Chapter Twenty-Seven
Months passed.
Clara barely noticed while summer turned to fall, and fall hinted at winter. Her focus was on her twin goals of finishing the bathhouse and making sure the school was well-established.
The first month had been horrible. Clara spent every day wondering if they had tried to do too much. Liam spent night and day with Mr. Russell, controlling the workers, setting his hand to the mechanics, and even resetting the stone when needed. He collapsed exhausted every night, and she was little better as she and Miss Adams tried to press knowledge into children who had too many other tasks as well. It was summer and flocks needed tending, crops had to be watered, and so much more.
If it hadn’t been for Liam holding her tight every night, she might have turned tail to run. But he kept her close, and she found rest in his arms. Enough, at least, to face the next day.
The second month passed much as the first, except that the walls of the bathhouse grew with speed. She could see the shape of the building with a roof soon to come. The children enjoyed school now. Or rather, they appreciated not doing the labors demanded by their parents. At least for a few hours every day. Plus the coin she paid to every child for completing a study helped ease the pain for the parents.
Tragedy struck in the third month. Mr. Russell had news of a sickness in his family. He rushed home to England while the leaves were still turning gold. Fortunately, between herself and Liam, they understood the final tasks. At least well enough for winter. They now had hot water for a full bath inside the castle. The laundry was not finished, but it had enough done that they could complete it in the spring.
Success. At least with the bathhouse.
The children were a constant challenge, but Miss Adams was determined. She had whipped up a course of study for each and every child. Even Deirdre’s brother and sister attended in new clothing. Clara would never have managed to get them there if Liam hadn’t demanded it of his clan. Every child, he ordered, would come without fail. Thanks to his firm hand and Clara’s pennies for good work, every child could read some words. And many had interest in learning more.
That was a glorious change, and she declared it a success as well.
Victory in the two outcomes she’d set herself at the outset. And now that the roof was in place, the pump and the pipes in good order, and the children dutifully scratching out their studies, she found satisfaction in herself. A contentment that steadied her when something went wrong. That was joy like nothing she’d ever felt before.
If only Liam shared her happiness.
While her heart had gotten lighter and brighter as the building neared completion, Liam had withdrawn. It had been weeks since they’d snuck away to their quiet corner of the stream and longer still since they’d spent the night talking through plans beyond tomorrow.
It wasn’t hard to guess why. They both knew that now was the time for her decision. If her time in Scotland had been nothing but playing, then she should leave before the first snowfall. She’d set her tasks, completed them, and now should head back to her true home. London waited for her. She longed to hear Aaron mutter about the government, and Lilah had hinted in her last letter that she might have interesting news regarding their nursery. She missed daily lectures about unusual topics and evenings with the friends who were not Miss Adams.
Sometimes she yearned for that while she sat discussing beehives with Egan Jack or listening to Mrs. Boyce take credit for the new oven. She wondered if she’d rather be in her London bedroom filled with books where no man snored or wrapped himself tightly around her body.
If she was returning to London, it was time to leave. They both knew it.
But rather than speak of it, Liam grew sullen. He touched her with desperation, even as he refused to take her virginity. And cruel creature that she was, she let him take her to the heights of passion while denying him the one thing he wanted.
Herself forever bound to him.
The very idea made her itch. She would become his property in a very real sense. He would have the legal right to beat her, if he chose. He could lock her away in an empty cage and none would stop him. He could do anything he wanted, and she would be helpless against him. She had seen it happen to other women. What started out beautiful became ugly, and the husband held all the cards.
But she didn’t want to leave.
She had thoughts on other building projects. And no one believed a few months of education would save the MacCleal clan for generations. There were bright children here, but half had barely begun to read.
But most of all, she wanted Liam. She’d even started dreaming about what their children would be like. Would they be clever and strong? They might be willful or silly. For certain, they’d have every advantage of a mother who could educate them and a father who rarely lost his temper. Even when she’d tried to manage the laundry and boiled his tartan to threads.
She knew that if she was determined, Liam would let her leave for England tomorrow. But if she imagined his face as she rode away, her heart broke into a thousand pieces. He would clench his jaw with pride, but agony would burn in his eyes.
Her breath caught as her belly hollowed out. Hard enough to imagine Liam’s face as she left. Worse still to feel what might tear through her. She was fond of telling Liam how she was growing on his clan. Barely anyone grumbled about washing before meals. The servants rolled their eyes, but they didn’t fight her when she declared a new way of doing a task. They harumphed loudly but allowed her to try a new method of boiling a shirt – they were right, she was wrong – or thickening their cock-a-leekie soup – she was right, Mrs. Boyce was wrong.
So they had adjusted to her, but the opposite was also true. They had grown on her. She’d spent many nights entranced by their tales, and not just the ghost stories. Deirdre had lately talked with her about ways to make cloth, and she itched to try it during the hard winter months. And Rhona wanted a stillroom to mix poultices and other medicines.
Liam’s people were stubborn, particular, and as individual as she was. They might have different ways of expressing it, but the core was the same. She appreciated their unique qualities and felt secure in allowing her own to shine. And if one thought to chastise her, Liam was always there to keep her safe. No man lay a hand on her, and no woman spread mean gossip about her.
It was the safest she had ever felt. And the freest.
That was saying a great deal given that she had spent all her adult life in Aaron’s home with little responsibility and no restraint. Here she had safety, freedom, and purpose. What more could a woman want?
The answer came every time Liam kissed her awake in the morning or pulled her tight to him at night. “G’morn, love,” he would say in his gravelly brogue as he kissed her awake. “Sweet dreams, love,” he would murmur as his body fitted itself to hers.
Love.
