His Heart's Home (20 page)

Nor
would the Andersons, a new family that had moved in at the end of the year and rented a piece of his land.

Duncan was growing frustrated when he finally came to call on his cousin, Frasure Cameron.  Frasure’s girl was on the young side, which was why he was asking last- but she had a good head on her shoulders and a cheerful disposition- and she was family, besides. However, when he was told that Molly Cameron wasn’t available either, Duncan’s temper finally snapped.

“So, tell me then…” Duncan said hotly, looking his cousin in the face, “Why it is that a family of six has so much work that a mother and
four daughters
can’t manage it all, and my Ciaran’s fit to do all of the working herself?”

Frasure shrugged and took a sip of whiskey that he’d poured into glasses for them both. “I don’t profess to know.”

“You ought to be
happy
to help me!” Duncan said angrily, “After all I’ve done! I’ve given you land to live on, fair terms, helped to build your house. I’m the Laird and-!”

“We’re not in Scotland anymore,” Frasure said testily, and then added icily, “And you were never
my
Laird.”

The barb only made Duncan’s angrier. “I know
for a fact
that the lass stayed with Carrie Whitlock for more than a month when her bairn was born. Her mother seemed to manage then!”

“She did,” Frasure said testily.

“Well, why is it she can wait on that empty-headed Yankee and not her cousin’s wife?”

Frasure refused to hold his peace any longer.

“Well, she’s not your wife, is she?” he fired back.

Duncan blinked, stunned. “She-!” he started, but his cousin already continued:

“
YOUR WIFE
is lying out in the churchyard back in New Bern- if she’s not up in heaven weeping for your soul! I know well enough to mind my own business. If the others are too cowardly to say it to your face, then so be it. If you want to be whelping babies on Irish mares that’s your affair, but I’m
not
going to send my daughter among such people and I don’t blame any of the others who won’t do it either! It’s a disgrace, Duncan MacRae! You ought to be ashamed!”

Rage like nothing he had ever felt before blinded Duncan to reason. 
His fist was flying before he had registered the thought. Frasure went stumbling back from the blow and fell hard on the ground.  Duncan wasn’t content to leave him in the dirt though, not yet.  He grabbed Frasure’s shirt collar and dragged him roughly to his feet.

“Who do you think you are to speak to me like that?” Duncan snarled, looking as though he might just rip the other man’s head off.  Frasure was slightly less willing to open his split lip this time.  “What do you know about anything, Frasure?” he sneered.  “What gives you the right to pass judgment on me?”

“Duncan!  Get a grip!” Frasure swore, trying, and failing, to break free of the other man’s hold.

“
Damn you, Cameron!  My life’s been one misery after another!  You’re right, I have buried a wife, but do you I think I’ve forgotten that?  Do you think I’ve forgotten that I buried my mother before her time too, or that I watched a brother I worshipped die before my very eyes?”

“We’ve all got our
sadness,” Frasure snorted, rolling his eyes.  “But we don’t all take up with the first-”

Duncan’s fish sailed forward again.

Frasure went down for a second time and this time Duncan didn’t drag him back up onto his feet.  He watched his cousin sit reeling from the blow while he attempted to get some control over his temper.  He wasn’t successful.

“That being the case I don’t suppose you’ll want to stay here as my tenant, Cameron,” Duncan snarled.

“What?!”

“You might consider buying the land you’re living on
- for what it’s worth mind, not what you’re renting it for,” Duncan said icily.  “You’re right, we’re not in Scotland and I’m not your Laird, and I don’t consider you family anymore, so I’ll be stopping with the favors.”

Duncan forced himself to turn and walk away after that
. He blocked out what Frasure was yelling at him and strolled off in the opposite direction.  He was still absolutely livid, but he was ready to feel guilty now too.

Would Aileen really deny him the happiness he had found with Ciaran?

He didn’t
think
so.
She
had loved twice after all.  She would know it was possible, it didn’t mean he loved her any less.  What Duncan found less easy to forgive himself for was the way he had treated Ciaran. 

Frasure, though Duncan
hated
to admit it, had a point.  Ciaran wasn’t his lawful wife.  It didn’t matter that he considered her such. He wasn’t a crofter out in the highlands who took a common law bride. He had been Laird MacRae. In the eyes of the world and in the eyes of God, what they were doing was wrong.  He knew he wouldn’t have behaved this way in Scotland.  He would have married her as soon as possible. 

So why hadn’t he done that here then?

It was difficult to say.  At first their relationship had been so fragile, and then it had become so settled and natural. Duncan had felt like he
was
married.  That didn’t matter. He would make an honest woman of Ciaran now.  He couldn’t bear to leave her exposed to cruel, gossiping tongues any longer.  He would give her the protection of his name, for all that was worth, and have the pleasure of knowing that she was eternally bound to him.

“Ciaran?” Duncan barked, throwing open the front door of their farmhouse with a noisy bang.  The look of abject terror on Ciaran’s face as she turned to face him filled Duncan with instant contrition.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered gruffly, trying to get a hold on his temper.  He knew how scared Ciaran was of angry men
- he couldn’t bear to have her scared of him.

“
What’s wrong?” she stammered nervously.

“I… just had a falling out with Frasure Cameron,” Duncan grunted.  His cousin’s name alone was enough to get his temper going again.

“A falling out?” Ciaran whispered.  “A
fight
you mean?” she murmured unhappily, chewing her lip nervously as she spied Duncan’s bloody knuckles.

Duncan glanced down as his hand too, and flexed his fingers gingerly.  He hadn’t felt any pain at all until this second. 
He must have hit Frasure harder than he’d realized.

“I don’t know that I’d call it a
fight
,” Duncan grunted,
given the fact Frasure hadn’t had the opportunity to throw one punch
. 

He wondered what the fallout would be?  Duncan regretted hitting the other man, if only because it meant that Ciaran scurried away from him when he crossed the room to wash the blood off his hand in a pa
il of water that was on the table.

“I’m not going to hurt you, lass,” he said softly, sad that he had to inform her of this fact. 

“I know that!” Ciaran said quickly, and a splash of color stole into her pale cheeks.  She took a tiny step towards him.  “What were you fighting about?” she whispered.

Duncan glanced at Ciaran and then glanced away… she was going to be even more upset if he told her the truth
, so he tried to obscure the details.

“Frasure thought he had the right to tell me how I ought to live my life.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ciaran asked slowly.  She was silent for a moment.  “Did he say something about
me?”
she whispered shrewdly.  Duncan hesitated, and that was all the answer that Ciaran needed.  She turned pale again and looked very upset.  “He did, didn’t he?  What did he say?” she cried, wringing her hands together.  “Oh!  I’ve caused so much trouble for you, Duncan!”

“Hey!  Hey!  What’s all this about?”

Ciaran looked like she didn’t want to say what she said next, but she had gone too far to hold it in any longer.  “I know- I know your friends don’t like me.”

Duncan was shocked, and outraged, to hear Ciaran say that!  “What do you mean?” he demanded.  Had things been said to Ciaran’s face?  Had he failed to see what was going on right under his nose?

“I- I don’t blame them,” she said quickly.

“I do!” Duncan thundered, and Ciaran took a quick little step back.  Duncan sighed and tried to remember not to shout.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, speaking more gently.

“I was afraid it would make you angry,” Ciaran squeaked.

“You don’t have to be afraid of my anger,” Duncan said gently.  “Everyone gets angry sometimes, and I’m not angry
with you
.”

“I know.”

Duncan didn’t think she did know, but only time would help her to see she didn’t need to be afraid of him, ever.  It was killing him to see her look so scared.

“Ciaran, this isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about,” he said, taking a step towards her, continuing when she held her ground.

“It’s not?” she said uncertainly, starting slightly when Duncan took hold of her hands.

“No, it’s not,” Duncan said, and dropped down onto one knee in front of her.  “I want you to forgive me for taking you for granted, and then I want you
to tell me you’ll marry me.”

She was meant to say yes,
immediately
. That was what Duncan had expected, and so he felt like he had missed a step when, instead of throwing herself into his arms with joyous agreement, she stared as though she’d been struck.

“Ciaran?” Duncan said roughly, after more than a minute had passed.

She blinked uncertainly.

“Say something?”

“Say
what
?” she answered, her Irish lilt sounding high and strained.

“Say
‘YES’,
dammit!” Duncan snapped, beginning to lose his temper all over again. What was wrong with him that women found it so bloody hard to agree to his proposals! Aileen had been the same way.

Duncan didn’t let his mind wander too far down that route. He was concerned about the present, not the past, and determined to get what he wanted.

“Say you’ll marry me,” he barked.

“But-!”

“Say it!”

“Duncan!” Ciaran gave a frightened little yelp, and then her eyes flooded with tears. “I can’t!”

“Why not?” he groaned, biting his tongue to hold himself in check. As angry as he was, he was still mindful of Ciaran’s fears and didn’t want to set them off.

“Because….because you’re the Laird!” she finally sniffled, “And I’m just-!”

“Oh, don’t start that again!” he growled, finally abandoning caution and advancing on her. Ciaran backed away, but eventually ran into the wall. He took advantage of the situation, pinning her between his body and the cool, coarse logs. “That isn’t my life anymore.”

“What is your life then?”

“YOU!” he hissed in frustration, “You, and the boys, and Mary - and the wee bairn that isn’t born yet….
this
!” he made a sweeping gesture with his hands, and then met her eyes again, this time almost pleading. “
Please
say you’ll marry me?”

He wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. He knew if he
ordered
her to marry him, she would. Hell, he’d sling her over the shoulder and drag her to the priest if he had to, but he wanted,
needed
to know that she wanted this too, that the only reason she hadn’t pressed for a wedding before was that, like him, she believed it was already real.

“Please, Ciaran?”

He tensed, bracing himself for the silence he feared would come again, and he flinched slightly when she reached forward to brush her fingers uncertainly against his jaw.

“But…why?” she asked in a tiny voice. “You already have everything you want. I won’t go
. If it’s only the gossip - well, it doesn’t bother me that much. People will always talk, and as for the baby…”

“It isn’t the talk, Ciaran,” Duncan said slowly and firmly, “It isn’t the bairn. It’s
you
. I want….I want
you
Ciaran. I want you to want me!”

She gasped as the meaning of his words finally breached her defenses, oozing through the chinks in her armor that his months of tender care had picked away. “You want…
me
?”

“Yes!”
Duncan groaned.  “Of
course
I want you, Ciaran.”

How she have ever been able to doubt it Duncan didn’t have a clue, but he watched as slow realization dawned in the eyes of his little Irish lassie.  Those eyes darted all over his face as she drank in the truth of what he was telling her.

“You
really
want me?” she murmured, smiling, a little shy smile that made Duncan’s pulse race.  “You do?”

“Aye,” he growled.

“Oh!  Duncan, I want you too,” she sighed, and then she threw her arms around his neck, just like Duncan had hoped she would do.  He locked his own arms around her little waist and picked her up and twirled her around the room.  She still hadn’t said
yes
, but surely this meant she was going to?  Still, he wanted to hear her
say
it.