Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

A ihan slept until midday at Mac’s insistence. Rising, she washed and dressed, then emerged to check on Rory. She found Fergus with him, and the boy was sleeping peacefully. His leg didn’t appear any worse.

“Mac asleep?” she asked Fergus quietly.

“Aye, lass.”

She nodded. “I go cook. You stay.”

Fergus smiled grimly and went back to mending his stockings.

She applied a little more salve to Rory’s leg and left to check on the other boy. She knocked on his door and waited. After a bit a quavering voice said, “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” she said.

Another moment or two and the door opened. Cam, as she was prone to think of him, looked pale and tired, and like he’d slept in his clothes.

“I going to cook, want to help?”

He shook his head, looking at the floor.

“Why not? I need yer help, Cam. Yer father is asleep, he was up all night with Rory and Fergus is watching him. How am I to cook if there’s no one to read the receipt for me?”

He looked up biting his lip. “All right. I’ll help ye.”

“Good. Ye want to wash and change first?”

He shrugged. “If ye want.”

“Aye, I do want.”

He ducked his head. “I’ll be down shortly.” He hesitated. “How’s Rory?”

“Better. Sleeping now. His leg’s nae worse.”

He managed a smile then.

“Good.”

She left him and made her way down to the kitchen. She had taken over most of the cooking from Fergus now. He still brought her rabbits and game birds that he caught in his traps or shot with his gun. And he would dress the beasts for her. She was widening her list of Scottish dishes, working through the receipt book; alternating them with Chinese-inspired dishes and sometimes serving a mix of both in the one meal. The men seemed to like the things she cooked, and she was enjoying her new role.

The events of yesterday and last night had left her with a slight headache and another kind of ache in her chest. These boys! So much hurt.

She could have cooked Chinese style today, but she wanted to pull Cam out of his melancholy. The boy had looked so miserable.

She set about preparing the kitchen for cooking and Cam appeared, his hair damp, wearing a fresh shirt and breeches, both of which showed signs of not fitting him anymore. The cuffs being too short and breeches somewhat tight.

“Rory does look better, don’t ye think?” he asked anxiously.

“Aye, I do.”

“Will he be up to eating dinner?”

“In bed, perhaps. You might take it up to him.”

He looked uncertain. “I don’t know if he’ll want to see me.”

“See when he wakes up.”

Cam nodded. “What we making?”

She waved at the receipt book. “Ye choose.”

He flipped through the book. “Scotch broth and marmalade pudding.”

“What in Scotch broth?”

He read out the list of ingredients to her, and she checked the pantry. “Aye, we can manage that. What in pudding?”

“Milk, eggs, stale bread, dried fruit, marmalade-”

“What that?”

Cam reached behind her and pulled down a jar of something orange.

“It is like an orange jam. It’s sweet and tart and a little bitter.”

She nodded. “Sound good.”

“It needs cream.”

Two hours later, the soup was on the stove, and she was just putting the pudding in the oven, when Mac appeared. Despite sleep, he still looked tired and a bit rumpled. Cam was eating a slice of bread liberally spread with marmalade, but he dropped it at sight of his father and said, “How is Rory?”

“Awake and wondering what is for dinner,” said Mac with a grin.

“He’s better?” asked Cam anxiously.

“Aye, on the mend. He’s still tired, mind. I’ll keep him abed another day, but after that he should be getting back to normal.”

“Why don’t ye visit him and tell him what is for dinner,” suggested Aihan.

“Do ye think he’ll want to see me?” he asked.

“Aye,” said Mac. “He doesnae know it was yer snake, Cal, it’s up to ye what ye choose to tell him.”

Cam looked at Mac, his face working. “Ye didn’t tell him.”

“Nae, that’s yer job, Cal.”

Cam nodded, swallowing manfully. Then he gave his father an odd hug and ran out of the kitchen.

Mac watched him go with an expression on his face that punched a hole in Aihan’s chest. It hurt so much she gasped, taken aback by her own reaction.

Mac turned back to her, skirted the table and drew her into his arms. “I need to thank ye fer yesterday and last night, Hana. Ye were an enormous support.”

“Nae thanks necessary,” she said gruffly, staring at the open neck of his shirt.

“I love the way ye speak English with a Scot’s accent,” he said whimsically, and cupping her face, he kissed her. She leaned into the kiss, her arms going round his great bulk. He was satisfyingly and reassuringly solid. She derived a degree of comfort from that, which surprised her.

Melting into his kiss, she realised something was different. Previous kisses had been ravenous with need, but this one was—tender. Her heart did an odd flutter, and she tightened her arms round him involuntarily. He released her slowly and rested his chin on her head when she tucked her face into his chest. Neither of them spoke; she felt too full up and close to tears to say anything. The past twenty-four hours must have affected her more than she thought.

She was perilously close to caring too much for this man and his troubled boys. But the truth was, she was enjoying being here in his house, cooking and keeping house for these men who seemed so desperately in need of female influence. She liked the feeling of being needed; it was a new sensation.

She had kept house for her brother, of course, once she was old enough to assume the duties. She couldn’t remember her mother or her father; both had died while she was very young, and Liang had become both parents for her.

She had learnt to cook from a neighbour, a widow with two children who fancied herself in love with Liang. The emotion hadn’t been returned, and the liaison had faltered and ended abruptly when Aihan was twelve.

By then she was competent to take on the running of the house for Liang and Caishen, and assumed full control of it while Liang continued to teach both her and Caishen how to fight and observe the traditions of his faith, the Tao. Because he was a soldier in the imperial army, serving in the capital, they lived in a small house just outside of the Forbidden City, where Liang went every day to earn the money to feed them.

Living here in this house in Scotland was very different in many ways, yet underneath there were similarities. She was comfortable in the domestic sphere; she knew what to do and how to do it competently, and she felt content. It gave her joy to see the men and boys devouring her food with so much enjoyment, and the pleasure she derived from being in Mac’s bed was stronger and better than anything she had ever experienced.

And she liked them. She liked Mac with his slightly grumpy temper and surprising gentleness under the fire and passion. She liked seeing him smile when he had been so sad. She liked Rory and Cam too. And Fergus, and Wee, as she thought of him.

She stirred, lifting her head. “Do ye think Cam will tell Rory the truth?”

“Aye, I think he will. If he’s any sense he’ll tell him while he’s still abed and cannae punch the living daylights out of him.”

“Ye think he’ll do that? Punch him, I mean.”

“Aye I do, knowing Rory. But I think Cal’s learned a powerful lesson this last day. I think he’ll take his medicine like a man.” He paused and gave her another hug. “I’d best go and see what’s happening. There’s been no bellows or screeching, so that’s a good sign, I think. I’ll move Rory back to his own bedchamber.”

She nodded, letting him go reluctantly. But he cupped her face and gave her another lingering kiss. “Ye’re a blessing I don’t deserve, lass.” He let her go slowly and left the kitchen with one more backward glance, as if tearing himself from her side was the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

She leaned on the table, her knees gone suddenly weak and her heart beating fast in her chest. The oddest sensation of warmth and happiness suffused her chest, and she stared blindly at the mess on the table she had yet to clean up. She hadn’t felt this in a very long time.

Not since she was eighteen and— Oh no! I can’t be falling in love with him.

She groped for the chair and sat down heavily. But she was. She could feel herself falling off the cliff; in fact, she wanted to dive off and fly. The temptation was so powerful it made her breath catch and tears sting her eyes. No, no, no! She had to find Liang and then figure out a way to go home. She couldn’t stay here looking after Mac and the boys forever.

The heady sensation of joy was quashed under a pall of remembered duty. She must find Liang; he was her brother and the only reliable person in her life. Liang could be depended upon. No one else. She owed him everything. He was her rock and her rudder. And she loved him fiercely. Not in a romantic sense. He was family, her precious, only family. With a pang, she remembered Caishen. Her little brother in spirit, if not in blood. He was gone, but she could find Liang.

A voice whispered in her head that Liang was gone too, but she pushed it away. She refused to believe that.

She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. It was tempting to think she could sink into the comfort of Mac’s arms and let herself feel all those wonderful feelings of joy and bliss, but she knew from bitter experience they didn’t last. And the cost, when the feelings died as they inevitably would, was far worse than not feeling them at all. She needed to guard her heart against Mac. He was altogether too tempting.

But he was still in love with his wife. It was obvious he was a one-woman man. She was just a stepping stone to help him through a rough patch. She had made no pretence that she expected more from him than sexual pleasure, and for a man that was sufficient. He wouldn’t want anything more from her than that.

She sniffed, straightened her shoulders, and rose, attacking the kitchen table with a burst of furious energy. Love is for fools, and I am no fool.

When Col reached his bedchamber, he found the door ajar, and he paused to watch the tableaux within.

Rory was sitting up, banked by pillows, with a scowl on his face. Callum was kneeling by the bed with his face buried in the covers, sniffling.

“Stop yer snivelling!” growled Rory, sounding rather too much like Col himself, he thought. “Ye said ye’re sorry. Ye can stow it now. It was just a wee bitty snake. I’m nae dead!”

Callum raised his face and spoke in Gaelic. “Athair said ye could have died, and it would have been my fault.”

“Athair’s an old woman! I wasnae going to die!” scoffed Rory.

Col stiffened at the old woman taunt and then grinned. Rory was putting a brave face on it for his little brother, wasn’t he? There had been a moment last night when Rory had asked him if he was going to die, and Col had reassured him to the contrary. Either Rory didn’t remember that, or he was trying to pretend it didn’t happen. In any case, Col wasn’t about to betray him. He made a noise to announce his arrival and entered the room a moment later. Callum climbed to his feet wiping his face, and Rory glared at him.

“Ye didnae need to scare the bairn out of his skull, Athair,” he said.

“I was worried fer ye, lad, and somewhat overwrought. It had been an emotional day, if ye recall?”

Rory had the grace to flush then, reminded of his own part in yesterday’s events.

“Aye, well,” he paused. “Cal says there’s marmalade pudding fer dessert. I’ve a mind to get up fer dinner.”

“Nae, lad, ye’ll stay put in bed till tomorrow. That leg is still a mite swollen, ye don’t want it to get worse. Aihan’s applied an ointment to stop the rot, but snake bite can lead to necrosis, ye ken.”

Rory changed colour at that and flung back the bedclothes to look at his leg. Col took the opportunity to examine it himself. It was still red and swollen, with some bruising starting to appear. He applied some more of the ointment and said, “I’ll put ye back in yer own room now, if ye like?”

“Aye.” Rory moved to get out of bed and Col forestalled him, scooping him up and carrying him out of the room to Rory’s protest.

“I can walk, I’m nae an invalid!”

“Best not to stir up the wound, lad, ye should keep yer weight off it as long as possible.” He pushed open Rory’s bedroom door. A dark stain in the middle of the floor bore mute witness to the snake’s demise.

“Fergus chopped its head off,” he said with a nod to the stain.

“Sorry I missed that,” remarked Rory as Col deposited him gently on the bed and helped him under the covers.

“Callum will bring yer dinner up when it’s ready and maybe eat with ye. If ye’ll have him?”

He glanced between both lads to see if this suggestion met with their collective approval.

“Aye,” said Callum, nodding. “And I’ll read to ye after if ye like?” He added, “There’s a new novel I’ve just read. Waverley . I think ye’ll like it. It’s about the Jacobite rebellion and has a very detailed description of the Battle of Prestonpans.”

This seemed to convince Rory, who nodded.

Col, satisfied that the war between his sons was in abeyance, at least for the moment, left them and made his way to his study. He sat at his desk, staring at nothing and trying to make sense of the events of the previous day and night.

His thoughts inevitably wandered to Aihan and the part she had played. She was from a completely different culture, yet she seemed to fit. For the first time since Cat’s passing, he didn’t feel lonely, and it was because of her. He tried to imagine what the experience of yesterday and last night would have been like without her and shuddered. He would have lost his temper and said all the wrong things.

Her presence calmed him somehow. He felt less like flying off the handle with her steadying influence. She had smoothly and silently comforted Callum when he wept hysterically, fetched and carried when Rory was deathly ill, and gave Col her silent, stalwart support with only a look and light touch of her hand.

She gave him hope that he could somehow fix the mess his relationship with his boys had become. He thought he’d made some progress with Callum, and the relationship between the two of them seemed to have shifted somewhat. But Rory was going to prove a harder nut to crack. The boy was wound up tighter than a drum. His father’s influence on him had been more damaging than on Callum, who must have borne the brunt of his grandfather’s contempt, yet was less affected by it than Rory, who had drunk up the old man’s praise and values, setting him at odds with Col.

He sighed and scrubbed his face again. All this emotion had worn him out. He glanced up at Cat, watching serenely from her position over the mantle, his boys frozen in time along with her in the portrait.

“I’m sorry, love, if I’ve let ye down,” he murmured.

He fancied he felt her stroke his hair reassuringly as she’d been wont to do. All will be well, Col, you’ll see. Her words were a soothing caress to his troubled soul.