In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,57
marriage to Malcolm, coming to live here at the castle…? That made her a real part of the clan.
Slowly, her lips pulled upward.
She was an Oliphant in truth now and had a real place.
And so would her sons, once Malcolm returned.
“ ’Tis good to see ye have hope, lass!” the laird boomed as he crossed the courtyard, his usual strides shortened to accommodate his aunt, who was clinging to his arm. “A smile on yer face is the way to welcome home yer husband!”
Evelinde’s smile faltered.
“Och, nay, hold on to that hope, lass,” her father-in-law reminded her with a wink, as he drew nearer.
Agatha brandished her cane. “Malcolm will be back soon with yer son. The laddie’s merely showing his rebellious spirit. ‘Tis what makes him an Oliphant, ye ken!”
“Oliphants are rebellious?” Evelinde managed, trying to distract herself.
“Och, aye! Take this great hunk of beef!” Agatha slammed her cane into the laird’s knee. “Willie refused to wear braies under his kilt for an entire winter once. ‘Tis a miracle he could manage to father bairns at all after that bit of rebellion.”
Willie—the laird—offered a pained smile, but Evelinde wasn’t sure if it was on account of the injury to his knee, or his wounded pride.
“Verra rebellious, Aunt,” he murmured.
Evelinde was saved from having to say more as the man on watch called down, “Riders approaching!”
Her heart leapt as she whirled toward the gate, but then she forced herself to calm.
Riders? Malcolm only had one horse with him. It cannae be him.
But the laird called up, “Who is it, Fergus?”
A pause, and then the man called down, “Looks like a priest on a donkey…and Malcolm!”
Evelinde heard her new father-in-law whisper, “Thank Jesu!,” but she didn’t turn. Instead, she ran for the gate.
She reached it in time to see Father Ambrose trotting merrily across the outer bailey on his donkey, wearing a big grin…and Malcolm behind him, with Liam perched upon his lap.
Her knees went weak with relief, and she had to brace her hand against the stone of the wall.
“Blessings, my daughter,” Ambrose called as he approached.
She forced herself to step away from the wall and help him down from his mount, even as her attention remained locked on her approaching husband and son.
“Ye are well?” the priest asked, drawing her attention once more.
She embraced him. “Aye, Father Ambrose,” she murmured. “Welcome to Oliphant Castle.”
He was grinning when he straightened and held her at arm’s reach. “Ye have married a good man, Evie.”
Her gaze darted back to watch Malcolm swing down from his horse, then lift his arms for Liam. “He lied to me.”
The priest—the man who’d raised her, the man who’d fathered her, although that wasn’t common knowledge—snorted softly. “I dinnae ken his reasons, but I ken ye are an intelligent woman. If he’s worth forgiving, ye’ll find a way to do so and live the happy life ye deserve. Because does the Bible no’ tell us Lo, eating an apple each day will prevent unnecessary visits to the clan healer?”
She had to smile at that. Shaking her head ruefully, she leaned in and brushed a kiss across her father’s cheek. “I dinnae remember reading that, but I trust ye.”
“Aye, trust is verra important, and I trust ye will allow that lad to regain yers.”
Glancing over at Malcolm, who now stood holding Liam’s hand, as if they were both waiting to speak to her, she had to smile. “I think he will.”
“Good, now introduce me to this vision of loveliness, then leave us auld folks alone.”
Evelinde turned to find the priest in the process of taking Aunt Agatha’s hand. To her surprise, the old woman was actually blushing.
“Um…Lady Agatha, this is Father Ambrose MacRob. Father, this is Lady Agatha, the laird’s aunt.”
Her father winked at Agatha, completely ignoring William Oliphant. “I am charmed, milady. For, as the Good Lord tells us, blessed are those who are as beautiful of spirit as their outer beauty foretells, for they shall manage to make the rest of us feel like right gits as we age.”
As Agatha giggled—actually giggled!—the laird cleared his throat.
“I dinnae recall that verse in the Bible.”
“Nay?” Ambrose straightened. “Mayhap yer priest doesnae care about yer social well-being as much as yer spiritual.”
“What does that—?” Agatha began, but Evelinde, having heard her father’s theories on how to help his flock, quickly interrupted.
“And this is Laird William Oliphant, Father. Laird, Father Ambrose believes ‘tis as important to share knowledge of hygiene and happiness as ‘tis to memorize Bible verses.”
“Aye,” the priest agreed,