“Nonsense.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Ye are loveliness itself, and Grandmother admires those who dinna fear getting a bit dirty with their labors.”
Mila swung about and glared at Grissa, then shoved her basket into the maid’s hands. “Greta needs as many greens as ye can find, aye?”
The lass beamed a triumphant smile and nodded. “Happily, mistress. I shall do ye proud.”
Teague stepped aside so she might take the lead up the narrow garden path. “I feel certain Bethia has kept Grandmother apprised about ye. Dinna be startled if she knows more than ye thought she would.”
Mila didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Bethia is good to help her stay connected with the clan. Being forced to stay abed canna be a pleasant existence.” She caught sight of her hands and flinched. Dirt under her nails and fingers stained green from weeding and crushing aromatic herbs. What would his grandmother think? “I must at least scrub my hands before I see her.” She turned for the kitchen door.
“She willna judge ye harshly, love.” Teague caught hold of her and spun her into his arms. “She knows how happy ye have made me.”
The love gleaming in his dark brown eyes threatened to make her weep. She rested a hand on his cheek and smiled. “Ye have made me happy as well.”
His sleek black brows drew together. “Then why, my sweetest dove, do ye look ready to cry?”
She blinked away the moisture, eased free of his hold, and hurried to the basin just inside the kitchen door. “Happy tears. Women do that, ye ken?”
“I suppose.” He leaned against the door facing and watched her while she scrubbed. After shifting positions as though uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. “Ye wouldna happen to be with child, would ye?”
As she dried her hands on a rag, she studied him, trying to decipher his expression. “I dinna think so.” She shook out the cloth and returned it to its peg. “What would happen if I was?” She needed to know, even though she feared what he might say.
His grin widened into a smile, as if the answer couldn’t be simpler. “We would have our first bairn.”
Hands fisted against her middle, she nodded, subtly prodding him. “Aye, but the bairn’s last name would be Carthson.”
His smile shifted to a frown. “The hell it would. My son or daughter would be a MacDonald.”
“But we are not married. I am merely yer mistress.”
He expelled a huff. “In the eyes of God, my clan, and the irregular marriage laws of Scotland, we are man and wife, my precious dove.” He stared at her in disbelief, obviously shocked they were having this conversation. “I announced to one and all that ye share my bed as well as my life. At supper. Weeks and weeks ago. We celebrated with a great many toasts. Did the whisky make ye forget?”
Shehadforgotten about the irregular marriage laws that weren’t changed until 1940. However, if he considered them married, why hadn’t he taken her to meet his grandmother sooner? “I have not forgotten, but if I am yer wife as ye say, should I have not already met yer grandmother by now?”
He hung his head and scowled at the floor. “Aye. Ye should have,” he admitted quietly. “My only excuse is that every time I go to her door, I expect her to have moved on through the veil. I am a selfish man, my dove. I hoard every additional minute of her company that I am allowed.” He raised his head and fixed her with a sorrowful gaze. “My father died at Glencoe. My mother died bringing me into this world on that same hellish night. Then my aunt died a year later. Grandmother raised me. She is the only close kin I have.”
“But Calder?”
He smiled, took her hands, and eased her into a hug. “Adopted brother, ye might say. We dinna share the same blood, but he is as true a brother as if we did.”
She hugged him tight, sorry for ever doubting him. “Forgive me,” she whispered against his chest.
He set her back a bit and smiled down at her. “For what?”
An embarrassed laugh bubbled free of her. “For not realizing we were married.”
“Aye, well, perhaps I wasna clear on the matter.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “We two need to work on our understanding of one another. Our solicitor leaves for Edinburgh tomorrow. He can draw up the papers, and we can sign them today. The priest can record them in our kirk’s records, and Ferguson can carry a copy to Edinburgh.” He leaned in for a kiss, then paused and frowned.
“What?”
“Did ye want a church wedding? I forgot about a woman’s penchant for such things.”
“Absolutely not.” The idea of being the center of attention at such an event made her stomach churn. “When the priest sees the papers, maybe he will finally agree we are not living in sin and stop threatening me with eternal damnation.”
“I doubt that. Father John enjoys that topic immensely.” He gifted her with the kiss he’d withheld earlier. “Now that we know where we stand, let us introduce ye to Grandmother, aye?”
She felt loads better as they strolled to the stairs leading to Lady MacDonald’s private tower. Bless Grissa’s heart and soul for meddling, because, once again, Mila hadn’t shared her worries with Teague as she should have. She promised herself to work on that and do better. It would save her sanity.
Teague paused when they reached the door to the landing. “Grandmother is a mite…” He tilted his head and cringed. “She says whatever she thinks, whether or not ye wish to hear it.”
