Читать книгу Christmas At Pemberley - Katie Oliver - Страница 41

Chapter 34

Caitlin remained in her room all day Saturday.

Fear of her father’s volatile temper kept her out of the dining room, as well. She’d never seen him so furious, not even when she accidentally broke one of the mullioned glass windows in the library with a croquet ball.

She asked Mrs Neeson to have the cook send up a tray, and although the housekeeper grumbled, she agreed.

As Caitlin looked down at her luncheon tray of cream of mushroom soup and toast points, she felt a wave of nausea overtake her, and barely set the tray aside in time to rush to the bathroom sink.

A few minutes later, she pushed her hair back from her forehead and laid her face down against the cool marble countertop. She hated Niall for doing this to her.

Gradually she realized her mobile was ringing, and she stumbled to her bedside table and picked it up.

‘Hello, Cait. How’s my favourite girl?’

‘Puking my guts up,’ she answered crossly. ‘It was the mushroom soup that did it this time. Everything makes me ill lately, no thanks to you.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. Truly. If you were here with me right now, I’d pamper you, and give you sponge baths, and spoil you outrageously. I miss you.’

‘I miss you, too.’

He paused. ‘Have you spoken with your father yet? Have you told him about us...about the baby?’

‘Yes, on both counts. Oh, Niall – I’ve never seen him so furious! It’s a good thing you weren’t here, or he’d have torn you limb from limb and fed you to the lions.’

‘I should’ve been there to support you.’ His words were bitter. ‘I feel like a complete coward, leaving you to deal with the fallout on your own.’

‘Oh, Dad will calm down eventually. Mum will bring him round.’ She chewed on her lower lip and added, ‘I’m sorry about Jeremy. I hope he’ll come round eventually, too.’

‘He will. And if he doesn’t...’ Niall paused ‘too bad. He’ll have to accept you, Caitlin, and our marriage, too.’

‘I just hope it doesn’t cause a permanent rift between you. I don’t want to be the cause of,’ she let out a shaky breath, ‘of breaking up your family, Niall...but that’s exactly what I’ve done, isn’t it? My father’s right.’

‘My marriage to Miriam was over years ago,’ he told her firmly. ‘She’s been seeing someone else for some time now. In any event, it doesn’t matter; we grew apart long ago. You made me see that there was nothing left to salvage from our marriage, and so I finally did something about it.’

‘I hope you don’t end up regretting it, someday,’ Caitlin said with a sniffle. ‘I hope you don’t end up regretting...us.’

‘The only thing I regret,’ Niall said, his words leaving no doubt, ‘is the time I’ve wasted without you.’

Helen returned to the gatehouse just before eight that evening, her arms laden with bags. ‘I’ve brought lamb shanks, tomatoes and wine,’ she said as Colm swung the door open and reached out to take a couple of bags from her ‘and I bought a tin of shortbread for afters. You Scots do like your shortbread, don’t you?’

‘We do,’ he agreed, amused. ‘But you needn’t have bothered. I’ve made us a lemon tart.’

Helen followed him into the kitchen and dropped the groceries onto the table. She turned to face him in mock astonishment. ‘What? You can bake, Mr MacKenzie, in addition to your many other talents?’

His arms came round her waist and he nuzzled her neck. ‘What talents would you be speaking of, Miss Thomas?’ he murmured against her skin. ‘My cooking? My conversational skills? Or...’ he took her earlobe gently between his teeth ‘something else, perhaps?’

‘Something else,’ she breathed, just before his mouth took hers and made conversation impossible. For several minutes she gave in to the bliss of snogging him like a lust-ridden teenager, then reluctantly, she broke away.

‘There’s cream in those bags, and eggs. I should put the perishables away.’

‘Put ’em away later,’ Colm told her, and pulled her against him. ‘They’ll keep for a bit longer...but I might not.’ He covered her mouth once again with his, and his tongue found hers, and they made their way upstairs to Colm’s bed, leaving the groceries forgotten on the table.

Later, as they clung together in a sweaty tangle in his bed, Colm kissed the top of her head. ‘I missed you, lass,’ he said simply.

‘I missed you, too.’ And it was true. She’d thought of little else but him since they’d first slept together.

‘You were gone for quite a while,’ he remarked as he reached over and stroked the hair back from her face.

Shit. Nothing escaped Colm, including her lengthy absence. ‘The shop in the village was closed,’ Helen improvised, ‘so I had to go all the way into Northton Grange. I should’ve called to let you know,’ she apologized. ‘Sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s no matter. I was a wee bit worried, that’s all.’

‘How sweet! But you needn’t worry about me.” She hesitated. “Colm,’ she ventured as she nestled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, ‘can I ask you a question?’

‘Aye, I reckon so. I can’t say as I’ll answer it, though.’ He glanced down at her with a smile.

She hesitated. ‘Tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers? Sisters? Do they live hereabouts? I know so little about you.’

His smile faded. ‘I have no family to speak of. No brothers, no sisters.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ Helen rested her head back on his chest, hardly daring to look at him. ‘So your mother and father are dead?’

There was a lengthy silence, and she feared she’d pushed him too far. He was so damned prickly when it came to any mention of his past...

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was adopted. The McRoberts were good, decent people, and they gave me a roof and fed me. But when my adoptive mother died suddenly, Mr McRoberts was shattered, and so was I. I acted out, got in with a bad lot, and he couldn’t cope with me. I was placed in a series of foster homes, each one worst than the last, until I ran away at fifteen.’

Helen clasped him tightly. ‘Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry you went through all that. But at least your adoptive parents were kind. At least you had that.’

‘Aye, but no matter how kind they were,’ he said as he stared up at the rough beams of the ceiling, ‘I couldn’t help but wonder about my real family sometimes.’

‘Do you know anything about them?’ Helen asked as she propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Anything at all?’

‘Nae, nothing,’ he said, and reached for his shirt and pulled it back on, ‘and I don’t care. They didn’t want me, that was plain enough; so I’ve no use for them now.’

‘But don’t you ever wonder who your real mother was?’

‘No,’ Colm said again, firmly. ‘I don’t.’

He thrust his leg into his jeans, and as he did, she noticed a long, puckered scar running up the length of his thigh. She let out a soft gasp and lifted her eyes to his.

‘Colm,’ she whispered, ‘that scar! My God...what happened?’

He glanced down, his expression unreadable. ‘This? It happened on one of the freighters I crewed. Twenty-seven stitches.’ He shrugged. ‘It looks worse than it is.’ He zipped up and lifted his brow. ‘Now, lass,’ he said as he leant over to kiss her again, ‘get up and help me put those groceries away, afore the perishables perish.’

Not wanting to bring a scowl back to that angular, ginger-stubbled face, Helen kissed him back, and got dressed.