Page 85 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“Wrong?”
His father’s ice-blue eyes narrowed, and he clucked his tongue. “I’m your father, am I no’? You look as if you lost your pup.”
All his life, his father had seen past the facade Cailean presented to the world. He had never been able to hide when he was troubled. He sighed, walked to the settee and sat heavily, bracing his arms on his legs as he leaned forward. “It’s far worse than losing a pup, aye?”
His father looked confused for a moment, but then he nodded and shook his head. “The Englishwoman, is it?”
Cailean’s eyes widened with surprise. “How do you know this?”
“Och,I donna know it at all,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “Your mother is the one who noticed. As has Rabbie.”
It was even worse, then, if his family had determined what ailed him.
“Donna look at me like that, lad—you’re no’ the first one of us to be afflicted by a woman, are you, then? She’s gone, is she?”
“Aye.”
“It’s good that she is. She’d no’ be safe at Auchenard.”
“No,” Cailean agreed morosely.
His father said nothing for a long moment. Then, “You love her.”
It was not a question. Cailean shrugged. “I do,” he admitted.
“Well, well,” his father mused. “Then there is naugh’ to be done for it, is there? You’ll go and get her.” He shrugged, as if directing his son to go to the hall and fetch some ale.
Cailean laughed ruefully. “She’s in London.”
His father lifted his hands. “Your uncle has a town house there.”
Cailean gaped at his father. “Have you forgotten that I am a free trader, then? That I was on the ship when the English seaman was shot by one of our muskets? Or have you forgotten that my grandfather was a known traitor? I’d no’ be welcome there,” he scoffed.
“Have you forgotten that it was your uncle who exposed your grandfather? They canna prove you are a free trader, lad. You’d be as welcome as any Scot. No’ warmly, mind you. But you might move freely.”
Cailean shook his head. It wasn’t that simple.
“Go. Dress like them, speak like them. Your uncle Knox will help, aye? He’s excellent connections.”
“And what, then, knock on her door and...?”
“And offer for her hand,” his father said, as if Cailean was thick.
Again Cailean shook his head. “She’s no doubt married now, aye?”
“And if she is, she’ll say no, and you’ll ride like the wind away from there. But if she’s no’ yet married?”
Cailean grimaced. He rubbed his face with his hands. “She may yet say no.”
His father smiled sympathetically. He reached across the space between them and put his hand to Cailean’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You’ve been wounded before, you have. And if you are wounded again, it willna hurt any less. No, lad, it will hurt like hell. You will prefer the pain of a musket ball to that.”
Cailean chuckled ruefully. “Do you mean to encourage me, then?”
His father grinned. “A man canna go through life without pain, aye? If she says no, you may console yourself with the knowledge that you were bloody well right, that women are more treacherous than the English, and you may never want for them again. You can live a life of misery and fall into drink and forsake your family.” His grin broadened as he leaned forward. “But at least you will know, will you no’? Better to die a bitter man than an ignorant one.”
“What of Arrandale? What of Balhaire?” he asked, gesturing to his father’s leg. “I’m to assume your responsibilities.”
“I’m no’ dead quite as yet. I can manage well enough a few months more. And I have Rabbie. Cat, too.”
