SIX MONTHS LATER
Iain Connors parked his old Land Rover in front of the main entrance of Cairndow. January was colder than a sheep’s teat on the moors, and he pulled the collar of his wool-lined jacket tighter around his neck, but the chill wind found a way to invade every crack and crevice left unprotected.
Blustery snow stuck to his eyelashes on the short walk around to the kitchens. It was habit to bypass the formal entrance for the warmth pumped out by the AGA cooker kept busy baking bread to sell in the village.
Since Alasdair and Isabel had taken over the management from Gareth, changes were afoot. Changes Iain found both refreshing and disturbing. Even though he had no formal claim on Cairndow, Iain had been raised in the shadow of the castle. The grounds and moors had been his home through all the seasons, not just summers and the occasional school holiday like Alasdair.
His da, Dugan, was content as the Cairndow groundskeeper, and it was understood Iain would take over after his da retired, which would never happen voluntarily. Iain expected his da would signal his retirement by keeling over one day in the flower beds.
Iain wasn’t even sure he wanted the job. Yes, the stark beauty of the moors and cliffs and ocean fed his soul, but there was more to heaven and earth than Cairndow. As a second lieutenent in the 19th Regiment Royal Artillery, Iain had seen more than he’d ever dreamed of as a boy at Cairndow. He’d seen great beauty and extreme ugliness in people and places, and struggled to resolve the existence of both in the world.
After his discharge, he’d spent the autumn in Glasgow working construction. The physically exhausting job helped defuse the thoughts and memories that plagued him, but the echo of Cairndow had called him home. The serenity and peace he searched for remained elusive. Nothing ever happened in the middle of winter at Cairndow, yet a sense of anticipation had kept him wired. The quiet chafed instead of calmed.
It was this restlessness he fought as he entered the castle and stole a scone from the cooling rack, scooting out of the way of Mrs. MacDonald’s flapping hands with a wicked laugh.
“Och, you’re a fair delight in the kitchen, Mrs. Mac.” He gave her a wink.
“Get on with yourself, boy. Flattery will get you nowhere with me.” Except, she grinned, pleased as punch and tossed him another scone.
Mrs. Mac was as close to a mother as Iain had ever had, and he dropped a kiss on her papery, flour-dusted cheek on his way to meet with Alasdair in the castle’s library.
Taking the stone steps two at a time, he emerged into a tunnel-like hallway. The thick rug underfoot had been worn down the middle by years of footsteps. He ducked his head under the low doorframe to enter the library. At six foot four, Iain had been made bigger and wider than whatever earl had built the castle.
The library was a large room with walls lined with books both ancient and modern. A fire burned in the fireplace, but the heat didn’t reach him, and he chose to keep his jacket on. A desk was positioned away from the drafty windows and had been commandeered by Isabel. Not only was she a dab hand at keeping the books, but she was a writer. And quite an entertaining one based on the pages she’d allowed him to read.
Usually sunny and funny, Isabel slumped in one of the cushy armchairs, clutching a tissue while Alasdair knelt on the floor at her feet, rubbing her arms and whispering. Obviously something had happened that required Alasdair’s deft touch at encouragement or commiseration.
Alasdair had had to learn to navigate tricky emotional waters at a young age, and Iain had always admired his ability to smooth feathers and charm his way into good graces. Iain had been raised among men, minus Mrs. Mac, and didn’t possess the faintest inkling on how to translate a woman’s body language. He’d been told he was a right large son of a bitch more than once by the fairer sex.
And forget about a woman’s tears. If they were real and not the manipulative sort (which again he had problems telling apart), they had the power to bring him to his knees, which is why he avoided crying women at all cost.
Alasdair looked up and crossed gazes with Iain. With every day that passed, Alasdair reminded Iain more and more of Gareth from the shaggy black hair to the trimmed beard he maintained.
“I’ll come back this evening, Alasdair, and let you…” Iain cleared his throat and made a vague gesture with his hand.
Alasdair stood and Isabel turned in her chair, her eyes red-rimmed. Surprisingly, it was Isabel who spoke. “Now is perfect, Iain.”
“But you’re upset and I…” have no idea what to do or where to look, he wanted to say.
Isabel blew her nose, the sound like the call of the geese in the fall, and stood, offering him a smile. “I probably look like a giant chigger, don’t I?”
He had no clue what a chigger was but assumed it would not do to agree. “No, of course, you don’t.”
Her smile grew wider, which seemed all wrong with her tear-swollen eyes. “You don’t even know what a chigger is, I bet.”
Had Isabel decided she couldn’t survive a Scottish winter? She wouldn’t be the first to abandon Cairndow. Iain’s own mum had taken off the winter after he had been born and had never come back. Iain often wondered if it had been him or the weather that had driven her daft.
Iain had never seen Alasdair so enamored of a woman before, and they’d pursued many a village girl during their youth. It would break his friend’s heart if Isabel deserted him.
“Winter can be a mite harsh, but spring will knock your knickers off it’s so lovely, you can be sure of that.” Iain stole a glance at Alasdair to try to determine the right path forward to soothe Isabel.
“Alasdair’s told me how lovely it is and I can’t wait to see the heather bloom.” Emotion got the better of her once more and she pulled another tissue from the box on the side table, pressing it to her nose.
While Iain was relieved to hear she would still be around come spring, he was confused as to his presence in so obviously a trying moment. While he and Isabel got on well, their talks had centered on books and innovations planned for the grounds and gardens of Cairndow.
Alasdair and Isabel exchanged a long glance. Alasdair cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.
A suspicion sprouted. While he considered Cairndow his home and Gareth had made him feel as welcome as family, perhaps things were different with Alasdair and Isabel. “Are you working up the courage to fire me? I realize my return to Cairndow was impetuous, but—”
“No!” Alasdair barked on a laugh that contained no mirth. He ran a hand through his hair and said, “Quite the opposite. We’re in need of a favor. A rather large one, I’m afraid.”
The tension that had drawn Iain’s shoulders toward his ears dissipated. While he might not want to stay at Cairndow forever, he had no desire to head back to Glasgow to find mindless work in the middle of winter either.
“Name it.” Although, their friendship had been of childhood, those summer months had brought Iain a brother in Alasdair, and he wasn’t wont to forget such loyalties, no matter how many years had passed.
“I’m pregnant.” The news burst out of Isabel accompanied by a tear-marred smile.
“Congratulations?” Iain lilted, not sure whether the news was welcome or not.
“I’m not quite sure how it happened,” Alasdair said with an air of bemusement.
“If you need it explained to you, mate, then I’d say that’s your problem.” Iain raised his brows, but didn’t smile.
“Very funny. I meant that it wasn’t planned. Mum is going to flip out.”
Iain gave a soft whistle. “That she will. You two might want to marry over the old anvil before she catches wind of your happy news.”
“I’m not sure what will be worse for her; not being able to plan a big wedding or seeing her future daughter-in-law walk down the aisle pregnant.” Alasdair huffed a small laugh.
“Ach. Who cares what she thinks as long as the two of you are happy about it. Although, based on the tears, I can’t tell myself.”
Isabel’s familiar, lighthearted laugh settled Iain’s nerves. “We are happy. And shocked. And scared. Don’t mind the waterworks. It’s the hormones. Brace yourself, because according to the internet, it gets worse.”
“It’ll be good to see children running around the castle again. Alasdair and I had good fun playing chase and hide-and-seek.”
Alasdair’s smile was broad and full of memories. “We were hellions according to Mrs. Mac.”
“No fun in acting like angels, now is there?” Iain and Alasdair exchanged grins full of fond memories.
“I’m sure the castle is going to be a wonderful place for a child. Minus the stone stairs and the priceless paintings and frigid drafts, but I digress.” Isabel paced in between Iain and Alasdair. “I did the math.”
“Well, you are an accountant,” Iain said with a touch of dry humor.
“If my calculations are right, I’m due in July.” She stopped and faced him, emotion wobbling her chin.
Iain had no idea why she was so upset. “Excellent timing, I’d say. You wouldn’t want to be snowed inside Cairndow when the time came. Da is the only one with any birthing experience and that’s with ewes.”
“The timing couldn’t be worse, Iain. We had planned to return to Highland in July to help Uncle Gareth and Rose with the festival,” Alasdair said.
Understanding dawned as to Isabel’s emotional state. He supposed a lass would want her mother around at such a time. “You won’t be able to travel to the States.”
“And Mom will be in the throes of planning and won’t be able to come here.” A tear made an escape from the corner of Isabel’s eye. She didn’t wipe it away, and Iain found himself staring at the track with a longing to scuttle out the door. “Unless…” Isabel fluttered her tear-spiked lashes at him.
“Unless?” Iain was ready to donate an organ to stop Isabel’s tears.
“Unless we send someone we can trust to Highland to help plan the festival so Rose and Gareth can be here for the birth,” Alasdair said with a pointed look at Iain.
“Me.” Now it was Iain’s turn to be shocked.
“You.” Alasdair held up his hands in supplication. “I realize it’s a big ask and will upend your plans, but—”
“I’ll go.” Though Iain wasn’t one to overthink things or second-guess himself, he surprised himself with his decisive answer.
“Are you sure?” Alasdair asked.
“I’m sure. Never been to the States. Highland is in the southern bit, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Georgia.” Alasdair smoothed a hand down his beard in a gesture Iain had seen Gareth perform a thousand times. “I’ll warn you, it’s quite a change from Scotland. For one thing, it’s as hot as the blazes of hell in July.”
Isabel choked a laugh out and slapped Alasdair’s arm. “It’s not that bad. Highland is close to the mountains. Granted, not mountains like Scotland. Okay, if I’m being totally honest, it’s hot in summer. Take lots of shorts. Or kilts. Or whatever gets you the best air circulation.”
Alasdair’s smile cracked the worry plastering his brow into furrows. “You don’t know what a load off this is, mate.”
Isabel did not wear the same relief. “Mostly likely, the timing will work out where Mom can be in Cairndow for the birth and in Highland for the festival. But if not … Mom and Gareth will have everything planned, and I have a friend in Highland who will help as well. Anna Maitland has been part of the festival since she could walk.”
Iain shrugged. “I don’t need help. I’ve run events on the grounds here, and I was in charge of men in the regiment.”
“This is an order of magnitude bigger than anything Cairndow has hosted. And dealing with the vendors and performers takes some finesse.” Alasdair clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be grateful for the help if it comes down to it.”
Iain didn’t argue, but he wouldn’t require the services of Anna Maitland or anyone else. Not only was he Scottish and had grown up attending the traditional games in the actual Highlands, not a tourist destination putting on a show, but he was a solider used to organization and the chain of command. He was good at giving orders and expected them to be followed.
“We can count on you?” Alasdair asked.
Iain extended his hand for a shake. His da had taught him many things; how to fix anything, how to build whatever he could envision from wood, how to coax plants and flowers to grow in harsh terrain, how to appreciate a sunrise and sunset, but mostly loyalty and honor and strength.
“Always.”