Chapter Fifteen
Royal placed his daughter stomach-down on the tartan blanket spread out on the floor of the family parlor. “There you go, little one. Be a good girl for Mamma when she comes down, will you? Papa will get you some nice biscuits to chew on if you promise not to cry or spit up on her.”
Tira pushed herself up on her hands and knees and chortled, as if agreeing with him.
“She canna understand a word yer saying, laddie,” Angus said with an indulgent smile. “And she’ll be doin’ whatever she wants, whether her mother wishes it or no.”
Royal settled wearily onto the settee. He studied the tea service, set before him on the low, satinwood table, and thought about ringing for something stronger. But since he’d had three cups of coffee this morning and one after lunch, trying to clear his bleary head, it was probably best to stick with tea or else end up with a case of the jitters. Ainsley was already jittery enough for the both of them.
“If she’d stop her fussin’ and carryin’ on, we might have a little peace,” Angus said. “And mayhap a good night’s sleep, for once.”
“Who? Ainsley or Tira?” Royal poured himself a cup.
His grandfather, seated in his favorite old armchair by the hearth, snorted. “Tira is a wee angel compared to her high and mightiness, and ye know it.”
“What I know is that my wife is doing her best. If you don’t stop picking away at her, I will throw you out of Kinglas on your arse. You can walk back to Glasgow for all I care or go stay in one of the crofters’ cottages.”
His grandfather’s whiskers bristled with offended dignity. “I am
only tryin’ to help. But yer wife acts like she’s the only one who knows what she’s doin’ when it comes to Tira. And
as if she’s more rights than the rest of us.”
“She does have more rights than the rest of us.” Royal leaned forward for emphasis. “Ainsley is Tira’s mother. Her real
mother.”
“Mayhap, but a good mother would nae have given her up,” Angus stubbornly replied.
The old man had said that more than once. Royal seemed unable to get through to him that the exact opposite was true. For someone like Angus, loyalty to family was everything, and voluntarily giving up a child was impossible to fathom.
“Ainsley gave Tira up to protect her,” Royal said, trying to be patient. “It was the right thing to do, given the difficult circumstances.”
“More like to protect her own reputation, I reckon. That lass seems fair obsessed with how others think about her.”
Royal bit back the reprimand on the tip of his tongue. Only Nick and Victoria knew the details of Ainsley’s assault and its aftermath, and she’d begged Royal to keep it that way. Ainsley loathed that others might think her a helpless victim or, even worse, believe that she was somehow irretrievably damaged. Her spirit and dignity had received a grievous wound, and Royal would do whatever was necessary to safeguard her privacy and give her the time she needed to heal.
“Once a woman loses her reputation, it is lost forever,” Royal said, trying to pick his way through the morass. “And society can be utterly cruel, in those situations.”
Angus pulled out a battered white pipe from his vest pocket, along with a tobacco pouch. “I ken yer right, but why didn’t the lass marry the babe’s father in the first place? Though I’m glad she didn’t,” he added hastily. “Else we would nae have gotten the little lassie, would we?”
They both glanced at Tira and smiled. The lass rocked back and forth on her haunches, as if just discovering how to do it.
“True,” Royal said. “It’s hard to imagine how we ever got on without her.”
Angus stuffed some tobacco into the bowl and reached for a spill from a brass container next to the fireplace. “She was the savin’ of you, lad,” he said around puffs as he lit his pipe. “And that’s a fact.”
Royal didn’t much like to think about the days before Tira and how close he’d come to the edge of despair. His daughter had
saved him—from himself. And it was Ainsley who’d made it all possible.
“If she keeps that up much longer, she’ll launch herself right off the blanket,” he said as he watched Tira rock with ever greater enthusiasm.
“Aye, she’ll be crawlin’ soon. She’s a pistol, that one. Just like the twins were.”
“God, I hope not. She’s a handful, but they were little demons.”
“Tira’s worse now that herself is on the scene. She’s got the poor little thing rattlin’ about like a fart in a muff.”
Royal scowled at his grandfather. “First, that is a disgusting analogy to make about my daughter. Second, I would be grateful if you would refer to my wife as something more respectful than yer missus
, herself
, or her high and mightiness
.”
Angus puffed away with great nonchalance, exhaling as much smoke as a chimney in need of repair. “What about Sassenach
?”
“Try Ainsley, or even Lady Ainsley. Good Lord, even calling her lass
would be better.”
“She dinna like that, either.” Angus let out a windy sigh. “I canna expect better from a Sassenach
. I suppose I can try, though.”
Argh.
“Grandda, I need you to listen to me.”
“Laddie, I always listen to you.”
“Angus, I’m serious,” he said, finally letting his frustration show.
His grandfather studied him. “Say your piece then, lad.”
“Ainsley’s decisions might seem almost inexplicable to you, but you need to know that she made them for all the right reasons. As I said, she needed to protect her daughter from Tira’s natural father. Believe me, it was imperative to do that.”
“That Cringlewood fellow,” Angus said.
“Yes.”
“Not a good sort, I reckon.”
“The very opposite of a good sort. The marquess is a cruel man, and the fact that he’s both rich and powerful makes him doubly dangerous. Ainsley’s primary goal has always been to keep Tira as far from him as possible.”
Angus puffed again with vigor, the smoke wreathing his head in curlicues. “Seems to me the best idea would be to keep herself
far away from Tira. That old biddy mother of hers caused quite a ruckus because she figured it out. That was a cock-up.”
“Yes, things got a bit complicated there, but you’ll simply have to trust me. Keeping Ainsley safe from the Marquess of Cringlewood will keep Tira safe, too.”
Angus frowned over that for a few moments, then nodded. “Ah, well, anyone named Cringlewood is bound to be a scaly one, so I’m with ye, lad. Ye know that.”
“Then you need to be a little more patient with Ainsley, Grandda. She’s doing her best with Tira.”
“Doing her best is one way to put it. The lass has been that fashed these last few days, trying to manage the bairn.”
Tira had been particularly fussy these last few days, suffering through both a new tooth and a case of the sniffles. It was a mild case, to be sure, but enough to send Ainsley into a quiet frenzy, as if something awful might happen if she let Tira out of her sight. His poor wife had spent most of the past two days and nights in the nursery, driving everyone batty, including the nursemaid.
Angus had been the only one with consistent success in getting Tira to calm down and sleep. That fact had done nothing to improve Ainsley’s mood, and Royal feared she was on the edge of an emotional explosion.
Unfortunately, Angus was particularly efficient tinder to her spark.
“I repeat, if you could muster a little patience to allow her to sort it out, I would be grateful,” Royal said. “Ainsley has had a difficult time of it and needs our support.”
“And ye love her, don’t ye, lad?” Angus said with a sly wink. “Nay, don’t try to deny it. I’ve read ye well ever since ye were a bairn with a full nappie.”
The average schoolroom dunce could probably have deduced that Royal was madly in love with his wife. “I could never pull the wool over your eyes, could I, Grandda?”
“Does the lass ken how you feel about her?”
And therein lay the irony. Yes, she knew Royal was smitten with her, and had been for a long time. But love was different. What he felt for Ainsley was deep and abiding, something that would survive the ending of the world and beyond.
“She knows I care for her,” he said, as if it didn’t really matter.
When the Louis XIV clock on the sideboard chimed out the hour, Royal frowned. He’d expected Ainsley to join them for tea at least twenty minutes ago. Since she’d hardly touched her lunch—which was highly unusual for her—she must be famished.
“Speaking of yer missus—” Angus started.
“Grandda!” Royal said, exasperated.
His grandfather rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. Speaking of her ladyship
, will she be gracin’ us with her presence for tea?”
Royal hauled himself to his feet. “If you would keep an eye on Tira, I’ll go—”
He paused as the door opened and Ainsley hurried in, fussing with her cuffs and tugging them into place. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and fell asleep. I’m entirely crumpled, but I didn’t want to take the time to change and leave you waiting.”
Royal glanced at her pale blue muslin dress, which displayed nary a wrinkle. Then again, no dress of Ainsley’s would have the temerity to wrinkle without her permission.
“Och, we don’t stand on ceremony when it’s just us,” Angus said in a gruff tone that for him passed as friendly. “If ye came down in yer dressing gown we wouldna care.”
Ainsley cast him a wary glance, but quickly shifted her notice to Tira wriggling around on the blanket. “Should she be down on the floor? Isn’t it too drafty?”
Royal and Angus both looked at the roaring blaze in the hearth. “It’s quite warm in here,” Royal said. “She’ll be fine.”
“But she’s just getting over a cold,” Ainsley said. “Her nose was still runny this morning.”
“Nae, she’s just breakin’ a tooth, lass,” Angus said. “Sometimes that makes them sniffly.”
Ainsley scowled. “How can teething make a baby sniffly?”
“Royal was the same when he was a wee bairn. Every time he broke through a tooth he kicked up a grand fuss, just like Tira. Takes after her father, she does.”
Ainsley fortunately refrained from pointing out the obvious flaw in that theory.
“And it’s a very mild day out, love,” Royal added. “There’s hardly a breeze off the loch, so no drafts. In fact, I was thinking of opening a window to let in some fresh air.”
“Fresh Highland air never hurt anyone,” Angus said as he relit his pipe.
“Especially with you puffing away like a dirty chimney,” Ainsley said tartly. “I shouldn’t wonder if Tira suffers a cough from inhaling your smoke.”
Angus shot her a grim look but held his fire. Royal had to give him credit—the old fellow was trying.
“I’ll open a window,” Royal said. “We could all use a little fresh air.”
“Going outside to smoke a pipe seems like an even better idea,” Ainsley said. “Then everyone would be happy.”
“I’m perfectly happy right here,” Angus replied, taking a few extra puffs for good measure. Billows of smoke curled around his head, making him look a little like a demented version of Father Christmas.
Ainsley waved a dramatic hand in front of her face. “I am certain
that’s not good for Tira’s lungs.”
Royal would have been concerned if Angus was sitting near Tira, but he was a good twenty feet away. Repressing a sigh, he unlatched a casement window and pushed it open. Leaning out, he drew in the clean, heather-scented air. Rather than a quiet stay at Kinglas with his new wife, his wedding trip had been transformed into a state of armed truce. Since there was little chance he could persuade Angus to leave, the sooner they returned to Glasgow the better. Even more to the point, he needed to quickly find a suitable town house for his little family, since separation of the warring parties was growing more critical by the moment.
In the meantime, he supposed he’d better have a chat with Ainsley about managing Angus. Otherwise, there was the risk of coming down to tea one day to discover his new bride had murdered his grandfather with the cake knife.
“Royal, are you all right?”
He turned to see Ainsley peering at him with concern. “I’m fine,” he said.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Just taking a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet of the country,” he said dryly.
She gave him a tentative smile. “Yes, I was hoping that we could take a nice, quiet—”
“Royal, can ye fetch me a wee dram while yer up?” Angus barked from across the room.
“Walk,” Ainsley finished, shaking her head. She went to join Tira, while Royal crossed to the mahogany sideboard to fetch a glass.
“None of that swill from Glasgow or Edinburgh, mind ye,” Angus said. “Fetch me the good stuff.”
Royal frowned at the collection of decanters on the polished wood. “Grandda, it’s all from Glasgow or Edinburgh. What are you talking about?”
His grandfather pointed the stem of his pipe toward the cabinet below. “Look there.”
Royal opened the small door to find several plain, unlabeled bottles. He pulled one out and held it up. The deeply colored amber brew glowed richly in the late afternoon sunlight. “Where did this come from?”
Angus gave him a sly smile and went back to puffing his pipe.
Royal glared at him. “Is this from our
still? The one Nick ordered shut down months ago?”
Last year, Angus and the twins had secretly run an illegal whisky operation that was tucked away in a small glen on Arnprior lands. Once discovered, it was only by paying a significant fine that Nick had been able to keep Graeme and Grant—not to mention Angus—out of the hands of the local excise officers.
Angus feigned an expression of offended dignity. “Of course we shut it down.”
“Then what the hell is this?” Royal asked, holding up the bottle.
“Just the final batch, I reckon,” he said evasively. “And dinna ye be cursing around yer daughter, laddie.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
Angus cursed like a trooper around Tira, and even regular scolds from Victoria couldn’t seem to break him of the habit.
Crouched down next to Tira’s blanket, Ainsley threw the old fellow a haughty glance. “The family patriarch was running a criminal operation? I suppose I should be shocked, but for some reason I’m not.”
Now Angus looked genuinely offended. “It was nae a criminal enterprise, ye daft woman. We always made our own whisky until the bloody Sassenachs
put their boots on our necks.”
“A fine
example you set for my poor daughter. Defying both the earl and
the law. It’s disgraceful.”
“Now, see here, ye blasted—”
“I wouldn’t, Grandda,” Royal interrupted in a lethal tone. “Ainsley is right. And if there is
something going on, I want it shut down immediately.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Royal said. “I never wanted to hear about it in the first place, so please spare me any additional palavering.”
His grandfather subsided with a grumble. “A lot of fuss and botheration over nothin’, if ye ask me.”
Royal splashed some whisky into the glass and stalked over to Angus. “Here, enjoy it while you can—before Nick finds it.”
“I intend to.” Angus took the glass and scowled at Ainsley. “And ye needn’t be givin’ me that snooty smirk, young lassie. It’s no saint ye are, I ken.”
Ainsley’s admittedly taunting smile disappeared. “What is that
supposed to mean?”
“It means nothing.” Royal cuffed Angus on the shoulder. “Stop being an idiot, Grandda.”
The old man rounded his eyes, trying to look innocent, before retreating behind his glass.
“And instead of picking a fight with Angus,” Royal said to his wife, “why don’t you enjoy this time with your daughter? She’s not crying, for once, which is rather a miracle.”
For a moment, Ainsley looked like she might take offense. Then she gave him a charmingly rueful smile. “As always, you have an excellent grasp on the priorities, dear sir.”
It wasn’t much of an apology, but he’d take it.
Returning to his seat, Royal picked up his cup and swallowed a mouthful of cold, milky tea. It tasted wretched, and for a moment he contemplated pouring himself a large whisky.
“Do you want me to fix you a fresh cup?” Ainsley quietly asked.
He mustered a smile, reminding himself again how difficult this was for her. In the last few weeks, her life had been turned utterly on its head. “It’s fine. You play with Tira.”
She flashed him a quick smile, then settled down on her knees beside her daughter, who was once more enthusiastically rocking back and forth. When Ainsley leaned on her elbows to look into Tira’s face, it pushed her beautifully rounded arse up in the air. It was a delightful view, and for a minute or so Royal allowed himself to contemplate it in blessed peace.
He was only listening with half an ear when Ainsley asked him a question he didn’t quite catch.
“Ah, sorry, love,” he said. “What was that again?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I said, I don’t think it will be much longer, do you?”
“What won’t be much longer?”
She frowned. “Until Tira starts crawling. Royal, are you not listening to me?”
“I ken that something else caught his attention,” Angus said with a smirk.
Still peering over her shoulder, Ainsley looked blank for a moment as Royal shot his grandfather a narrow-eyed glare. Then awareness flooded her gaze, and she flushed a bright pink. With commendable dignity, she scooted into a sitting position and neatly tucked her dress around her legs.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “But I do like to be with her, even if sitting on the floor isn’t very ladylike.”
For a woman notoriously high in the instep, Ainsley had not an ounce of false pride when it came to her daughter. Royal loved that about her. “It’s no problem at all, sweetheart. Do just as you like.”
“Tira does seem to prefer it when I play with her on the floor, rather than holding her.”
“That’s because ye cart her about like a sack of turnips,” Angus said. “Ye’ve yet to get the hang of it.”
Royal considered dumping the contents of the teapot on his grandfather’s head.
“I hold her perfectly well,” Ainsley indignantly replied.
Tira startled a bit at her mamma’s sharp tone but thankfully didn’t start crying.
“Of course you do,” Royal said in a soothing tone. “You’re very adept with her. Angus is just making a little joke.”
“A very little one,” she said acidly.
When Angus sneered at her, Royal ground his teeth. Clearly, the exceedingly short-lived truce was over. Not that Ainsley had known there was a truce in the first place, which was part of the problem.
A distraction was needed.
“Oh, look,” he said. “I think Tira’s nose is running.”
At even the slightest suggestion that something might be amiss with her daughter, Ainsley was instantly diverted. She craned over sideways to get a good look at Tira, who had flopped back onto her stomach and was snuffling into the blanket. A moment later, she stiffened and let out a furious sneeze.
“Oh, dear,” Ainsley said, “I hope her cold isn’t coming back.”
“I told ye, the lassie doesna have a cold,” Angus said. “Probably just a wee bit of dust up her nose from the blanket.”
“And who put her down on a dusty blanket?” she demanded.
Royal plucked a napkin off the tea tray and handed it to her. “I put her on the blanket, and it’s not the least bit dusty. Please don’t even suggest such a thing to Taffy. She’d have a heart attack.”
“I wouldn’t think of insulting your housekeeper,” Ainsley said as she awkwardly swiped at Tira’s nose. Unfortunately, the baby wriggled about like an eel to avoid her mother’s ministrations. “She’s the only sane person in this place.”
“The only sane woman, you mean,” Angus muttered.
Royal was spared the need to murder his grandfather by the fact that Ainsley’s attention was focused solely on trying to wipe Tira’s nose.
“Perhaps you should pick her up and put her on your lap?” Royal finally suggested. “That way you can get a firm grip on her.”
“She’ll probably start crying if I do that,” Ainsley said.
“Babies cry, love. It’s on their list of regular duties.”
She threw him a wry glance. “I know I need to stop being so skittish about it.”
“Practice makes perfect,” he said.
She picked Tira up and carefully hoisted her onto her lap, facing forward. Wrapping an arm around her little waist to hold her steady, Ainsley reached around to wipe the bairn’s nose. Tira fussed a bit, but then allowed it.
“Well, would ye look at that? Ye might be getting the hang of this motherin’ business, after all,” Angus said in a tone suggesting the Red Sea had just parted out in the garden.
“Hold still, little one,” Ainsley crooned. She leaned forward a bit more, the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she dabbed at her daughter’s nose.
Tira chose that moment to finally object, knocking her mother’s hand away and then rearing back with all her infant strength. The top of her skull connected solidly with Ainsley’s chin.
“Ouch,” Ainsley yelped.
They all froze for a subsequent moment of horrified silence before Tira let out a piercing wail. Royal jumped up and hurried to join Ainsley, who now looked on the verge of tears herself.
“Oh, God,” she said. “Did I hurt her?”
“I suspect it’s the other way around, sweetheart,” Royal said. “I’m sure she’s fine, but why don’t you give her to me?”
Silently, she handed the baby up, then clambered awkwardly to her feet. Royal ran a careful hand over the back of Tira’s head. Despite her tears, she didn’t flinch, which confirmed his suspicions that most of the damage had been done to Ainsley’s poor face.
As he rocked her, Tira quickly started to calm down.
“She’s fine,” he assured his clearly distressed wife.
“Aye, the lass has got a hard head,” Angus said. “Just like her mother.”
“Shut up, Angus,” Royal said. He strode over to his grandfather. “Here, make yourself useful. Take her while I fix Ainsley a cup of tea.”
After handing the baby off, he returned to his wife.
“Are you sure she’s all right?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said, gently taking her chin so he could inspect her face. “I’m more worried about you.”
“I must say, it hurt like the devil,” she confessed.
“Did you bite your tongue?”
“I did.”
“I wish I could kiss it and make it better.”
As he’d hoped, that won him a rueful smile. “I’m sure you do, but I think a cup of tea is what I need right now.”
“Or a wee dram?”
“That would probably burn too much. Just tea with lots of milk and sugar, please.”
He steered her to the chaise and fixed her tea while Angus bounced Tira on his lap, trying to distract her. Unfortunately, the bairn was still a bit fussy and was soon gnawing on her fingers. That was a sure sign that her gums were sore.
After he handed her a cup, Ainsley put it down without taking a sip and eyed Tira. “If I didn’t hurt her, why is she still fussing? Do you think we should send for the doctor?”
“It’s the teething, lass,” Angus said. “Don’t fash yourself. No need for a sawbones.”
“I’m not fashing myself, I’m simply—”
She broke off in consternation when the old man dipped a finger in his whisky glass and then flicked off the droplets. When he stuck his finger in Tira’s mouth and started massaging her little gums, Ainsley shot to her feet.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” she all but shrieked.
“Och, don’t blast our ears off, ye daft woman,” Angus said. “I’m massaging her gums, dinna ye ken?”
Ainsley practically levitated off the floor with outrage. “With whisky? You’re giving my daughter whisky
?”
“It was just to clean my finger,” Angus protested. “Not to get her drunk. Besides, she likes the taste.”
That seemed to be the case, as Tira gnawed on her grandfather’s finger with evident relief.
Royal took Ainsley’s hand and tried to tug her back down on the chaise. She resisted.
“A taste of whisky won’t harm her, love,” he said. “I remember my mother doing that with Braden, and I’m sure with the twins, as well.”
“Aye, that she did,” Angus said. “Works like a charm.”
“But . . . but they’re boys,” Ainsley exclaimed, clearly revolted. “Tira is a girl.”
Angus rolled his eyes. “That makes no bloody sense. But it doesna surprise me, coming from ye.”
“I don’t have to make sense to you, you grubby old goat,” Ainsley snapped. “I’m her mother.”
“Aye, and a goat would be a—”
“Angus, enough,” Royal ordered. He stood and took Ainsley’s hand. “Please sit down and try to relax. I promise you Tira is fine.”
She snatched her fingers from his loose hold. “Why do you always have to take his side? It’s incredibly
annoying.”
“I don’t always take his side.” Royal was incredulous at how quickly the situation was spinning out of control. “But, to be fair, you did just call him an old goat, which isn’t very nice.”
The flash of hurt in her gaze told him that he’d just firmly inserted his own foot into his mouth.
“Men. You always stick together,” she said in a low, quivering voice. She then rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Royal pressed a hard palm to his forehead, like his head was about to explode. He’d cocked that up as thoroughly as one possibly could.
“Dicked in the nob, that one is,” Angus said in a pious tone. “Let’s hope it skips a generation.”
“Ainsley is right,” he snapped. “Sometimes you are
a grubby old goat.”
He plucked Tira from the old man’s arms and stalked after his wife.