Page 24 of Highlander’s Wrath

Too Late to Make Amends

It was full winter, and icy fingers of wind pushed through cracks and crevices in the castle walls. Laird Barclay had ordered the masons to return in the spring, but only once the snowdrifts that piled so high on the roads had melted.

Since their dinner conversation three weeks earlier, Coira had stopped dining with his lairdship, and when he requested she join him, she would bring Miriam or Colban with her.

His lairdship had no idea how to counteract his son’s beautiful governess’s suddenly cold demeanor. He was not used to having his whims thwarted; inwardly, he raged at having his will crossed.

The girl had not even bothered to find out what favor he had wanted from her! She had dismissed his suggestion without giving it the slightest consideration. For all she knew, all he might have wanted from her was another one of her sweet kisses. But she had shut down his flirtation without a second thought.

As the days turned to weeks and Coira’s iciness did not unbend toward him, Laird Barclay was forced to reassess his behavior. He had become so used to having Coira with him—as his companion, helpmate, and confidant—he believed she would just as easily fall into behaving like a lover and wife to him when he chose to ask her. He was very aware that his desire to bed his son’s governess ran against all convention; she was the daughter of an important Highland laird, after all. But when she was close to him or he was given the opportunity to watch her playing with Colban inside the castle corridors and vast assembly rooms—her long hair flowing down her back, her blue eyes sparkling with merriment, her cheeks as rosy and plump as her full, ripe lips—he lost all reason. He had to have her or die.

Laird Barclay began to seriously think about remarrying. With this in mind, he went to see Father Abercromby.

He found the clergyman pottering around his study, poring over some old books. The man welcomed his lairdship with a kind smile, but a slight frown lingered in his eyes.

“To what do I owe this honor, me laird?” he asked.

Laird Barclay threw his snow-covered woolen bonnet onto the table and got straight to the point in his usual forthright style. “I want to marry Miss McDonald. D’ye see any impediment to this?”

Father Abercromby did not seem surprised at these words but gave some thought before saying, “I take it ye’ve heard about the girl’s plans to return to her parents’ home in London in the spring?”

This news struck Laird Barclay like a lightning bolt out of the blue. “She had mentioned something about it a while back, but I did not think her serious,” he replied.

The clergyman shuffled uncomfortably but knew it was his duty as a holy man to make Laird Barclay aware of his transgressions.

“Ye say ye ‘want’ to marry the lady, laird, but that’s no’ how marriage works. I am in communication with her faither, Mister James McDonald, and he had every reason to believe Coira can expect to receive a most advantageous marriage proposal from the Marquis of Wandsworth next year, if not sooner. The girl is an accredited beauty, and the portion she will receive on her wedding day is said to be sizable...if I were ye, I would no’ get me hopes up.”

A black look descended onto Laird Barclay’s face. He had not realized how far he and Coira had become estranged. Silently, he berated himself for that never-to-be-sufficiently-regrettable proposal he had made her over the dinner table three weeks ago. It must have been enough to drive the girl to write to her parents straight away and ask them to arrange her departure from the castle in the spring.

Coira could not leave the castle. She belonged to him!

Father Abercromby saw the calculating look on his lairdship’s face and sought to combat it.

“Do not seek to change the girl’s mind by force, me laird. ‘Tis an encounter ye will surely lose. It will take every ounce of self-possession ye have to win her over enough to change her mind. In this regard, the weather must act in yer favor. ‘Tis no’ too late to make amends with Miss Coira. Be slow to lose yer temper over small provocations, and if ye have offended her in the past, be sure to apologize for it. If she forgives ye...well then, ye have room to hope.”

Laird Barclay saw the sense in these words and rode back to the castle in a more cheerful state of mind.

Laird Barclay did not lose time in carrying out Father Abercromby’s advice. That evening, he entered Colban’s bedchamber, hoping to catch Coira tucking his son into bed. He was in luck.

Noticing that Coira did not look him directly in the eyes but was preparing to curtsy herself out of the room and leave him to say good night to Colban on his own, Laird Barlay sought to delay her.

“I dinnae like the way we have become strangers, Coira, and wish to have a few words with ye afore ye leave.”

She could not refuse; to do so would only serve to make her appear as churlish as his lairdship.

Coira dutifully followed Laird Barclay into the small schoolroom next to Colban’s bedchamber, closing the door softly so that the sleepy child would not be disturbed.

She waited to hear what he had to say.

Taking all his courage in his hands, Hamish began.

“I want to apologize for the suggestion I made at the dinner table, Coira. I didnae mean for ye to think of it as a blank check.”

She regarded him solemnly out of her wide, blue eyes. “I accept your apology, me laird. It was foolish of me to think my parents and maid would be enough to protect me from unwanted propositions.”

He was goaded into a retort. “Unwanted? And what about that time in the copse or all those other times ye showed yerself favorable to my advances?”

She lowered her gaze again, and he knew he had lost her once more.

“I was wrong to encourage you, Laird. Believe me when I say the occasion will not be repeated.”

He tried to make a recovery, anything he could do to bring them back to their previously good understanding.

“What can I do to make it up to ye?”

At this, she looked up with a hopeful expression. “Can Colban and I go outside to play again? We grow weary of the same old games played indoors, day after day.”

He hesitated, but his wish to please her won out. “Very well, lass. Take him outside, but don’ stray too far. Although the prisoners are in chains, I dinnae trust them with yer safety.”

She gave him one of her most winning smiles, and with this, his lairdship had to be happy. He reached out to take her hand, but it grabbed at air.

Coira had already run out of the room.