The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride (26 page)

“If he doesnae come soon, then it
will
be the bairn he visits.”

Lissa’s face dropped its teasing mien. “Oh, Gilda! Do ye have pains?”

Shaking her head, Gilda replied, “Nae. Dinnae
fash
. ’Tis that I am so big and awkward I cannae think the babe will wait much longer.”

Light flashed at the edge of the trees and a shout went up from a guard. Both girls swirled about and Gilda clutched Lissa’s hand.

The girl gave voice to the words in Gilda’s heart.

“He is here!”

They wended their way down the staircase, making allowance for Gilda’s ponderous gait. By the time they reached the bailey, Conn and his soldiers had arrived and Gilda was out of breath. Sweat prickled between her heavy breasts, and her heart pounded. She managed a smile of welcome as she put one hand to her back to soothe a sudden pain.

“Gilda? Ye are white. Come sit down.” Conn took her arm and helped her to a nearby bench as the other riders led the horses away.

“’Tis nothing,” she assured him with a wave of her hand. “I shouldnae have hurried down the stairs like I did.”

Conn frowned. “Ye should take better care.” He glared at Lissa.

“She dinnae hurry.” Lissa shrugged. “She
cannae
hurry.”

Gilda grimaced. Lissa and Conn’s words swirled about her. Pain cut deep in her back and flared around her belly. Warmth flooded between her legs. She gripped Conn’s hand.

“I want my ma!”

Chapter 24

Restlessness pulled at him, eroding his waking and sleeping thoughts like waves pulling at a sandy shore. Held captive by the pirates, Ferlie’s first concern had been healing, then escape. But with Greum’s hint at a heritage—a family, a place of belonging—his scrutiny turned to remembering who he was, how he’d come to awaken on the
Draigled Sparra
with a fiercely pounding, bloody head and no memory. With an effort, he tightened his focus on his host’s thickly accented words.

“
Mon ami
, there is no way I could have brought this ship in without your help. Between the storm and the pirate attack, I had too many men killed or wounded to sail.” He had the grace to look abashed. “As their prisoner, I am sure you would rather be on your way home than seeing the sights of France, such as they are. Again, I thank you for your kind assistance.”

Ferlie forced a brief smile. “I cannae see our help as anything but mutual. Greum and I couldnae have managed alone, either. And I dinnae know exactly where home is.”

Gulls screamed overhead as they banked into the stiff breeze blowing along the wharf. Men shouted and ropes creaked as ships around them unloaded their cargos. The wind brought the scent of the sea, pushing back the odors of garbage and less savory things littering the port, and for that, Ferlie was grateful.

Thumping his thick chest dramatically with meaty fingers, the captain declared, “You shall come to my home tonight. There will be decent food, clean clothing, and a soft bed. For both you and your man.”

“I thank ye—”

“No thanks needed. It is you I should be thanking. My wife will have my head and my daughters be sorely disappointed if I do not bring you home tonight.”

“But Captain, I wish—”

Again, the man waved aside Ferlie’s protests. “Tomorrow is soon enough for wishes. You cannot sail this vessel tonight. It is not seaworthy and ye have no crew. It will take time to get you aboard another.” He cocked his head. “Assuming you know where you want to go.”

Ferlie shook his head. “Nae. I only know I must sail back to Scotland.”

“Then it is settled. You will stay with us until such arrangements can be made. And I will be honored to pay for your voyage,
mon ami
. Very honored.”

Ferlie cast his gaze to the evening sky as night rushed in. The sturdy feel of the wharf’s boards beneath his feet was reassuring, the desire to leave the
Draigled Sparra
and her rotting timbers behind, strong. Somewhere behind him, past the far horizon, was his home. But where?

Does anyone know I am alive? Am I mourned? What, if anything, do I have to go back to?

The pang of a partial memory jolted through him. Red hair. A teasing smile. His loins tightened, but the full recollection remained out of reach. Pushing past his frustration, he nodded acquiescence.

“I am verra grateful to take yer offer,
mon capitaine
. After these long months at sea, what harm could there be in a few days ashore?”

* * *

Gilda rolled her head on her pillow as Tavia approached. Her ma’s cool fingers stroked her sweat-damp forehead. Even exhausted, an exultant thrill ran through her. Beaming encouragingly, Tavia placed the small bundle in her arms.

“He is a braw lad,
a stor
. Strong like his ma.” Tavia adjusted the bairn’s head in the crook of Gilda’s elbow. “There! Look at that mouth working. He will be howling to be fed soon.”

“He is a beautiful bairn, Gilda. I am so proud of you.” Riona kissed her cheek as she lightly touched the babe’s rounded cheeks, framed by soft layers of cloth.

Gilda’s heart filled and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her baby opened his eyes and peered at her searchingly, blinking owlishly. Gilda burst into tears. Hands reached for the babe, but she pulled him close, rocking him against her breast.

“Wheesht, Gilda! Ye will frighten the bairn if ye greet so.” Tavia clucked her tongue and patted Gilda’s shoulder.

“Gilda, lass, what is wrong?” Soothing words slowed her sobs and she leaned against her ma’s shoulder. Her chest eased as her ma’s arms surrounded her.

“I am tired.” Hiccupping, she stemmed her tears. “He is so tiny and perfect.” She gently touched a finger to his satiny cheek. “And Ryan will never know him.” Fresh grief poured down her face.

Ma pulled her closer, her cheek against her hair. “Ryan would be so proud of ye, Gilda. I know ye miss him and will be reminded of him often in the coming days. But ye have many people ready to love and care for yer wee man. He is a verra special bairn, ye know.”

“I know. My heart
aches
to see Ryan. Especially now.” At Gilda’s touch, the bairn turned toward her finger. His lips puckered and his face wrinkled in a decidedly unhappy frown.

“Best feed the lad before he brings these walls down,” Tavia advised.

Gilda’s fingers fumbled with the neckline of her gown. Apparently deciding his ma wasn’t hurrying properly, the babe released a mighty howl. Laughing nervously, Gilda pulled the fabric aside and cuddled her babe against her. His cries dwindled to a muffled sniff as he latched hungrily onto her breast. Surprised wonder filled Gilda as she watched him nurse. Soon he drifted off to sleep, milk beading along the edge of his lips.

“I will put him in his cradle so ye can get some rest as well.” Ma lifted the babe from Gilda’s tired arms. “Yer da and Lissa can take a peek at him, then ye must sleep.”

Gilda sighed drowsily as she drifted on the edge of exhaustion. Tavia tied the lace at the neck of her gown and pulled a blanket over her, then tiptoed to the window and closed the shutters, dimming the room. Gilda heard the soft creak of the door and the muffled whispers of her ma and da as he entered the room.

Lissa’s feet pattered across the floor as she darted to the cradle beside the bed. “How tiny he is!” she exclaimed.

“A braw lad,” Da proclaimed with curious muffled quality to his voice that made Gilda smile.

“Wheesht, now, the bairn and his ma need their rest,” her ma scolded in a whisper.

“Does he have a name, yet, lass?”

Gilda opened her eyes. “Aye. His name is William.”

“’Tis a strong name.” He nodded in approval.

“Oh, look!”

Gilda shifted her gaze at Lissa’s soft cry. Snuggled within his bunting, William stared at his aunt.

Lissa pointed to him. “His eyes. They have golden rims.” She bent closer to the babe. “They’re going to look just like mine.”

* * *

Candlelight glinted off the rich appointments in the long hallway outside the manor’s ballroom, imparting a satin sheen to the highly polished furniture. The scent of freshly cut flowers permeated the room, their bright colors highlighting tables in enormous bouquets throughout. Ferlie dodged the overhanging blooms in a particularly large vase as he approached the doors to the room. After nearly a week at the captain’s house, he knew his way around the impressive manor’s corridors and doorways, though he could not say he felt at home.

As he endured the time it took to obtain passage back to Scotland, the tug to leave refused to ease. Fruitless days and nights of running the name ‘Macraig’ through his mind brought him no closer to knowledge of his identity. Fractured memories failed to form any recognizable picture, and he felt the lack sorely. Were it not for his host’s generosity and the friendly attentions of his youngest daughter, he feared he would have lost his patience and his mind days earlier.

This was his last night at his host’s house, and the captain’s wife insisted on a dinner party. He and Greum would take their leave on the morrow and ’twas her way to show her gratitude once more. Ferlie fingered his waistline. Another week of their excellent cook’s food would see him well recovered from the starvation diet he’d faced during his time with the pirates.

Too many people
. He stared into the room from the shadows of the doorway. Though appreciative of his hosts’ thoughtfulness, being on display before their friends made his stomach clench.
At least I can claim an early rising and leave the gathering without waiting for the last guest to depart.

“I would rather drink poison than join that crowd.” Greum’s muttered words shook Ferlie from his thoughts. He noted the smaller man’s disapproving stance. Hands fisted on his hips, face pressed into a disapproving frown, Greum echoed Ferlie’s own reticence.

Ferlie clapped the man on his shoulder. “Be thankful ye are alive to make the point,” he declared, more to himself than to Greum.

His friend tossed him a look of disgust and motioned to the room with one gnarled hand. “Ye first.”

With a chuckle, Ferlie stepped amid the glitter and pomp.

“Here he is!
Bienvenue, mon ami!
” Speaking loudly enough all could hear, Captain Rousseau gestured grandly to the doorway. Ferlie gritted his teeth, hiding his cringe as he forced his lips upward into a more pleasing mien.

He met the captain mid-room and gripped his arm in greeting. Turning to the crowd, he motioned to his host. “This man is responsible for saving many lives. Greum and I wouldnae be here today were it not for him.”

Spots of high color stained the jolly captain’s round cheeks. “You are the one who saved us,
mon ami
. We needed a friend on that cursed pirate ship, and,
Dieu merci
, He sent you.”

“Bravo!”

“Tout me félicitations!”

Shouts and cheers erupted around the room, glasses raised high in salute. Someone shoved a slender glass into Ferlie’s hand and he lifted it in acknowledgment. He tilted the pale golden contents to his lips, twitching his nose at the subtle bouquet. Men crowded around, buffeting him with their hearty congratulations. Women on the edge of the crowd tittered amongst themselves, eyes slanting at him with interest.

Ferlie grew weary of the crush and slowly made his way to the edge of the room where tall doors opened onto the first floor gallery. Cool evening air fanned his face and he breathed deeply.

“Good evening,
monsieur
. It is quite overwhelming,
no
?”

Ferlie smiled at the young woman at his side. Her red hair swirled in glistening waves of molten fire at the back of her head. Tiny diamonds winked at him from the fine
crespine
of delicate metal mesh holding the coppery curls in place. Thick golden embroidery accented the neckline of her green silk gown, casting a glow against her creamy skin. Ferlie dragged his gaze to her face where her blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

“After months at sea, there are many sights which overwhelm. A room full of cheering people is one.”

“And what of the other sights,
monsieur
? Do they overwhelm as well?”

The grin on Ferlie’s face was genuine. “
Mademoiselle
, yer ma would do well to keep an eye on ye. Ye will break many a poor man’s heart.”

She tapped his arm lightly with her fingers in mild reproach. “Och, I have given ye leave to use my given name, monsieur. Must we blame the salt and sun for that as well?”

“Careful, Murielle. Yer Scots is showing. Though why ye insisted on practicing yer English words on a poor Scotsman, I couldnae guess.”

“I am proficient in several languages. I wished to learn another.”

Ferlie interpreted the insinuation that he was the experience she craved. Something inside him stirred and he cast a quick glance around them, seeking listening ears. He spied her mother’s sharp look from a nearby group of women, and he gave Murielle a short bow.

“As always, m’lady, I am yer servant. But ye must cast yer hooks, lovely though they are, in someone else.”

Murielle tossed her head and the diamonds twinkled in her hair. “
Maman
is watchful, but owes ye much. And I am but her youngest daughter.”

“And I dinnae know who I am. She wouldnae welcome me as her son, no matter her gratitude.”

“I think ye are wrong, but no matter. I am part Scots on
ma mère’s
side, ye see. It would not be such a blow to her.” She clasped her hands before her, her words turned serious. “I wish there was some way of helping ye further.”

Relieved to hear the simple emotion unclouded by her earlier flirtation, Ferlie softened. “Ye have helped tremendously, lass. From my first day here ye have befriended me. Ye remind me of someone…” His gaze slipped to a spot beyond Murielle’s shoulder.

“
Vraiment
?” Her voice, breathless with excitement, pulled his attention back.

“Aye, truth. Yer sweet disposition is of a younger sister, if I have one…” He laughed at her moue of disappointment. “And yer hair reminds me of…”