A Scot Mess: A comedy of errors, page 9
Caltrops?
She knew some of Skye’s men preferred the use of the dangerous little devices, but couldn’t imagine Skye agreeing to harm a horse by using them.
“Of course,” Elsa said with a shrug, “we thought she was ye. The two of ye really are as alike as reflections, ye ken. Just like my lads.”
“Duncan and Finn look so much alike?”
“Och, aye.” Elsa waved away the question as she set her mug down. “But that should’ve just given us a hint earlier.” Her lined face crinkled with a grin. “Poor Edward talked to her for ten minutes, thinking she was the same lass Finn had brought to dinner the day afore!” She was chuckling as she shook her head. “I was the one who finally figured it out, poor dears.”
Fiona was chuckling along by that point, imagining her sister trying to bluster her way through a meeting where the smith’s family would’ve been acting so strangely.
‘Tis a pity she didnae think to tell ye of the mix-up herself.
The thought abruptly put an end to Fiona’s humor, and she put the mug down with a sigh, only to realize Elsa was watching her intently.
Unable to meet the older woman’s eyes, Fiona dropped hers to her half-finished tea once more.
The silence stretched, until finally, Elsa clucked her tongue and stood with a sigh. “I have to chop the onions for tonight’s stew, but I dinnae mean to push ye away.”
Before Fiona could do more than place her hands on the table, ready to stand and make her goodbyes, the older woman waved her back into her seat.
“Just sit yerself there, Fiona, and sip yer tea, while ye come up with the bollocks to tell me why ye came to visit me.” She returned to the table with a knife and a handful of onions, and pierced Fiona with a sharp look. “Because I doubt ‘twas my company ye were after.”
“I enjoy yer company verra much.”
Fiona’s protest sounded weak to her own ears, and the older woman just hummed.
The knife came down a few times, slicing the vegetables with precision, and the smell began to waft through the small cottage. After a few awkward moments, Fiona was surprised to hear Elsa sniff.
Alarmed, her gaze flew to the older woman, and she saw tears threatening to spill from Elsa’s eyes.
“Elsa?”
Sniff. “Aye?” The knife came down hard again on the onions.
“Are ye… Are ye aright?” Fiona prodded cautiously.
The older woman’s chin jerked up, as her tears finally spilled. “What?”
It must’ve been the way Fiona was staring at her—she imagined it was a look halfway between horror and concern—which finally told Elsa what the problem was.
With a burst of laughter, the older woman dropped the knife and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, tears still flowing.
“I’m aright, dear. ‘Tis just the fate of onions…so bloody sad, ye ken.”
Well, Fee hadn’t expected that jest. Her laughter—half relieved—burst out of her, even as her own nose wrinkled from the smell of chopped onions.
While Elsa was blinking frantically, trying to recover, Fiona stood and crossed to the front door. “May I open this to let in fresh air?”
“Please,” Elsa sniffed gratefully. “I always forget when chopping the damned things!”
Standing in the open doorway, Fiona inhaled deeply until she felt in less danger of crying. By the time she returned to the table, Elsa was no longer crying, and had finished chopping most of the onions.
As she slid back into her chair and reached for her tea, Fiona tried to think of a way to steer the conversation back where she wanted it. “Now I see where Finn gets his sense of humor from. His mother.”
Elsa hummed. “Thank ye. But I’m no’ just Finn’s mam, ye ken. I have four other children. But Duncan and Finn were my first, and I’m grateful for how things worked out for them.”
Fiona curled her hands around the mug and sat forward, anxious to know more, but also hating how useless she felt.
“Finn said ye were young when ye caught the laird’s eye—I mean, when ye had them.”
To her surprise, Elsa propped her hip against the table and smiled fondly into the distance, the knife still gripped in her hand.
“Ach, I was a bonny lass then. My girls look like me, thank the saints. I’d lived here in the village my whole life, and knew the Oliphant from back when he was just William, the laird’s son.” She sighed, her smile turning wistful. “The puir man ached fiercely when his lady love died. I ken I wasnae the only one he turned to for comfort, but I was game.”
“And when ye discovered ye were carrying his bairns?”
“Well, I only thought ‘twas one bairn,” Elsa corrected with a laugh. “When that maid up at the castle birthed his twins, I became a little nervous. My own mam dinnae help, either, with all her horror stories of the birthing chamber!”
Fiona winced in sympathy, but couldn’t help but be caught up in the woman’s fonder memories. “I can imagine ‘twas a surprise!”
“I recall the midwife yelling ‘twas a boy, and I was so relieved to be done with it…until the pains started up again!” Elsa was chuckling. “Two fine lads, healthy as spit, and born within minutes of one another.”
Was spit healthy then?
“Which one was aulder?”
The older woman shrugged, reaching for the onions once more, still smiling. “I dinnae think anyone kept track, and it dinnae matter to me. That first year’s memories are hazy, ye ken, but the laird was there to visit his lads every chance he got.”
There was something about Elsa’s smile, the look in her eyes, which made Fiona wonder if the woman had always cared for William Oliphant, at least on some level. Certainly, the man visiting her bairns and offering financial support, made him sound like a good, kind man.
With her attention on her task, Elsa continued her story. “There’d been a time I might’ve thought we had a chance at a future, the laird and I. But he was still mourning then, and I kenned he needed a wife with grand connections. I think he did too, but he was too wrapped up in being a father to my lads and the two up at the keep.”
“And once they were weaned, Finn said they spent more time with their father?”
Elsa hummed in agreement as she scooped half the onion pieces up and crossed to the pot bubbling near the fire. “By the time they were four, the whole village and castle kenned they’d roam as they pleased. There was a nurse up there who tried to keep them straight, but she’d have better luck caging falcons. Those lads were wild.”
It was obvious from the fondness in her tone that Elsa didn’t see that as a bad thing. “And what about ye?”
“Ach, I was wild too!” Elsa sent her a wink as she crossed to the table to gather the rest of her vegetables. “Thanks to the laird’s generosity, I didnae have to work, and the local lads started paying me more attention. I was a prize in those days,” she ended with a sigh, as she dumped the remaining onions in with the rest and picked up the spoon to give the stew a stir.
“I think ye’re still a prize, Elsa,” Fiona said with a quiet sigh.
The older woman sent her a soft smile. “Ye’re a good lass. Have ye worked out why ye’re here?”
Nay, no’ yet.
“Tell me about Edward,” Fiona blurted instead, not sure she was ready to ask her real questions.
“He’s a good man,” Elsa said softly, turning her attention to the stew. It seemed as if she wouldn’t say more, but after a few moments, changed her mind. “I’ve kenned him since we were bairns. He’s braw and brash, aye, but honorable. He respects me, and ‘tis important.”
Respect.
Finn had shown Fiona over these last few days—and in his letters—he respected her.
“My lads were six when Edward courted me. I wasnae sure what to make of him at first, but ‘twas the way he treated Finn and Duncan that convinced me.”
“What do ye mean?” Fiona pushed her mug aside and propped her chin in her hands.
Elsa crossed the room again, reaching for a rag to clean up the mess from her chopping. “He was patient with them, and I was impressed. Finn has always cared more for people than objects, but my Duncan has an eye for beauty Edward kenned he could bring out. Dunc’s first time picking up a hammer was under Edward’s watchful eye, and although the lads lived up at the keep, he always made time to teach Duncan what he wanted to learn.”
“But Duncan isnae a blacksmith, is he?”
“Nay, he’s a goldsmith,” Elsa said proudly. “The Oliphant would likely rather his sons grow to be strong warriors, and Duncan can handle a sword as well as the next. But his real passion is in creating. He shapes silver and gold into the most beautiful works ye’ve ever seen.” Fumbling for her neckline, Elsa pulled out a chain with a lovely silver pendant in the shape of a flower, and held it up. “When he is working, or speaking of his work, ye can see his passion for it.”
“ ’Tis beautiful,” Fiona murmured, although her attention wasn’t on the piece of jewelry.
Instead, she sat back in her chair and pursed her lips.
Passion.
It wasn’t until Elsa hummed in agreement, that Fiona realized she’d said the word aloud, and decided to just come out and ask.
“And how about ye and Edward? Did ye find passion together?”
Elsa stared at her a moment, before pulling out a chair and sliding into it. Facing Fiona, she took a deep breath. “Our marriage might no’ be perfect, and we might no’ go at it as if we were rabbits, but ‘tis no’ what’s important.”
Rearing back, Fiona studied the other woman, remembering the way Finn’s hands on her body made her feel. Remembering the way just the memory of his hands made her feel.
“No’ important?” she repeated incredulously.
And Elsa shook her head. “Passion and lust is important. But as the mother to two of the laird’s bastards, let me tell ye, passion will no’ last for the rest of yer lives. Marriage is what is important. Marriage is what will last.”
Hmm.
Frowning, Fiona dropped her gaze to her hands clasped in front of her on the table.
Marriage is what is important.
Finn had offered, not just passion, but marriage.
And she’d hesitated.
“Fiona,” the older woman said gently, “with Edward, I have a man I trust and respect; a man to share life’s burdens with. I have three fine children by him, and he cares for us all.”
“Cares for?” Fiona blurted, jerking her gaze to the older woman’s. “Is it no’ love ye should feel for yer husband?”
Elsa smiled gently. “What is love, if no’ working hard to provide for yer husband or wife? What is love, if no’ asking their opinion and respecting it, or defending them to others? What is love, if no’ kenning each other’s likes and dislikes, and going out of his way to make ye happy, and ye doing the same? What is love, if no’ holding one another when ye lose a bairn, his tears mixing with yers, or worrying over yer lassies’ prospects, or the gentleness in his large hands when he brushes yer hair from yer eyes?” Elsa shook her head, her smile growing. “Marriage—a commitment to one another, a partnership—is love, Fiona.”
Slowly, Fiona felt herself smiling in return, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes.
Elsa might’ve felt something—love?—for William Oliphant at one point. Certainly there’d been enough passion there between the two of them to create Finn and his brother.
But that passion hadn’t lasted, despite the fact the laird was a good man. He hadn’t offered her marriage. He hadn’t offered her a lasting commitment or partnership.
Edward the smith had.
Sitting there at a humble table in a small cottage, Fiona understood what this woman was trying to tell her about building a life with another person.
Marriage will last.
Finn hadn’t just offered her passion. He hadn’t just offered her his heart and his love.
He’d offered her marriage. A commitment.
And that was what was important.
Elsa reached across the table and took Fiona’s hand in hers. “Do ye love my son, lass?”
Eyes still wide from her realizations, Fiona shook her head. Then she contradicted herself by nodding. “I do. I do love him. I just wasnae certain I wanted to marry him.”
“And now?”
Fiona’s fingers tightened around this woman’s, this woman who would be her mother-in-law one day soon, and she smiled. She smiled because she couldn’t contain the joy bubbling up inside of her.
“Now…I am certain.”
Chapter Eight
“…which would be easier if it weren’t so blasted cold all the time.”
His aunt’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm, Finn hummed distractedly as they shuffled slowly across the courtyard toward the keep’s steps. “ ’Tis summer, Aunt Agatha.”
The old woman’s cane came down hard on the packed dirt, as she spat out, “Bah! ‘Tis only summer because the calendar says ‘tis summer, when clearly ‘tis spring, or possibly still winter.” With an exaggerated shiver, the older woman paused to adjust her arisaid.
Chafing at the slow pace, Finn still managed to nod in commiseration and help her pull the wool higher on her shoulders. “But the calendar is what tells us the seasons, Aunt. And it says ‘tis summer.”
“But who makes the calendar, laddie, hmm?” She squinted, then nodded in satisfaction. “The men. And after a lifetime here on earth, I can tell ye, men are idiots.”
Tugging her gently into motion—slow motion—once more, Finn hid his smile. “Well, speaking as a man, I feel as if I ought to—”
His aunt made a dismissive noise and interrupted him, saying, “No’ ye. Ye’re still young enough I can teach ye to use yer brain.”
“And claim ‘tis winter, despite Beltane having come and gone?” Finn asked blandly.
“Exactly.”
They were almost to the steps. “I shall endeavor to think critically, madam.”
The dear old bat then pinched him.
“Dinnae take that charming tone with me, laddie. All of ye are clot-heids, until a good woman gets a hold of ye. Dinnae think I havenae noticed ye moping about since Fiona arrived, and I’m well aware of yer little self-imposed deprivation.”
At the mention of Fiona’s name, Finn’s head had jerked up, but his aunt’s cryptic remark had him wincing.
Was it possible she did understand the vow he’d made to himself to not kiss Fiona again, until she was ready to become his wife?
The vow he’d regretted every hour for three straight days?
He’d done everything he could to show his love he was ready to build a life with her, but this afternoon, she’d been distracted when she’d asked for some time alone to think. The guards had seen her heading toward the village with a bundle, and it’d been a struggle to keep from going after her.
She wanted to be alone.
So instead, he’d offered himself as an escort for his great-aunt’s constitutional, a duty he was beginning to reject.
Now, under her disconcerting squint, he swallowed and shifted his weight, wondering how quickly he could deposit her indoors and escape. “I dinnae ken what ye’re talking about.”
Agatha scoffed. “Ye’re no’ a complete idiot, laddie, despite being a man. Just think about it for a moment—”
“Finn!”
Politeness dictated he ignore all distractions when he was focused on his great-aunt. She deserved his respect, and he should be attentive to her words.
But politeness could go piss into a high wind, because Finn had recognized that voice.
Aunt Agatha’s arm still tucked into his, he spun around, which caused the old lady to shuffle faster than she was used to. He didn’t care, because Fiona was running toward him, and something was wrong.
Dropping his aunt’s arm, he lunged for Fiona, and they crashed together in the center of the courtyard.
“Fiona?” His eyes searched her face as he patted her shoulders and arms, looking for the emergency. “What’s amiss, lass? What is it?”
And that’s when he finally realized she was smiling. Not just smiling, but smiling; her joy lighting up her entire face.
Her joy lit his heart.
“Fee?” his whispered, freezing in place.
Her hands caught his cheeks, and she pulled him down, her lips claiming his.
‘Tis no’ breaking a vow if she kisses me, aye?
And then he wasn’t thinking, wasn’t trying to rationalize anything, because her tongue swept across the seam of his lips and he closed his arms around her to pull her closer, taking command of the kiss with a deep, surrendering groan.
Who knows how long he might’ve stood there, kissing her under all the Oliphant eyes?
But when something slammed against the back of his knee, hard enough to cause it to buckle, he jerked away from Fiona.
Acting on instinct, he blocked her from danger with his body, and twisted…only to find his great aunt glaring up at him when he turned.
“Did ye just kick me on the back of my knee?”
“Nay,” she said innocently. “I whacked ye with my cane.”
“Finn?” Fiona’s confused whisper came from behind him.
He shook his head, still glaring at his great-aunt. “Why would ye whack my knee with yer cane?”
She shuffled closer. “Because I could no’ reach the back of yer head. And despite how athletic I clearly am, I couldnae seem to make my legs work well enough to kick ye.”
Exhaling slowly, he tightened his hold on Fiona, but shifted to pull her into the conversation as he struggled to maintain his calm. “I meant, what cause did I give ye to hit me at all?”
“Ach, that,” the old woman scoffed. She waved her hand dismissively before dropping it to the handle of the cane. “No’ only were the pair of ye making fools of yerselves, sucking on each other’s faces as if ye were completely out of yer own air to breathe…but ‘tis obvious ye just broke whatever promise ye’d made to yerself.”
Rearing back, Finn exchanged a puzzled look with Fiona, who shrugged, the earlier light in her eyes having now turned to confusion.
