Aila also set an admirable example for him to emulate in dealing with his daughter’s tantrums. When Effie’s symptoms were bothersome, Aila was attentive and caring. She offered diversions and suggestions to pass the time. When his lass became demanding or threw a fit, Aila studiously ignored her then lavished attention on her when she asked for things more politely. Aila called it positive reinforcement and suggested that conceding to Effie’s demands only encouraged more of the same.
While the effect wasn’t instantaneous in his case, Effie became a far easier patient.
Aila also had his daughter practice something called “self soothing.” When Effie was frustrated or angry, she was to close her eyes and breathe in slow, measured breaths. To picture her “happy place.”
Or some such nonsense.
He’d met many a philosopher in his life who couldn’t match her for pure gobbledygook.
Nor could many match her on any front.
Aside from the hours when Effie’s illness consumed his thoughts, his thoughts would drift back to Aila. He hadn’t even the excuse of work to divert him. The rain fell in a deluge these past three days. Showers were common this time of year, however the sheer volume that continued to fall was…well, as Aila had phrased her unorthodox observation, biblical.
Another trait to add to the growing list of her quirks to titillate and baffle him. In explaining her methods of dealing with his daughter’s irritability, Aila likened it to her own temper. Something she kept under control through meditation. As if she were a bloody guru like the one he’d met in the king’s court long before the war. She spoke in frank terms, offering her opinion in a manner no woman of his acquaintance — even the boldest Scots lass — would dare. Feminism, she called it. She considered her rights and opinion equal to any man’s. Astounding. Not that he disagreed in principle, he’d simply never heard a woman make such an audacious declaration before.
When he’d mentioned that he would search for a tutor as she suggested for Niall, Aila insisted Effie be tutored in the same subjects. Mathematics, geography, languages.
She was well-educated. While she evaded topics regarding her personal life, her offhand mention in conversation of attending university or traveling abroad rang with truth despite the former being a near impossibility.
Her professed love for the theater extended to a flare for dramatic narration. She told of the investigations of Hercule Poirot as he uncovered the murder of an heiress aboard a ship on the Nile River. While he’d enjoyed that particular story, Niall and Effie preferred tales of treasure hunts following their “discovery” of Boyce’s necklace. She accommodated them with the saga of Jim Hawkins, a lad who finds a map marked — conveniently, he observed, only to be hushed by everyone else — with a black X where a notorious pirate had buried his treasure.
Today she offered a vivid narration of the adventures of Indiana Jones. She sat with Effie in her lap, brushing his daughter’s hair as she told her tale. Aila’s long, straight hair hung free down her back with only two strands pulled back from her face and swayed with each stroke of the brush.
Or when she bent her head to emphasize some part of the story in an exaggerated whisper close to Effie’s ear. It was such a heartwarming sight that attending her story was difficult. Especially one as convoluted as this. It did allow him to understand the reference she’d made regarding the eeriness of the passageway below. An explorer searching to uncover the resting place of the Ark of the Covenant before villains she described to Effie and Niall as “evil incarnate” could find it and abuse its power? Outlandish and a touch heretical.
Pure gammon, but she was an enthralling storyteller.
And the most enthralling lass he’d ever encountered.
The question was: What did he plan to do about it?
* * *
It had been a long few days. If Aila had little experience with parenting, she had even less with ways to occupy a child for days on end. Confined to the nursery with no telly or video games to engage them. No tablet to amuse them while she patted them on the head with a gentle admonishment against too much screen time.
Isn’t that what parents did these days? In her day, that is.
What she did have was years of therapy to fall back on. Dealing with the issues she had with her mother, with an abusive home, and all the baggage that came with it had left Aila with some anger issues. Those therapies she could apply to a pair of restless and occasionally temperamental children. And employ herself to calm her own frustrations when they arose. As much as the majority of the hours were pleasantly passed, frustration did come into play…often. In her defense, she’d gone from a childless lifestyle to the deep end of constant care in the blink of an eye. She felt those frustrations were justified.
To be fair, Finn pulled his weight in entertaining them. It’d come as somewhat of a surprise to discover that she trulylikedhim. Spending time with him out of bed had proven almost as enjoyable as the hours in it. His sexism was more a sheen than an impenetrable shield, and he wasn’t quite the complete arse she’d accused him of being. True, he had strong opinions regarding politics and religion, but he wasn’t so entrenched in his beliefs that he wasn’t open to her thoughts or a friendly debate. He could poke fun and laugh at himself, too.
And despite her criticism of how he spoiled his children, he was an affectionate and interactive father. He played games with Niall and Effie. Sometimes she joined in and somehow fumbled through the ones she’d never heard of. Other times, Finn would read aloud for hours on end.
Once they’d run through the books on hand, however, more drastic measures had needed to be taken, and Aila turned to her schooling and years in the theater industry for inspiration. Before she’d quit university to focus on stage makeup, she’d worked on her single honors in theater studies. Course requirements had included aspects both backstage and onstage. She and Brontë had commiserated about it many a time as neither of them were interested in acting. Nevertheless, her professors often claimed she had a flair for it.
She’d used the hell out of that skill in the past few days. Scouring her mind for every tale of lost treasure she could think of, she performed with unique voices and melodramatic narration to keep Effie, Niall, and Fergus, too, engaged. Plus, she loved seeing Finn’s eyes light up and his mouth curve into that gorgeous smile when she managed to amuse him.
More often than not, she could see she confounded him.
As he did her.
The reason she was here — why she’d come versus why she stayed — had become blurred. Was it the prospect of treasure? She’d stared at the necklace for hours trying to determine how it had sparked centuries worth of speculation. There was nothing to make her believe there was more to it. Was it so she might sate her desire for Finn?
There hadn’t been adequate opportunity to think it through, though she did manage a little alone time to decompress, if not overthink her situation. Donning a heavy cloak of oiled canvas to shed the rain, she took Rab for a long walk each afternoon. For his benefit and hers. A chance for them both to get some much-needed exercise after hours confined indoors. To listen to the rain and nothing more…well, other than the whirlwind of thoughts crowding her brain.
There were an awful lot of things weighing on her, and Rab was ever a good listener.
Ian was in and out during their confinement to spend time with his own son. The previous evening when the children were asleep, he and Finn had played cards as they did most nights. They’d asked her repeatedly to join them, but as Aila feared, she had no idea how to play. She convinced them to invite Jean to play, as well, under the pretense of teaching her the game. The nursemaid proved herself adept leaving Aila no choice except to confess that she didn’t know the rules.
