Highlander's Hope (23 page)

Yvette watched her go, a mixture of relief and trepidation engulfing at her. No, indeed, she wasn’t so short on wit she’d believe Aubry had had a change of heart, but at least the woman had quit the room.

Yvette stood on the top step of the Keep. Fingering the Luckenbooth brooch at her shoulder, she scanned the crowd before her. Lord, would that her stomach would stop frolicking about.

Determined to be taken seriously as their laird’s lady, she had donned the kirtle and linen blouse Giselle brought her. With her help, Yvette had secured the scarf across her left shoulder.

The Luckenbooth brooch gleamed triumphantly against the plaid, its jewels complimenting the tartan to perfection. In traditional Scot’s fashion, she let her hair hang loose with a simple blue ribbon tied across her crown.   Ewan’s family and clan formed a half-circle behind her. She wiped her damp palms on the plaid skirt. Taking a deep breath, she explained what she wanted to do for the orphans and Ewan’s people.

“I can’t do this alone. I’ve seen the sturdy homes built by the skilled craftsmen in the clan. I need your help to build a school, an orphanage, and a woolen mill. These new buildings will require all of your skills and talents. And I’ve not forgotten the sick and elderly. I sent a missive to my solicitor asking him to obtain a physician for the village.”

“You don’t know me and have no reason to trust me, but I ask you to do this for your laird.” She lifted her hands, palm upward in entreaty. “Help me in this. I can’t do it without you. I want to make your laird, now my laird, proud.”

Yvette would never forget the nerve-wracking silence that greeted her final words. It stretched on for endless minutes. She started, her mouth dropping open astonishment, when rousing cheers erupted moments later. They had accepted her propositions. Elated and grinning, she turned to Hugh.

He gathered her in a crushing embrace, lifting her off her feet. “Och, well done, lassie.”

Several other enthusiastic hugs followed. Even Aubry condescended to touch Yvette’s cheek with her own.

A grand celebration was held that evening. Everyone, including Yvette, danced into the late hours. When she at last found her bed, she sank in to the welcoming softness and snuggled beneath the satiny cover’s weight.

They’d accepted her as the Chieftainess.

Yvette and Hugh reined in their mounts. Tilting her head, she surveyed the building before her. “I’d no idea this much progress could be made in two days.”

“Aye, the second story is framed, and the roof beams are in place.”

Yvette grinned. “Things are shaping up, aren’t they?”

Hugh chuckled as he peered around. “Och, they are lass.”

The transformation in the village since she had presented her idea to the McTavish Clan a fortnight ago was nothing short of phenomenal. Clan’s members and villagers worked side-by-side, calling cheerful greetings to those passing by. A continuous stream of workers, vendors, clansmen, and Ewan’s family traveled from the Keep to the village, then back again.

She was hard-pressed to remember the names of the men assigned as her escort, for their faces changed every day. A contingent of twelve Scots was her constant companion outside Craiglocky’s bailey. Half-score more accompanied her on more far reaching outings.

Yvette allowed herself a small, mockery tinged smile. Ewan would be gratified to know how diligent his clan was. She was as safe as a trussed hen. Her heart twinged. There had been no word from him, though given he was an agent in the Diplomatic Corps, that wasn’t cause for alarm.

How her life had changed since stepping off the
Atlantic

Star
. She was married, and she’d found something meaningful to do with the wealth she’d been blessed with.

A villager waved calling, “Good day, me lady.”

“Good day to you.” Yvette returned the waves of several villagers. Turning her mare around, she rode to the rear of the building. Hugh followed. At her insistence, the first structure to be built was the orphanage’s kitchen so meals could be prepared for the hungry urchins. Two cooks were employed to prepare the meals. A crude temporary shelter was assembled and now provided a place for the foundlings to sleep. Once the ragamuffins realized what was happening, they began to venture from the woods and surrounding areas eager to help.

Whenever possible, native Scots were hired to fill the numerous positions. Yvette retained a sweet orphan named Nessia to train as her personal maid. Pippa was getting along in years and could use an assistant. Yvette’s heart wrenched thinking of her dear companion. Surely Pippa and the Fairchilds would be arriving in England soon.

Twisting in her saddle, she met Hugh’s eyes. “I’d not dreamed we’d accomplish this much this fast. Mr. Dehring and Rory have been godsends. Without their influence, we’d be awaiting supplies.”

Smiling, brown eyes twinkling kindly, he agreed. “Aye, lass, ‘tis a wonder to behold.”

Yvette’s teeth worried her lower lip. “Have I overstepped my bounds? Will Ewan be angry?”

Hugh’s penetrating gaze met hers, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. “How can he be displeased, lass? Look at the folk. Their pride has been restored.” Swinging his head to survey the projects, a grin erupted across his rugged face. “Nae, lassie, he’ll nae be displeased with ye.”

Chapter 27

Kicking Shaidae, Ewan urged the stallion on. Every mile that brought him closer to Yvette, magnified his desire to see her. And, with each mile, his sense of trepidation mounted.

Lord, he had missed her. She consumed his thoughts, day and night. Poignant memories of her replayed in his mind. Never before had he been as uncertain of anything. Nothing had ever mattered as much as her decision about their marriage.

Had she decided to remain his wife? With everything in him, he hoped she had.

Cresting the last hill before descending into the village, Ewan jerked Shaidae’s reins. The horse reared and snorted in disapproval. From his vantage point atop the knoll, Ewan stared dumbfounded at the landscape before him.

What-the-hell?

Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, he tore down the hill. Cantering into the village, he slowed Shaidae to a walk. Ewan turned his head this way and that, trying to absorb all the changes since his departure over three weeks ago. What was going on?

A man atop a building under construction called to him, “Laird McTavish, bless ye.”

An ancient crone seized Ewan’s boot, giving him a toothless smile. “Yer lady be an angel, me laird.”

Ewan heard, “Thank ye, yer lairdship. God bless ye and her lady,” over and over again.

At a complete loss, he stopped Shaidae in front of the two largest new buildings. He glimpsed his stepfather between the supporting beams of one of them. Staring at the workers bustling around him, he waited for Hugh to approach. He needed some answers.

“Good to see ye, Ewan.” Hugh clasped Ewan’s hand. “Ye have been missed.”

Bewildered, looking around the thrumming community, Ewan finally met Hugh’s amused gaze. “Hugh?”

“Ye have to ask yer wife, son. She’s been
very
busy while ye be gone.”

Ewan stood in his stirrups, craning his neck and peering at the commotion. “I can bloody well see that.”

Yvette was responsible for this?

Hugh chuckled. “Come, get off yer horse, and take a wee peek inside.”

After a tour of the buildings, Ewan stood in the middle of the street scrutinizing the dynamic scene before him. Yvette,
was
responsible for this. He shook his head, amazed. “How did you . . . ? Did she manage it?”

Hugh grinned. “She’s a rich lass with powerful connections.” Palm upward, he extended his hand to indicate the villagers. “Yer clan is eager to please both of ye.”

Ewan lifted his hat, smoothing aside the hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “Aye, I can see that.”

“I want to show ye the woolen mill. It be over by the river.” Hugh mounted his horse. “Duncan be overseeing its construction.”

A woolen mill too?

Ewan put his hat on, then gripped Shaidae’s reins and hoisted himself onto the stallion. He and Hugh trotted their mounts the mile to River Falkirk. It was a half hour later before Ewan stood outdoors once more.

Yvette. He shook his head again. She’d thought of everything.

A smile started at the edges of his mouth, and split into a grin of primordial male triumph. No wife intent on leaving her husband would go to this much effort. Yvette had decided to stay, to remain his wife. An overwhelming joy filled him.

Sprinting to his smoky black mount, he leapt into the saddle. Though the castle wasn’t visible from the hamlet, Ewan knew his heart’s desire lay within reach. With one last look round the village, he trotted Shaidae to the path leading to home and a welcoming wife.

Had news of his arrival reached her yet?

Yvette entered the kitchen unsure of her welcome.

A large woman with well-muscled arms, her hair hidden by a bright scarf tied about her head, smiled a cheerful greeting.

“Can I help ye, me lady?” The look the cook sent Yvette was curious, though not unkind.

“Yes, please. You’re Sorcha?”

“Aye, lady.

“I’m looking for Iona.” Indicating the basket she carried, Yvette said, “I’ve something for her.”

“The bairn will return soon. She ran to the garden for some onions and carrots.”

“Might I wait?”

“Of course. Would ye like some fresh bread? I took it from the oven minutes ago.”

Sitting on a rough chair at a simple table, Yvette sniffed the fragrant air. “Yes, please.”

Placing the basket on the table, she took stock of the kitchen. It was immaculate. Herbs were drying from hooks inserted in one rough-hewn beam, and two women were cutting vegetables. Another was straining cheese.

Sorcha put a plate piled with thick, steaming bread slices before her. A crock of creamy butter and a dish of fruit preserves followed. Yvette put a hand to her rumbling stomach.

“Some tea, milady?”

“If it would not be too much trouble.”

“Nae trouble at all.”

Biting into the warm bread, Yvette grinned. “‘Tis wonderful.”

Sorcha smiled and put water on to boil before returning her attention to the large pot she had been stirring when Yvette entered the kitchen.

Moments later, the clamor of childish voices was heard. Iona and a small boy burst into the kitchen, their arms full of fresh vegetables. Upon seeing Yvette, Iona’s face broke into a gapped-toothed grin. Dumping the contents of her arms into the sink, she helped the boy do the same. She looked to Sorcha, but obviously wanted to go to Yvette.

“Go on with ye,” the smiling cook said, waving her spoon in Yvette’s direction.

Iona grabbed the boy’s hand and tugged him to stand before Yvette with her.

He must be Iona’s brother. The resemblance was unmistakable. “Iona, would you please introduce me to your brother?”

Looking abashed, the freckles more pronounced on her cherub’s face, Iona nodded her head. “Yer ladyship, this be me brother, Peadar.”

Yvette guessed the boy might be five or six years old. He had the same bright red mop of hair his sister sported. “I’m pleased to meet you, Peadar.”

The boy hid his grubby face in his sister’s shoulder.

“I’ve brought you something Iona, your brother too.”

“Ye have, lady?”

“Aye.” Yvette lifted the basket off the table and settled it in her lap. “Come, see what I have for you.” She tipped the top open.

Iona’s squeal of delight echoed throughout the kitchen.

Yvette held a fat, fuzzy calico kitten in her hands. She transferred the bit of fluff to Iona, who buried her face in the kitten’s soft fur. Cooing softly, cradling the cat in her arms, she plopped onto the floor. Peadar stood looking at the kitten in his sister’s arms, trying to quiet the trembling of his distended lower lip.

“Peadar, look.” Yvette held a sleepy, jade-eyed, orange and white striped tabby.

His blue eyes huge in his thin face, Peadar asked, “For me?”

Yvette smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

The grin splitting his face would have turned night to day had it been dark outside. He reached for the kitten, cuddling it to his neck, and talking to it in a soft, lisping whisper.

Yvette glanced across the kitchen to find the four kitchen staff staring at her, their faces beaming with undisguised approval. She suspected she’d made four allies and returned their smiles.

With the corner of her apron, Sorcha wiped a tear from her eye before turning her stern eye on the rest of the help. They resumed their duties, whispering beneath their breaths and darting glances Yvette’s way every few minutes.

“The kittens are brother and sister, like you,” Yvette said. “They are your responsibility. You must feed them and take them outside.” Pausing to survey the kitchen, she peered at the cook. “Sorcha, is there someplace the kittens can sleep which wouldn’t be underfoot?”

“They might as well sleep with the bairns. They have a pallet in one of the storerooms.”

Storeroom? She must talk to Ewan about remedying that immediately.

“Peadar, Iona, you must see that the kittens do not disrupt the work of these dear women. Can you do that?”

As one, the children answered, “Aye.”

“Might I show the laird my kitten?” Iona was studying her kitten’s face. The kitten swatted at the curls bouncing beyond her paws.

“I’m sure when he returns he would like that.”

When would that be? It had been over three weeks since he left. Yvette had been certain, well, had hoped, he’d return early, or at the very least, post a letter. But there had been nothing.

Turning the mite over, Iona began tickling the cat’s belly.

A sad smile touched Yvette’s lips. She’d been right about the kittens, though. Iona and Peadar needed something to love and that loved them in return.

Peadar lay on his back. Holding the purring kitten across his skinny chest he mumbled, “The laird be in the village, sister. He be home soon.”

Yvette’s teacup clattered in its saucer. “What did you say?”

He sat up. Clutching the kitten to his side, his blue eyes pooled with tears.

“‘Tis all right. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Yvette assured him. “What’s this about the laird?”

“Thom said he saw the laird afore, when he was in town.”

Merciful God in heaven, Ewan was home. Yvette looked at her smudged dress and put a hand to her hair. She was a sight. Thank goodness she’d washed her hair last night.

She jumped to her feet in a flurry of skirts. He couldn’t see her like this. “Sorcha, please heat water for my bath. I know you’re busy, but the laird is home. I must make myself presentable.”

Before darting from the room, Yvette dashed to the cook and hugged her. “Thank you for the delicious bread. And for allowing the children the kittens.”

Sorcha stood there with her mouth open. Spinning about, she hollered at the stupefied help. “What are ye waiting for? Ye heard her ladyship. Heat the water. The laird is home.”

Yvette hurried to the stone stairs beside the enormous fireplace, saying, “Oh, and could someone please find Nessia for me? Send her to my chamber at once.”

Wiping her hands on her starched apron, Sorcha shook her head. “Aye, me lady.”

As Yvette started up the stairs the cook spoke again.

“Did ye see the way she jumped from her chair when she heard the laird was near? She be eager to be reunited to be sure.” The women tittered in agreement.

Yvette’s face burned at the cook’s comment. Hiking her skirts to her knees, she raced up the back staircase, one of the many alternate routes Isobel and Adaira had shared with her. They had taken her on a tour of the castle, showing her the seldom used corridors and staircases. There were even a few cobweb-filled secret passageways.

Adaira had giggled in remembrance. “Many were the times I snuck outside the Keep by way of one of these corridors. There are a couple of secret entrances to the dungeon too. Prisoners, enemy clan members, and even aristocracy were smuggled in an out, ‘tis said.”

Lowering her voice to a covert whisper, Adaira had confessed. “I know where the keys to the cells are kept too. They’re hanging on a peg at the base of the stairs, in a little alcove.”

Recalling the conversation, Yvette’s mouth lifted in amusement. No surprise there. Adaira was incorrigible.

Yvette rounded a sharp corner. She had grown adept at using the routes in order to avoid Aubry. She drew her brows together. Aubry still made her uncomfortable. Oh, she was pleasant enough, some might even call her genial, but Yvette had seen a calculating look in her eye when she thought no one was watching.

Yvette hastened around another bend and ascended a rarely used, very narrow, stairwell. Enough of those dour thoughts.

Her husband was home.