Chapter 15
Dinner that night was tasteless, and endless. Riona’s behavior garnered several approving glances from Mrs. Parker, who had finally recovered from her bout of illness, and more than one curious look from her mother and Maureen.
Yearning after James MacRae had rendered her silent. Her fingers itched to curve around his. Or to press themselves against his waistcoat. She wanted so desperately to touch him that it was almost a craving.
Every time she glanced up he was staring at her, so intensely that she shivered. She stared at her plate or her lap rather than return his look.
After dinner was done and the dishes washed and put away, Riona knocked on Susanna’s door and entered at her response.
Instead of being occupied with her needlework, her mother was simply sitting, hands folded on her lap, head resting on the back of the chair, a pose Riona had not often seen.
Her chair was turned toward the window, and Susanna was gazing at the night sky.
When Riona entered, she turned her head and smiled.
“What is it, Riona?” Susanna asked gently. “Are you feeling well?”
Riona nodded.
She went to sit on the footstool beside her mother’s chair. She wrapped her arms around her knees and sat staring out the window. Susanna smiled at her and contentedly resumed her study of the stars. For a few moments, they were simply content to be silent with each other.
“Do you ever miss Father?” Riona asked.
“Sometimes,” Susanna said to her surprise. “On misty nights especially. He used to tease me then, telling details of brownies and elves and strange creatures that dwelled in the fog. Every time I see an overcast morning I think of your father. And at night, too.”
She’d never thought that Susanna might be filled with a sense of grief or loss. Her mother had always seemed so capable, so confident. But she hadn’t always been that way, Riona realized. At one point in her life, she had been half of a couple, part of a whole.
“How did you do it?” she asked. “How did you learn to live without him?”
“I had no other choice,” Susanna said simply.
“I had you and Maureen, and the world doesn’t stop because I was stricken by grief.
I had rent to pay and food to buy and all those necessities that two growing girls required.
I simply had to put one foot in front of the other until it became natural to live without him. ”
Riona thought it had to be a great deal more difficult than that, but she only smiled in response.
“Polly tells me you’ve received another letter from Harold.”
Riona nodded. “He has purchased some furniture for our house,” she said.
More expenditures, and before they’d even wed.
The creditors of Edinburgh must be counting on their marriage even more than Harold.
As it was, it seemed to her that he was doing everything in his power to spend Great Aunt Mary’s legacy.
Susanna patted her hand, a way of commiserating without saying anything critical.
“I’ve invited the McDermotts to dinner,” her mother said.
“Why?” Riona asked, frowning.
“I am hoping to interest Mrs. Parker in another commission,” her mother said candidly. “The McDermott girls are of an age to be introduced to society.”
She wondered if her mother’s wish to help Mrs. Parker had anything to do with the fact that Susanna was also a widow, once responsible for making her own way in the world.
“Besides,” her mother continued, “the presence of Gorman McDermott will be a welcome change for James. All this female company must be tedious for him.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
Susanna nodded. “I do. At first because of Fergus, but now because I’ve become acquainted with him. And you, Riona? Do you like him?”
“He’s very charming,” she said cautiously. Devastatingly so. Nor could she forget their kiss. How could she?
“If things were different, I wouldn’t mind having him as a son-in-law.”
But things weren’t different, weren’t they?
For a long moment, they continued to gaze at each other. Finally, Riona stood, bending forward to kiss her mother on the forehead. She hadn’t said the words, but they were there between them, nonetheless.
Is there no way I can escape this marriage?
She knew the answer as well as Susanna.
Harold glanced up, frowning, as his brother entered the room. The sun had been up for nearly two hours, and Peter had not yet been to bed. Morning, in his brother’s world, was when he returned from his debauchery, not a time to rise to greet the world.
Ordinarily, Harold would have joined him, but he was being prudent so close to his nuptials.
“You should be a little more careful about the way you spend money, Peter. My fortunes have not been reversed as yet. Why don’t you wait until after I’ve wed to be the profligate?”
He loved his brother, as well as his three sisters. They were, after all, the reason he’d come to Edinburgh and trolled through the recent crop of heiresses. Right at the moment, however, he would gladly toss Peter and all his siblings out the window.
They were spending entirely too much money. He’d just received a letter from his eldest sister demanding a new roof for their house. And new clothing for their youngest sister. She was always whining about the lack of funds.
“Perhaps you should consider a military career, after all.”
“Have you the wherewithal to purchase a commission?” Peter asked, brows arching.
“No, but I hear they need cannon fodder in fighting the rebels in America.”
Peter laughed, the sound grating on Harold’s nerves. “I doubt it’s come to that, brother. I’d find an heiress on my own, but my reputation has preceded me,” he said easily, falling into the chair beside the desk.
Harold frowned at him.
“Don’t worry, isn’t your little brown wren worth a fortune?”
“The way you and our siblings are spending money, soon that won’t be enough.”
“Isn’t there property in her family? That charming, pastoral prison where you stayed for a week? Surely that has to be worth something.”
“Only when her mother dies, and she looks to be in grand health.”
“Yes, but the hint of property is enough to allow you some additional credit. Things are not as dire as you think, dear brother.”
“I’ve already spent as much as I can on promises, Peter.” He pushed aside his papers and stood. “Pretend to be a little less vulgar in your tastes, will you, brother, at least until I get the chit to the altar.”
Rory reached Ayleshire when dusk was approaching, that time of day between light and dark that always seemed eerie and mysterious to him.
At sea, the sun bid farewell over the horizon, streaks of orange and pink and blue warning of night’s approach.
On land, the end of day was a quieter thing, but longer.
He’d much prefer being at sea, but since the MacRaes had decided to toss their lot in with farmers, he had no other choice but to join them. He didn’t think that he could sail with another captain or trust another man as he trusted the MacRae brothers.
James would be surprised at the news he brought.
A baby had been born to Iseabal. A sweet little thing with her father’s eyes and her mother’s firm chin.
He’d returned in time to witness the wedding at Fernleigh, too.
Fergus looked as proud as any young man, for all that he was grizzled and gray.
Leah Drummond, now MacRae, presided at his side, as happy as any woman he’d ever seen.
For years, he’d sailed with a first mate who’d seen omens around every corner.
Daniel had chosen to return to Nova Scotia, but there were times Rory could swear, as now, that he heard the older man’s voice intoning one of his many superstitions.
“They come in threes, my boy. Two sorrows and a joy, or two joys and a sorrow. Never three of the same.”
Rory gave a thought to Daniel now, wondering if he still found solace in his shipboard companion, a cat who was known to foretell calm seas or rough winds by the swish of its tail.
If it were true there was a sorrow to come, Rory hoped it was a small one. Despite their wealth and their lineage, the MacRaes had borne their share of hardship.
Recently, however, there was nothing but good news for the clan.
In his pack was a gift from Fergus and his new bride to Riona upon the occasion of her marriage. He also carried a letter from Alisdair to his brother, although he knew the contents of it well enough.
A goodly number of the Drummond clan had left Fernleigh, but they’d done so with no visible rancor.
The only man who might have carried on a feud was many miles away.
Thomas Drummond had been given over to the English, and had been impressed upon one of their ships.
One of His Majesty’s sailors, reluctant as he might be.
The attacker might be him or another Drummond, one of those who’d left for Inverness months earlier.
Alisdair, however, had taken the precaution of setting up a guard and watching for any strangers near Gilmuir. There would be no danger to the MacRaes as long as he was laird.
Rory smiled as he neared the village. Preparations for Lethson were well under way.
He should be brushing up on his footwork in order to ask Abigail for a dance.
A flush of anticipation surged through him.
While it was true Rory had been kept longer than he wanted at Gilmuir, he’d made up for the delay in the swiftness of his return.
A few of the villagers waved at him, and although he didn’t know any of them, Rory waved back, caught up in the general excitement. Laughter seemed to perfume the air along with the scent of blooms and greenery.
Ribbons had been affixed to various signposts to mark the path of a foot race. Perhaps he’d participate when the time came, especially if the prize was worthwhile.
But the greatest addition to the village was the series of rope corrals filled with horses, erected toward the east. A horse fair—perhaps he’d come and see that, too.