CHAPTER 39
GARRAIDH CASTLE, ISLE OF SKYE, SEAT OF THE MACLEAN CLAN
Early the morning after Slade arrived home, he sat at a small wooden table next to his beloved five-year-old niece, Sadie. They occupied two of the four miniature chairs surrounding the table in her nursery, which was mostly decorated in white and warm pink flowered wallpaper. The chair was so small Slade had to steady himself by pushing with his booted feet against the floor so he didn’t slip off. Her nursemaid, an older woman with a cheerful countenance, florid complexion and graying black hair mostly covered by a lacy mobcap, sat next to them, quietly knitting, and occasionally smiling at Sadie.
Sadie’s rosy cheeks, framed by blonde locks, were stark against the white and black frilled tunic she wore as she held the toy and beamed up at Slade.
“Thank you for the present, Uncle. It’s a beautiful pony!” Sadie said, her voice high with excitement.
Her delight stretched the sides of his mouth into a huge grin. Sadie had changed so much since the last time he’d visited the Highlands on a short permissionnaire two years ago, right after Fontenoy. She’d sprouted at least a foot in height and was more self-reflective now rather than ready with spontaneous giggles and smiles.
“The shopkeeper in Birmingham said it’s carved from the trunk of a single oak tree, known for housing the most mischievous elves and pixies,” Slade said to Sadie.
Sadie gazed at her new toy, her eyes widening and her dimples deepening. “Do you think the elves and pixies are still here?”
Slade shrugged, enjoying her wonderment. “Well dearest, you never know.”
Sadie skeptically considered the wooden toy, then looked at Slade. “I think I want to learn to ride a real pony. But I don’t want to fall off. Did you fall off your pony, Uncle?”
Slade’s head tilted down at her. “I didn’t fall, little one.”
Worry marred her little face as her bottom lip swallowed her top lip and a pronounced frown appeared before she spoke. “You look like you fell off your pony.”
A chuckle bubbled up from Slade’s belly. “I suppose I do look like I fell off a pony, don’t I? he said.
The stiffness in his facial muscles reminded him of the black and blue ring around his left eye and his swollen nose from Egan doing his worst. It was more painful to see the thing in the mirror than the actual sting of the injury itself. At least his sight hadn’t been affected.
He’d been worried his black eye and swollen nose would scare Sadie, but her nursemaid had said he was being too cautious. And the physician Peter had made him consult last night said his nose was broken but the bone hadn’t shifted and should heel back in place except for a bump.
Slade cleared his throat and continued. “I didn’t fall, in fact I had an accident.”
She straightened in her chair, her expression turning grave, and her bright eyes bulging. “An accident?”
Even the nursemaid had stopped knitting and was eying him expectantly.
“I bumped into something hard,” Slade said. Egan’s fist had indeed been solid.
He then sent her a reassuring smile, which caused a tiny stab of pain in his left eye. “But you are not to worry. When you learn to ride a pony the proper way, you won’t fall, little one,” he said, with confidence.
Sadie placed the toy pony on the tabletop, then turned to him, taking his hand with two of her little ones. Concern etched tiny lines between her brows as her eyes flickered intently from his nose to his left eye. “Does it hurt, Uncle?”
Her concern warmed and constricted his chest all at the same time. For such a young bairn, she had an immensely compassionate and kind nature, which would serve her well as MacLean clan chief someday, if Lachlan didn’t have a male heir.
Slade shook his head. “No, no, it doesn’t hurt in the least, dearest,” he said, sending her a reassuring smile.
Just then the door to the nursery opened and Tara MacLean, his sister-in-law and Sadie’s mother, walked in followed by two maids carrying trays of food.
Tara’s blonde hair was pulled back in an unadorned knot. Her thin face seemed uncharacteristically sad and pale. In fact, it had been so since his arrival. She’d always been energetic, bright, and ready with a warm smile, but something had changed since his last visit. Lachlan’s and Tara’s marriage had been arranged by his father, but they had seemed happy in the beginning, both parties very pleased with the arrangement. Her clan had willingly paid a more than generoustocher—dowry for the marriage.
“Will you be joining our breakfast, Slade?” Tara said, her tone cordial.
Why wasn’t she eating with the rest of the clan in the great hall? He politely declined, gave Sadie an affectionate hug, then excused himself.
A short while later Slade sat at the long trestle table atop the dais in the great hall, taking in the bustle of the breakfast meal. The mouthwatering scent of tattie scones and sausages filled the air. His brother, future laird to the MacLean clan sat to his left. Next to his brother sat Peter. On Slade’s right sat his father, Chisolm MacLean, twenty-second laird and chief of Clan MacLean.
Sitting in the great hall with his father and brother, surrounded by their clan, a tinge of bittersweetness contracted Slade’s insides. Despite his father and brother’s ornery attitudes towards him when he’d signed with the Royal Scots Greys, it shocked him to realize he had missed them. How was it possible that tied up with that love were irritation, anger, bitterness, grief and displeasure? He’d experienced it all with his father and brother. Love was never just love, was it? It had sweetness, but claws and daggers as well.
He’d missed the towering frescos, swords and colorful shields of the clan’s past war heroes adorning the hall’s lofty stone walls, its size easily capable of entertaining at least two hundred. This was a source of MacLean pride, its purpose to make a grand statement about the MacLeans’ wealth and prominence which it accomplished to perfection.
