Chapter Twenty-Six
He didn’t talkto her that night. Liam was too busy managing his father’s friends, two of whom needed help to find their homes. By the time he made it to his own bed, Clara was fast asleep, no doubt exhausted from managing the feast. Or perhaps it was the laundry. Or maybe it was the details of the schoolroom. She had those papers strewn about their bed and was quietly snoring beneath them.
He gathered up the debris of her thoughts and set them aside, then climbed into bed beside her. She felt soft and womanly as he tucked her against him. She sighed happily in her sleep, and he couldn’t help but agree.
This felt good. This was right. And so rather than wake her for an uncomfortable discussion, he pressed his lips to her neck and whispered, “Good night.” Then he let every ache in his body, every worry in his heart, dissolve against her steady heat.
He slept.
She slipped away at sunrise. He wanted to pull her back, but she said something about the privy. While she was gone, he fell back into slumber, though his arms ached for lack of her presence. By midmorning, he had to face his father. The laird had been prudent in his drinking the night before, so his head did not throb today. Better still, he had seen the havoc his friends had caused as they drank whisky the clan needed to sell, broke platters as they wasted food, and required help to find their beds safely. One night of this was simple indulgence, but such things could not continue on a regular basis.
Fortunately, the laird had a head for numbers, especially when Liam showed him where they could earn coin—from sale of their whisky—to how much was consumed by his men. Then Liam did what he had never attempted before. He explained everything to his father. He had plans not just for the whisky and glass factory, but also their crops and herds. He put bread, plates, and cups on the table to indicate the clan’s holdings and people. And he told his father everything that had been brewing in his mind since he first left home.
It took hours.
And it felt wonderful, especially as his father listened without complaint, commented without bluster, and ended with his father staring at Liam in a whole new way.
“How did you think of all this?” The laird frowned. “Never say it was that Sassenach woman.”
“I have been working on these plans since I was a boy.”
“You were never this clever as a child.”
He shrugged. “Mother taught me to plan—”
“Aye, she was good at that.”
“The numbers, I learned in school.”
“Sassenach school.”
Liam nodded. “And now, Clara and Miss Adams will teach it to our people here.”
His father wasn’t convinced. “A schoolroom is a foolish way to spend her dowry.”
“Is it?” Liam challenged. “I hear young Egan Jack has ideas about our bees.”
The laird snorted with derision. “That boy thinks honey should go in everything, even whisky.”
“Imagine if that boy learned how to sell honey for English coin. It tastes different, you know, depending on the bees and where you set the hive.” He lifted his open hands. “Do you know aught about bees? I don’t.”
“But your wife does?”
“Aye. And a lot more.”
The man grunted. “We’ve survived well enough without all this.”
“We have. But there’s a lot of space between survive and thrive.”
His father didn’t argue as he stared at the assortment of things on the table. “It’s ambitious,” he said, “but you’ve never lacked for that.”
Liam waited, trying to measure his father’s mood. He knew full well that he had more patience than his father. Eventually he was rewarded as the man dropped his fist on the table with a heavy thud.
“Do it, then,” he said as he pushed up from his seat. “See to it with my blessing, but I’ll not stay here and suffer through the noise and upset.”
“What?” Liam asked as he stood up to match his father’s height. “Where would you go?”
“Do you know why we came back when we did? The weather couldn’t be finer, but down we come back here, where your woman demands we bathe.” He snorted as he picked up an empty flagon. “And now you won’t even let us drink the whisky.”
