Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

“When Hugh threatened everyone who worked here,” Sìleas said, “we told them to leave.”

“Go along now and talk with Ian,” his mother said, taking the bowls from Sìleas. “I’ll clean up.”

As Ian got to his feet, Niall came in through the door. Instead of giving him the sharp edge of her tongue for missing dinner, Sìleas’s expression softened when she saw him.

“Niall, can ye join Ian and me?”

Now, why would she be asking Niall to join them?

“Whatever ye need, I’m there,” Niall said, smiling at her as he hung his cap by the door.

“I appreciate it.” Sìleas’s voice wavered a bit, as if Niall had done something special that touched her—when all she showed Ian was irritation.

As he followed Sìleas up the stairs, the smell of heather filled his nose. He couldn’t help taking in her slim ankles and the sway of her skirts as she climbed the steep steps. Lifting his gaze, he imagined her smooth, rounded bottom beneath the skirts.

She led them into the room that had been his bedchamber growing up. It looked different now, with pretty stones lining the windowsill and dried flowers in a jug on the table. His stomach tightened with the memory of the last time he was in this room—their “wedding” night, when he had spent a long, restless night on the hard floor.

He glanced at his old bed—the bed she slept in now. If he chose, he could sleep here with her every night. He was hard just thinking about it. If he stayed with her, he would build a new bed for them suitable for Knock Castle, with posts and heavy curtains like he had seen in France.

After taking a chair at the table, she gestured for him and Niall to do the same. Niall sat opposite her, as if by habit, leaving Ian to pull up a stool between them, facing the wall.

“I don’t know if ye realize how verra badly injured your da was when we first got him back.” Sìleas spoke in a soft voice and fixed her gaze on the table.

“Da didn’t wake for a fortnight,” Niall put in. “ ’Twas a miracle he lived.”

His father wished to God he hadn’t, crippled as he was. In his place, Ian would feel the same.

“Since ye were not here, Niall and I have been making the decisions that needed to be made these last few weeks,” Sìleas said, her tone becoming clipped again. “I hope you’ll be satisfied with what we’ve done.”

“What sort of decisions?” Ian asked.

Sìleas stood to take down a sheaf of papers from the shelf above the table. “How many cattle to slaughter for the winter, which sheep to sell or trade, that sort of thing.”

What could be more tedious?

Sìleas sat down and pushed the stack of papers across the table to him. “Now that you are here, these are your decisions to make.” She paused, then added, “At least until your da is well.”

Ian glanced down. There were figures all down the first page. “What do ye expect me to do with these?”

“Sìleas will have to explain it to ye,” Niall said, grinning at her. “She’s been helping da manage our lands and tenants for years. Ye should hear him, always bragging about how clever she is.”

His father? Letting a lass help him and boasting about it? Ian didn’t want to accuse his brother of lying, but, truly, this was hard to fathom.

Ian watched Sìleas as she spoke about cattle and crops, listening more to the sound of her voice than her words. He did notice how she repeatedly brought Niall into her recitation. What impressed him as much as her enthusiasm for the tedious details was how she recognized his brother’s need to be relied upon as a man.

His father certainly showed no concern for Niall’s pride. Remembering his father’s harshness toward Niall, Ian felt a rush of warmth toward Sìleas for her kindness to his brother. He would have to ask her why his da was so angry with Niall.

With his mind on Niall and his father, he didn’t realize she was finished going over the accounts until she was on her feet.

“I must go now,” she said, smoothing her skirts, “or the clothes will never be washed and you’ll have no supper.”

Without thinking, Ian said, “Isn’t running the household my mother’s responsibility?” This brought a second question to mind that had been nagging him. Gesturing to the sheaf of papers before him, he said, “Why was she not the one to make these decisions in da’s place?”

“Do ye think I took it from her?” Sìleas asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is that what ye think?”

The hurt in Sìleas’s eyes cut him to the quick.

“I did not mean—,” he started to say, but she cut him off.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, though clearly it did. “You’ll be taking over the task now, so I’ll leave ye to it.”

“Wait,” Ian said, catching her arm. “You’ve done a fine job with it, and I’d be happy to have ye continue.”

“ ’Tis no my place to do it now,” she said in a tight voice.

Ach, he felt lower than dirt. But before he could get out a word of apology, she was out the door. No sooner was she gone, than his brother slammed his fist on the table.

“Ye have no notion what it’s been like here, while you’ve been off having your adventures,” Niall said.

Ian met his brother’s angry gaze. “Then you’ll have to tell me.”

“Da was barely alive when I got him home.” Niall worked his jaw as he leaned forward and stared at his hands. “I don’t know what we would have done without Sìleas. She was the one who washed his wounds every day and put on the salve she got from Teàrlag.”

Grief and guilt curled together in Ian’s gut. He would never know if he could have saved his father from injury had he been at his side in the battle. But he was as good as any man with a sword, so he might have made a difference.

“During the time da did not waken,” Niall said, “Sìleas spent hours at his bedside, talking and reading to him as if he could hear every word.”

It struck Ian as odd that Niall spoke only of Sìleas taking care of their father. “What about mam?”

“Mam stopped speaking when she thought da was dying. She was like the walking dead herself.” Niall kept his eyes fixed on his hands and spoke in a low, rough voice. “Sìl and I did our best to make her eat, but she grew so weak we feared we would lose her, too.”

Guilt was bitter in Ian’s throat. Niall was far too young for the burden he’d been carrying—and it was Ian’s burden.

“Mam’s been much better since da woke up a couple of weeks ago. But da…” Niall turned to gaze out the small window. “Well, it’s been almost worse since he awoke and found his leg was gone.”

Ian leaned across the table and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. We came as soon as we heard the news of the battle.”

“Ye should have been here long before then,” Niall said, his voice hard. “For Sìleas, ye should have been here. You’ve shamed her by leaving her for so long.”

Ian had never considered that his absence might shame her. Until he returned, he had thought of her as an awkward girl not ready for marriage.

“One way or another, I will make it right,” Ian said. “I am grateful to ye for taking care of the family in my absence.”

“It’s Sìleas ye should be thanking, not me.” His brother stood abruptly, jostling the table. He was shaking with anger. “Sìleas has worked herself to the bone, keeping the family going these last weeks. Did ye not see the circles under her eyes? I do my best to help her, but it’s no enough.”

“I’ll see to things now,” Ian said, keeping his voice quiet.

“Then you’d best convince her to stay,” Niall said, “for we cannot do without her.”

“Sìleas is not going anywhere soon.” At least not until he made up his mind.