Chapter 11

11

T he meeting was finally over and Murdoch was tired. Not so tired, however, that he couldn't look in on his son. He'd seen Wilma take Finn from the garden earlier, with Lydia and Hector trailing along beside them.

Like as not, Wilma had taken Finn in for his mid-afternoon feeding and changing, and possibly a nap. He wasn't entirely sure where Lydia had gone, but he was determined to see Finn before seeking out his betrothed.

As a laird, he often had to entrust his son to the care of the servants or his kinfolk. Even so, he preferred to spend as much time as he could with his son. It gave him some peace of mind to witness Finn's innocent delight in his presence.

He couldn't say that he'd been the best husband, but he did his best to be a good father, and saw to it that the lad had an abundance of love and attention while he was forced to turn his attention to other matters.

As he neared the door to the nursery he heard soft voices and gentle endearments muttered in counterpart to Finn's laughter and nonsense noises. Murdoch paused as he realized there were two voices. One was Wilma's, easily recognizable, but the other was harder for him to identify.

Then he saw the large furry bulk that rested just outside the nursery door and smiled to himself. It seemed he'd have an easier time finding his betrothed than he'd previously expected.

He crouched to scratch Hector's ears, moving quietly so as not to disturb the scene within the nursery. Hector huffed softly at him but didn't make any noise to draw the attention of the two women, which allowed Murdoch to watch to his heart's content.

Inside, Wilma and Lydia were both leaning over Finn's bed, whispering quiet words to soothe the bairn into sleep. The sight gave him a sense of peaceful satisfaction as he rose to his feet and leaned against the door frame, as still unnoticed by his cousin or bride-to-be.

He'd been well pleased with Lydia as a betrothed for several reasons but now, seeing her with Finn only proved that he'd been correct in choosing her. Her attentiveness to a bairn not even her own hinted at Lydia's excellent instincts for motherhood, which would please the council.

Truth be told, it pleased him as well. He'd never demand children from Lydia, but he couldn't deny that he'd be happy if there were more bairns and a larger family in his future. He'd never struggled with being an only child, not with Gordon and Wilma raised alongside him, and he wanted his son to have siblings, since cousins were unlikely, at least for the moment.

He watched as Finn slowly settled down for a nap, making soft, murmuring noises as he slipped into whatever dreams a wee bairn might have.

"Och, he's the sweetest bairn, that he is." Her words shifted his attention from Finn to Lydia, who was leaning over the crib and stroking Finn's cheek with a feather-light touch.

"He always has been. From the day he was birthed, he's brought joy to our household." Wilma responded.

"I can see why." Lydia's brow creased. "Do ye think…will yer cousin mind if I spend time with him, perhaps watch over him from time to time when ye've work to do?"

The question was so hesitant and uncertain that Murdoch couldn't help himself, and snorted out a laugh. Both women started and looked up, wide-eyed, as he stepped into the room.

"O' course ye're welcome to spend time with me son." He tipped his head toward Lydia. "Leavin' aside the fact that ye're to be his mother in all but blood one day, the only mother he's like to ever remember, ye're nae a prisoner in me home, nor a distrusted guest. There's nay reason, so far as I ken, that ye shouldnae be welcome to spend time with the lad."

He stepped closer, looking down at Finn's cherubic face, relaxed in sleep. "In fact, I'm fair pleased to see ye takin' interest in the wee bairn. It will certainly help to have the experience when we begin raisin' our own."

He accompanied the last words with a raised eyebrow and a meaningful look that made Wilma smother her giggles and Lydia flush a brilliant crimson.

Still, as he'd come to expect of her, she was quick to find words to respond. "Daenae ken when ye're thinkin' there might be bairns for us, me Laird, but I am glad ye daenae mind me feedin' him. I've grown fond of the duty, helping care for me nieces and nephews."

The frank admission, the teasing, and the way she looked so tenderly at Finn's sleeping form…all of it struck a chord deep inside of Murdoch's gut. He wasn't sure what the feeling meant, only that it was powerful and deep. He swallowed hard against a sudden wave of mingled nostalgia and wistfulness.

His voice was slightly hoarse as he responded. "As I said, tis fine. However, tis nearly supper time, so best the two of ye freshen up and head down to the Hall for the evening meal."

He didn't wait for a response. His heart was tripping out a peculiar rhythm he couldn't recall ever experiencing,. He felt as if remaining for another moment would lead to an embarrassing display of sentiment on his part. He wasn't ready to reveal such closely held emotions to Lydia. Not so soon in their acquaintance.

Without another word, he turned away and strode down the corridor, seeking a place where he could be alone with his thoughts and the feelings that accompanied the image of Lydia holding his child.

The first thing Lydia noticed when she arrived downstairs for supper was the notable absence of her betrothed. Confused, she allowed her eyes to scan the hall, wondering if she'd simply missed seeing him.

Her escort, Gavin, was seated among the men-at-arms and the guards who were currently off duty. He offered her a good-natured nod of his head, which she returned with a smile before resuming her search for any sign of her betrothed.

Murdoch's cousins and his uncle were seated at the High Table, along with others she suspected were prominent members of the clan, but the laird himself was nowhere to be seen.

She took a moment to regard the table. A part of her wanted to believe that he was simply planning to arrive later. Perhaps he was bathing, or changing his clothing, or even attending to some other form of business. However, she couldn't understand why he'd specifically informed them that it was nearing the supper hour if he was going to disregard it himself.

Furthermore, no plate was set at the laird's chair on the High Table. Plates were arranged on either side, but Murdoch's place setting was conspicuously absent of tableware. In her experience that could only indicate one thing: that he'd no intention of joining them for the meal.

Murdoch's uncle and cousin Gordon were both watching her with composed, assessing gazes as she took her seat in the empty chair beside Wilma. Lydia felt herself flush slightly, wondering if they were simply reserving judgment or showing their disapproval for the interruption she'd caused earlier. She was tempted to apologize again, but she did not want her contrition to appear awkward and forced.

"Why the sour expression?" Wilma's question, along with her friendly tap with an elbow, brought Lydia's attention back to her closest dining companion. "Ye look as if ye found a frog in yer soup."

Lydia laughed a little, feeling some of the tension inside her dissipate. At least she had one friend and ally at the table. "Naythin' so dire. I was only recallin' how I'd earlier made a fool of meself in front of yer cousin and uncle and wonderin' if they hold it against me."

"Nae likely, though Faither might have words to say about propriety, I'll grant ye. But then, he always does."

"And yer…brother?"

"Gordon likes to take his time to get to ken people. Moreover, he's never been the best at speakin' with womenfolk." Wilma shrugged. "Give him time."

She was willing to trust Wilma's judgment, though it didn't do anything for her primary concern. Lydia couldn't help feeling that Murdoch was currently ignoring her or avoiding her. She wondered why that would be and what she could do about the matter if her intuition was accurate.

"Ye still look vexed." Wilma noted. Lydia considered, then decided to air her fears. If she was wrong, Wilma would surely know.

"I feel as though Murdoch is avoiding me; as though he finds me presence uncomfortable for some reason." She confessed. "I cannae think why else he would go out of his way to inform us that tis supper time, and yet nae join in the meal with us."

To her surprise, Wilma actually giggled. "Och, that's nae yer fault. He does this most nights. Says he cannae stand to eat at the same table with me."

"Really?" It seemed a harsh way to speak to one's cousin.

"Aye." Wilma didn't seem to be at all offended. In fact, she seemed more amused than anything else. "He says that at the end of the day he wants to eat his meal in peace, and all me chatter and energy doesnae suit the quiet he'd prefer."

Lydia considered Wilma's words as she ladled meat, bread, and vegetables onto her plate and filled her cup with wine. On one hand, she did want to respect Murdoch's need for time and space to relax. She knew very well how demanding the job of a laird could be.

On the other hand, how were they to get to know each other if he was always busy or keeping to himself? What sort of relationship could she have with a man who was never present? That was no way to develop any sort of proper understanding between them.

She also couldn't deny that she felt somewhat uncomfortable with the stares of all his clansmen upon her, and Murdoch nowhere to be seen. She'd yet to be formally introduced to anyone except his kinfolk, and she worried what the Elders and members of his clan might think of her, and the fact that her betrothed had not elected to accompany her to her first meal in his castle.

What would happen if she wasn't the only one to wonder whether he was avoiding her? Would his clan declare her an unfit prospect as a spouse? Would they take advantage of the situation to try and further influence his future lairdship?

As much as she disliked the idea of being forced into a contract marriage, there was a part of her that didn't want the outcome decided by others. Whether they ultimately wed or decided against fulfilling the betrothal, that was something that should be their decision, and theirs alone.

Her decision made, she finished filling her plate, then rose from the table. Wilma blinked at her. "Where are ye going?"

Lydia smiled back at Wilma. "I'm going to find me betrothed. Meals are a good way to spend time together, especially as busy as a laird can be."

With that, she stepped away from the table, resolutely ignoring the stares of the rest of the clan and stopped the maid who had just deposited a fresh basket of bread on the table. "Excuse me."

The maid stopped. "Yes, me Lady?"

Heartened by the acknowledgment implicit in the address, Lydia lifted her chin. "Please escort me to the laird's study. I wish to join him for the remainder of his evening meal."