Part 25 (2/2)
”No, no, no. I just want him to...” What did she want? Acceptance? Yes, of course, but she wanted more, too.
Was Mam right? Did she want a commitment of the heart? Could she ask for such a thing?
”Easy, now! Yer head will explode if ye keep thinkin' so hard. 'Tis no' a complicated matter. From wha' ye said, it sounds as if ye were both barin' yer teeth at one another. Ye each owe t'other an apology.”
”I was afraid you'd say that.”
Mam patted her hand. ”La, la.s.sie! Is tha' so bad?” Her bright eyes locked on Triona's. ”Tell me-and this is important, la.s.s-do ye love him?”
Good G.o.d, what made her ask such a thing? ”No! Of course I don't. I mean, I care for him, but-” She blinked. Finally, she said slowly, ”It's possible, I suppose. But I surely hope not.”
”Why?”
”Because I don't want to be the only one,” Triona said softly.
”Ahh. Tha' could be a problem indeed.”
”I think about him a lot, and I can't help but remember how kind he is and how much he loves those girls.” A wistful feeling twisted in her heart. ”I just wish he'd share some of that with me.”
”He will, la.s.sie. He's just no' a person to absorb changes quickly.” Mam frowned. ”One o' the problems with the curse is tha' it teaches those involved to guard their emotions carefully. Think o' it, child: if getting angry could raise the ocean and sink s.h.i.+ps, ye'd be a mite cautious about feeling anything at all.”
Triona nodded thoughtfully. ”I hadn't thought of that.”
”'Tis a terrible responsibility. One tha' can shape a person, and no' always in a good way.” Mam patted Triona's knee. ”Before ye decide how to react to MacLean, ye need to walk in his boots.”
”You're right. I've wanted to ask him about that, and other things, but I keep tiptoeing around, trying to find my place.”
”Och, that'll never do! Wha' did ye do when MacLean lost his temper and tried to blow ye head o'er heels?”
”I told him I was angry.”
”Good. And then?”
”And then...he left.”
”Wha'? Ye didna make him stay to listen to yer complaints?”
”I did at first, but then I was angry, too, and I just wanted him gone.”
”Then tha' was a good idea, as ye were both mad as hornets. Wha' are ye goin' t' do when he returns and ye're no' so mad?”
Triona thought about this. ”I am going to ask-no, demand-that he allow me some say in all parts of our household, including the children.”
”And if he forgets ye're the apple o' his eye and foolishly says no?”
She smiled. ”Oh, I've already let him know that he's not the only one who can shake the house when he's upset.”
”Good fer ye, la.s.s! That's the spirit!” Mam's grin creased her weathered face. ”A fight is no' always a bad thing.”
”I've never seen my parents fight.”
”An' ye never will. Yer mother canna stand fightin', which is a pity-they'd be happier if they'd clear the air sometimes. Fightin' lets ye both say wha' needs to be said. Just be sure ye fight clean, and dinna bring up old hurts or blame one another. That's never a good thing.”
”But won't it make MacLean angry?”
”Tha' depends on wha' sort o' fight ye have. MacLean has more control over his powers than his brothers.”
”He does, indeed.” Triona looked curiously at her grandmother. ”Do you know how much?”
”La, la.s.sie, o' course I do.”
”How?”
”There is another MacLean they dinna speak of-Lord Hugh's younger brother who was killed in cold blood. When he died, the skies shook and roared fer days.” Mam's gaze darkened at the memory. ”The valley flooded, lightning snapped till the air was thick with sulfur, and icy winds roared. A good bit o' the village was washed away or burned to the ground. The villagers were huddled in their homes, frightened to death. One day, I saw yer man upon the castle roof. He stayed there fer two hours straight, and when he left, the storms were gone.
”His brothers came fer me to help him. He was too weak to walk, and they almost lost him, so they'd sent for me to tend him. I knew wha' had happened, but he didna wish me to tell a soul-not even his own kin.”
Mam frowned. ”'Tis the nature of a curse to punish those who find ways around her. So when he puts his will against her, she pushes back. I think it could kill him, if he pushed too hard.”
Triona found that she couldn't swallow.
”Och, dinna look so scared!” Mam patted Triona's hand. ”He's a good man, and ye need to know it. But dinna look fer a man to tell ye ye're right. It takes a true love to tell us when we're in the wrong.”
A true love. Triona had never thought of herself as a romantic, yet...perhaps she had idealized her parents' relations.h.i.+p. There had always been some tensions between Mother and Mam, and Father had to have felt caught in the middle. Yet never had she heard him say so. It made Triona wonder what other issues she didn't know about.
Perhaps the truth was that there were no perfect marriages, just some really good ones. And that was what she wanted: one of the really, really good ones. Suddenly, Triona realized that somewhere along the way, her goal in this relations.h.i.+p had changed. She no longer wished to leave her mark upon Gilmerton when she left. Now she didn't wish to leave at all. What she really wanted was a full-fledged, normal relations.h.i.+p with Hugh and his daughters. She didn't know if she could convince her husband to take such a chance, but she was willing to try.
”Thank you, Mam.” Triona hugged her grandmother. ”You've given me a lot to think about.”
”Good. People dinna think as much as they should anymore. Always doin' this, and doin' that-if ye never think, how do ye know what ye're doin' is what ye ought to be doin'?”
Triona agreed. It was far too early to tell whether she and Hugh could find love. But by living well day to day, including one another more and having frank-maybe even loud-discussions, they could work their way in that direction.
Mam grinned widely. ”Now, la.s.s, on to more important matters.”
Triona leaned forward. ”What's that?”
”If ye're not goin' to eat tha' scone, could ye put it on me plate? I've a long drive home, and I dinna wish to starve along the way.”
Triona laughed and put the last scone on Mam's plate, smiling as she watched the older woman slather it with marmalade.
”There she is,” Devon whispered as she peeked in the sitting-room window. ”She's with an old lady.”
Christina moved beside Devon. Caitriona was sitting beside a woman who had to be over a hundred years old. Her face was a ma.s.s of wrinkles and lines, her nose large and crooked, her gray hair wispy. ”She looks like a witch!”
Devon dropped back to her hands and knees. ”We need to go to the other side. They're sitting closer to those windows.”
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