His Heart's Home (17 page)

There wasn’t a cradle for Mary yet, and she was too large for the Moses basket she’d spent most of the journey in, so they had no choice but to bed her down in one of the boxes they’d emptied that morning. She had grown so much. When they left North Carolina she’d been a tiny, six-month old who could barely wiggle and coo. Now she was jabbering incomprehensibly whenever she was awake and, if left on her own on the floor, could push up onto her hands and knees and try to struggle forward.

Duncan remarked on the rapid changes, lamenting that it had gone too fast, and was met with Ciaran’s amused snort.

“Well, I know I won’t cry when she can walk on her own a ways!” she said, “My back is nearly broken! Besides…” she added as she tucked the blankets around her daughter. “There’s sure to be another one come along soon enough.”

Ciaran was met with silence. She wondered if she’d said something wrong. It
was
shamefully bold to assume Duncan would keep taking her to bed - but he
had
asked her to stay at the cottage, and he
had
put her things in the bedroom (along with his) and she
did
know men well enough in general (and Duncan in particular) to know that, even if he intended the contrary, it wouldn’t be long before he reached for her in the night.

What was the problem then? Was it that Duncan didn’t
want
another baby - surely he knew that was the natural consequence of what they did?

She decided it was better to let the matter pass without comment.

Duncan carried Mary’s box into their bedroom, and then stripped away his clothes. The sight was so distracting that Ciaran was still completely dressed when he crawled into bed.

“Need help with that, Lass?” Duncan asked, his husky tone implying the kind of “help” that was on offer.

Ciaran shook her head, “I thought you were exhausted,” she commented, finally wriggling out of the dress and then, to Duncan’s disappointment, back into a nightgown. He reached for her as she joined him on the mattress, his hands slipping under the thin cotton and shucking it away before it even had a chance to warm the cotton with her skin.

“Duncan!” she gasped, surprised b
ut pleased.

“This is how I want you,” he murmured back, drawing her flush against his body. “Well…almost….”

..ooOOoo..

Ciaran awoke to the sound of the rooster the following morning, and to sunlight streaming through the open shutters of the room. It was early yet. From the angle of the light, it couldn’t be more than six o’clock, but she felt gloriously rested. After months on the trail, a night in a bed was like bunking down on a cloud
- besides which, Duncan had worn her out nicely before they tried to sleep. He was already gone. No doubt his leaving was what had woken her. It was sweet he let her linger in bed, but she knew she had work to do!

She relished a few final moments of lazy comfort, and then pried herself out of bed, picking up Mary before she could start to whimper, and letting the baby feed as she started on her day.

Ciaran paused in the doorway of the great room, looking on the small, tidy space with satisfaction. The pieces of her spinning wheel were in the corner - she’d want to get it set up as soon as she could - and the few chairs and little table they’d brought from North Carolina was set up by the fire.

Brodie had left a sturdy countertop and a wooden bench. There wasn’t any more furniture to speak of, save the bed and a wooden chest, but there would be someday. Ciaran felt a bubble of optimism, already able to picture the cabin transformed into a proper house, with plaster on the walls, and a china hutch. It felt extravagant and wishful
- but then, Duncan had already made so many of her dreams come true - what was to say he wouldn’t manage that many more!

Ciaran did worry a little bit that she wasn’t fulfilling any of
Duncan’s
dreams, but as she didn’t know what those were she didn’t really how she could help him.  Sometimes she wished he would open up to her, just a little bit more than he did… but… if she supported him in his ambitions, if she kept a lovely little house for him and warned the boys to mind him, if she warmed his bed (enthusiastically!) every night, then maybe that would be enough? 

Ciaran smiled to herself happily, and actually believed that it
might
be enough for Duncan.  They might really build a wonderful life together.

Ciaran didn’t know it, but Duncan was of more or less the same opinion, except for the fact he thought he
knew
they could build a wonderful life together.  Ciaran had given him things he had never thought he would have. For a start, he adored her children.  He really thought he could come to love them as his own - he was already halfway there.  If they could just accept him as much as he wanted to be accepted then that would be enough.  He had long ago abandoned the hope of ever fathering any children of his own, but he could be a father to Ciaran’s children.

And then of course there was Ciaran herself
. Duncan was still a little confused about what he felt for the lovely, luscious Irish woman.  He was afraid of calling what he felt love, because it felt like he was betraying Aileen, but it was definitely something more than lust.

He
liked
that she needed him.  He liked it a lot.  He wanted to protect her - to look after her and her family.  It made him feel like he was
worth
something.  He wasn’t the second son, the substitute husband, the replacement laird, but with Ciaran he was
first
and that made him feel extraordinarily good.

Sitting by the fire a few days later, once life had started to settle into a routine of sorts, Duncan was watching over Mary as Ciaran cleared up the dishes after supper.  The boys were outside playing and the world felt
right
for a change.  An almost unknown feeling of contentment settled over Duncan’s heart.  He hadn’t felt this way since- since… it was hard to remember that far back.

Did he have Ciaran to thank for this
- had she saved him as effectively as he had saved her?

“What are you thinking about?” she asked curiously, catching the strange look that had passed over his face.

He gave his head a little shake and smiled.  “That it’s strange how things work out sometimes,” he mused quietly.

Ciaran raised an eyebrow, but went back to washing the dishes.  Still smiling to himself, Duncan turned his attention to Mary.  She had been a rather sickly little baby when he had first seen her, but now she looked plump and healthy and happy.

“I wonder if you’re going to be a Maisie or a Cora?” he wondered aloud, grinning and bouncing the baby on his knee.

“A what?” Ciaran giggled.

“I have two sisters,” Duncan explained.  “A princess and a tomboy, they’re as different as chalk and cheese,” he chuckled.  He eyed Mary thoughtfully.  “I think I’d like it best if you could find a happy medium between the two, Mary.”

Mary seemed to be listening attentively to every word Duncan said.  Her huge blue eyes were focused on his face.  She clapped her chubby little hands together clumsily and gurgled, and then she obliterated the defenses of a Scottish warrior with two tiny little words.

“Da da!”

Duncan caught his breath.

Surely he was imagining things? He stared down at the little girl, who, if such a thing were possible for a nine month old child, looked remarkably pleased with herself, although she had returned to gurgling again. Duncan would have convinced himself it was only a trick of his ears, if Ciaran hadn’t put down the bowl she was cleaning and hurried over.

“Did she just say-?”

“DA-DA!” Mary announced again, as if on cue.

Ciaran and Duncan stared.

“She’s just jawing…” Duncan stammered, fighting down the hot, swelling feeling in his chest.

Ciaran reached for her daughter in wonder, and Duncan willingly gave her up- but Mary wasn’t please
d. She kicked her legs in annoyance and she began to howl.

“Shhhhh, hush now!” Ciaran said, surprised at the little girl’s behavior. She sat on a stool and sat Mary on her lap. As soon as the baby could see Duncan again, she did something else astounding.

She
reached
for him!

“Da-da!” she said again. When the adults simply stared, she repeated more insistently, “
DA-DA! DA-DA! DA-DA!”

“I think she means it!” Ciaran gasped, quickly passing the baby back. Mary instantly settled down. “Dada,” she cooed happily one more time, and snuggled closer to his chest.

Duncan’s eyes felt hot and achy. Love, so strong it hurt, welled up inside his chest as he peered down at the little girl, her bright eyes, the same vivid blue as his own, staring back with adoration.

“She said her first word!” Ciaran said softly, scooting closer to the pair. She bit her lip uncertainly, and then asked. “You…you don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind?” Duncan looked incredulous. “Why would I
mind
?”

“Well…” Ciaran blushed, “Because she said…she thinks…”

“Sean was her
father
,” Duncan said in a contemptuous hiss, hating the taste of the name in his mouth, “But I’ll be her papa,” he tightened his arms around the baby. “That is…if you’ll let me?”

“Oh, Duncan!” Ciaran exclaimed, her voice catching in her throat, “Oh, of course!” she wrapped her arms around them both. “There’s nothing I want more. I only wish…”

“Shhhhhhh….” Duncan didn’t let her continue. He didn’t need to hear her say she wished he really
was
Mary’s father, that he was the father to all the kids, it only hurt to be reminded of what could never be, but Mary’s declaration was a start toward building the next best thing.

..ooOOoo..

Mary didn’t stop calling Duncan papa - and Aidan started too.  The older boys called him Duncan (at least it was no longer “Mr. MacRae”!) but he respected their wariness. He had already won them over more than he’d hoped. If they never accepted him as their father, then at least they had come to count him as a friend.

It was a balmy, busy summer. There were so many things to do
. They had arrived almost too late for planting, but desperately needed the food, and so they worked night and day for a while to prepare the fields and to sow them (Duncan was lucky to have Brodie’s garden, ever how meager, as a head-start!). That was a priority even over building a house, and so for several weeks, on rainy nights, Duncan and Ciaran had half the neighbors seeking shelter in their barn!

The woods around the farm were filled with timber, and the land needed to be cleared. There w
ere lots of material for building. As soon as the corn, barley, and vegetables were planted, they began to work on building homes. Working in teams, they managed to raise humble cabins at a rate of one per week. After everyone had a rudimentary shelter, the men started on barns, leaving the women to tend the crops and animals while they worked.

Duncan’s house was the very last to be worked on, owing to the fact that, with three rooms (counting the bedroom, loft and
great room) he already had the grandest cabin in Staunton! They refilled the grooves between the logs with heavy, watertight clay, and then they replaced the roof. Finally, the men put on a covered porch, and then helped to dig a cellar, which Duncan and the boys finished up themselves, laying a plank floor overtop, and then adding another room to serve for storage, and where one of the boys could sleep.

By the time the building was finished, it was time to bring the harvest in.

Duncan hadn’t been raised for farming. Despite having entered the trade when he first crossed the ocean, he was still a little bit amazed at all the work to do.

Duncan and the older boys picked the crops and cut the hay.

Ciaran set aside some of the harvest for seeds, and set about preserving the rest for winter, not expecting anything to trade that year.

She refilled the jars that had been emptied on the journey, and then set about salting and drying meat from the game that Duncan and Avery (who, under the Scotsman’s tutelage, had become an excellent shot) brought home.

October brought falling leaves, crisp nights, and an unexpected surprise - the arrival of another wagon train of settlers. It was so late in the year they were quickly dissuaded from moving on. She was bemused, but hardly surprised, when Duncan took on another large group of tenants- and grateful for the infusion of supplies.

Ciaran had been a settler for all of three months longer than the new arrivals, but it didn’t stop her from feeling smug and superior when she saw some of the items that Duncan brought home. He traded some of their extra harvest with the newcomers, and collected advances on the rent, in the form of more chickens, ammunition, a bolt of calico, more jars for canning, and a few boxes of assorted odds and ends: Buttons, scraps of paper, a few wooden toys
.

“This is special for you,” Duncan said to Ciaran as he passed out presents around the fire.

Ciaran bit her lip uncertainly when he handed her a slim paper pamphlet.