“I have no idea why you came back. I thought you’d be gone at least another week.”
“And so we would have. The young ones were taking to the woods well, and Mrs. Boyce cooks fine meat over the fire.” He grew quiet. “And there wasn’t so much drink that I couldn’t think about the way things had gone between us.”
There was the key. His father had been sober for long enough to look at his life. “So why did you come back?”
“Beitidh.” He blew out a breath. “I always knew she aimed to be a laird’s wife, but she made a bad choice with me. She wants a soft bed and food that doesn’t have to be plucked or skinned by her hand.”
“She insisted you come back.”
“Aye. I indulged her because I wanted to see what you’re up to.” He gestured to the table. “Now I know.” He looked out the window. “But I found I liked it up there. Reminds me of who I was as a boy listening to the wind and the birds.” He scratched at his beard. “Don’t have to trim this for a lady’s fancy and I can piss anywhere I want.”
There was a story there, but Liam didn’t want the details. “You miss Mother,” he said softly. She’d loved walking the land with his father, was as good a tracker as he was, and a fair hand with a knife for cooking or killing.
“I’m going up to the tower,” he said, as he thumped his tankard down on the farthest corner of the table.
“The tower? But that’s Aberbeag—”
“Spoke with Connall about it last night, and he’s amenable. He’s got young boys who need to be taught the ways of the land. And a few girls, too. Ones like Mairi who know how to stab a man who gives them grief.”
“You’re the one who taught her that.”
“Aye. And I’ll teach it to the Aberbeag girls, too, and any of ours that want the learning.”
“Will you take anyone else? Your men, perhaps.”
He nodded. “The ones who’ll give you the most trouble when your woman makes them wash. I don’t care so much about such things.”
“And Beitidh?”
His father shrugged. “That’s up to her. I’ll welcome her in my bed, but if she stays here…” His voice trailed away.
“She’ll have to work like everyone else.”
The laird grunted. “Never saw her so clearly before last night. Screeching like a banshee as she tried to rip your woman’s eyes out.”
Liam’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t witnessed the attack itself, but the knowledge was enough to make him want to toss Beitidh out on her ear. Apparently, his father was taking care of the problem for him.
“You’ve got plans,” the MacCleal said. “It’s best if me and a few others leave you to them.”
“There’s always a place here for you,” Liam said.
“Course there is. I’m the laird!” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t think that I won’t be checking on you. This plan of yours can fail any number of ways. And that wife of yours will need a strong hand. You’ve given her too much freedom here—”
“I can handle my wife,” he said flatly.
His father took the rebuke with a knowing smile. “I suppose you’ll try.” Then his expression sobered. “I spent too much time in drink since your mother died. Took going out hunting for me to start thinking.” He held out his hand. “But I’m steady now, and I’m seeing you as a man instead of a boy.” He made an expansive gesture. “You set this place to rights. Then I’ll come back and see how you’ve done. I want to see thisthrivingyou’re bragging about.”
“You’ll see it.”
“Aye, or we’ll be trying something my way, won’t we?”
Liam smiled. “Then you’ll bring us back a fat stag to eat, and we’ll talk it through again.”
“And maybe I’ll wash in the new bathhouse just to try it out.”
They had more talk. Good, companionable discussion as they walked together to see the construction that was already beginning. It was healing in a way that hadn’t happened since his mother died, and Liam had left for England.
He had Clara to thank for this. Not directly, of course. No woman could force a father and son to reconcile. But Liam had needed to protect her, and so he’d pushed his father out into the woods. That had led directly to this moment, and for that, Liam was grateful.
He planned to tell her exactly that. Indeed, he managed to say thank you as they climbed into bed, but her attention was on other things he could do with his mouth. And he was more than willing to accommodate her.
But in that moment when he would have thrust inside her, at the time when he demanded she say they were wed in truth, he lost himself to fear. She was here now, and he was all too aware of what she brought to him and his clan. Her money, her intelligence, her drive to conquer whatever challenges were set before her.
He didn’t ask, but he also didn’t take her. He would not risk a babe with her until she promised to remain with him. And he would not bed her until he knew she was his.
So he thrust upward rather than inside. And he took her cry of delight into his soul, holding it as proof that he gave her something. She could want him for a reason. And when she tucked herself tight to his side, he forced himself to wait.
Clara made her own choices in her own time. All he could do was wait and hope that she wanted him with a fraction of the fierceness that he had for her.
