Page 8 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)
F or Tavish, traversing the road between Cairnfell and Castle Balfour felt like a journey back through time—each rock and tree ringing with the memory of Isla Kinsey and everything he had tried so very hard to forget.
There was the sheltered copse where he had been wont to steal a kiss.
The deep pool where the River Northcairn curled into itself, and Tavish had taught Isla to swim.
The rutted road—scarcely more than a track—that he would dash along in his haste to reach her. The same road Isla had raced down to throw herself into his arms.
Her past jubilation was the precise opposite of the poised, withdrawn lady he had just encountered atop Cairnfell.
Where had she gone, that vibrant lass?
It hardly mattered now, he supposed.
Lady Isla hadn’t been happy to see him. No smile of surprise, no spark of delight.
If anything, her expression had been one of dread and worry.
Clearly, the passage of time had not softened her heart toward him.
Battle-weary soldier that he was, Tavish understood when to raise the white flag of surrender.
Unfortunately, Lady Isla wasn’t the only difficulty to be confronted today. There was still the matter of his family and their role in all this.
Tavish turned the last bend in the road and stopped. Castle Balfour gleamed in the sinking sunlight, a tattered banner flying from the west tower.
After seven years away, the view turned his throat tight.
He had hoped to feel nothing more than nostalgia upon arriving home.
Instead, an upwelling of resentment, anger, and grief greeted him—emotions he had assumed long dead and buried.
However, the feelings were precisely where he had left them—here, in this castle, echoing off the granite walls and crumbling battlements.
Returning had, perhaps, been a miscalculation on his part. Or, if he had visited with more regularity, maybe the surge of emotion wouldn’t sting like a sharp slap.
Like himself, Castle Balfour was a bit worse for wear.
Ducking under the arched gateway and cantering into the courtyard, Tavish noted the masonry missing here and there atop the crenelated walls. Ivy appeared to be taking over the south wing entirely. Straw, mud, and animal refuse coated the flagstones.
Swinging off Goliath, Tavish handed the reins to a groom.
“See that my saddle bags are brought up to my room,” he said.
The boy blinked, obviously having no idea who Tavish was or why he might be staying at Castle Balfour.
Aye, he had perhaps been away too long.
Tavish didn’t wait for a reply.
Instead of pounding on the front door for entry—and letting one and all know he had returned—Tavish slipped through a smaller side door and up a staircase to the back of the entrance hall. From there, it was a simple matter to creep up the wide spiral staircase and across the great hall.
His entire family was seated at dinner, talking loudly over one another along the large table, pets scattered around the room.
Meals had always been informal affairs at Castle Balfour.
Children were not relegated to the nursery.
So it was no surprise to see his two youngest siblings sitting with their elders.
Tavish stood in the doorway, waiting for someone to notice him in the chaos.
Naturally, his father sat at the head of the table, hair grayer and face more lined. Lord Northcairn’s ruddy complexion showed signs of dissipation, and his waistcoat buttons strained to contain his girth.
Callum, Lord Cairnfell, Tavish’s older brother, sat to their father’s right as befitted his position as heir.
Like Tavish, Callum had red hair and a deep-chested, muscular build.
Unlike Tavish, Callum was quick with a laugh and compulsively flirted with any woman foolish enough to come within earshot.
Opposite Callum sat Mariah, their eldest sister.
Unlike her brothers, she had dark hair that curled and bounced as if it would spring from her head at the slightest jolt.
Efficient and organized, she still had the mien of a general, marshaling troops.
Mariah gave orders, and they all listed to obey.
Case in point, at just that moment, Mariah bent to say something to the two children beside her, their youngest siblings—the twins, Edmond and Elsie. Edmond scowled but straightened in his seat. Elsie primly lifted her fork.
Heavens, how the twins had grown. They had been only three years old when Tavish left, barely out of leading strings. And now here they were—ten years of age and poised to sprout upward like a pair of silver birches reaching for sunlight.
Only Alice and Kenneth were missing. Alice had married nearly four years ago and lived in Aberdeen with her solicitor husband and two children. Or so Mariah had written. Tavish hadn’t met her husband or his new nephews.
Kenneth was currently reading law at St Andrews University in Fife.
There had been other siblings. In particular, a pair of sisters between Kenneth and the twins who had died of a lung ailment over a decade past.
And, of course, their mother. A lady as dark-haired and fierce as Mariah and similarly quick with a hug or a firm scold. Bloody hell, but he missed her .
Tonight, dinner was their typical merry mayhem. That, at least, had not changed.
Edmond poked Elsie, who predictably complained to Callum.
Mariah said something to their father, who nodded and poured more wine.
Three dogs snuffled around the table, whining for scraps.
They were hardly the most observant of fellows, as not one of them had yet noticed Tavish.
A black and white cat stretched on one of the vacant chairs, claws pricking into the embroidered cushion.
And was that a rabbit twitching its nose in the corner? Why the sudden onslaught of animals?
Finally, one of the dogs, a gray Scottish deerhound named Wallace after Scotland’s famous hero, realized that another family member had joined them.
With a woofing whine, he raced to greet Tavish, tail wagging furiously, his entire body nearly twisting in half with joy.
The dog raised onto his hind legs and attempted to lick Tavish’s face as the rest of the family jumped to their feet.
“Tavish!” Mariah cried.
“Son!” their father smiled.
“At last,” called Callum.
“That’s Tavish?” Edmund asked Elsie.
Tavish caught Elsie’s soft words. “I suppose so.”
And then Edmund’s reply. “I thought he would be taller, the way Mariah talks.”
Mariah rounded the table and, pushing Wallace aside, wrapped Tavish in a tight hug.
“Ye wretched man!” she said in his ear, shaking him slightly. “Ye didn’t say even one word in your last letter about this. I would have been waiting at the window in anticipation!”
“Hallo, Mariah.” Tavish returned her hug, lifting her off the ground. Her small frame always surprised him. Mariah was such a force of nature, he thought of her as a giant when, in fact, she was a mere wisp of a woman.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she pulled back, tears pooling. “Regardless, I’m glad ye be here.”
The emotion lingering in Tavish’s chest constricted.
“Enough. Ye will both be greiting like a pair of mawkish débutantes next.” Callum pushed Mariah aside .
For all his brusque words, Callum grasped Tavish in a tight embrace.
Huh. They were the same height now. Before, his brother had always been a wee bit taller.
“Figures ye would grow another two inches, ye bawbag ,” Callum said good-naturedly. “Welcome home, brother.”
And then the twins were upon Tavish, demanding his attention though they surely had no true memory of him.
Edmund climbed his legs as though they were tree trunks, while Elsie tugged on his coat. Both battered him with questions.
“Will you be here for long, Tavish?” That was Elsie.
“Did you kill a hundred Frenchies in the army?” That was Edmund.
“Edmund!” Mariah swatted the back of his head.
“What?! He was a soldier, Mariah.”
“Would you like to meet my pet rabbit? Her name is Josie—”
“Josie is silly! Ye should see my frogs, Tavish!”
“Children! Enough!” Their father clapped his hands.
Lord Northcairn used a cane now to walk, Tavish noted. But the man’s gaze danced as lively and heedless as ever.
Reaching up, he pulled Tavish’s head down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I praise God ye have arrived home safely to us, Son.”
“It’s good to be home, Da’.”
“Jameson!” Lord Northcairn called for their butler. “Let us have a bottle of Madeira to celebrate.”
The twins whooped and raced around the room, setting the dogs to yipping.
The cat leapt onto the sideboard, upsetting the gravy boat and tracking brown paw prints across the tablecloth.
Mariah rapped the table, calling for order, which the twins—no doubt to their peril later—blithely ignored.
Callum rolled his eyes. Their father laughed and went back to his food, tossing the cat to the floor.
The beleaguered Jameson arrived and summoned a footman to help clean the mess.
Home was precisely as Tavish remembered—mayhem, laughter, and affection flowing atop undercurrents of resentment and pain.
As ever, he drifted along in its wake.
The following hours passed in a rush.
The twins were beside themselves to finally meet their long-absent older brother.
This meant they had to show him everything in their world.
Tavish admired the frogs—one was likely a natterjack toad, not a frog, which the twins debated at length—as well as a smooth snake, a rabbit, and a litter of kittens.
Apparently, the snake had a habit of eating the frogs. No surprise there.
Once the twins had been banished to the nursery—complaining mightily that they were not tired and Tavish still hadn’t seen the spider nest in the back garden and would he spend the day with them tomorrow?—Tavish joined his father and Callum in the library for a dram of whisky.