Chapter 4 #2
“She is already fond of ye. I need her to be fond of me.” A whirring sound, like the grumbling of a large beast, came from the part of the cottage Calia had gone to.
“What the devil is that?” He bolted in that direction, charged through the door, and nearly knocked her to the floor.
He caught her just in time. “Lore a’mighty, lass.
Forgive me. I nay meant to plow ye over. ”
Still in his arms with her hands resting on his chest, she looked up at him, obviously alarmed. “Did something happen? Is Otto all right?”
“Otto is fine. Still on the couch. I heard that unholy noise.” He nodded at the strange, gleaming white box emitting the sound and placed himself between her and the oddity. “Is there a creature trapped inside it?”
Her worried look shifted to one of bewilderment. “I think it needs oiling or something. It’s a little noisier than my last one, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Gently pulling herself free of his hold, she eased back a few steps. “You must have a quieter model.”
“My things dry on the back of a chair beside the fire.”
“Well…that would be quieter.” She rubbed her arms where he’d caught hold of her. “How about we go back into the living room?”
He’d made a damn fool of himself. That was obvious. With a sweep of his hand, he motioned for her to lead the way. “Aye. The living room. Till the storm passes.”
“Would you like something to eat? It’s way past lunchtime.
In fact, it’s closer to dinner.” Instead of returning to the area with the couch and a pair of large chairs filled with pillows, she stepped around a stack of boxes and entered a space that reminded him of an apothecary or the clan healer’s herbal room.
The cluttered counters held all manner of shiny things he’d never seen before.
Shiny things that, sadly, he had no idea what they were called.
“Are you hungry?” She pulled open the door of a white box that was lit from within and pointed at containers sitting on a wire shelf inside it. “I’ve got roast beef, cheese, and roast turkey. Tomatoes, pickles, mayo, or mustard. Sorry, no ketchup. Would you like a sandwich?”
“What the devil is a sandwich?” Dubh asked.
“I dinna ken,” he muttered.
Calia paused in pulling containers out of the lit box and looked at him. “Pardon?”
“Whatever ye wish to prepare, lass.” Then he wondered if she needed him to start a fire in her stove—if there was a stove to be found. He had yet to see one. “How might I help ye?”
For the first time since she’d accepted his story that Mairwen had sent him to do chores, she gave him a genuine smile, causing him to shudder with the need to stop this ridiculous game of speaking of things that didn’t matter.
She pointed at a wall of shelves on the other side of the room.
“You can get a couple of plates, the bread, and chips…I mean…crisps. Isn’t that what you call chips over here? ”
He had no feckin’ idea, but decided to risk going along with it. “Aye.” Gathering the items that were his best guess at what she wanted, he brought them to her and placed them on the counter.
“Do you want mayo or mustard?” she asked.
“Mustard.” He knew that word. The other one was foreign.
Without looking up from the food she had piled into layers on the plate, she nodded.
“Mustard, it is.” She placed a handful of light-brown curls out of the bag with a picture of potatoes painted on it onto each of the plates.
“Excuse my hands. They’re clean. I promise.
I’m afraid I don’t have room for a dining room table.
Do you mind eating with your plate in your lap? ”
“Why would I mind?”
She gave a soft laugh. “You’d be surprised how picky some folks can be.” She returned to the tall box that was so bright inside, it had to have either a candle or a lantern burning within it. “Would you like another glass of sweet tea or a soda?”
Unsure what a soda was, he decided on the strangeness of her tea with the ice floating in it. It hadn’t tasted all that bad. “Another glass of tea would be fine, thank ye.”
She handed him both plates of food and nodded at the couch. “You carry these, and I’ll bring the drinks.”
As he set the plates on the low table in front of the sofa, she called out to him, “Watch Otto. Sometimes he steals food. He can’t seem to help himself.”
Mathison looked at the dog and emitted a low warning growl; he knew the beastie would understand.
Otto immediately sat back and claimed disinterest in whatever the plates held.
“Did you just growl at him?” Calia set their glasses of tea beside their plates.
“Aye, sometimes a growl sends a clearer message.”
“Hmm…I’ll have to try that sometime.”
She could growl at him any time she wished.
Mathison selected one of the thin curls that had come from the potato bag and sniffed it.
It smelled like a potato. After risking a taste, he decided it wasn’t all that bad.
Then he tried the sandwich creation after subtly observing how Calia ate hers.
That didn’t taste poorly either. “This is verra good. Thank ye again.”
Just as she started to speak, lightning flashed, and deafening thunder exploded again. “Dang it!” She stared at the rain sluicing down the glass doors, making it impossible to see out into the garden. “Does it storm like this often?”
“No, lass. This is rare.” He wasn’t about to share his suspicions about Mairwen using the storm to force them to spend more time together—closer together inside the cottage. “Did ye ever have storms like this where ye used to live?”
“Sometimes. During tornado season.”
He nodded as if he understood, even though he’d never heard of a tornado. “What caused ye to come to Scotland?”
She stared at him mid-bite of her sandwich as if startled by the question. “I needed a change of scenery.”
The curtain between them had returned. Even though Mairwen had refused to tell him any specific details about Calia’s past, she had admitted that the woman had suffered, and it was plain to see the shadows of that suffering in Calia’s lovely hazel eyes.
“Pain is difficult to escape,” he said softly.
The way she eyed him, watching him like an animal waiting for a predator to attack it, made him wish he could pull back the words.
But then she gave him a thoughtful nod while tracing a fingertip through the ring of moisture left on the table by her tea glass.
“Actually, pain can’t be escaped because it takes root inside you and never lets go.
It’s a stain that can never be erased or bleached away. ”
“Ye speak of the pain of death.” He recognized it as surely as he recognized his own suffering. “Grief never retracts its claws. We must simply learn to live with it.”
“I’m trying,” she said softly while frowning down at her plate. “But a parent should never outlive their child. It isn’t the natural cycle of life.”
“No. It is not.” He wanted to ask about her child, but wasn’t certain if he should. “Any time a child is ripped from its parents’ arms, it is a cruel and unbearable thing.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “You lost a child, too?”
“Not by death.” He wouldn’t pretend that what had happened to him had been as terrible as what she had obviously experienced.
“When my wife died while giving birth to my twin sons, her family, out of their hatred for me, stole them away. My sons think I am dead because I’ve only been able to watch them from afar. ”
“That’s terrible. Could a lawyer not get them back? You’re their father.”
“Where I am from…” He struggled to choose his words carefully. Mairwen had warned that Calia did not believe in magic. “It is complicated, lass. I have been trying to get them back for years.”
“I am so sorry.” She set aside her plate, then hugged a pillow to her middle. “Cancer robbed me of my baby,” she whispered, then swiped at a tear as it escaped down her cheek. “I only had a precious seven years with my little Gillian.”
“I am sorry for yer pain as well, lass.” He wanted to take her into his arms, but sensed their current connection was too fragile.
“I know it will bring ye no comfort, but where I am from, we believe when a child dies, they are still with us, guiding us along life’s path.
” Then he slowly shook his head. “But that is not the same as having them here and watching them grow and thrive.”
“No. It’s not.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“How long has it been?”
“Since?”
“Aye, since she left ye.”
She frowned as if struggling to remember.
“Two years now.” Then she huffed a soft laugh that held no humor.
“It still hurts as if it were yesterday. I can manage it as long as I stay busy. Settling everything after the divorce and then the move here kept me occupied.” She pulled in a breath and released it with a weary sigh.
“But now I’m wondering if the quiet peacefulness of this place might be a mistake. ”
Divorce. So the father of the child still lived, but he and Calia were no longer wed.
“Good. She is ours,” Dubh said.
Mathison agreed wholeheartedly. “Give Scotland a chance, lass. The Highlands have healed many a broken soul.”
She adopted a strained smile and wrinkled her nose in such an endearing way; he wished he could kiss it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your meal. I don’t usually whine about my life to complete strangers.”
“We are not strangers, lass.” He willed her to read the veiled truth of his words. “We are two lost souls meant to meet so that we might help each other heal.”
She stared at him for a long moment, narrowing her eyes as if sizing him up and deciding on his worth. “You are a nice man, Mathison Shadowmist.”
“And ye are a fine lady.” One that he needed more and more as each moment passed.
Lightning exploded, and thunder crashed. The cottage trembled with the force of the storm.
Otto jumped into Calia’s arms and buried his face in her lap.