Fen had just finished her morning coffee and had sent her tiny patients back to their mother when there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find Evan standing on her doorstep. Studying him briefly, she realized that he had begun to grow up. His scraggly hair had been cut and combed, his face was scrubbed clean, and he was really quite handsome. He showed great potential, she thought.
“Yes, Evan?”
The lad shifted nervously from foot to foot, his hat in his hand. “The mistress asked that I fetch you because Mister Geddes is ill.”
A surprising tenseness grew low in her stomach, as if she’d eaten something not quite ripe. Evan waited outside with the carriage while she collected what she would need to take with her. “Leave it to that man to provide me with a bellyache.”
As they rode up the drive to the castle, Fen saw the girl, Kerry, sitting on the steps, eyeing them with skepticism.
As Fen stepped from the carriage, a brisk wind picked up her cape and swirled it around behind her.
The girl looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Are you a witch?”
Fen studied her. She was, indeed, ravishing. Fen gave her a wry smile. “Some might think so. But today I’m here to check on Mr. Gordon. I hear he’s ill.” She noticed that the girl moved her gaze to Evan, settling on him with interest.
“So, who are you, anyway?”
“I’m a friend of Rosalyn’s. You know—your brother’s wife.”
“I know who she is,” the girl replied, sounding disinterested and annoyed.
“She’s been very excited about your arrival.”
“What could she possibly want me here for?” The girl absently gnawed at a fingernail.
Fen raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ll have to ask her that, but I know she’s delighted that the three of you are here.”
The girl harrumphed, rose from the steps, and sauntered toward the stables.
Hmmm, thought Fen. That went well, didn’t it? Kerry was going to need some special handling. Not the kind with kid gloves, but perhaps the kind with a firmer hand.
She was about to lift the huge metal door knocker when the door opened and the old valet stood looking at her. “Yes?”
“Hello, Barnaby. I’m here to see Mr. Gordon. I hear he’s unwell.”
The old man gave her a gallant, if somewhat unsteady, bow, turned, and said, “This way.”
She followed him up the stairs as he broke wind all the way, sounding every bit like a poorly tuned piccolo.
She rapped lightly on the door she was shown to and heard a raspy voice telling her to enter.
Stepping inside, she stopped herself from gasping out loud, for Geddes lay on his bed, propped up with pillows, looking as gray as death.
He gave her a lazy, glassy-eyed glance. “What are you doing here?”
She strode to his bedside and put her basket of goodies on the table beside him. “What do you think? I’ve brought you a picnic and we’re going to spend the day at the loch.”
He coughed and drew in a heavy breath. “I dare say you’ll probably poison me.”
Smiling gaily, she said, “Don’t tempt me. Now unbutton your shirt.”
“Why?” he groused.
She reached into her basket and pulled out a poultice. “Because I’m going to put this on your chest.”
He coughed again and made a face. “It smells like something died.”
“It does not. It smells like mint. Now open your shirt or I’ll have to do it for you.”
He sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing, to Fen’s surprise and delight, a chest full of tawny hair so thick she was tempted to sink her fingers into it.
Deftly, so as not to linger too obviously, she pressed the poultice over his chest and covered it with a length of flannel and then buttoned his shirt over it to keep it in place.
She then reached into the basket and drew out a flask. “Now I have some tea for you to drink.”
“Tea!” He nearly spat out the word. “Some nurse you are. Why do women think tea cures everything?”
She raised her eyebrows and poured him a cupful. “Just taste it.”
He did, under duress, and drew back, surprised. “There’s whisky in it.”
“Of course. I think you need a good shot of it every few hours, but don’t overdo it or you’ll simply have a hangover.”
He took another sip and then another as he studied her. “How long have you been a widow?”
“Longer than I was married,” she answered.
“Who was your husband?”
Fen straightened the remainder of the items in her basket as she spoke. “Ewan Begley was an army man. He fell in the Caspian.”
“I’m sorry,” Geddes said. “Were you very much in love?”
Fen thought the whisky was loosening his tongue, but didn’t remark on it. In fact, she rather liked this softer side of him. “I was. I never do anything casually, Mr. Gordon. I didn’t enter matrimony casually either. I had thought I could do quite nicely without a man in my life until I met him. It will sound clichéd, but the moment I laid eyes on him I knew I would marry him.”
“It must be wonderful to be that certain of someone else.” His voice was slurred; the whisky had mellowed him greatly. “Do you still miss him?”
Fen paused, running her fingers over the piece of lamb’s wool she often used for padding a broken limb. “Interesting question. We were together for less than three years and in that time, we never lived together in the conventional way. He was always at war, and I was always patching up the wounded. But yes,” she said, “I do miss him. Not like I did at first, but there’s a level of emptiness that never seems to completely disappear.”
Geddes drained his cup and handed it to her, gesturing for more.
Fen shook her head. “No refills for you, not yet. I’ll see that Rosalyn gives you another cup before bedtime. Until then, I suggest you sleep.”
He smiled and it was the first time she had ever seen him totally unguarded. And he was beautiful.
• • •
Rosalyn met Fen on the stairs. “How is he?”
“He’ll live. It’s probably just some kind of croup. He has no fever this morning, but that doesn’t mean it won’t crop up again tonight.” She dug into her basket and drew out the flask.
“Give him a cup of this before bedtime, but not before. It will help him sleep.”
Rosalyn uncapped it and sniffed. “Whiskey?”
“Partly. That’s why he shouldn’t have any more until he’s ready to retire, else he’ll just suffer the rest of the day.”
Rosalyn slipped the flask into her apron pocket.
Adolescent laughter erupted from downstairs.
Fen took Rosalyn’s arm as they descended. “They seem to be making themselves at home.”
“The lads, aye. They are strapping and handsome and full of life.”
Nodding, Fen answered, “I met Kerry on the steps as I rode up.” She raised her brows and shook her head. “You’re right; she’s a beauty, but you’ve got your hands full with that one.”
“I know. But I think she’s merely protecting herself. You know how children can be, better to act tough than to show your vulnerabilities.”
“I hope you’re right and that’s all it is.”
“As do I,” Rosalyn responded. They arrived in the foyer. “I’ll have Evan take you home.”
Fen shook her head. “No need. The walk will do me good.”
As she started down the road she turned back and briefly glanced up toward Geddes’s room. Her heart gave a little bump when she saw him standing there, watching her leave.
• • •
Rosalyn worked through the wave of nausea, the second one of the day. If she weren’t absolutely certain of it before, she knew for sure now: she was pregnant. But it would still be her secret. And Fen’s. Her husband had enough on his plate; he didn’t need to worry about her.
She went to Geddes’s room and found him resting in a comfortable chair by the window. He glanced up. “Good morning.”
She responded with the same, and went to sit on the hassock in front of him. Recalling her discussion with Miss Blessing, she said, “Tell me what the conditions were in which the children were found.”
“Conditions? Well, indeed their grandfather had died.”
“And they were left alone, to fend for themselves?” If Fletcher ever learned that, he’d never forgive himself. Ever.
Geddes frowned. “No, not at all.”
“No? Then…”
“They were—well, Gavin and Kerry were staying with some of her Comanche relatives. I learned that it is not unusual at all for orphaned children to be taken in by family.”
“So, they were fine?”
“Yes, mostly. Kerry was concerned because Duncan had declared himself an adult and had gone off alone. He was found working on a nearby ranch. It seems it took some doing to get him to agree to accompany the other two.”
Rosalyn nibbled at her lower lip. Odd that Miss Blessing would make it sound like the children had been in danger. “Well, I’m happy about that. Do you need another of Fen’s potions?”
He smiled. “No whisky this morning.”
As she descended the stairs she met Kerry and Miss Blessing, their heads together, speaking in near whispers.
Rosalyn pasted on a smile to mask her unsettled stomach. “What have you two got planned?”
Kerry gazed off, looking beyond Rosalyn’s shoulder, not meeting her eyes. Miss Blessing bent her head slightly in acknowledgment and then said, “I thought we’d take a stroll around the grounds. Would you care to join us?”
Immediately Kerry nudged the chaperone with her elbow and frowned.
Rosalyn got the picture. “Oh, no, thank you. But if you’re going to walk along the seashore, I suggest you take a wrap. It’s colder than you think down by the water.”
Again, Miss Blessing nodded, but the two of them disappeared outside, neither wearing a cape.
Rosalyn shook her head, wondering why she bothered to be civil when it was obvious those two didn’t care a whit. She went to the solarium, settled into a comfortable chair, and picked up her sewing. Sima and her pup, Bonnie, were already there, napping. Rosalyn studied the bunting she was making, quite sure no one would wonder what it was. She had kept it to herself, not wanting to explain to anyone else why she was doing it. She felt so very protective of this child that grew within her. It was almost as if she feared something would happen to it if the news were made public.
She thought back to Geddes’s suggestion that she get pregnant to replace her sweet Fiona. She frowned and shook her head as she continued to make tiny stitches in the soft fabric. Men did not understand that there was no such thing as a replacement for a child.
Hearing the sound of horses beating a path over the lawn, she glanced outside just in time to see His Grace and his brothers racing over the grass—oh, no! Racing over the grass toward her rose garden!
She stood, her sewing falling to the floor, and raced from the room. “Oh, no. No, no, no!”
By the time she got outside they had ridden out of sight and her roses…She stifled a sob. Her rose garden was in shambles.
She crossed to the patch that she had spent so many hours cultivating. Falling to her knees, she surveyed the damage, and damage it was. Great clods of rich earth were strewn everywhere. Rose petals were flung wide, scattered like refuse over the ground.
The devastation was like a death. When she no longer had a child to rear, she had turned her love and attention toward her gardens, particularly her roses. She spoke to them. They listened and they thrived.
Another sob forced its way into her throat, and she did not swallow it back but allowed it to come forth, with her tears of anger and disappointment.
She knew it was not logical, but she bent over and cried, mourning her loss.
The return of the horses penetrated her sorrow. She looked up to find the three of them, His Grace, Duncan, and Gavin, smiling gaily—until they saw her face.
Just then, Kerry and Miss Blessing rounded the side of the castle as well, and it was as if Rosalyn now had an audience for her grief.
“My garden! Look what you’ve done to my roses!” And now she could stop neither her weeping nor her fury. “Oafs! Great, clumsy oafs! Auch! Don’t you have enough land to gallop over? Aren’t there acres upon acres upon which to ride your blasted horses? Did you have to ride right through the only thing out here that is mine, and mine alone? That makes any difference to me?”
Still fuming—and still crying—she marched past all of them into the castle, taking great pains to slam the mighty door behind her.
• • •
Fletcher dismounted and handed the reins to Duncan. “Stable him. And make sure they all have oats and water.”
Duncan glanced at the castle. “She was really mad, wasn’t she?”
“Truthfully, I’ve never seen her so angry before. And she’s had reason to be so, believe me.”
Duncan and Gavin led the mounts to the stable.
Beside Fletcher, Kerry gave a little snort. “Why would she get so upset over some dumb flowers?”
When Fletcher didn’t answer, Miss Blessing did.
“I imagine she has worked hard in her garden. I will say it’s quite spectacular. Or…at least it was.”
“But,” Kerry argued, “flowers aren’t people. Shouldn’t she be more concerned about people?”
Fletcher drew Kerry close; she burrowed against him. “Rosalyn takes pride in her gardens, Kerry. The boys and I got carried away. They aren’t to blame. I, of all people, should have known better than to ride so close to the flower beds.
“And now,” he said, “off with you two. I must go find my bride and mend some fences. Or, plant some gardens, as it were.”
He went first to the solarium, which was where he knew Rosalyn took solace. She wasn’t there, but he noticed something on the floor by her chair. He picked it up and studied it, his heart racing. He might be a great oaf, but he knew what it was. He laid it on the chair and strode out into the chilly hallway, intent on going up to his wife’s bedchamber.
Instead, he went to the stables and prepared the rig that could take him into the village and leave some room for purchases.
• • •
Rosalyn was not a person who could stay angry for long. Yes, she could explode quite readily, but after the explosion, she usually came around and rued her prior behavior.
Such was the case now. Oh, she certainly was angry that they had so cavalierly trampled her roses. That had been quite thoughtless. But she also realized that when she had seen the destruction, something inside her cracked and weeks of anguish and frustration had poured out of her. Once again she was reliving the pain of losing Fiona. Once again she wanted to destroy Leod before he destroyed her family. Once again she railed at having no control over her past or her future.
People had told her that if only they could have found Fiona’s tiny body, perhaps Rosalyn would have had a sense of finality, of laying her sorrow to rest, once and for all. What foolishness! Her sorrow would always be with her. Perhaps it wasn’t as acute as it had been, but the hole was still there, the jagged edges of her grief merely softened over time.
She brought her hand to her stomach, certain she’d felt a fluttering, but knowing it was too early for that. Or was it? She counted back to that morning and decided it indeed was possible the bairn had moved. “I wonder what’s in store for you, wee one,” she mused. “Your father may be a great oaf, but he is a kind and good man. He will not forsake you.” But, she wondered, will he abandon her once the heir is born?