Page 13 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

13

“ N ever heard that from a lass afore.”

Duncan groaned aloud, the sound echoing through the empty space as he stared at the door through which Alison had just exited. His entire body was still buzzing from what they had just done, and he could still smell the delicious scent of her. And yet she just thanked him and left?

His mind spiraled, never once settling on one clear thought.

What in hell am I doin’?

When he had left the battlefield and ridden off into the night after news of Alison’s abduction had reached him, he had resolved to return to Marsden Castle for good, but at the same time, he had also promised himself to keep his wife at arm’s length.

The people who had killed Lucy, his first wife, were still roaming about. In the five years that had passed since that fateful night, he had come no closer to identifying who had stabbed her and left her dead in their bed. Duncan had vowed not to let harm come to his second wife while the unidentified assailants still skulked in the shadows.

How had he gone from being her protector to going down on his knees before her and feasting on her like a starved man?

“Ye have to get yer wits about ye,” he admonished himself, thoroughly chagrined by his weakness.

He finger-combed his tousled hair and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the remnants of Alison’s pleasure, then readjusted and smoothed down his clothes to give himself a more orderly, composed appearance.

A patter of rushing footsteps suddenly sounded on the opposite side of the door amidst a flurry of childish giggles.

Duncan stepped cautiously toward the door, his curiosity piqued. He focused on the way his feet landed, slowing his usually heavy footsteps as he carefully crept toward the room’s entrance.

He grabbed the doorknob and pulled on it slowly so the door would not creak. He poked his head out and scanned the corridor, but he saw nothing. He once again heard Rosie, who was now giggling on the floor above him.

“Our night walk!” she squealed. “We have to go say goodnight.”

“Aye, child. But ye dinnae need to run so fast.”

The voice was familiar, and it took Duncan only a moment to remember that it belonged to the maid, Effie. The one who had come to the dining hall to escort Rosie away.

Has it really been that short of a time since supper?

After everything that had transpired in the sitting room, it felt as though many hours had passed since he had sat across from his daughter, enjoying their first meal together. He had been thoroughly entertained by her prattling over the span of their dinner, and was once again consumed by the desire to know more about her. His burgeoning curiosity encouraged him to move stealthily forward.

Despite his size, it was easy for Duncan to sneak along the corridor and make his way up the stairs. He had entered too many enemy camps and carried out too many executions not to know how to effectively camouflage himself.

Rosie and Effie did not hear him approach as he stepped onto the landing. He spotted the pair walking along the balustrade toward the far side of the castle. Effie held a lantern high, allowing Rosie to address every portrait they passed.

“Goodnight, horse,” Rosie called out, waving at a painting of horses grazing amongst the grass. “Goodnight, bird.” That was directed at a stuffed pheasant resting in a stone alcove.

Duncan crept closer to them so he could continue to be part of his daughter’s nightly ritual. He wanted to observe her without her knowledge, and he craved to see how she behaved when she was unhampered by fear or uncertainty.

The notion that his own daughter was afraid of him made his stomach lurch, but he quickly pushed the feeling away. He was too enraptured by the scene unfolding before him to ponder the thought.

Rosie was still waving, wishing a good night to each portrayed person and every stuffed or painted animal. She turned a corner, Effie following close behind, and Duncan surged forward, eager to keep his eyes on them.

He peered around the corner and spotted them immediately. They had stopped in front of a painfully familiar large portrait.

It was one of himself and Lucy, the woman who had given birth to his daughter. It had been painted shortly after their wedding day, and although they did not know it at the time, she had already been with child.

During that year, Rosie had been born and Lucy had died.

Rosie’s red ringlets glinted in the lantern light as she stared up at the portrait. From his vantage point, Duncan could see the side of her face, and he noted that her eyes were bright and she was smiling while she looked up at it.

“Goodnight, First Maither,” she said in her soft child’s voice. “And goodnight Faither.”

Duncan watched as his daughter reached up and placed a small hand on the portrait’s frame. She looked up at his painted image with deep affection, so different from the way she had looked at him earlier that day.

Without giving himself time to think, he stepped around the corner.

“Ye can say goodnight to me in person now, ye ken.”

His words echoed through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls and the décor. Rosie started, jumping back from the portrait as her hand snapped to her side.

Effie was also alarmed and let out a squeak of surprise, the lantern shuddering slightly in her hand as she took a quick step back.

Both of their eyes settled on him, and while Effie’s startled expression smoothed over quickly with recognition, Rosie’s did not. His daughter’s blue eyes remained wide with apprehension as she watched him stride down the hall.

Now I’ve gone and startled the lass. What a good start. I should have left well enough alone.

“Didnae mean to scare ye,” Duncan said as he approached. He tried to smile at Rosie, but it felt more like a grimace.

She stared up at him for only a moment more, a pregnant pause hanging in the air between them, before her childish features began to relax.

“Did ye come to join me on me night walk?” she asked, turning to look at Effie. “Did ye invite him?”

The maid began to shake her head, but Duncan hurried to say, “Ye invited me yerself, lassie, remember?”

Rosie turned her attention back to him, tilting her head to the side. It was the same gesture he had seen from Alison, and the similarity struck him directly in the gut.

“Aye, at dinner!” Rosie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she remembered their exchange. “We’re nearly done, though. This is usually our last goodbye of the night.”

She turned back to the portrait, and Duncan did the same.

“Do ye do this every night?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Trying to be gentle and not spook another person felt so foreign to him. He was used to approaching matters with brute force first; everything else be damned. But even as inexperienced with children as he was, he knew that would be a grievous error.

“Aye.” Rosie nodded, her curls bouncing around her face as she did so. “Maither is usually with me. We take a walk and say goodnight to everyone.”

“Everyone in the portraits?”

She shook her head. “We say goodnight to the maids and the stewards, then the portraits and the animals, and then we say goodnight to Faither and First Maither.” She pointed at the portrait.

“I heard ye say that earlier. How do ye ken about First Maither?”

“She’s me maither!”

The answer shocked Duncan, but he did his best not to let it show.

Thankfully, Rosie was still staring at the portrait, prattling away just as she had done during their dinner.

“Maither’s always told me the stories. She said that Lucy—that’s First Maither—gave birth to me.” Rosie turned back to him, her blue eyes shining as she recounted the story. “Did ye ken that sometimes one maither can make a baby, and then another can come along and raise it and love it? Me maither says ‘tis all the same. That both are real maithers, nay matter how it happens. And that’s why she has me and I have her. And we both have First Maither watchin’ over us.”

Duncan swallowed hard and stared down at the child— his child—who stood before him.

“Aye,” he answered, nodding his head once. “I ken. What else did yer maither tell ye?”

Rosie turned back to the portrait, and Duncan was grateful for it. He glanced at Effie and saw that she was watching him carefully. Although she appeared kind, she was regarding him warily, open curiosity written all over her face.

He thought about the healer who had come to his chambers earlier that day and the staff’s loyalty to his wife. While Rosie continued to speak, all the reasons why they loved his wife so much began to take shape.

“Well, she told me about Faither. That’s ye, I guess.” Rosie looked at him quickly, before diverting her attention once more. “She told me how ye were away, protectin’ us. She said that after First Maither died, there were people who wanted to hurt our clan, and ye were makin’ sure that they couldnae do it. Was she tellin’ the truth?”

Duncan nodded. “Aye. There’s a bit more to the story than that. But ‘tis true enough.”

“Would ye tell me the story?”

His mind began to scramble, wondering how he would even begin to explain the tides of war to a five-year-old, when a clock began to chime. It rang out the hour, filling the space with a cacophonous noise.

“All right, lass,” Effie said once the final bell had tolled. “That means ‘tis about time ye go to bed. Yer maither will be mad as a wasp if I let ye stay up any later.”

The maid walked forward, holding out her hand for Rosie to take, but the little girl stood firm. Instead of grabbing the maid’s hand, she turned to glance at Duncan.

“Will ye take me?” she asked, her blue eyes wide and pleading.

“Ye want me to?”

Rosie nodded excitedly, causing her curls to bounce around her face.

“I dinnae ken where ye sleep…” Duncan began, but his daughter quickly cut him off.

“I can show ye! ‘Tis very simple. I sleep in the rooms closest to Maither’s.”

Duncan did not tell the child that he no longer knew where Alison’s rooms were. He had known well enough where her chambers were five years ago, but in all that time, she could have easily moved.

Either way, he would allow his daughter to show him the way.

“Aye, all right then. I’ll take ye to yer rooms.”

He glanced at Effie, waiting patiently as she bid them both a good night. She left them with her lantern, assuring them that she would grab another on her way back to the servants’ quarters.

As Effie walked off down the corridor and disappeared around a corner at the end of the hall, Duncan turned back to Rosie. He found her looking up at him, her hand extended toward him.

“All right then,” she said impatiently, looking pointedly at her proffered hand and then back at him.

He took her hand, marveling at how small and fragile it felt in his.

“Show me the way,” he said, and she smiled somewhat awkwardly at him.

His daughter began walking, and he allowed himself to be led. Her hand was clammy in his, and a few times he caught her stumbling over her words as she chattered away.

She’s still wary of me.

Despite her young age and her uncertainty about his sudden appearance in her life, she was so very brave. A bolt of pride shot through him, and his chest puffed up slightly.

“These are me rooms,” she said, stopping in front of a door in the eastern wing.

Duncan had never spent much time in that wing of the castle, as he had always been needed in the western wing, but he immediately noticed how much the eastern wing had changed.

More than any other part of the castle, the eastern wing had been almost entirely redecorated. He remembered Rosie saying that her chambers were close to her mother’s. All around him, he could see the woman’s touch.

Books from far-off lands lined the area, and rich tapestries had been hung simply to showcase the art. Not a single stuffed beast was to be found.

At least the lass made herself at home.

Duncan did not dawdle any longer before placing his hand on the doorknob and turning it. Rosie bolted into her rooms.

As he entered, he could see that a fire had been lit in the grate and a maid sat in a nearby reading chair. She was unfamiliar to him, likely hired in the five years that he had been gone.

The young maid immediately jumped to her feet, a look of alarm crossing her face as she spotted him entering the room.

“Me Laird,” she said, bowing her head respectfully. “I was waiting for the wee lady to put her to bed.”

“I want me faither to do it!” Rosie said, turning to grin up at Duncan.

“Lady Rosie,” the maid said, turning to look at the child. “Ye will need someone to help ye change.”

“Well, I guess ye can help me with that,” Rosie replied, walking further into the room and to the maid’s side before turning back to Duncan. “But will ye stay to tuck me in?”

Her voice had become high-pitched and smaller than it had been earlier. Duncan was left with the impression that she was apprehensive about his answer.

“Aye, lass,” he said, his throat thick with emotion. “I can stay to tuck ye in.”

The maid nodded, extending her hand toward Rosie, which the child immediately took. She allowed herself to be led behind a changing screen that was propped up in front of the wardrobe.

While Rosie readied herself for bed, Duncan took the time to scan the room. There was a chest of wooden toys in one corner, some blocks having tumbled out. Two reading chairs sat across from one another before the crackling fire, and two overcrowded bookshelves stood on either side of it. One book was open and lay upside-down on a small table that stood between the chairs.

Duncan walked over and plucked the book off the table. His eyes roved over the pages, immediately identifying it as A Little Book for Little Children . It was a book he had often seen mothers reading to their children. And now, holding it in his hands, it was easy to imagine Alison doing the same.

Gratitude flashed through him, but he did not have time to revel in it as his daughter’s voice chirped from behind him. “I’m ready now, Faither!”

He turned, finding Rosie in a light pink nightgown and thick woolen socks. Her red ringlets had been brushed, making them frizzy and standing on end.

“Let’s get ye into bed, then,” he said a bit awkwardly.

He had not been around many children, especially during his time at war. He had thought of his daughter frequently, wondering what she would be like and what type of personality she would have, but his inquisitiveness did nothing to prepare him for interacting with her.

Duncan watched as she strode from the toy and reading room to another door. Just as Rosie disappeared beyond the threshold, the maid cleared her throat.

He had not noticed that she was still in the room. When he turned to her, she was eyeing him carefully.

“She’ll want to sleep with this,” she said, extending a hand holding a delicate porcelain doll.

He took it from her, the porcelain cool against his palm.

“She sleeps with it every night,” the maid explained. “But she’ll nae ask for it. She’s too afraid to appear childish.”

“She is a child,” Duncan grunted, pointing out the obvious.

“Yes, but she is tryin’ to impress ye. So, she doesnae want to act like a child in front of ye.”

“Why would she want to impress me?”

A flush rose to the woman’s cheeks, and she shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

She doesnae want to answer me.

“I dinnae ken,” the young maid said finally, although it was clearly a lie.

He did not press her further, though he was sure that he would not like the answer if she decided to give him one. Instead, he held the doll awkwardly as he wished her goodnight, then strode toward the door that Rosie had walked through.

Duncan heard the maid leave the chambers as he stepped into his daughter’s bedroom.

Rosie was sitting on top of the covers, her gaze fixed on the door.

Extending the doll to her, he grunted, “Thought ye might want this.”

“Thank ye,” she said, reaching up to pluck it out of his hand. “I dinnae usually sleep with a dolly. That’s just for bairns. But mayhap just for tonight?”

He remembered the maid’s words, still confused by the small person before him, and merely nodded.

“All right then,” Rosie said, slowly clambering further into the bed.

He watched as she pulled back the blankets, placing both her small body and the doll beneath them.

“Tuck me in.” She blinked up at him expectantly.

Hesitantly, he moved next to her. He had not been tucked in since he was a bairn himself and had never tucked another person in either. With stiff, unsure movements, he pulled the blanket around and under her limbs.

Rosie was jostled about quite a bit during the process, and he heard her giggle as his uncoordinated movements tossed her to and fro.

“Ye’re nae very good at this,” she snorted, and he shot her a glance.

“I’ve nae tucked someone in afore,” he grunted, shoving the final bit of blanket underneath her.

“Maither usually does this for me after our walk,” Rosie explained, looking down at her doll.

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “She’s much better at it than ye.”

He grumbled a response, but his daughter did not turn to look at him. He wondered what their relationship would have been like if he had not left for war all those years ago.

As the question crossed his mind, he knew that his presence would not have changed much. Alison would still have cared for the girl. She would still have been the one to tuck Rosie in each night.

No use in dwellin’ on the past, is there?

“Goodnight, then,” Duncan grunted, taking a few steps back from the bed.

“Goodnight, Faither. I’m sure that tomorrow night, ye’ll be even better at tuckin’ me in. We all have to learn somehow.”

Duncan only nodded. “Goodnight, lassie.”

He turned to walk out of the room, throwing one final glance over his shoulder to see Rosie snuggling further into her mound of pillows. Her doll was clutched firmly to her side.

He knew it was unlikely that he would be the one tucking his daughter in from there on out. He was certain that his wife would not want him to disrupt or take over the routine she had spent the last five years crafting so carefully.

Mayhap I can create me own routines with the lass, though.

The thought brought him some comfort as he shut the door to his daughter’s rooms and stepped into the corridor.