The Dreamer Read online

  Meet with his approval. Ian swallowed a bitter laugh. As if his approval meant a damn thing in this entire farce.

  Hattie responded with another huffing snort, then flounced out the door on Catriona’s heels.

  “Ye’ve made a braw enemy there, ye ken?” Gretna took hold of the linen bunched across her arm, shook it out, then folded it.

  “Aye, well…I’ve had worse.” He nodded toward the decanters. “Shall I pour ye something? Yer day has been just as trying as mine.”

  Gretna smiled. “Aye, that would be nice.”

  Something occurred to him as he poured her a glass of port. “I thought ye tended Lady Mercy? Stayed at her side most of the time? I’ve nay caught sight of her since I arrived.”

  With an almost embarrassed look, Gretna shook her head. “Lady Mercy doesna really need me. At least, not nearly as much as she did when she first lost her sight.” She draped the folded linen across the top of a chair. “King William sent her another lady’s maid almost a year ago. A fine girl named Fenna. That sweet lass takes care of Lady Mercy’s every need and even helps with her bairns.” She stared down at her hands folded atop the linen. “I am little more than a charity since I’ve no husband to provide for my sons, and my work with old Elena pays verra little.” Her irritated gaze lifted. “They think me blind to their ways. Pretending Mercy still needs me is their poor attempt to spare my pride so they can give me coin.” She smoothed her hands across the cloth again. “Their pity chokes me most days.”

  He could kick himself for mentioning it. What a damned fool he was. He gave her the port, then lifted his glass for a toast. “Ye are not a charity, and I’m sure they dinna think that.” He raised his glass higher. “A toast to ye, Gretna Neal, strong woman that ye are. Dinna ever change nor think yerself a burden to others, aye? Slàinte mhath!”

  “Slàinte mhath!” She took the tiniest sip of the port, then wrinkled her nose. “Dinna tell Catriona, but I’ve never cared for port. Too sweet.”

  “Then, I shall remedy that.” Ian took the port from her, cast a glance toward the stairwell, then poured it back in the decanter. He winked. “No one will ever know.” He pointed at the other choices lined up on the cabinet. “What shall it be, m’lady?”

  Gretna gave a soft laugh and looked more relaxed. “Whisky, kind sir.”

  “Whisky, it is.” Ian filled a glass and brought it to her. “Slàinte mhath—for true, this time.”

  “Aye.” She tapped it to his and took a much healthier sip than she had before. “Slàinte mhath—for true.”

  Remembering his mission, Ian set his whisky aside. He couldn’t wait to see how pleased she’d be with what he’d found. “Now, set yer dram on the table, and close yer eyes.”

  Gretna frowned, looking at him as though he’d gone daft. “What?”

  “Ye heard me,” he said. “I’ve a surprise. Close yer eyes and hold out both yer hands.”

  A doubting look still firmly in place, she grudgingly complied. With her drink on the table and her eyes closed, she stood with her hands locked at her sides. “I am none too keen on surprises. Nor any other kind of foolery, ye ken? Never have been. Give me a hint before I trust my hands to ye.”

  He stepped closer, easing the trinket box out of his sporran as he moved. “This is a good surprise. Ye can trust me. I swear it.”

  “Verra well then.” She took a deep breath, blew it out, then held her hands, palms up, in front of her. She resettled her stance and lifted her chin. “I am ready.”

  Proud and anxious to share his find and witness her happiness, he placed it in her hands. “Open yer eyes.”

  Curiosity knotting her brow, Gretna hurried to open her eyes. Gaze locked on the box, her lips parted, and her brow smoothed. She cocked her head to one side as she flipped the latch with her thumb and eased open the lid.

  “It’s for yer wee necklace!” He couldn’t stand it any longer. Surely, she had to prize it. It was perfect for keeping her dear memento safe.

  Gretna caught her lip between her teeth and closed the lid. Fingers trembling, she cradled the box between her hands, then slowly hugged it to her chest. “Ye bought this for me? For the necklace Coire gave me?”

  “Aye.” Ian swallowed hard and gave her his best smile. Something had gone wrong. He felt it in his bones and even heavier in his gut.

  A sheen of tears brightened her eyes, and her voice broke with emotions. “For the necklace?” she repeated with a tremulous smile. “To keep it safe?”

  Lord Almighty. He’d most assuredly erred. “Do ye not like it?”

  “Not like it?” The dreaded tears escaped and raced down her cheeks. She turned away and bowed her head. “How could I not like it?” she said so softly he barely heard her. “’Tis the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me since…” Her voice trailed off, and her shoulders shook with silent weeping.

  Shite. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “I’m sorry, Gretna. I didna mean to upset ye.” The wee gift had made things worse for her rather than better. Dammit. “I just thought—”

  She whirled and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him in a fierce hug. Face tucked into the crook of his neck, she whispered, “’Tis perfect. Finer than fine.” She squeezed him even harder until he became increasingly aware of just how soft and enjoyable her curves against him felt. When she released him and stepped away, he immediately missed her warmth, almost painfully so.

  “This means more than I can say,” she said as she gave the box a series of gentle pats. “So verra much more.” With a hard swallow and another sniff, she set the box on the corner of the buffet and opened the lid. She pulled the cloth parcel from her pocket, unwrapped the necklace, and placed it in the box. A peaceful look settled across her as she closed the lid. “’Tis perfect, for true. Coire would be pleased ye treated his gift with so much kindness and respect.” She glanced up at him. “Many say I should put all my memories of him away and only worry with making new ones. I dinna feel it’s wrong to remember those we love. Do ye?”

  “Nay.” Ian took hold of both her hands. “Nay, lass. I agree wholeheartedly. Remembering those we loved honors them and keeps them with us ’til we see them again.”

  “Ye’re a good man, Ian.” She smiled. “I shall do my best to make yer stay this winter as tolerable as possible. I promise.” She kissed his cheek, then patted his hands, and hurried to gather up the linen she’d left on the chair. “Best put this away,” she said as she hurried into the room on the right, the room he assumed she’d share with that irritating crone.

  Ian watched her until she disappeared. He pulled in a deep breath and held it, doing his best to sort through all he felt. Her touch. Her softness pressed against him. Her scent and warmth. All these things had burned themselves across his senses in a way he’d not expected. Tolerable, she had said. This stay at Tor Ruadh had already become more tolerable than he’d ever dreamed—and it scared the living hell out of him.

  Chapter Four

  “We each of us get our own?” Evander gave her a dubious look, then turned back to stare at the three cots lined up on either side of the hearth. “No more a Rory’s kicking or Finn’s pissing the bed?”

  “Yer verra own bed,” Gretna reassured. Poor lads. They’d always slept three to the pallet, but at least they’d kept each other warm on cold nights. “And since ye’re eldest, ye get to choose first.”

  Without hesitating, he pointed at the bed in the farthest corner. “That one. Rory’ll want to be by the hearth, and Finn’ll need to be closest to the door, so’s ye can get to him when he has his bad dreams.” Without another word, he climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.

  “What if I dinna want to be by the hearth?” Rory argued. “I can pick my own bed, thank ye verra much.”

  “Stop spoiling for a fight. It’s late, and we’re all of us weary.” Gretna gave a light swat to the lad’s rump. If the wee imp wasn’t sparring with someone, he wasn’t happy. “Ye know as well as I that ye’re always
cold.” She pointed to the cot closest to the hearth. “Get ye to bed.”

  Not fazed by the scolding, Rory grinned as he plopped down on the cot, bounced up and down for a moment, then slid under the blankets.

  “Finlay Drake?” She only used his full Christian name when she was determined to share some of her own strength with the timid mite. Poor wee Finn didn’t handle change well. To be honest, he handled few things well. This youngest child of hers struggled with life itself. Small for his age, he looked like any normal child, but she knew in her heart, he was not quite as he should be. God bless him. She didn’t care what was wrong with him. He was her dear, sweet bairn, and she loved him fiercely.

  “Get ye to bed, son. I’ll be just outside the door in the sitting room with my mending for a while. Then Mam Hattie and I will be right in the next room should ye need us.”

  “Will ye be able to hear me if’n I call out?” Finn asked, rocking back and forth from one foot to the other.

  Lord help her troubled child. Whenever Finn took to his rocking, he was more than a little anxious. He’d done it even as a wee babe. “I’ll leave the doors ajar just to make sure, aye?” She gave him a quick hug and kissed his cheek. “To bed with ye now, so’s I can tuck ye in.”

  Steps dragging, he made his way to the bed, then froze in place, his unblinking stare locked on the pillow.

  “Get in bed, Finn,” Evander ordered from the corner. “There’s naught to fear here in the keep, and if anything does try to bother ye, me and Rory’ll whip its arse for it.”

  “Aye, Finn,” Rory chimed in. “And we’ll hold it down and make it smell the cracks of our arses when we break wind!”

  That brought a smile and a giggle from the lad.

  Praise be. “In the bed, Finn,” she urged before the brotherly spell wore off.

  The child slid under the blankets, curled into a ball, then continued his rocking from side to side.

  At least he was in bed. Once he grew accustomed to the new arrangement, he’d settle down enough to sleep. Gretna tucked each child in snug and kissed their brows. “Ye’re my world, lads. I love ye forever and a day. Never forget.” She spoke this same blessing over them each and every night, praying they’d always remember just how much she loved them.

  She eased out of the room, leaving the door ajar just as she’d promised. Movement beside the far window caught her eye. Ian. Drink in hand. Staring up at the stars. God help that poor man.

  Mercy and Catriona had attempted to snare first Duncan, then Sutherland for her. She had flat out refused both and prayed that would be the end of it. Apparently, those two failures had served only to hone the matchmakers’ determination. And now this kind soul was trapped—at least for a little while. Without a word, she fetched her mending basket and settled in a chair closest to the boys’ room. She couldn’t lay down her own head until she knew her bairns slept.

  Ian turned from the window. “The old woman said to tell ye she’ll help with the mending tomorrow. Said she was too weary to make a straight stitch and has gone to bed.” He took a sip of whisky, then added, “thank God.”

  She pulled the candelabra on the table closer, angling the dark trews in the flickering light to better show the rip. “So, the two of ye are still fighting, I take it?”

  “We dinna fight.” He moved to the buffet and refilled his glass. “We just dinna like each other.” He nodded toward the line of decanters and pitchers. “Care for a drink?”

  “A bit of ale would be nice.” She pulled the line of stitching tight, knotted the thread, and cut it close with her teeth. “Anything stronger, and I’ll not get the proper mending done.” She set aside the completed garment and pulled another from her basket. As she adjusted her thread, she nodded down at the seemingly endless pile. “If ye’ve anything in need of mending, pop it in the basket. I dinna mind.”

  He set her drink on the table beside her. “Thank ye, but I usually tend to my own mending.” He gave a twitching shrug. “There’s not always someone available to handle it for me.” He meandered around the room, sipping at his whisky as he walked.

  On his third pass in front of her, Gretna pointed to the chair on the other side of the table. “Either sit and entertain me with tales of yer adventures or get ye to bed. Yer pacing rattles my nerves.”

  “After today, I’m surprised ye’ve got any nerves left.” He shot her a pouting scowl but lowered himself into the chair.

  “And dinna perch on the edge and sit there bouncing yer knees either. Ye fidget worse than Finn.” She’d forgotten that not only was Ian the most pensive of the seven who had shown up at the keep on that long-ago winter’s day, he’d also been the most restless.

  “Might I remind ye I am not one of yer sons? I dinna require constant scolding, ye ken?”

  He was right. The realization triggered a flash of remorse. “Aye, that’s more than true. Forgive me.” She pulled the stitch tight and stabbed the needle into the cloth. “I would blame it on the day, but that still doesn’t make it acceptable.” A heavy sigh escaped her as she sank deeper in the chair and allowed the mending to rest in her lap. “I’m sure the winter would be easier for both of us to bear without my nagging.”

  Ian scooted back in the chair and stilled his jittering. “I should not have spoken so sharply. Forgive me, too, aye?”

  She lifted her glass and gave him a smile. “To forgiveness all around.”

  Matching her smile, he leaned over and clicked his glass to hers. “Aye. To forgiveness.”

  They both drank, then set their glasses on the table. The silence between them grew, becoming an uncomfortable beast that filled the room. She had to think of something to say to vanquish it. The boys. She should tell him about the boys. Especially Finn. She shifted in the chair, turning to face him. “I dinna ken if ye’ve noticed, but Finlay—my wee Finn, is…special. He’s not like most boys his age.”

  Ian stared at her, eyes narrowing. “I had noticed,” he finally said. He frowned, still studying her. “Has he always been so…odd?”

  “Dinna call him that!” She hated that word. Odd. Touched. Addled. She’d have none of those names attached to her sweet bairn. “He struggles more than most, but he’s quick-witted. He’ll learn whatever task ye charge him with and keep at it until he has it perfect. Just be patient and give him a chance. Never mock him, or ye’ll have me to deal with, understand?”

  “I would never mock him, lass,” Ian said quietly. “Not ever.” He nodded toward the bedchamber door. “I’ll have all three of them made into fine warriors before I leave. Ye have my word on that.”

  A terrible memory surfaced. “Dinna take him hunting.” She shoved the unfinished mending back into the basket and scooted to the edge of the chair. “Promise ye willna take him hunting nor kill any animals in front of him, aye?”

  “Why? What happened to the lad?” Only concern and kindness shone in Ian’s eyes, urging her to relax. “Tell me so I can help him.”

  “The day before Colin’s accident, the fool decided he’d had enough of his son’s meekness. He killed the rabbit Evander had caught for Finn to keep as a pet. Finn had loved that rabbit dear. Even named it and held it all the time.” Her throat ached with a knot of emotions. “Colin gutted it in front of him.” She swallowed hard, determined not to weep. “Finn screamed for hours, and didna speak for nearly two years after that.” Lingering rage and unresolved vengeance shook through her. “If Colin had returned from his trip, I planned to slit his throat and gut him the same way.”

  “Heartless bastard deserved to die.”

  Ian’s quiet outrage warmed her heart. He looked the avenging mercenary she’d heard him to be. Teeth bared. Strong jaw flexing. Hands clenched and ready to unsheathe his sword. Her heart beat faster. What a fine man to find herself tethered to for the winter. A man not only of strength but of kindness.

  “Every day, I thank God Almighty for taking care of the matter for me.” She rose and moved to the bedroom door. “I best check on them one last tim
e before I seek my own bed.”

  No sound came from the room, dimly lit by a single candle on the mantel and the fire in the hearth. She eased inside, listening as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Finn had stopped his troubled rocking. The only sound in the room was the slow, steady breathing of her boys deep in their dreams. She turned down the covers of the large bed beside the window, then returned to the sitting room.

  “All are asleep if ye wish to get in yer bed now. I turned down the covers for ye since I’m now off to seek my own.”

  Ian stared at her with a strange expression.

  “Is something wrong?” She hoped she hadn’t insulted him by preparing his bed. ’Twas true they’d been unwillingly saddled with each other, but there was no need to make the worst of it. “Did ye not wish me to fix yer bed for ye?”

  He blinked as though waking from a dream. “Nay, lass. ’Tis fine. Thank ye. I’ll retire in a bit.” He held up his half-full glass. “I never waste a dram. Rest ye well and dream of only good things.”

  “Aye…and ye do the same.” An eeriness rippled across her, like the touch of a restless ghost. It wasn’t unpleasant. More like a vague memory, a good memory, struggling to be recalled and enjoyed. She shivered away the strange feeling. Such silliness. Her weariness played tiresome tricks on her sometimes. “Good evening to ye,” she said as slipped into her bedchamber.

  “Aye, lass. Rest ye well,” he repeated.

  *

  A delicate humming pulled him to full wakefulness. He never slept deeply. Hadn’t since Glencoe. He blinked, clearing his vision. The room had gone dark. The night candle must’ve spent itself or blown out from the partially opened window. The fire in the hearth had reduced to glowing coals. He sat up in bed, listening, pinpointing the sound. The sitting room. Maybe. With stealth born from years of fighting, he moved to the door and opened it wider. Flickering firelight from the sitting room hearth danced into the bedchamber and fell across young Finn’s bed. It was empty. Concern tingled through the hairs at the back of his neck. Nay. The lad’s fine. Surely, he’d just gone to his mother. Hadn’t he?