Sleepless In Scotland Part 24

Suddenly leaving was the last thing he wished to do, and he wondered if he should let Ferguson take one of the stable hands to find the missing mare. But no-if something was wrong with her, no one knew better than he how to tend to an ill horse. "I will return soon." His voice had a harsh edge, l.u.s.t tightening his c.o.c.k until he couldn't think.

"Take your time," she sniffed. "I am sure we will all thrive without you."

"Caitriona, you must understand-"

"No," she said, grabbing the robe about her and standing. "You must understand. I am a part of this household, whether you like it or not. You made that happen when you married me. You can't expect me to meekly agree to everything you say. I have opinions, and some of them are better than yours."

He scowled. "I've never expected you to meekly do anything."

"Yes, you have. Every time you speak, it's an order. You never ask anything. And I, trying to be polite, have allowed you to do so far too often. But no more. I am not one of your children to be cowed by your pompous manner."

Hugh clenched his fists, and outside, the low moan of a cold wind rattled against the windows. "I have explained my position to you."

"And I've explained mine. This isn't about the girls. It's about you. You don't allow anyone close to you, do you, MacLean? Not me. Only the children, really." She said quietly, "I'm glad they haven't been as lonely as I've been."

He'd opened his house to her, introduced her to his children, and welcomed her into his bed. How dare she blame him if she felt lonely? "This conversation is getting us nowhere. We'll talk when we're not so upset."

She threw her chin up. "No, we'll talk about it now. You, Hugh MacLean, are the biggest coward I've ever met."

Hugh stiffened. "I am not a coward."

"You are when it comes to being a proper husband."

The words settled in the room between them like a wall. He couldn't believe she'd said such a thing and looking at her wide eyes, he realized she'd shocked herself, too.

His jaw tightened until it ached. "You don't mean that," he said firmly.

She lifted her chin and regarded him as if she were a queen holding court instead of a bath-soaked la.s.s wrapped in a robe three times her size. "I do mean it. A proper husband would welcome his mate as an equal in all ways and not just the bedchamber."

"If this is about the girls, we've had this discussion before and you agreed with me!" In the distance, a low rumble of thunder echoed, punctuating his thought.

"We were wrong. I should never have agreed to stay away from the girls. They know I'm going to leave so they would be neither surprised nor upset."

"They would be if they'd come to care for you!" Like I have. The thought caught him, froze him in place, shocking him more than her words had. Through a fog he dimly heard her continue.

"Hugh, people come and go in our lives, but that doesn't mean they don't love us. The children need to know this, to understand that just because someone can't be with them, doesn't mean they aren't cared for."

Hugh clenched his hands at his sides, his blood simmering, his heart aching. He was filled with such a myriad of emotions he didn't know which to address first-uncertainty at his own reaction to the thought of her absence, irritation that he had to leave soon and couldn't truly do this argument justice, or pure fury that she dared question his decisions for his own daughters. His jaw tightened and the rumble of thunder grew closer still.

She cast a glance at the window, then returned her gaze to him, her brows lowering. "Don't threaten me with your storms. You're the one who has to travel in this mess, not me."

"I'm well aware of that fact," he snapped. "I would appreciate it if you didn't say such asinine things as force me to lose my temper!"

Her eyes sparkling with ire, her plump lips pressed in a straight line. "If what I said makes you lose your temper, then that's an excellent sign that it's the truth and you know it."

Fury roared through him, but she continued. "You are miserly with your emotions, and a coward with your love. You spend all of your life afraid of this and that. It's not enough, MacLean. The girls and I deserve more."

Hugh's vision went red. The fire flickered wildly, smoke puffing into the room. The windows creaked and groaned as cold suddenly flooded the room like an invisible layer of ice.

Caitriona kept her gaze locked on his, her face pale, a s.h.i.+ver racking her as she marched to him to stand toe to toe. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Don't ever question my love for my children. Ever."

Her chin came up and she said through teeth that were beginning to chatter, "You may l-love them, but that doesn't mean you're sharing yourself with th-them. Those are d-d-different things."

"They have everything they need."

Her gaze didn't waver, and he clenched his teeth. His gaze dropped to her hand where it clutched the robe. He concentrated on her hand, picturing a wind blowing the robe away. Slowly, the bottom of the robe rippled. Then the low breeze grew and tugged at it harder. Overhead, thunder rumbled, rain slapping the roof.

The pain in Hugh's head increased, and with a flick of his fingers, he let the wind go. It roared through the house.

Triona's heart pounded as the vicious wind buffeted her, threatening to knock her off her feet. She flexed her knees and held tightly to the robe, coldness numbing her skin.

Hugh's lips thinned; white lines appeared at the sides of his mouth; his hair whipped around his face. A sudden surge cracked through the room as the icy wind ripped the robe from her grasp and sucked the air from her lungs. She gasped for breath, hugging herself in the frigid swirl, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

A thick mist flowed across the floor and the air grew damp and icy. The wood beneath her bare feet grew freezing cold as the wind sent a delicate vase cras.h.i.+ng to the floor. A row of books on a shelf flew off as if a hand had shoved them. One of the chairs by the fireplace flipped over and the settee blew to a crazed angle.

Triona hugged herself, dropping her head against the wind. It battered against her, pus.h.i.+ng her back, back. She stumbled and fell onto the bed.

All over the house, vases could be heard breaking, chairs toppling over. Outside, lightning cracked as thunder roared. Someone gave a m.u.f.fled shout, and then- Just as suddenly as it began, it ended. All that could be heard was the steady beat of rain on the roof.

Hugh's eyes glowed an odd green and his lips were almost white. Strain showed in every line of his face.

"I-I h-h-hope you're h-h-happy n-now," she said through chattering teeth, furious and freezing. The robe had blown around one of the bedposts and she scrambled over the sheets to retrieve it. She pulled it on, glaring at him.

Hugh rubbed his furrowed forehead, deep lines tracing from his nose to his mouth. "Caitriona...I don't know why I did that. I-I've never done that before and I-" He pa.s.sed a shaking hand over his face, his expression stricken.

"Go."

He took a step toward her, but she quickly moved away.

Something flickered deep in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer, unable to put all of her feelings of hurt, disappointment, anger, and fear into words. She felt everything and yet nothing but her chilled soul, as if all of those emotions weren't enough to warm her.

"Caitriona, I-"

She shook her head and sank down on the bed, clutching the pillows to her.

Finally, with a pained expression, he left.

Caitriona listened to his footsteps receding, waiting until she could hear no more. Then she buried her face in a pillow and cried.

Hugh stopped at the bottom of the steps, opening and closing his hands. What in the h.e.l.l had he done? He never lost his temper. Not since his youth, when his younger brother had been killed, had he allowed his temper to get the better of him. This time, he hadn't just lost his temper, but he'd directed the wind, and he had nothing but a sickening headache and a painfully hollow feeling in his chest to show for his efforts.

He looked around the foyer at the fallen portraits and the ripped curtains. A large vase had shattered in one corner. Worse, Angus and Liam were staring at him, uncertainty in their faces. Their uniforms were askew, disarrayed by the storm he'd unleashed in the house.

Regret choked him. "Liam, fetch the girls and their luggage. They will be staying at my brother's for a few days."

"Right away, m'lord." Liam took the stairs two at a time, obviously glad to leave.

Angus stood rigidly at attention.

"I will need the coach brought around."

"Aye, m'lord." He sprinted off as if he couldn't wait to get away.

Hugh felt queasy, his head pounding as if he'd spun in a circle too many times. He would feel like this for several days, more if he didn't rest.

He hadn't meant to get angry. It had just infuriated him when Caitriona accused him of not being capable of sharing himself with his daughters. He loved Christina and Devon and Aggie with a love that had no bounds. How dare Caitriona question him!

But she did. She dared question him, just as she dared to give the girls a taste of their own pranks. Exhausted, he looked up the stairs and wondered what she was doing now. She'd appeared stricken. Should he go to her? Talk to her?

Why? You don't even know how you feel. He shook his head and walked to the door to wait outside for the children.

He needed some time and s.p.a.ce to untangle the welter of l.u.s.t and emotions Caitriona caused. A lot of time, and a lot of s.p.a.ce.

Thank G.o.d he knew where to find both.

Chapter 16.

"'Tis a sad day when ye ha' t' pinch yerself t' see if ye're awake or in th' midst o' a night terror. 'Tis a really sad day when ye have t' pinch yerself twice."

OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER'S NIGHT Mrs. Wallis bent down and squinted into the gloom. "I'm not sure which one 'tis, but..." She frowned. "Maybe 'tis no' here, after all. But I remember it bein' here, so..." She squinted again.

Triona, standing behind Mrs. Wallis, waited patiently. Outside a cold wind blew, a remnant of Hugh's fury, occasionally rattling the windows and leaking in around the sills.

Her stomach tightened at the memory of their argument two days ago. She hadn't slept well since. If she was honest, part of the reason was that she was so used to having MacLean's warm body in the bed, which seemed colder and even huger without him.

Mrs. Wallis straightened, her head barely missing the rafter overhead.

"Careful!" Triona warned, holding the lantern higher.

"Aye, the beams are low."

"And solid." Triona looked around. "Even this part of the house is exceptionally well built. The attic at Wythburn is the size of a closet and leaks dreadfully."

"Aye, the master has done wonders. When the journeymen finished wi' the house, he sent them to the laird to work on the castle. They've done amazin' things there as well."

Triona had seen the castle plenty of times. Huge and imposing, it was perched on a ridge across the valley from Mam's large house. As a young child visiting her grandmother, Triona had imagined the two edifices-the ancient castle of the cursed MacLeans and the new manor house where Mam always kept cookies for her wee granddaughters-were keeping watch over the sleepy town nestled by the river below.

"Hold tha' lamp over here. I'm thinkin' the trunk we need might be in this corner after all."

Triona did as she was told and was rewarded with a glad cry from Mrs. Wallis. "Aye! There 'tis! I'll send Liam to fetch it." She smiled at Triona. "'Tis a sweet thing ye be doin', makin' the la.s.sies new wool petticoats fer their ridin' habits. His lords.h.i.+p doesna think o' the cold, and he has those poor bairns ridin' in the worst weather. 'Tis a wonder they have no' died o' the ague!"

Triona had some thoughts on his lords.h.i.+p, too, but none of them were fit for public airing.

Mrs. Wallis took the lantern and headed back downstairs. As Triona followed, she groaned. "I'm so sore from riding. Does it ever get better?"

Mrs. Wallis chuckled. "Look how long ye rode this mornin', and withou' Ferguson, too! I was a bit worried fer ye, since ye were gone fer two whole hours."

"I'm regretting every minute of it now."

Mrs. Wallis sent her a beaming smile. "Well, I think 'tis a good thing ye're doin'. His lords.h.i.+p will be so pleased. Horses are his life-he lives and breathes them." Mrs. Wallis tsked. "Worse, he's raisin' those three young wild things to do the same. He takes 'em riding every day, rain or s.h.i.+ne."

Because he loves them. Since Hugh had left, Triona had relived their argument over and over. Everytime she came to the part where she had accused him of not being able to care, she winced.

That was grossly false, for he dearly loved his girls. She'd spoken in hurt and anger, and her words had achieved their purpose-she'd made him just as upset and angry at her as she'd been at him.

Triona's throat tightened, and she had to clear it before she asked, "Why do you call the girls *wild things'?"

"Spoiled, they are. If they were my la.s.sies, I'd give 'em a good switchin'. His lords.h.i.+p doesna see the trouble they cause. Good as gold they are, when he's in the house, but let him be gone ten minutes..." She scowled. "Just last week, one o' them put salt in the sugar bowl but I discovered it before 'twas set on the table!"

Triona smiled. "My brothers have done much worse than that. William especially can be counted on to think of new ways to get into trouble." The thought made her momentarily homesick. What were her brothers and sisters doing right now?

Her feelings must have been evident, for Mrs. Wallis's expression softened. "Aye, children will be children."

"Except William is twenty years old and should know better." She would write her brothers and sisters another letter today. She was due one from them, too. Caitlyn was a horrible scribe, as were William and Robert. But Michael and Mary could be counted on to send her long, detailed accounts of all that went on at Wythburn.

She could picture them now, sitting about the small fireplace. Mary would be knitting or embroidering, for she never sat without keeping her hands busy. Robert would be reading some tome he thought might endear him to Father, while sneering at Caitlyn, who read nothing but the ladies' magazines and fas.h.i.+on plates. William would be lounging against the mantel talking about horses or hunting or whatever new hobby he was pursuing, while Michael, if still feeling poorly, would be on the old red settee bundled against the cold.

She even missed Robert's complaining! But with Gilmerton so empty, the halls seemed to echo. And the fact she and Hugh had parted on such difficult terms made things worse.

"Will ye be visitin' yer grandmother, m' lady? Liam will be goin' to town on some errands fer Cook today and won't be about to drive ye, since Ferguson is gone."

"No, she always visits town on Wednesdays, so I'll go tomorrow."

"Very good, m' lady. 'Tis nice tha' ye visit yer grandmother."

"She's been a great help to me. She might know what to do about these sore muscles, too."

Triona followed Mrs. Wallis down the grand staircase to the foyer. Liam and Angus were polis.h.i.+ng silver in the dining room, close enough to the front door to hear if someone knocked.

"'Tis a boon yer grandmother knows her herbs," the housekeeper said.

"She's been a healer for most of her life. She also runs the mills my grandfather left her."

"Och!" Mrs. Wallis's eyes grew round. "No' the Hurst mills?"

"Yes."