Page 5 of Forever My Lass

Iain’s stomach churned as he struggled to think. Where was Ainslie now? He relaxed slightly as Iain remembered Angus saying Ainslie had gone over to Squire Tewel’s house with a cake Bridget had made. A tear slid down Grace’s cheek, and Iain pulled his daughter close.

“I’m sure there’s nothing tae worry about, mo nighean dubh,” he murmured as he wiped the tears welling up in her eyes. “We will simply keep a closer eye on Ainslie. As for the woman, I am sure someone will help her, whoever she is.”

Grace didn’t answer him. She simply nodded, then buried her face in his shoulder. As she cried against his shoulder, Iain closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his chair. A few moments later, Grace lifted her head and gasped with dismay.

“Ye have a migraine, Faither. Why dinnae ye tell me? I could have waited tae tell ye about the an dara sealladh.”

“It is nae that bad, lass.”

“I dinnae believe ye. Ye are too pale. Ye should be in bed.”

“I will feel better after a brief nap here,” Iain said. He tightened his lips as the pain hammering away at him threatened to make him wretch until his lunch was no longer in his stomach.

“I will make ye a poultice,” Grace whispered.

The child was gone in a rush of soft air, and the moment he heard the study door close behind her, he released a low groan of pain. Christ Jesus, he’d not had a headache this bad in months. Slowly, Iain rose from his desk to move toward the wing-backed chair in front of the fireplace. The movement cost him, and sinking down into the fireside chair, he released a groan of relief and pain. Eyes closed, he prayed for sleep. Pain never followed him when he was asleep. Occasionally it would wake him, but sleep usually helped ease the pounding in his head to a mere throb.

Iain heard the door squeak softly a short time later, but he didn’t open his eyes. Although he couldn’t see Grace’s small, almost too thin frame, the soft scent of lavender and herbs drifted into his nostrils as she reached his side. He released a quiet grunt as his daughter placed a soft, lavender-filled cloth on his forehead.

“You should lie down, Faither.”

“The poultice will suffice, lass.” Despite the brusque response, it was obvious his daughter heard the note of affection buried beneath it as she brushed her lips across his cheeks.

“All right, but I will send Angus to check on you shortly. If anyone can convince you to lie down, he can.”

“Leave me be, Grace.” he growled with restrained ferocity. “I’ll nap here for a bit, and then I will feel better.”

His daughter’s only response was another kiss to his cheek before she left the study as soundlessly as she’d entered. The child was far too quiet and wise beyond her ten years. Grace was her mother’s daughter. Gentle, intuitive, and caring.

The girl’s twin sister, Ainslie, was the exact opposite. Ainslie had inherited every undesirable trait he’d ever possessed in his youth, as well as his brother’s disregard for risk. Complicating Ainslie’s wild ways was her ability to charm the most surly of ill-tempered Scotsmen, including himself. Even Thane would have found himself outmatched by his niece’s ability to twist people around her little finger.

They needed a governess, which he could ill afford at the moment. Another solution whispered its way through his head, but he rejected it outright. He had no intention of marrying again. A knifelike pang stabbed viciously at his temple, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the pain. With determination, Iain forced himself to clear his head and relax his tense muscles. The throbbing seemed to lessen, and he waited for the blessed peace of oblivion.

Iain wasn’t sure how long he’d napped, but something jarred him out of his sleep. Eyes closed, he didn’t move for a long moment. The lavender essence of the poultice filled his nostrils, and a sigh of relief blew past his lips. The throbbing persisted, but had been reduced to a minor irritation. Between Grace’s medicine and his nap, the majority of his pain had subsided. Relief surged through him. The headache had been the worst he’d had in a long time, but at least he’d been spared a more debilitating migraine. As he opened his eyes, his gaze fell on the open ledger on his desk.

Instantly, his jaw locked with tension as his problems returned to taunt him. Iain leaned forward and closed the accounting book with a vicious flip of his wrist. The violent action penalized him with a sharp twinge in his temple. A grunt of discomfort broke out of him as he stood up and sluggishly made his way across the floor to stare out the study’s tall window.

Beyond the cliffs that bordered his lands was the North Sea. Angry, bluish-gray storm clouds brushed up against the dark waters on the horizon. A storm was brewing and would most likely reach land in a few hours. Iain opened the window and drank in a deep breath of the sea air being pushed inland. It created the sudden urge in him to walk out along the cliffs. The fresh air would do him good, and it would be awhile before the storm reached landfall.

His decision made, Iain walked out of his study and into the main hall. He was shrugging into his overcoat when the front door flew open, and Ainslie barreled into the manor covered in dirt with hair askew. Her look of excitement died the moment she saw him, and a more sober look replaced her exhilaration. Resignation made Iain suppress a sigh. Whatever Ainslie had been doing, he had no doubt it was inappropriate for a young girl. Iain clasped his hands behind his back and eyed her with disapproval.

“Well, lass? What mischief are you running from now?” His clipped question made Ainslie wince. He could almost see the wheels spinning in her head, and he cleared his throat in a silent command for an answer.

“I beat Ethan,” she said as she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin with a look of satisfaction.

“I see. Might I ask what you beat him at?” he murmured.

Something undefinable crossed Ainslie’s pretty countenance, and a twinge of pain lashed out at his forehead. Whatever she’d done to beat Squire Tewel’s boy, he doubted her story would please him. As he pinned his gaze on her, his daughter winced and bowed her head. Now, he was certain he would not like the explanation she was about to give him.

“We raced from the cairn to the cliffs and back.”

For a moment, Iain simply stared at her in stunned amazement. As the full impact of her actions penetrated his head, fear and horror snaked through him. The child could have been hurt far worse than the broken arm she’d suffered last year when she’d tried to take Macklin over a tall hedge. He could have lost her.

The thought made his stomach twist violently. The ground she’d raced her horse over was riddled with holes that could easily cause an animal to stumble. Without thinking, he reached out to catch her by her arms and shook her hard as his voice took on a rough burr.

“Damnation, Ainslie. Do ye nae have any idea what could have happened tae ye or Macklin?”

“I didn’t ride Macklin. I rode Taren,” she replied blithely.