Page 33 of Hard-Hearted Highlander
Rabbie looked away from the smile to the MacLeod children again. “Why do they no’ play?” he asked, motioning with his head in their direction.
“I donna know,” Vivienne said thoughtfully. “It’s the lad, really—he’s a wee bit shy.”
“What’s to become of them, then?” Rabbie asked.
Vivienne did not look at him. She turned her attention to the green and said, “We are endeavoring to find a relative or a family friend who might take them in.”
She knew as well as Rabbie did that there was no relative to be found.
“The vicar said he recalls a Mr. Tawley, who was as close as a brother to Donald MacLeod. He has sent a man to deliver a message to him.”
“They’ll no’ remain here, at Balhaire?” Rabbie asked.
Vivienne smiled at him. “Silly lad. They need parents, aye? They need a hearth and someone to tuck them into bed at night.”
Of course they did.
“Aye, but it’s a bonny day, is it no’?” Vivienne asked, and brushed hair from his forehead. “We mean to walk down to the cove. You will join us—”
“No.”
Vivienne clucked her tongue at him. “Aye, you will. You canna have your lass here and no’ acknowledge her, Rabbie.”
“She is no’ my lass and I didna invite her.”
“No one did. She doesna need an invitation now, does she? Within a matter of days, she’ll be family.”
Rabbie winced at that blatant reminder. “I must marry her, Vivi, aye? But I’ll no’ be forced into entertaining her.”
“Oh, Rabbie, really—”
“Oh. Mr. Mackenzie! You’ve come!”
Rabbie groaned, closed his eyes a moment, then turned about to face his fiancée. She was approaching him cautiously, as if she expected him to lash out at her. Why was she so cautious? He hadn’t shouted at her—he hadn’t shown her anything but apathy thus far.
“I’m... I thought I wouldn’t see you.”
Rabbie could not determine if, by that remark, she meant she had rejoiced in the hope of not seeing him, or had hoped that she might.
“Feasgar math,”he said, and clasped his hands behind him and gave her a curt nod. “I wasna expecting you,” he said.
“Oh, ah...yes, I know,” she said. She looked to Rabbie as if she wanted desperately to wring her hands, but was struggling to keep from it. Her keeper was walking toward them now, laughing at something Catriona had said.
“I’m...happy you have come,” she said. She didn’t sound particularly happy. She sounded afraid. “I’ve brought you a gift!”
“A gift,” he repeated. Why in God’s name had she done that?
She withdrew a small package from her pocket and held it out to him.
“What is it?” he asked, making no move to take it.
Miss Holly had arrived at her side, no doubt, to direct this wee woman.
“Open it, and you’ll see.”
Rabbie had no desire to take a gift from her or even know what it was. But he could feel their eyes on him, could almost feel the expectation flowing from his brother and sisters, and made himself take it. He undid the bit of twine and unfolded the vellum. Inside was a lacy handkerchief, and he was suddenly and jarringly reminded of the time Seona had given him a gift, wrapped similarly. Her gift had been a brooch to pin to his plaid sash, a replica of a broadsword topped with the Highland thistle.
This was a lace handkerchief. A ladies’ handkerchief, he was certain, although he knew that of late, English men dripped in lace. He picked it up between finger and thumb and held it out for all to see.
