Part 10 (1/2)
”Tomorrow. Perhaps the day after.” Fiona stroked the brush tirelessly through Serena's hair. Her daughter's pensive mood had come on the day the hunting party had left. ”Do you worry about him?”
”No.” She sighed, and her hands moved nervously in her lap.
”Sometimes I worry where it will all end, but I don't worry for Papa.”
Abruptly she linked her fingers together to still them. ”I wish I were a man.”
The statement brought Fiona some measure of relief, as it was typical.
With a little laugh, she kissed the top of Serena's head. ”What foolishness is this?” ”I do. If I were a man I wouldn't forever be forced to sit and wait.” And want, she thought, want something so nebulous she could never describe it.
”If you were a man you would rob me of one of the greatest pleasures of my life.”
With another sigh, Serena quieted. ”I wish I were more like you-more like Gwen.”
”You are what you were born to be, love, and nothing pleases me more.”
”I wish I did please you. I wish I could.”
”What, more nonsense?”
”There are times I know you are disappointed with me.”
”No, not disappointed, never that.” For a moment, Fiona wrapped her arms around Serena and pressed cheek to cheek. ”When you were born, I thanked G.o.d for giving you to me whole and safe. My heart was nearly broken from losing the two bairns between Coll and you. I feared I'd have no more children, then there you were, small as a minute, strong as a horse. What a time you gave me with the birthing. The midwife said you clawed your way into the world. Women don't go to war, Serena, but I tell you this, there would be no children in the world if men had to bring them into it.”
That made Serena laugh. She tucked her legs up and settled more comfortably. ”I remember when Malcolm came. Papa went to the stables and got drunk.”
”So it was with all of you,” Fiona said, smiling. ”He's a man who would sooner face a hundred dragoons with only a dirk than set foot in a birthing room.” ”How did you know-When you met him, how did you know you loved him?”
”I'm not sure I did.” Dreaming herself, Fiona studied the fire. ”The first time was at a ball. Alice MacDonald, Mary MacLeod and I were the best of friends. Alice MacDonald's parents were having a ball for her birthday. The MacDonalds of Glenfinnan. Your father's good friend Donald, as you know, is Alice's brother. Alice wore green, Mary blue, and I wore white with my grandmother's pearls. We had our hair powdered and thought we were very fas.h.i.+onable and beautiful.”
”I know you were.”
With a little sigh, Fiona stopped brus.h.i.+ng to rest her hands on her daughter's shoulders. ”The music was very gay, and the men so handsome. Your father had Donald introduce him, and he asked me to dance. I did, of course, but I was thinking-what do I want with this great beast of a man? He'll probably tread on my toes and ruin my new slippers.”
”Oh, Mama, never say you thought Papa couldn't dance.”
”I did, and was shown contrary, as you've witnessed time and time again. No one danced with more grace and lightness of foot than Ian MacGregor.”
It pleased Serena, the mental picture she conjured up of her parents young and sharing their first dance. ”So you fell in love with him for the way he danced.”
”No, indeed. I flirted with him, I confess. Alice and Mary and myself had made a pact to flirt with all the men at the ball until we had a score of suitors. We had decided we would choose only the most handsome, the most elegant and the wealthiest for husbands.”
With some astonishment, Serena looked over her shoulder. ”You, Mama?” ”Aye, I was quite vain and full of myself.” Fiona laughed and patted hair that was just beginning to show the first signs of graying. ”My father had spoiled me miserably, you see. The next day, your father called on the MacDonalds, where I was staying. To ride out with Donald, he said, but he made certain I saw him striding around the house as if he owned it.
Over the next weeks he put himself in my way more times than I could count. He wasn't the most handsome, the most elegant or the wealthiest of the men who called on me, but in the end, it was he I wanted.”
”But how did you know?” Serena insisted. ”How could you be sure?”
”When my heart spoke louder than my head,” Fiona murmured, studying her daughter. So this was the problem, she realized, and wondered how she could have missed the signs. Her little one was falling in love.
Rapidly Fiona ran through the names and faces of the young men who had come calling. She could not recall Serena sparing even one of them a second glance. In fact, Fiona thought with a frown, Serena had sent most of them off with their tails between their legs.
”There has to be more than that.” As confused as she was unsatisfied, Serena plucked at the folds of her skirts. ”There has to be a rightness to it, a sense to it. If Papa had been different, if you hadn't had the same beliefs, the same backgrounds, your heart would never have spoken at all.”
”Love doesn't account for differences, Rena,” Fiona said slowly. A sudden thought had intruded, one that made her uncertain whether to laugh or weep. Had her daughter, her fiery, headstrong daughter, fallen in love with the English lord?
”My sweet.” Fiona touched a hand to Serena's cheek. ”When love happens it's most often right, but it rarely makes sense.”
”I'd rather be alone,” Serena said pa.s.sionately. Her eyes glowed in the firelight, showing as much confusion as determination. ”I'd rather play aunt to Coll's and Gwen's and Malcolm's children than find myself pining after a man I know would make me unhappy.”
”That's your head talking, and your temper.” Fiona's hand was as gentle as her voice. ”Falling in love is frightening, especially for a woman who tries to fight it.”
”I don't know.” She turned her cheek into her mother's hand. ”Oh, Mama, why don't I know what I want?”
”When the time's right, you will. And you, the most courageous of my children, will take it.”
Her fingers tightened suddenly on Serena's cheek. They both heard the rumble of horses approaching. For a moment, in the light of the fire, both remembered another time, another night.
”Papa's back early.” Serena rose to take her mother's hand.
”Aye.” Degree by degree, Fiona forced herself to relax. ”He'll be wanting something hot.”
The men had ridden hard in their desire to sleep in their own beds. They had indeed hunted, and came home laden with fresh-killed deer and rabbit and wild duck. The house, which had been so quiet, erupted wit h Ian's shouts and commands. Clad in her night robe, Serena had decided to remain upstairs until she heard her father bellowing for her.
She began smoothing her hair and skirts, then stopped herself in disgust.
It hardly mattered what she looked like. She came down to see her father, his face still reddened by the bite of wind, giving Gwen a hearty kiss. Coll sat near the fire, a lap robe covering his knees and Malcolm perched laughing on the arm of his chair.
With a full cup already in his hand, his other dug into his breeches pocket, Brigham stood in front of the hearth. His hair was ruffled by the ride, his boots splashed with mud. Despite her resolve not to, she found her eyes drawn to his. For the s.p.a.ce of three heartbeats, there was nothing and no one else.
Nor was there for him. He watched her enter, her dark green robe flowing down her, her hair glowing like firelight. Brigham's fingers tightened so quickly, so violently, on the pewter cup that he thought they might leave dents. Deliberately relaxing them, he sketched her a bow.
Her chin shot up, making him want more than anything else to stride across the room and crush her against him.
”There she is, my little Highland wildcat.” Ian threw open his arms.
”Have you got a kiss for your Papa?”
She gave him a saucy smile. ”I might.” Crossing to him, she gave him a very demure peck on the cheek. Then, with a laugh, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a loud, smacking one. He responded by lifting her off her feet and twirling her twice.
”Now here's a likely la.s.s,” he told the room in general. ”If a man can survive the claws, he'll have a prize worth keeping.”
”I'll not be a prize for any man.” She gave his beard a hard, disrespectful tug that earned her a slap on the bottom and a grin.
”You see I speak the truth, Brig. She's a lively one. I've a good mind to give you to Duncan MacKinnon, as he asks me nigh on every week.”
”And so you may, Father,” she said mildly. ”He'll be less of a nuisance once I slice him in two.”
He laughed again. Though all his children delighted him, Serena held the tightest grip on his heart. ”Fill my cup, brat, and the rest besides. Young Duncan's not the match for you.”