The Laird Takes a Bride(82)

Her days of joy.

But on the thirteenth day, there came to her a certain sense that something wasn’t quite right, though she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it.

Something not quite right between herself and Alasdair.

It may have been her sensitive nature, or the fact that she was reflexively observant; who knows? He was warm, he was affectionate, he was passionate. Yet it was as if—oh, she hardly knew how to describe it. Like being on a boat, pulling away, watching someone you cared for inexorably, irretrievably, recede into the distance?

That night, after tossing about for several hours, she drifted into shallow sleep, and dreamed that she was hungry, so hungry. Starving. After fighting through a deep dark thicket, filled with bristling brambles that pricked and stung, she stumbled across a chunk of bread, stale and moldy-looking, and as reluctantly she reached for it, into her mind popped the old adage Half a loaf is better than none.

And in her dream Fiona kicked the bread away, shouting angrily, It’s not, it’s not better, it’s not nearly enough!

And a few hours later, having eaten an extremely large and satisfying breakfast, she went to her morning-room to jot down some notes for the dinner party’s menu, sketch out some additions to her kitchen garden, examine a sheaf of papers she’d found stuffed inside a vase in one of the storage closets. They were, she realized in surprise, thirty years old—tradesmen’s bills for tasseled, green velvet window-hangings, expensive chairs and sofas, costly decorative tables with fine mother-of-pearl inlay, as well as invoices for artwork, both paintings and sculptures. Why, these were all items in the Great Drawing-room. And now Fiona felt her eyes go wide in astonishment. The sum was astronomical. Had all those people been paid? She’d need to talk to Lister—

A maidservant came in then, with the mail, and Fiona pushed aside the old bills to eagerly receive them. Another letter from Nairna, joyful, reporting with insouciance that she’d gotten so big so early, and had been experiencing some pain—only the ligaments stretching, said Tavia Craig, to be expected as there was a good chance she was carrying twins; and so she’d been put to bed, and how kind everyone was, she was surely the most petted, most pampered person in the world!

Twins, thought Fiona, how splendid for Nairna! It wasn’t surprising she had to be in bed—Fiona had heard this was quite common in such situations. Which reminded her: there was a tenant farmer’s wife who’d already had one set of twins and now was hugely pregnant again, and fatalistically expecting another set. I’ll visit her tomorrow, Fiona thought, and wasn’t there a problem with some strange fungus in their shed? Did the vinegar treatment I sent over for her husband to try on the walls solve it? Something else to follow up on, too.

Fiona turned to Dallis’s letter; she had written, in comical resignation, that her rambunctious toddler insisted on trying on all the baby clothes both old and new, and then added an indignant diatribe against people who would pat her stomach and talk to it as if she herself wasn’t there.

Fiona smiled, then looked down at her own flat stomach. Perhaps . . . perhaps . . .

She reached for a fresh piece of paper and picked up her quill.

Maisie

Elspet

Rose

Ùna

Annag

Bonni



And then:

Ethan

Archibald

Carson

Tàmhas

Domnall

James



Weren’t they all beautiful names for babies? She looked out into the garden, dappled all green and gold in the vivid early-autumn sun, and wished she could stop thinking about her silly dream of nasty bread and her own violent rejection of it.

The day wound itself along, busy, challenging, interesting, filled with minor disasters and small triumphs, and she managed to suppress her odd uneasiness until they’d all gathered once again in the Great Drawing-room. She had her sewing—and Alasdair was laughing at something Duff had said—and Isobel was working happily on her puzzle—

And Fiona said, “Laird, I found some old bills.”

He turned to her, smiling, and she wondered why, precisely, she didn’t feel like returning his smile.

“Did you, lass?”

“Yes, all for things here in this room, hundreds of pounds’ worth. Lister couldn’t find any records of their being paid, so I suppose I’ll need to contact the merchants and artists right away.”

“I’ll take care of it. You needn’t bother.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’d be glad to handle it.”

“Nay, I’ll do it.”

“I insist, Alasdair. Surely you have better things to do.”

“These events occurred long before your arrival. I’d prefer to look into it myself.”