Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 10

"Flora is fine." Before she could elaborate, a pain-racked cry sounded from inside the bedchamber.

  "Never mind the noise, lass," the Scot said, his brow dipping in a frown. "Do not be judgmental. Birthing bairns is hard work."

  "I know that," Robbie replied, her young girl's voice dripping with disgust. "If that were Flora squealing, I wouldn't say a word. But Flora is being very brave about it. Gilly's the one who is squealing."

  "Gillian?" Jake and Angus asked simultaneously.

  At that moment, the bedroom door opened and Gillian stumbled out, stooped over and holding her leg below the knee. "But Mrs. Cameron—" she protested.

  "Bide a wee, Gillian. Your sister disnae need the distraction right now."

  "I did not mean—"

  "We ken," replied the midwife before she shut the door.

  Gillian whimpered her way over to the settee and plunked herself down next to her uncle, massaging her leg as he asked, "What is it, lass?"

  She winced. "I do not know. Every time Flora feels a pain, my leg cramps. I could not stop it, Uncle Angus. It does it all on its own. Mrs. Cameron thinks the fairies could be responsible. She says they may be trying to distract us from putting all the protection in place, giving them the chance to steal Flora's child."

  "She has a point," Robbie said. "Fairies are wee wicked folk."

  Angus Brodie sniffed with disdain, then used his free hand to pat Gillian's knee while he soothed, "Dinna fash yersel'. I'm certain your pain has nothing to do with the fairies. It is part of being a twin, I imagine. The pair of you are too close to go through this together without you being affected."

  Gillian sighed and nodded. "I hope you are right."

  "Perhaps you'd feel better if your mind were put to other matters," He motioned toward Jake with the Paterson. "Tell me about him, lass. I thought we sent him away."

  "I did, too," she glumly replied. "He came back."

  Robbie snapped her fingers. "I know how we can watch for fairies. Where is Scooter?"

  Gillian replied, "Up in my bedchamber."

  "Yours?" Brodie asked. "Why was his dog in your chamber?" He lowered the aim of his gun from Jake's heart to his loins.

  Jake decided a diversion was in order. His gaze captured Gillian's. "Fairies? You mean ghosts aren't enough? Now I'm supposed to worry about fairies, too?"

  "Not with Scooter around," Robbie insisted. "She'll sniff out those fairies and scare them away. I'll go get her now, all right?"

  Without waiting for permission, she darted for the door, leaving a pregnant silence in her wake. As the moment dragged out, Jake rubbed his palms along the top of his thighs and asked, "What do y'all expect the weather to do today? Think we'll get any rain?"

  Angus Brodie snorted. "That is how Texans start more than half their conversations. Tell me, lass. Do I want to talk to him at all, or shall I simply shoot him and be done with it?"

  Damn the woman, she actually acted as if she had to consider the question. Jake hastened to say, "Tell him about the debt, Gillian."

  "What debt?" Brodie asked, grabbing up one of his walking canes and rapping it on the floor.

  Gillian scowled at Jake, then looked at her uncle. "According to Mr. Delaney, our worries concerning Lord Bennet are behind us. Mr. Delaney says his sister shot him. Lord Bennet is dead."

  It took a moment for the news to seep through, then Brodie's bushy white eyebrows winged up. "Dead? The bastard is dead?"

  Gillian and Jake both nodded. Brodie looked from one to the other, then angled his head toward Jake and asked his niece, "Can we believe him?"

  Before she could open her mouth, Jake rolled the truth out like a rug. "I would never put your grand-niece at risk."

  He sat motionless, chin out and eyes glaring as Angus Brodie shot him a hard stare, measuring his worth. Abruptly, the Scot lowered his gun. "You will tell me the entire tale. Now."

  Jake arched a brow, silently asking Gillian if she wished to tell it or have him do the honors. She wrinkled her nose, gave Flora's bedchamber door one more glance, then launched into the story.

  While she talked, Jake took advantage of the unguarded moment to move to a more comfortable chair nearer the fireplace. There he stretched out his legs and settled in to listen, interrupting her twice to elaborate on a point, three times to correct a mistake. He didn't count the number of times Gillian paused to massage her leg muscles.

  It didn't escape Jake's notice that she failed to mention that the Declaration of Independence was the object of his search. Jake decided she must be working up to that, saving the best for last, so to speak.

  Once during the telling, they heard Flora cry out for her husband in a voice racked with pain. When a few minutes later they heard the laboring woman curse her man with invectives as blue as the lochs of Scotland, Gillian moaned and buried her face in her hands.

  Jake felt the urge to reassure her, to touch her and kiss her cheek and tell her everything would be all right. He refrained, which appeared to be a good thing considering the unvoiced threat her grand-uncle shot his way when she shook off her worry and continued the story, picking up at the place where she awoke to find Jake in her bedroom.

  At least she had the good sense not to mention he had tied her up.

  During a pause in her narrative, Brodie eyed Jake speculatively and stroked his snowy beard. "Sneaking into the lass's room. I probably should kill you just for that. Gilly, tell me the truth. Did he dare to lay a finger on you?"

  Jake held his own breath and eyed Brodie's revolver waiting for Gillian to reply. Hell, if he'd known he stood a chance of dying for his transgression, he wouldn't have stopped at a kiss.

  Apparently, Gillian agreed he had not committed a death-deserving deed because she shook her head in response to her grand-uncle's question. "He didn't bother me. Uncle Angus. His impersonation of a ghost is even worse than mine. I think next week I—"

  She broke off abruptly, gasped, then fell back against the sofa, her eyes closed as she turned her face up toward the ceiling. "Next week. Flora. I'm doomed."

  Doomed? Jake silently repeated.

  "The Earl of Harrington arrives next week." She hit her head against the cushion. "Oh, Uncle Angus. What will I do?"

  Brodie clucked his tongue and shrugged. "Let's not concern ourselves with that today. The main thing to remember now is that you are safe from Bennet's evil threats."

  "But what about you?" Indignation flashed in Gillian's eyes as she shoved to her feet. "Unless you've changed your mind about selling Rowanclere, next week is still vitally important. What about it, Uncle, have you changed your hard-headed ways? Will you move down from your Crow's Nest to a safer room?"

  "I've kept my vow for fifty years," Brodie said, jutting out his bewhiskered chin. "I'll not break it now. Besides, changing rooms will not solve the problem. I'll see you and Robyn provided for before I die."

  She folded her arms. "Stubborn Scot."

  "You are one to talk."

  The conversation had left Jake in the dust. Before he could pursue the matter, Mrs. Ferguson opened Flora's chamber door and dashed for the hallway. Gillian jumped to her feet. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing is wrong. Water. We need more water."

  "Water." She glanced at Jake, blue eyes pleading. "Is that a good sign?"

  "I think it is."

  Of course, he didn't know it for a fact, but he figured it for a good guess. In Texas, water was always a good sign. Besides, the worry in her expression damned near broke his heart.

  Gillian began to pace the sitting room, limping at fairly regular intervals as her leg continued to cramp. "I hope Alasdair is home and not off hunting or something. I hope he rides like the wind from Laichmoray and gets here in time. Flora needs him." She paused for a moment, then said, "He will be so angry. He wanted the bairn born at home."

  "Let him be angry," her uncle said with a huff. "You needed your sister's help and she needed to give it."

  "Because you are too stubborn to help yourself."

/>   "Gillian Ross, dinna start that again." Angus Brodie waved a finger at his niece as he continued, "And you'll mind your tongue as will Alasdair Dunbar when he arrives. He will soon discover that it doesn't matter where a bairn is born. What matters is his health."

  "Her health." Gillian grimaced and clutched at her leg. "I think Flora is having a girl. And you are right. All that does matter is that Flora and the baby are healthy."

  "Of course I am right. Now, explain to me about this debt Delaney, here, claims we owe."

  Gillian's lips moved but no sound came out. Jake decided she was praying, so he answered Angus Brodie's question for her. "Gillian told me about Lord Bennet's threats. She rightly admitted my sister did your family a huge favor by... eliminating the peril, shall we say... and that your family is in my family's debt. In turn, I explained the true purpose of my visit to Rowanclere, and informed her how y'all could clear this obligation."

  "And that would be?"

  Sitting up in his chair, Jake rested his hands on his knees, leaned forward, and watched Angus Brodie's face closely. "I want you to give me the Declaration of Independence."

  Angus didn't twitch so much as a whisker. "You want what?"

  "He has the idea that you have this item he is searching for," Gillian said. She then outlined the points he had made to her earlier. While she spoke, Brodie tapped his cane against the floor in an annoyingly sporadic cadence. His eyes, however, narrowed at regular intervals.

  When Gillian finished, he said only, "Hmm... so that's the sorry way they teach boys to think in Texas these days. Such faulty reasoning. Sad state of affairs, if you ask me."

  Before Jake could respond, Robbie returned with Scooter cradled in her arms. "I told her all about Flora having her bairn and how fairies like to steal newborns. Scooter is ready to protect my sister."

  "Good." Brodie tossed her a pillow from the settee. "Make her a guard spot in the hallway outside Flora's door, then come snuggle with me, wee one. We will wait together."

  The girl's return effectively halted any further conversation about the Declaration. Jake didn't mind. His own attention kept wandering to the room across the hall. He could only imagine how the rest of them were feeling. Besides, this would give the Scot some time to think about what he'd learned in the last few minutes.

  Jake knew he'd taken a giant step forward in his hunt for the document. He was ninety-nine percent sure the document was somewhere here at Rowanclere. Their secrecy had told him he'd be wasting his time to search for it, however. If they wanted to keep it hidden, a man would need ten years to search all the nooks, crannies, and hidden passages in this castle.

  Nope, they were going to have to hand it over, and after having met Angus Brodie, Jake felt confident he could make it happen. The Scotsman might be crotchety and stubborn, but those qualities couldn't hide his honorable core.

  So Jake settled back in his chair, watching Robbie cuddle with her Uncle Angus and Gillian pace the room as they waited for nature to take its course. Eventually, Robbie fell asleep on her grand-uncle's lap. Gillian lapsed into contemplative quiet.

  Twice during the next hour, she braved her sister's bedchamber. Each time she lasted less than five minutes before a leg cramp saw her banished to the sitting room once again.

  Jake dozed as night gave way to dawn and dawn to daylight. He had slipped into a sound sleep when a disturbance in the hallway jarred him awake.

  "Flora!" boomed a man's voice. "Flora, where are ye? Are ye well?"

  Gillian stepped to the doorway of the sitting room. "Alasdair, thank God you've come."

  "My wife?"

  "In the green bedchamber across the hall. The howdie says she is faring well. The babe has yet to arrive."

  He caught Gillian up in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. He whirled her around and finally set her down in the middle of the sitting room.

  He was a mountain of a man, with a voice that roared like the ocean in a storm. Concern mingled with relief in the brown eyes that pinned Gillian. "She is good?"

  "Aye."

  "Why are you nae with her? Ye are her twin. She needs ye with her."

  Gillian sagged. "The howdie won't let me stay. I start feeling Flora's pains, and she thinks it weakens her labor, will make it last twice as long. Mrs. Cameron says Flora needs all the pain to safely deliver the bairn."

  "But she's well."

  "Aye. You can go in and see for yourself. Tell Flora you are here."

  "Nae." He backed away from both Gillian and the door, "It is not my place. I will wait for the bairn and my Flora to come through this trial safely." He paused for a moment, scowled, and added, "Then I can kill her."

  Jake couldn't help but grin. Gillian caught the look, glared at him, and he shrugged, "He sounds just like my brother-in-law, Cole. He's always threatening to kill my sister. Of course, Chrissy needs it more than Flora. She is always getting herself into trouble."

  The big, burly Scot whirled on him. "Who are ye? What are ye doing attending my wife at this time?"

  Jake sized him up. The man was shorter than Jake, but meatier. They'd be well-matched, but Jake figured he could probably take him. One scream from Flora's room and the man would be a sitting loon on a loch.

  "I'm here to take Angus's Declaration of Independence home to Texas."

  Alasdair Dunbar nodded hard. "Good. That thing has caused naught but trouble for the past year or more."

  "Alasdair!" Gillian protested. "You have the biggest mouth in Scotland."

  Jake grinned with smug satisfaction at having the truth out. Flora's husband waved the subject of the Declaration away and said, "Disnae matter now. Tell me what preparations have been made. Are all the doors in the castle unlocked?"

  "Aye," Robbie piped up. "And she has a Bible and a knife in her bed."

  "What about the iron? Did ye place a piece of cold iron with her to scare off the fairies?"

  Gillian nodded. "I did that."

  "And the cheese? Do ye have a cryin' kebbock for the merry meht?"

  Gillian shared a worried look with Robbie before replying. "We have an uncut cheese, but I fear it will not be big enough."

  Angus Brodie waved a dismissive hand. "We'll cut the pieces small."

  "Nae." Dunbar raked his fingers through his hair as he stalked around the room. "I'll send a man back to Laichmoray. I should have brought it with me. And a fircandle so they can be sained. Flora will need to be churched. The christening. My mother is in Edinburgh—I'll need to send word. So much to do, and nothing ready here, nothing ready yet." He stopped mid-stride and turned an anxious expression toward Gillian. "It's too early, Gilly. I am so afeared."

  In the face of her brother-in-law's fright, Gillian appeared to bloom with strength. She stopped him mid-stalk with a hug.

  Jake scowled at the way the Scotsman clung to his sister-in-law. Sure the fellow looked in need of comfort, and he obviously didn't know what he was doing, but that was no excuse for his hand to rest so low on her hip, damned near cupping her butt. Made Jake itch to knock Dunbar's hand away, dammit.

  Gillian's voice was soothing as she stepped away from Alasdair and said, "Let me check on her progress for you, Alasdair Dunbar. Perhaps matters are happening faster now and... ow!" Gasping for breath, Gillian went stiff. She clutched her left leg, then her right. Moaning, then groaning.

  Jake saw she was seconds from falling down. Shoving the helpless Alasdair aside, he swooped her up into his arms and headed for the first empty bed he knew of, the extra one in Flora's chamber.

  Jake spared the chaos inside hardly a glance as he carried Gillian into the room. He ignored the flock of feminine voices raised in protest and dismissed Dunbar's shouted, "Ye canna go there. Get away. It is nae proper."

  Gillian's moan blended with the pain-racked sound of her sister's groan. "To hell with proper," Jake said. "They're hurting."

  "But the midwife said—"

  "She's wrong. It'll help them both to be together."

  He laid his bur
den gently upon the bed, then threw up the hem of her robe and nightgown, baring her legs to his gaze. The knots of muscle in her calves were clearly visible. Beginning with her right, he took her leg in his hands and started to massage. "Woman, your muscles are as hard as Texas red granite. Try to relax."

  "I am trying," she snapped.

  To his left, Jake could hear Flora struggling for breath. "Alasdair," she whimpered. "Is that you?"

  "Aye, my wren. Look at ye. Ye tear my heart in two."

  Gillian cried out and reached for her left leg. "Here's another one."

  Flora mewled and panted. The midwife said, "That's it, dearie. Not much longer."

  Jake kneaded Gillian's muscles until his fingers ached. Though he kept his concentration focused on the woman before him, he couldn't help but be aware of the chaos going on behind him. Dunbar kept scrambling in and out of the room. Robbie had joined the women and kept darting back to the doorway to holler out details of Flora's progress like "She's squeezing Alasdair's hand hard enough to break it" and "Her face scrunches up and turns red as a poppy when she pushes, Uncle Angus."

  Jake did his best to turn off his ears when he heard the child say, "Oh, yuck. That is messy."

  Gillian's leg cramps continued to come faster and faster until there was barely any break between them. Behind him, Jake heard the howdie say, "Look, a redheaded bairn. Let's get him born, Mama. Gie us a good push."

  For another five minutes, Flora labored, Gillian cramped, Alasdair prayed, Robbie went silent, Angus yelled from the sitting room for updates, and even Scooter got in on the act by barking.

  Then finally, blessedly, Gillian let out a sigh of relief and her muscles 'went lax. Alasdair said, "Flora? Oh, Flora," and the first thready cry of a babe strengthened into a full-blown wail.

  Jake's gaze met Gillian's and his heart stuttered. Her eyes glistened with tears of joy, and in that moment she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  "Thank you," she said with a smile, her voice soft and sweet and barely heard over the infant's cries and the midwife's muttering about men being where they didn't belong.

  "My pleasure," he replied, meaning it.

  She offered him one more smile before focusing on the child. "A boy," she breathed. "Oh, Flora, you have a son."