“I’m happy you’ve found a mon who cares for you so much. Do you think he loves you just like you love him?” Cairstine wondered aloud.
“I’m certain he does. He told me before I said it.” Fenella sank onto the stool before the small table that held her combs and ribbons, still clutching the fabric.
“Fenny, put the velvet aside before you crush it,” Davina suggested. “Tell Cairstine aboot the lambs that dropped a few sennights ago. What did you name them?”
Cairstine smiled at her mother, grateful that she’d distracted Fenella. Her sister regaled her with a tale of baby lambs that looked like clouds but ate like wolves. The afternoon slipped into evening, and it was time for the evening meal before Cairstine realized it. She was exhausted and wished she could take a tray in her chamber and climb into her bed, but she knew people would expect her to make an appearance during her first night home. It came as a relief to see her mother and a trail of servants approaching her chamber as she stepped into the passageway. She saw a tub, steaming buckets, and a tray laden with enough food for two. She stepped aside to allow everyone entry.
“Thank you, Mama,” Cairstine smiled. Tension eased from her shoulders and neck as she waited for the serving women to fill the bath. Once the servants left, Davina helped unlace Cairstine’s kirtle even though she could have done the side laces herself. She eased into the scalding water as her mother laid out a fresh chemise before uncovering the various plates of food. Cairstine would have loved nothing more than to soak until the water went cold, but she didn’t want to keep her mother waiting. She hurried through washing her hair, appreciative of her mother’s help when Davina poured clean water over her sudsy locks. She ran the soap-lathered linen over her body before her mother held up a drying linen that she wrapped around Cairstine. Davina led her daughter to the stool she’d placed before the fire and began combing her daughter’s hair.
“You did a brave but impetuous thing trying to join the order. You knew your father would never agree, yet you were willing to face those consequences and still proceed.” Davina ran the comb through Cairstine’s hair with long, gentle strokes that threatened to lull Cairstine into sleep despite the topic. “I wish you would trust me and reveal the real reason for your decision, but I won’t force you. Whatever it is, and I can imagine a few possibilities, I need you to understand that I will never turn on you, never turn you away.”
“I know, Mama.” Cairstine had never been so tempted to confess to her mother as she was in that moment, but the shame was too great. She couldn’t bear the possibility that her mother would blame her and that she would lose her mother’s esteem.
“Your father isn’t an easy mon to draw close to. He’s taken on a life that was meant for his brother, not him. Did you know that when I became a widow my parents and your father’s parents intended me to marry your uncle, Gilmore, before he died? Not only did your father inherit the lairdship and all that entails, he also inherited a bride. He’d never once considered having a wife nor fulfilling his duties as a husband. I’ve grown to respect and rely on your father over the years, but it wasn’t instantaneous. It took many years before we grew comfortable with one another, but now I hold him in the highest esteem.”
Cairstine was wide awake by the time her mother finished speaking. She understood her mother’s implied message, but she was more shocked to hear the fondness in her mother’s voice when she described her father. Both Edward and Davina revealed more about their relationship in one day than Cairstine had ever supposed in her entire life. She’d been under a false impression, and it had never occurred to her that her father might have entered the marriage with trepidations about his marital duties. As she considered it, she realized that her fears were mostly likely similar to her father’s. He’d intended to live a life of celibacy, but his clan, his wife, and her clan expected him to perform as a secular man would. Cairstine had never asked whether they forced her mother to endure a bedding ceremony, but she suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for her father if they had. She realized Edward probably dreaded the conjugal part of marriage as much as Cairstine, but he’d overcome it. He’d sired two daughters who looked more like him than Davina.
Cairstine remained quiet as she considered what she learned, and her mother didn’t press her into conversation. They both enjoyed the companionable silence while they ate. When they finished, Davina summoned servants to clear away the bath and supper tray. Once they were alone again, Davina kneeled beside Cairstine as they recited their prayers then tucked Cairstine into her bed like she had countless times when Cairstine was a child.
“Mama?” Cairstine called out as her mother approached the door. “I know I keep saying thank you over and over, but I really do mean it.”
“I ken you do, Cair. Sleep well,mo ghruagach.”Cairstine blew out the candle on her bedside table and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Cairstine shut her eyes as she steeled herself for Fingal’s approach. She was once more watching their horses flirt as his stallion attempted to lure her mare into mating. She wasn’t in the mood for any of Fingal’s euphemisms or less-than-subtle hints that they should marry. She held him in high regard in all ways—except as a potential suitor. She was confident he would be a well-respected and formidable laird when he one day inherited the title from Edward. She was well aware of his skills and successes on the battlefield. She appreciated his quick wit and intelligence, but she was not enthused about his hints that they should marry. She knew he held no more affection for her than she did for him. He viewed their marriage as a business venture, and while she could accept that, she couldn’t overcome her trepidation about her wifely duties. She’d spent both morning Masses contemplating what she’d realized the night before about her father.
She saw the obvious similarities between their circumstances, but she reminded herself that Edward hadn’t suffered the same trauma she had, and while she couldn’t imagine her father hurting her mother, he was invariably in control. She sighed just before Fingal stepped next to her. She still hadn’t resolved the matter, but she reminded herself that she promised herself that she wouldn’t allow it to consume her anymore.
“Has Twinkle accepted the inevitable yet?” Fingal grinned as he leaned back on the top rail of the pasture fence, so he could face Cairstine.
“Nay, not yet. They’re still dancing around each other, but I think she’s coming around.”
“She may as well. She can’t fight this forever. She’s a mare; it’s her fate to breed.” Fingal’s cocked brow made clear that he meant it was all women’s fate, including hers.
“She might yet reject him. Maybe choose one of Father’s studs instead. She doesn’t have to take the first choice presented to her.”
“Aye, but we tried that already. Only my horse will take her.” Fingal’s eyes narrowed, as if a hard stare would make his point any clearer.
“Fingal, ye dinna want to marry me any more than I want to marry ye. Ye want what comes with me. The assurance that nae one can contest yer inheritance. Who would? Nay one. There is nay one to do it. We all ken ye’re the closest living male relative. Even if I married, and an argument was made that ma husband should inherit, the candidates being presented are all heirs or lairds in their own right. They arenae going to take the title from ye. Ye’re welcome to the bluidy thing.” Cairstine’s irritation caused her burr to slip out. During her early days at court, it had been an ongoing challenge to minimize her accent and to sound more like a Lowlander. Eventually, it became more normal, but when she grew irritated or too tired, it returned.
“You have a chance to stay here among your people at your home. Why wouldn’t you take that?”
Cairstine collected herself, consciously diminishing her burr. “The Grants will always be my people, but Freuchie stopped feeling like home two years ago when my parents sent me to court. When I come home, the faces are the same, but I’m not the same.”
“It can feel like home again if you stayed long enough,” Fingal pointed out. “If you married me, if you have that opportunity, why not take it while it’s being freely offered rather than being forced upon you?”
“I’m sorry, Fingal, but it doesn’t feel like it’s freely offered.”
“Don’t you remember how you used to imagine that you were Lady Grant when we were children? You have that opportunity.”
“That’s when we were children, but dreams change as we grow older. Sometimes they lose their shine. Sometimes they become grittier and more realistic. Fin, you deserve somebody who can offer you genuine affection. Somebody who wants to be married to you rather than forced.”
“I never knew you were so sentimental at heart, Cairstine. Why would I even worry aboot whether the woman loves me? I need not love her.”
“Even arranged marriages can grow into ones with affection, mutual respect, and even warmth. But I can’t say that I see there’s that likelihood for us. Fin, you’re more like my brother than my husband. I just can’t see you as aught else.”
“You might over time.”
