall looked her way on purpose? Or was he just becoming distracted in the hot building?
More than a week had passed since Aileen had returned to her home. She’d kept busy with the hives and her regular household duties and had only seen Conall a few times in passing. He didn’t seem to be avoiding her—he was happy enough to stop for a moment and engage in small talk—but she felt there was something different between them. And ’twasn’t difficult to identify exactly what.
The kiss.
Though it had lasted only the briefest second, she’d thought of little else since that morning at the apiary. ’Twas the first time a man had kissed her. And it had been every bit as magical as she’d imagined. His lips were warm and soft—she hadn’t realized a man’s lips would be soft. He’d smelled nice, and in spite of his size, his touch had been tender. She’d felt a nervous fluttering inside her ribs that made her breath hitch and her knees tremble. Even now the memory was enough to set her heart racing.
She supposed it hadn’t been the same for Conall. He’d acted polite but a bit distant toward her since, and the thought that the kiss had disappointed him made her feel like hiding away from him.
Had her laughter about his fear o’ the bees been more than his manly pride could take? She worried she’d ruined everything. But the village was small, and she couldn’t avoid him forever. Besides, she was a woman grown not a silly young girl with romantic dreams. If he could act unaffected, so could she.
The congregation rose, startling her as they began to sing. Aileen hadn’t realized the sermon had ended. She stood quickly, joining in the hymn. Without even looking, she could feel Dores’s smirk. She glanced down at Jamie and realized she’d not had to remind him once to pay attention. It seemed he was more well behaved during the service than she’d been.
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