Chapter 23 #2
“I thank ye all for showing up today. Ye came when I called, and ye stayed for meat and wine.”
The room erupted in cheers, and the men lifted their tankards in the air.
“Today, me daughter placed the winner’s oak on me head and crowned me victor once more…
as expected. Tonight, I shall honor ye all with one more surprise.
” He looked down at Violet and stretched out his hand.
“Miss Violet Wilkinson, daughter of Sir Horace Wilkinson, has accepted me proposal and agreed to become me wife!”
The room exploded in cheers and applause, drowning out the rest of his speech, but he did not mind, for Violet threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.
Outside Keira’s chambers, the maid was met with Ruaridh’s solid chest. He reached out a hand and steadied the blankets that had blocked him from view, but he could not save the bronze pot that had clanked heavily onto the floor.
“Forgive me, me Laird.” She relinquished the blankets to him and forced him to wait while she chased the rolling pot.
“Is me daughter awake?”
She bundled the sheets underneath her arm, then threw the rest that forced his arms into a clothing line over her shoulder with a slow, casual speed. “Wide awake and brighter than a candle.”
“I suspected as much,” he muttered.
It’d been over an hour since the banquet ended, the banquet Keira had been forbidden from attending. She should have retired hours ago, immediately after supper, but if there was anything he knew about his daughter, it was that she was not very biddable.
Her door was ajar, so she should be aware of his presence. If he were lucky, she would have become a sweet angel who showed him enough courtesy to blow out her candles and feign sleep.
He rapped his knuckles against the door, remembering a time when he didn’t have to knock, then poked his head through the gap. The incorrigible girl was staring at him with wide eyes and a grin.
He sighed. “Shouldnae ye be asleep?”
She was perfectly tucked in, except for the creases that had formed, presumably from sitting.
“Ye seem to be more tired than me.”
She shook her head, but her mouth opened in a wide yawn that made him smile.
“Ye should have slept hours ago, little one,” he said with a smile.
“I didnae feel tired,” she insisted stubbornly.
He sank down heavily onto the mattress and stretched himself against the counterpane. He was absolutely tired.
She pulled her feet from beneath him and came to sit by his side. “What are ye doing here, Da?” she asked with a playful glare.
He flinched. He used to spend so many nights in her room that she would never have questioned his presence.
“I only wished to check up on ye.” Which he had failed to do in so long.
She scrambled down to stand in front of him, and he tilted his head to look at her. Then she grabbed both his arms and pulled. “Nae in these clothes. Nae on me bed. Ye stink.”
He felt indignant enough to roll around in her floral-scented sheets and spread his sweat and grime over them, but was not willing to take the risk and find out what the adolescent mind construed as revenge on a pesky father. He resigned himself to the couch in front of the fireplace.
“Are ye happy now?”
Her eyes narrowed in thought. She looked between him and the bed, seemingly assessing the situation. “The counterpane is easier to wash than upholstered furniture.”
He let out a loud groan. No matter what, he wouldn’t be moving.
He moved.
She decided the wooden stool hidden beneath her writing desk—which he suspected she used to support her dirty shoes—was the most agreeable with his state, so he went to stand by the window. She was satisfied either way and stretched out on her soft, plush bed. He felt mocked.
“Now ye have a good view of me room,” she giggled.
“And what purpose does this serve?” He crossed his arms. She was still his pesky little girl.
“Daenae ye suspect I might have snuck a boy into me chambers?”
He felt a chill run down his spine. He waved her off, not willing to accept it as a joke. “I am nae ready for that conversation.”
“It’s only a matter of time before—”
“When the time comes, ye shall discuss with yer great grandmaither…” She pouted. “Or Violet.”
He hadn’t intended to broach the topic with her in this manner.
“How do ye feel about Violet?” He came to the bed, and this time, she did not fight him.
“In what context?” She sat up.
“As me wife.”
Her smile tore through the awkwardness in the air. “Are ye asking me permission to marry her?”
It was something he should have thought to do weeks ago, before proposing to Violet.
He had realized when he lay on his bed that he had never considered his daughter’s feelings about the change taking place.
They never spoke much of her mother, and she never told him about how she felt about never knowing her.
He had failed in those aspects as a father, and he intended to rectify that.
If she didn’t want him marrying Violet, if she didn’t want him marrying another woman…
He didn’t know what he would do.
“Aye.”
“What’s important is how ye feel about her. Do ye like her?”
“I do.”
“Then ye should marry her. I am nae that much of a child to nae understand that ye’re a person before ye’re me faither. I like her meself, and I would want nothing more than to have her as me maither.”
He stared at his girl, whom he did not want to admit had grown up, and felt grateful.
She slapped him on the back. “Is that why ye seemed so terrified? Ye were worried for nothing.” Then she threw her arms around him and placed a kiss on his temple.
“Ye’re nae worried about me smell again?”
“I am done with punishing ye.”
“Punishing me? What were ye punishing me for?”
“Announcing yer engagement during me absence, of course.”
“But ye already kent about—How did ye ken I announced me engagement this evening?”
“Da, I think ye should go to bed. Ye’re very tired.” She removed her arms from around him and crawled beneath her covers.
“Keira, did ye sneak into the cèilidh?”
She let out a loud snore, which marked the end of their conversation.
He decided to concede. She might be able to escape him now, but she would not be so lucky during breakfast, especially when Grannie Ava was stricter than him.
He reached for the covers and made sure she was properly tucked in, then blew out the candle on the nightstand.
Leaning over her, he pecked her hair and whispered, “I love ye.”
With a small smile tugging at her lips, she whispered back, “I love ye too.”
Before leaving the room, he looked over his shoulder at her and asked, “Just to be sure, ye’re nae already having thoughts about boys, are ye?”
She responded with another loud snore.