Page 74 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“What’s wrong? This child will no’ be born, that’s what,” Vivienne said irritably.
Cailean glanced at her husband, Marcas, over the top of her dark head; Marcas shook his head in silent warning.
“Cailean!”
He turned from his sister’s discomfort to his mother, who stood above him, frowning down at him.
“Feasgar math, Màthair,”he said, coming to his feet.
“Yes, yes, good afternoon,” she said impatiently. “Why were you not here to send off Lady Chatwick?”
Gone?He hadn’t expected her to leave so soon. “She’s gone?”
“Yes, darling, she’s gone, all of them back to Auchenard.”
“But thefeillcontinues on today. I’d assumed they’d remain for it.” He’d assumed there would be opportunity to...to soothe ruffled feathers. Or perhaps...
His mother’s look of exasperation softened. “Well. Perhaps you might call on her when you return to Arrandale. You can explain that you were occupied when she left.”
“I donna know if that’s wise,” he said.
“Of course it is. Someone needs to have a look about. We don’t want the captain wandering about unattended, do we?”
“What lass occupied you?” Rabbie asked, playfully grabbing Cailean’s shoulders and leaning around him to waggle his brows at him. “Aileen Ramsey, aye? Everyone is talking about the kiss, lad.”
Cailean shrugged Rabbie off his back.
“Aye, all right. Where you’ve been, then?” Rabbie asked.
“What does it matter?” Cailean asked gruffly. Why did they have to question him at all? Wasn’t a man of his age and stature in this clan allowed a morning to himself? He did not need to explain to his overly curious family that he’d gone down to the meadow early this morning before people were milling about, and had thrown his dirk at a target, over and over and over again, trying to rid himself of the impotence in his heart. He could not be what she wanted; it was that simple.He could not be what she wanted.
After his dirk had chewed up the wood of the target, Cailean had drunk a tankard of ale. Or two. Or three or four.
“We’d no’ wonder at all if you didna answer in that manner,” Vivienne said. “Why will you no’ say?”
“I was in the games meadow,” he said. “I had a wee bit of ale, aye?”
His brother and sister laughed.
He’d needed the morning, had needed the space to think. Cailean was at sixes and sevens, bewildered and angry with himself for the way he’d left things with Daisy, for letting things progress so far with that barmy little flower.Diah,but his response to her had been quick—he had, for years, been quick to put up a defense against women, erecting a barrier so high that no one could possibly misconstrue his intentions. There was never affection, never any hope of it; he made certain of that. But Daisy was different. Daisy had managed to break through that barrier, and therewasaffection.
Deep affection.
And then he’d seen her crestfallen face and how his words had wounded her, and he’d abhorred himself for it.
Now he didn’t know what to do with himself. She was gone. He couldn’t explain to her that he was only now coming to grips with the idea that he actuallyfeltsomething, after fifteen long years. Or that no matter what he was feeling, there was naught he could do for it. She had Ellis to think of. The lad was an English viscount, and he needed to be brought up in England. Even in a perfect world, he could never have Daisy—he was a smuggler. A Highlander. A firstborn son of a clan that needed him here. Not to mention he would be six and thirty soon, and the laird of Balhaire in a matter of months. His time for love sonnets and courtships and the promise of a married life with children had passed long ago.
It wasn’t necessary to say these things to Daisy. She was brilliant and amusing and full of wants and desires. She knew what she wanted. And she knew what she had to do. In fairness, she hadn’t been asking for the obligation he now felt. She’d simply asked to see him again.
* * *
CAILEANRETURNEDTOArrandale the next day with three Highland guards and a gift he’d purchased for the Chatwick lad.
The guards took turns watching Arrandale and Auchenard from the hills for any sign of espionage from Spivey. But after a day or two, his men reported that Spivey seemed to do nothing but loiter there.
Cailean didn’t ask about anyone else.
After several days of watching, Cailean sent the guards back to Balhaire and proceeded to putter about the rambling house he’d built. The work was near to done; the head mason had assured him they’d be done at month’s end. One wing had been completed, and Cailean began to furnish the rooms with the things he’d stored this summer. When he wasn’t working on his house, he and Fabienne fished and hunted for small game. It was life as he knew it, as familiar to him as the stubble on his chin. But the days were growing shorter and the nights longer, and at night, where Cailean might have once read, he brooded.
