“They’re coming.” Ian and Grey had been counting on this. Waiting for it. But to hear it confirmed . . .
Was it really possible? All of the McCaim brothers had made it safely back to the same time and would be reunited?
Ian did not want to lose it in front of his mother’s family. His wife. But he couldn’t keep it together either. Grey’s arms were around him before he had a chance to react. Reminded of the day of Rhys’s disappearance, when Grey had literally picked him up off the floor, Ian held on tight.
He didn’t give a fuck who was watching.
“Thank God. Grey, they’re coming.”
Ian usually bristled against his status as baby of the family, but not right now. Wiping his wet eyes on his brother’s shoulders, he repeated the quasi-prayer again.
Grey was the one who finally pulled away.
Ian moved to wipe the remaining wetness from his cheeks, but then his eyes fell on the mark on Màiri’s cheek. She couldn’t hide it, so he wouldn’t hide his tears either. Screw the wholemen aren’t supposed to crything. He was a modern man, wasn’t he?
Grey, on the other hand, already looked cool and collected again. It struck him that his brother belonged here more than he did. He would fit right in with their uncles. Which was when a new thought hit him, one that drowned out the conversation between Ross and Alastair.
What if some of his brothers wanted to stay?
Màiri had stood and made her way toward him. Ian didn’t ask permission to leave or say anything else. He just took her hand and started walking. He meant to bring her back to their chamber so they could talk privately. She came with him willingly enough and did not comment—not even when they ended up at a side entrance to the hall. So much for his masterful tracking skills.
“Master Ian. How may I serve you?”
He peered around the corner to see the rest of their hunting party sitting at two tables, eating the leftovers from supper. No one had bothered sitting on the dais.
Backing up so the others wouldn’t see them, he asked, “A meal and a hot bath in our chamber, if you please?”
With a nod, the boy scurried away when he realized a bath required clothing to be discarded. He really couldn’t think straight.
Maybe he should rethink having an assistant. If he was going to toil away at a job he hated for the rest of his life, why resist help? When he got back, he was going to hire one immediately.
And he’d have that chance soon. If his brothers were returning, they were going home. It was hard to believe.
“You have every right to be pissed,” he said when they were far enough away from the hall to speak privately. This time, he was pretty sure they were headed in the right direction.
“I felt like a fool,” she said bitterly. “When Alastair and Marian spoke at supper, I quickly realized they knew something I did not. I could only imagine the cause.”
There was no feeling in the world worse than being left out.
Ian knew it well. Felt it pretty much every time he was with his brothers at work. They loved their roles at McCaim Shipping. He was the freak of the family in that regard.
Not that any of the others knew it.
“I’m sorry.”
And he truly was. He made a pretty shitty husband.
They must have been walking pretty slow. When they reached their bedchamber, servants piled in behind them. An army of them.
Two with a wooden tub. Three with buckets of hot water. And two more carrying a tray of food and wine.
Apparently they were having a quasi-party in their chamber. While more buckets were brought in, Màiri’s maid showed up and herded her into the adjoining dressing chamber. He couldn’t wait any longer. Ian sat and began to eat the spiced stew like his life depended on it.
There was a joke in their family:don’t disturb Ian when he’s eating.
He took food very, very seriously.
By the time he finished the stew and freshly baked bread, the tub was filled, but Màiri was nowhere to be found. Stepping around the stool with soap and the medieval version of a towel—more damn linen—Ian gladly removed his cold, wet clothes and stepped inside.
