Eachann met his gaze conspiratorially, and the tentative smile he gave him a moment later made Eoin’s chest squeeze as if it were in a vise.
“She’s too impatient,” Eachann said. “And—”
“Always wants to go on the attack,” Eoin finished for him.
Eachann’s tentative smile turned into a full-blown grin, and Eoin felt like he’d just swallowed a ray of sunshine.
“Mother made you a set, too?” Eachann said, picking up one of the beautifully carved and painted pieces.
“Nay, I found it in...”Oban, he finished to himself, as the truth hit him. He’d seen the set in a shop in Oban about six months after Margaret left. It was the only one of its kind, the owner had said. A priest had brought it in to barter for some goods.
That’s how she’d left, he realized. He’d always wondered how she’d found the money to leave so quickly.
Eoin picked up one of the pieces, seeing every loving stroke that she’d put into it, feeling his throat tighten.
“Aye,” he said gruffly after a long pause, noticing that Eachann was watching him with a puzzled look on his face. “She made it for me.”
He’d just never been here for her to give it to him.
“Is something wrong?” Eachann asked.
Eoin took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to clear the emotion from his lungs and throat. But the regret burned. He wondered if it would ever stop. “Nay, now are you ready to show me what you’ve got? I won’t go easy on you.”
A countenance that was every bit as grave as his own looked back at him. “I won’t go easy on you either.”
Eoin grinned. “Good to know. I guess I’ve been warned.”
After a dozen moves, Eoin realized it was a good thing, and he’d better focus if he didn’t want to be trounced by a five-year-old.
“The linens are changed on Fridays and washed on Saturdays,” the maidservant said unhelpfully. “They’ll be checked for tears and mended then.”
Margaret tried to rein in her temper, but why must every request—no matter how small—be met with resistance?
She smiled. “I just thought that since I noticed a small tear in the bedsheet, I might borrow some of the thread that matches and tend to it now.”
“Today is Wednesday,” the woman said obstinately.
Margaret gritted her teeth, her smile faltering. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Is there a problem?”
Both women jumped a little at the sound of Eoin’s voice behind them. He’d seemingly materialized in the corridor out of nowhere.
She frowned at him for sneaking up on her, but then noticed his expression. Putting a hand on his arm, she silently begged him not to interfere. “No,” she said brightly, glancing at the flushing servant. “No problem. Morag and I were just discussing the linen schedule.”
Clearly Eoin wanted to say something more, but with a furious tightening of his mouth he deferred to her wishes. He nodded, which Morag took as a dismissal, scurrying down the stairs as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“I think you frightened her,” Margaret said wryly.
“Good,” he said with a dark glare down the stairwell, where Morag had disappeared. His gaze turned back to hers. “They really were horrible to you, weren’t they?”
It wasn’t as much a question as an acknowledgment.
A half smile turned her mouth. “I grew a thick skin. It was easier once I realized they didn’t hate me—they hated that I was a MacDowell.”
“You were my wife,” he said bitterly.
It hadn’t been enough—then. “It’s better now. Your mother is making an effort for Eachann.”
