Sleepless in Scotland (29 page)

Not that he wanted her—his actions had made that clear. Or had, until he’d gotten so angry with them for laughing at Caitriona’s lack of equestrian skills. Even now, Christina could see Papa’s face. Some small part of her wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, Papa
did
care for Caitriona, but didn’t want anyone—maybe not even Caitriona—to know.

Christina hadn’t liked that at all. Worse, Devon had felt humiliated by Papa’s scold and had been burning to get her revenge on Caitriona.

Christina sighed unhappily and joined Aggie on the ground.

Devon paced angrily, her skirts swishing with each step. “I can’t believe she’d do such a thing!”

“What was she doing?” Aggie asked around her apple.

“She was just moving furniture,” Christina answered.

Aggie paused. “So?”

“That’s what I said,” Christina said. “But Devon thinks it’s an act of the devil.”

“Of a
she
devil,” Devon retorted. She stopped in front of her sisters. “Perhaps we didn’t find Caitriona doing anything horrible, but we only watched her for a few minutes.”

Christina sighed. “I don’t know. I get the feeling that maybe we’re making things worse. Maybe we should let Papa handle this. There have been times when I thought he might enjoy being with her. And he
did
ask us to be polite to her.”

“Yes, and he’d never asked us that before, had he?” Devon stooped in front of Christina. “Do you see what’s happening? She’s slowly pulling him into her way of thinking and doing things. In her life, there are no children. We’re interlopers and in the way.”

Christina’s heart sank.
Did
Caitriona see them that way? Were they just in the way for whatever life Papa and his wife wished to have?

“She’ll push us away,” Devon continued, her voice raspy. “She’ll make Papa think we’re doing bad things, and then, when they have their own baby, there won’t be room for us any longer.”

Christina’s chest ached as if someone were sitting on it.

Aggie blinked. “You…you really think that’s what she wants?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Suddenly unable to sit still, Christina sprang to her feet and turned to look back at Gilmerton Manor. Alone and splendid, it rested on the crest of the hill like a jewel set on the curve of a ring. The sun glistened off the windows and the mellow stone looked warm and inviting, ivy trailing up two sides. It was the only place she’d ever called home. A lump grew in her throat. She didn’t totally believe Devon’s line of reasoning, but one thing had rung true: What would happen when Papa and his new wife had their own child? Would there be room for her and her sisters then?

She bit her lip hard to fight back the tears. The memories returned of lonely, bad-smelling rooms. And waiting for Mother, who sometimes came home but just as often didn’t. Of a two-week period when Christina, driven to desperation by her sisters’ cries of hunger, had ventured out into the cold streets of Paris to steal some food. It had taken her hours, but she’d managed to scour enough for a few days. She’d returned wet and dirty, her gown torn by a man reeking of liquor who’d tried to drag her into an alleyway. She knew what he wanted, and her desperation had given her the strength to break free and run as fast as she could back to their cold attic home.

Now she had Gilmerton. She looked down at the house, admiring the way the sun glinted off the mullioned windows, the strong line of the stone walls, and the thick solid doors.
This
was home, and she would do anything to keep it. She couldn’t leave Gilmerton,
couldn’t
lose Papa.

A sob broke through, and immediately Devon’s thin arms pulled her close in a fierce hug. Aggie’s rounder arms followed. They stayed so for a long time, until the memories faded and Christina stopped shaking.

When Devon released her, Christina wiped her eyes and forced a smile. “We should get back. Uncle Dougal will notice we’re missing.”

Devon swiped at her own eyes with the back of her hand. “We’ll take the loch path. It’s quicker.”

The path went around the small loch at the end of the valley before branching off in two directions. One led to Uncle Dougal’s elegant house, the other to MacLean Castle. Papa had said that at one time the path had been a major route to and from the castle, but that now, because parts of it had been washed away and the slope into the loch was so steep, no one used it. He’d warned them to avoid it, but it was such a convenient shortcut that when they were on their own, they’d begun to use it more and more. Christina thought that Papa had overstated the danger. As long as they kept their mounts calm and went slowly through the narrow parts, they were all very comfortable with it.

“Come, Aggie.” Devon led Aggie’s horse to a low stump and waited for her sister to mount. Then she did the same for Christina. When it came time to mount her own horse, she grabbed a short rope on the saddle and swung herself up.

Christina watched with envy. Devon was fiercely, hotly independent and refused to need anyone. Christina wished she could absorb some of her sister’s spirit. If they were turned out on their own again, she would need it.

Heart heavy, she pulled her horse beside Devon’s as they started out. “What do we do?”

Devon pursed her lips. “We have to keep Caitriona and Papa from growing closer.”

“How do we do that? So far, everything we’ve done has only done the opposite.”

“Let me think about it.”

Christina nodded, guiding her horse down the path while Devon mulled her options.

As they reached where the path narrowed, Devon pulled her horse level with Christina’s, a sly look on her face. “Ha! I know what we’re going to do.”

“What’s that?” Christina asked.

“Papa’s supposed to come home very late tonight. Uncle Dougal sent one of his men to find out exactly when.”

“So?”

“So, before he arrives, we’ll slip out and come back to Gilmerton. It will be after dark but we know the way well, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Then we will rearrange the furniture.”

“How will that help?” Christina asked.

“You’ll see.” She set off down the narrow path.

Whatever Devon’s idea was, if it delayed the inevitable for even one hour, Christina would be a part of it.

Feeling better, she hurried to follow her sister.

Chapter 17

“Love is a curious thing, me dearies. At times it gallops up on a white horse and sweeps ye off yer feet like a grand story from times past. Other times, it steals in wit’ th’ quiet o’ a raindrop and whisks awa’ yer heart afore ye even knew ’twas at risk.”

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT

T
here!” Triona rubbed her back wearily. It had taken almost two hours to arrange the sitting room to their liking. “I like it this way. Much brighter and more cozy.”

Mrs. Wallis nodded her approval. “So do I, m’lady.” She told Liam and Angus, “Take that extra table to the breakfast room and put it in the corner. It can hold the teapot in the mornings. Och, look at the time! I’ll ask Cook to serve dinner—”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer a tray in my bedchamber.” The last thing Triona wanted was to eat by herself at the long table in the dining room. “I’m rather tired.”
Thank goodness. I hope I sleep better.

“Goin’ to bed early, m’lady? I don’t blame ye.

Besides, his lordship will be back soon along wi’ the bairns, so yer days of peace are nigh over.”

Triona laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe I should have a hot bath as well.”

Mrs. Wallis chuckled. “Right away, m’lady.” She surveyed their work one last time before giving a satisfied nod. “Much better! If his lordship doesna like it, the man’s daft.”

Triona smiled. Tomorrow things would return to normal. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to enjoy having everyone around until she was alone in this big, magnificent house. She’d come to look forward to the morning trysts that seemed to set the day with a special glow, their solitary breakfasts before Hugh left to see to the horses, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the girls chattering as they came downstairs for their afternoon rides with their father, Hugh’s deep voice answering them with love and laughter, her rides with Ferguson as she increased her skills, and the talks with Mrs. Wallis that usually involved laughter.

Life was strings of simple moments, and they were weaving together to form a strong strand. Even making the sitting room more homelike increased her sense of belonging.

After having her tray of cheese and bread, sliced apples, and a large orange, Triona soaked in her bath. Afterward, dressed in her night rail, she relaxed on the settee before the fireplace with a cup of freshly brewed tea. Hugh would be home soon, and she could barely sit still.

To distract herself she tried reading a book, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her gaze kept wandering to the bed and then to the window, as if Hugh might miraculously appear in the dark, climb through the second-story window, sweep her up, and take her to bed. She shivered at the thought.

Though Hugh had been upset when he’d left, surely he would be calmer when he came home. After all, she’d gotten over the insults he’d tossed at her.

Honestly, marriage wasn’t quite what she’d thought it. For one thing, she hadn’t realized how much compromise was involved: between what he wished to do and what she wished to do; about dealing with the girls; about how to run the household; about their places in each other’s lives.

She’d often had to find compromises to keep the peace among her brothers and sisters, but it seemed that
she
was the only one compromising now while MacLean stubbornly held to his pre-marriage ways.

Mam was right; that could not continue. She wished she could ask Caitlyn’s advice—if anyone knew how to get men to listen to her, it was Caitlyn. She always seemed to know just what to say and how to say it to get exactly the response she wanted. Triona’s gaze flickered to the desk. Well, why not write to Cait now and ask her? It might be a week before she responded, but it would be worthwhile if Caitlyn had an idea that would help.

Triona went to the desk, dipped a pen into the ink.

First Triona asked after the family’s health, especially Michael, whose cough was supposedly on the mend. Then she asked if Father was still angry about the London fiasco. Next she told Caitlyn of her efforts these past few days since Hugh had left.

As she wrote, her homesickness returned. Missing the warmth and camaraderie of Wythburn, suddenly she was writing about Hugh and how she wished with all of her heart that things were different, and how she was at a loss to know how to make them so. She wrote and wrote, the pen scratching swiftly over the paper.

When she finished she felt drained but focused, ready to have Hugh and the children back home.

A distant thud made her pause.
That sounds like the garden gate. But Hugh wouldn’t come into the house that way.

Suddenly, she remembered his concerns about the girls’ mother. Could someone have come to the house to do the girls mischief? Triona’s heart sped and she ran to the window. The full moon streamed over the garden, lighting the white stone path. Beyond the path, the gate was securely closed. Movement caught her eye, and Triona saw two figures scurrying up the hill behind the garden. The one in front turned slightly, and Triona saw a dim lamp that had been shielded.

She gripped the window casement as the light disappeared behind some trees.
Blast it, the servants are asleep on the far side of the house. Should I run outside and see what direction they go?

Triona whirled and raced to the wardrobe. She found her heavy cloak and shoved her bare feet into her boots. Within moments she was running down the back stairs, holding her cloak and night rail up so she didn’t trip.

When she reached the back door, she threw back the lock and slipped into the garden. Hugging herself against the cold, she quickly went to the gate.

She peered up the hillside but could see nothing.
Which direction did they go?
She silently swung the gate open and stealthily began to climb the hill, staying hidden in the brush. When she heard the low murmur of voices, she paused and frowned. The voices sounded feminine—two women? The cloaked strangers
had
looked small.

As she neared the small cluster of trees that hid her quarry, Triona could make out the outlines of two people atop their mounts. She slipped in closer.

“Devon,” came a low voice, “hold that lantern higher.”

Christina! What is she doing in the woods at night?

“I can’t.” Devon spoke so quietly that Triona had to strain to hear. “Someone might see it from the house.”

“No one is awake to see it.”

“There is a light glowing in Papa’s bedchamber.
She
might be awake.”

Christina made an exasperated noise. “Don’t be silly; it’s far too late. She probably fell asleep while writing letters or something. Mrs. Wallis says she’s never seen anyone write so many.”

“She can write all of the letters she wants tomorrow. It won’t help.” Devon’s voice held unmistakable satisfaction.

Triona frowned. What did she mean by that?

“We’d better hurry,” Christina said.

“We’ll be at Uncle Dougal’s before you know it. There’s a full moon and the horses know the path.”

The voices grew fainter as the girls walked their horses through the copse. Triona, shivering from the cold, hugged her cloak closer. Should she follow them and demand to know what they were doing? She doubted that Dougal realized the girls were out of their beds. At least they’d had the sense not to bring Aggie.