Chapter 6
This lass is madder than I have ever been.
Gordon stared down at the baby that had been thrust into his arms. He worried he might be crushing her, for her body was so impossibly small against the bulk of his chest. Fragile.
He wasn’t even sure he was holding her right.
He knew there was a certain way that babies were meant to be held, but this was his first time.
And there was no one around to teach him how.
“Iona?” he called in a harsh whisper.
The baby’s eyes flickered open. Not the sleepy stare of a little one that had just woken up from a nap, but a surprisingly hard stare. A searching stare that seemed to bore into him.
He’d had other lairds and his own people assess him with less intense scrutiny.
“Am I hurting ye?” he asked, and cursed himself. It wasn’t as if she could answer him.
Convinced that he was causing her harm, he hooked his hands under her armpits and held her away from his body. The baby dangled there like laundry drying on a line, not looking the least bit impressed by the indignity.
“I’m sorry, lassie,” he told her. “I daenae ken what I’m doin’. That aunt of yers isnae very responsible, leavin’ ye with me.”
The baby began to babble, and though it wasn’t possible, it almost sounded like she was telling him off.
“She only ran away like that because she didnae like the conversation,” he explained. “Yer aunt is really somethin’, is she nae?”
He scowled, and to his dismay, the baby began to pout, her lower lip quavering.
He might not have held a baby, but he knew what that meant: he had exactly ten seconds before Lizzy erupted into deafening screams. And, once again, there was no one around to help him.
Iona had either gone out of earshot, or she was ignoring him, and it would be a while before Agnes came back from her oh-so-important errand.
“Och, nay,” he urged, softening his voice and bringing Lizzy closer again. “Nay, lassie, daenae cry. Daenae cry. Did yer aunt nae tell ye that I daenae like tears?”
He remembered seeing Agnes bounce the baby gently. So, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he got up and emulated what he had seen. Carefully, he bounced Lizzy and swayed from side to side, as if he were dancing.
“Aye, that’s better,” he soothed, hoping he was past the point of danger. “Aye, there ye go. That’s nae so bad, is it?”
He adjusted his hold, feeling as if he were trying to shift an ignited bomb without it exploding.
Propping her up, her head settled against his shoulder, fitting perfectly in the groove of his collarbone.
But as he began to gently bounce her again, something set her off, a pitiful cry leaving her trembling mouth.
“What is it, lassie?” he asked, tilting his head at an uncomfortable angle to look down at her.
At the same moment, her cries grew louder… and he realized the problem. His coarse beard was scratching her face, and she obviously didn’t like the feeling.
“Och, sorry,” he said.
He tipped her carefully onto her back and cradled her in his arms, far away from the offense of his beard.
“There, there,” he murmured, rocking her. “Ye’re all right now. I willnae scratch ye again.”
Tucked up in his arms, Lizzy began to chew on her tiny fist with her toothless gums. Soon, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she settled back into a peaceful slumber against the warmth of his chest.
He had faced countless foes in battle, protected his clan from skirmishes and robbers, defended himself from assassins and traitors, yet nothing had ever scared him more than holding that tiny person in his arms. He was terrified that she might suddenly slip out of his grasp.
Carefully, he backed up to the nearest chair and sat down so slowly that he felt every muscle in his thighs contract and protest.
“Aye,” he whispered, “ye get yerself some rest, lassie. Save yer best cryin’ for when yer aunt gets back. Really let her have it, eh?”
He smiled and wondered if he was ever that small, that perfect, that innocent, with all of life ahead of him. A new sapling, not yet twisted and gnarled by the world, still blessed with the potential to grow however it pleased toward the sunshine.
“I truly am sorry about that, Miss Agnes,” Marcus said sheepishly, the ‘missing’ letter held safely in his hand. “I didnae see it.”
Agnes waved a dismissive hand. “There is no need for apology, Marcus. Anyone could have missed it.”
“Ye’re too kind, Miss Agnes.” Marcus bowed his head to reveal a shiny spot amidst his silvered hair. “I’ll be on me way to the village now. I promise ye, this letter willnae leave me hand for even a moment.”
Agnes smiled at him, seeing some of the grandfather she could just remember in the old man’s warm face. “I trust you, Marcus.”
“I willnae let ye down.” He turned and departed the castle, moving quickly across the courtyard to the main gates.
Watching until he was gone, Agnes puffed out a relieved breath.
She had no idea how the old man hadn’t seen the letter when it had been right there on the bronze tray, but she wasn’t going to make him feel bad about it.
Marcus and Iona were already doing so much to make her and Lizzy feel welcome; she could ignore a small mistake.
Even if it baffled her.
Is he possibly losing his sight? He isn’t a young man, after all.
She shrugged off her concern, for if Marcus could bound up and down stairs with all the agility of a hare, he could assuredly get her letter to the village without incident. Whether his vision was impaired or not, she trusted him to send her correspondence.
Approaching the stairs to make her ascent once more, Agnes looked up at the never-ending spiral and pulled a face. One thing was for certain: she would be a good deal healthier and stronger after staying here at Castle Buchlann.
I should have brought Lizzy with me, she scolded herself. It wasn’t fair of me to use her to avoid a conversation.
After all, she still didn’t know what had happened five years ago. If it turned out to be something awful, something that finally explained why Gordon and his clan were marked as dangerous, she would regret leaving her niece in his care.
The thought quickened her steps, despite the stiffness in her thighs and the ache in the arches of her feet and the strain on her lungs and the odd metallic taste in her throat.
Stumbling up the final steps, she came to a breathless halt in the hallway where she had left her niece with Gordon. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath, though nothing could temper the surprise of the scene before her.
Lizzy lay in the crook of Gordon’s arm, so tiny in comparison to the giant man that it was almost comical.
Gordon glanced up at Agnes and raised a finger to his lips.
An unexpected warmth spread across Agnes’s chest at the gesture, charmed by his concern for her niece.
Clearly, he was unaware that many babies, particularly Lizzy, had the capacity to sleep through just about anything.
Indeed, the quietest sound was more likely to wake Lizzy than a thousand horses charging past her.
“Thank you for watching over her,” Agnes said, approaching.
Gordon almost seemed to hesitate before he lifted the baby into Agnes' outstretched arms.
“It wasnae a bother,” he replied, standing.
“She didn’t fuss?”
He shook his head. “Nay, she’s a bonny lassie.”
“Good. I am glad.” Agnes smiled at him, but found no smile in return.
What would it take to bring some cheer to him? She wondered as she shifted Lizzy into a more comfortable position.
“Continue up those stairs if yer legs arenae about to buckle,” he said.
“Pardon?” she rasped, a faint flutter in her stomach.
He tilted his chin toward the staircase at the opposite end of the hallway.
“Yer rooms should be ready by now.” He paused, a flicker of something in those lupine eyes.
“But remember, I daenae want to see the lassie at dinner tonight. I’m nae changin’ me language to speak about the rules, nae for delicate ears. ”
With that, he walked away, disappearing down the stairwell that she had just struggled up.
Part of her wanted to follow, to ask him to tell her now and get it over with, but that would have meant another marathon descent that her legs weren’t in any condition to manage.
She would be lucky if she even made it up the stairs to wherever Iona was.