A Wedding Gift

N iven lost count of how many times he and Willow made love during the afternoon. Each time she awoke from a contented doze, she wanted him again. Smug fool that he was, her craving stoked his male ego.

When day turned to night, Willow finally fell into a deep sleep on top of him. Niven held tightly to his sleeping bride. He hadn't slept well since returning from the war but, tonight, he didn't mind his inability to fall asleep. Tonight, memories of making love to his wife had shoved aside the horrors of Waterloo. She was his anchor in a sea of gut-churning memories.

Things he had witnessed in Flanders had stolen his peace of mind. The images of death and despair haunted him constantly, more so than in the immediate aftermath when he was more concerned with getting home. He prayed that Willow's blessed presence in his life would eventually rid him of the battle's insidious hold. She loved him, of that he was certain, but would love be enough to make him whole again? He didn't want to burden her with descriptions of the battle. She was an innocent whose head should not be filled with tales of the savagery men were capable of. Ironically, Rowan was likely the only person who would truly understand but Niven's new brother-in-law was trapped in the thrall of hopeless denial.

It was mid-morning by the time the newlyweds roused themselves after making love again. When they arrived in the breakfast nook, Niven was surprised to see Willow's father and brother still at table. The duke smiled. Rowan did not, but then the last time Niven had seen Rowan smile was before the war whenever he was with Daisy.

Her father's broad smile gladdened Willow's heart. He wouldn't be smiling if his daughter had spent her wedding night with a man he didn't approve of. He was happy for them.

On the other hand, Rowan looked even more unhappy than ever.

"We've been waiting to give you your wedding gift," her father informed them.

"Oh?" Willow asked, worried when Rowan's pout deepened. Evidently, her brother wasn't pleased about the gift, whatever it was.

"Niven, my boy," her father declared, extending his hand to her husband. "From this day forth, you are an equal partner with me in Withenshawe Shipping."

Willow immediately understood her brother's discontent but, before she could say anything, Niven shook his head. "Nay, I canna accept," he said, obviously sensing Rowan's annoyance.

"Don't misunderstand," her father replied. "This is a gift to my daughter as much as to you. All my children should have a share in the company."

"But…" Niven began.

"I agree with father," Rowan declared, silencing Niven with a dismissive gesture. "Willow has every right to a share, but a woman's property belongs to her husband, so you will be part owner."

"But…" Niven tried again.

"You're concerned with what will happen when I pass on," her father said.

"Aye," Niven replied sheepishly.

"No need," Rowan assured him. "A one-legged man obviously can't run a shipping empire, so Ash, Thorne and I will be silent partners. You've proven you can manage the company more efficiently than we ever could."

"And ye accept this?" Niven asked.

"I accept reality," Rowan replied resignedly.

Two days later, Niven and Willow traveled from Berkshire to London with Tavish and Piper. They stayed overnight at the Withenshawe townhouse. The following morning, Niven's brother and his wife were to board the Matilda and sail back to Dundee.

Tavish was delighted by the windfall of shares in the shipping company and claimed to fully understand that Niven's life path lay in London. However, Niven suspected his brother had always hoped his youngest sibling would eventually return to Glengeárr.

Niven didn't have the heart to tell his very Scottish brother he'd rather stay in England.

The morning of the parting, Willow said her goodbyes at the townhouse. Niven had asked her not to come to the docks. The weather promised fair, but it was a strained farewell, each brother pretending it might not be the last time they saw each other.

"Dinna fash," Niven told Tavish as they embraced. "I'm still Uachdaran's man in London. I'll needs come home a lot, and Willow is anxious to visit Scotland."

"And you'll both always be welcome," Piper replied, rubbing her husband's back.

It struck Niven how fortunate the three Kings were to have found wives who understood their every mood.

Suddenly finding himself surrounded by cheering men with whom he'd worked on the docks, Niven swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the schooner pull away from the dock.

On deck, Piper waved. Tavish did not.

Despite the warmth of the Withenshawe clerks' well-wishes, Niven felt unexpectedly homesick.

He spent longer than intended in the offices, ducking questions about his experiences in Europe. They might suspect he'd been kidnaped by the Halstead brothers but he wasn't about to confirm it. Nor did he wish to speak of the horrors he'd witnessed.

He eventually left and called in at the nearby bagpipe repair workshop to pick up his refurbished pipes.

Willow envied the close bond Niven shared with his older brother. As the only girl born to the Withenshawe family after three boys, she'd always been the odd one out. She loved the Three Trees but, even now, didn't really know Rowan well enough to help him out of his misery.

Having met Tavish and Piper, she was looking forward to traveling to Scotland to see the famous distillery and meet Payton and Alba.

Much as she liked and admired Tavish, she suspected he could be bossy. She was therefore glad Niven had decided they would live in England. Niven may at one time been willing to be under his brother's thumb, but those days were gone. He'd survived an ordeal that had cost thousands of lives. He was his own man now.

She was surprised when her father and brother arrived from Berkshire before Niven returned from the docks. Rowan mumbled something about Rochevaux Abbey being too big and her father insisted he must soon return to meet with his employees in the shipping offices. The hope that she and Niven might have the house to themselves for a few days wasn't to be.