Page 5 of A Bonny Pretender
Brigid snorted. A brood of children. “I canna see myself lumbering around with a big belly and scolding wee ones clinging to my skirts.” Yet, a vision of strawberry-blonde toddlers and a babe at her breast hovered at the edge of her mind and stuck.
Saints and sinners! Where did that come from?More surprising, the image didn’t make her stomach clench with anxiety.
“Ye’re a ship at sea, my girl, searching for the light on shore. And when ye find it, ye’ll steer straight for it. Compromise willna seem such a hardship, then.” Glynnis smiled. “With my sister as yer sponsor, I believe ye’ll learn a great deal from her and her circle.”
Aunt Maeve had fallen in love with an English earl, married, and moved away years ago. The two families had started MacNaughton Textiles together, the earl providing funds and her grandfather supplying experience and workers. The earl had died the previous year, and her cousin, Gideon, now held the title. The mill in Glasgow had become one of the main sources of income for the entire clan and the nearby village of Dunderave.
“Lissie will be there.” Brigid thought of seeing her brother’s widow again and brightened. “I’ve missed her, though I understand her need to leave. It would be hard to lose yer husband and be surrounded by his family. We’re a constant memory.”
She also looked forward to seeing her cousin and aunt again but dreaded the events she’d have to attend. And the dresses she must wear. And the washing and pulling of her hair. And the countless tedious conversations with strangers. A moan escaped her lips.
“I dinna see my grandmother bowing to her husband. And he’s the clan chief.”
“Ha! Ye’re right, she was never weak, but her behavior was a wee different when they first met. Yer grandfather was a good mon, but arrogant. She eased her outspoken ways into the marriage.”
Brigid tried to imagine her grandmother, docile and playing up to the MacNaughton’s ego. She shivered. It must have been a horrible ordeal. Her mother couldn’t possibly want her to do that. “So, I need to be an imposter to snare a husband I dinna want.”
Glynnis blew out a long breath. “It takes more than determination to control the direction of yer future. A quarrelsome woman will only make her life harder. She needs to be clever, learn how to influence her husband subtly. For the men believe they rule this world, Brigid. Never doubt it.” She gently pushed her daughter back and rose from the rocking chair, stretching her arms above her head as she arched her back and stifled a yawn. “But also never doubt that behind every confident mon is an astute woman whispering in his ear.”
“Ye want me to whisper?” Brigid giggled, then wrapped her arms around her middle as the laughter took over. Brownie lifted her head from the carpet and gave a howl. “I never mastered that as a child.”
“Just wait,” said her mother, a smirk curving her lips. “Ye’ll surprise yerself at what ye’re capable of for the right mon.”
*
Early February 1820
“I can carryit, Miss Brigid,” the lad said, pulling the trunk from her grip. He grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “I’ll be six this summer, and Da says I’m almost as strong as he is.”
“Be careful, now. These old castle steps are narrow and slick.”
A long, mournful howl echoed up the stone staircase. Brigid blinked. If only she could bring the deerhound along. It would be a comfort for both of them. She followed the bobbing copper head down the curving stairs, pressing her lips together to hold back the laughter.
Liam took one step and pulled on the trunk.Thunk!Another step.Thunk!By the time they neared the main floor, the entire family was waiting for them. Brodie and Kirsty, her red hair unbound and gleaming, stood next to Glynnis. Her grandda towered over the group, one arm around his wife’s shoulders. Brigid had been his shadow, following him around as a child whenever her brothers had tired of watching over her. Now his black hair was speckled with gray, his handsome face creased with age.
“She’ll be a spinster by the time they get to the coach,” Brodie whisper-yelled.
Kirsty gave him a sharp elbow.
Young Liam glowered at Brodie. He tried to lift the trunk and carry it down the last few steps. His foot slid off the worn stone, and he and the trunk tumbled to the floor, the old chest breaking his fall.
“See what ye’ve done,” Kirsty hissed at her husband.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” the boy called as Brownie licked his face, which promptly triggered a round of screeching and giggling.
“She’s trying to wash those freckles off yer nose,” teased Brigid.
Liam scrambled off the luggage, moved a few body parts, and found everything intact. “Och, no. Da says freckles are kisses from the angels, and these come from my own ma. They’re as permanent as the sun and the moon, he says.”
The boy’s mother had died when he was only a bairn. His father, the older Liam, had returned to the Highlands after a failed attempt at crofting. His family had been one of many cleared from their homes when the English landlords turned their lands into grazing pastures. He’d hated the Lowlands and wanted to raise his son as he’d grown up. The MacNaughton women took pity on the poor, lone males and mothered them both. Brigid and Kirsty provided staples that the women of a household normally prepared, such as butter, bread, and cheese. Glynnis, happy to have a child to take care of again, had become a surrogate mother to the boy.
“No truer words said,” her grandmother agreed, taking the lad’s hand. “Such a wonderful parting gift from a mother to a son.”
Brigid cursed the hot tears that threatened. She would miss the youngster. Who would give her those sloppy, sweet, oh-so-tight hugs every day? She blinked and memorized every detail of the entry hall, then stopped at the receiving room. This was the oldest part of the castle, and she loved every timber and stone. Her grandmother had maintained the original structure, adding modern touches. The floor was no longer covered with rushes but fine wool carpets. Tapestries and banners from clans past and present hung on the granite walls.
“Ye willna be gone forever,” her grandmother said in her ear. “Do ye have yer dried thistle and heather with ye?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. They were pressed in the bible and stored safely in her trunk. The scent would remind her of home.
