Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(99)

She kissed her baby’s cheek and held him close. “I donna like him on the water’s edge,” she insisted. “A wave could come along and sweep him off,” she said, and carried her son up the beach, cooing to him.

Aulay picked up the wooden ship.

“New mothers,” his father said. “Wait until the next comes along—she’ll breathe then, mark me.”

Aulay smiled. He walked up to stand next to his father and gaze out at the sea.

“Do you miss it, then?” his father asked. “The sea?”

Of course he missed it. Sometimes he ached with longing for it. “Aye,” he said. He missed it, but he’d found much more meaning in his life than he would have thought possible all those years on the deck of a ship. Since the Reulag Balhaire had gone down, Aulay had gradually begun taking over the accounting from his father. That gave Rabbie the freedom to work on their various enterprises. It was not the sort of work Aulay was accustomed to, but he didn’t mind it. He’d been rather creative in finding ways to repay their debt to William Tremayne without selling property.

But more than anything, he’d found such happiness with Lottie, particularly now that they were all at Balhaire, that the rest of it didn’t seem to matter as much. With Beathan’s birth, Aulay had experienced a burst of love and purpose beyond his wildest imaginings. William had, surprisingly, recently offered Aulay the use of another ship. Aulay had toyed with the idea of it. But for the first time in his life, he was hesitant to risk his life at sea, what with a beautiful wife and baby and another on the way.

And it was more than that. Something profound had happened to him on that last voyage. When his ship had gone down, and his life with it, it had been a turning point for him. Aulay didn’t want to recreate what he’d had, particularly when he had realized that his dreams of revitalizing their trade was probably never going to happen in the way he’d hoped, not with their trade routes being encroached on every day.

He’d also slowly realized that his life at sea, so important to him, had been his escape. But it had not been a meaningful life. Yes, he’d seen many ports of call. Which meant he’d seen the inside of dirty taverns, had encountered rough men and hardened women. And every time he returned to Balhaire, he’d felt restless, eager to be gone again. But that was because his life had been empty. Lottie was right—the sea was the same. It was what was in his sea that mattered, and he’d nothing until she came along.

He glanced at his wife and son, who were now walking hand in hand, the same pearl white hair. They stopped every foot or so to squat down and examine some find. Lottie seemed more beautiful to him now than ever.

He painted the world for her, just as she’d asked, drawing on his memory of things he’d seen. She loved the paintings and would study them, asking him about this stroke or that shadow. He was grateful that their family fortune had improved enough that Aulay had surprised her on her birthday with plans to see London. Lottie was beside herself with excitement, really—when their next child was born and was strong enough to travel, they were accompanying Cailean and Daisy and their brood to London.

“I’m proud of you, son,” his father blurted.

The admission startled Aulay. He turned to his father in amazement, baffled by why now, after all these years.

His father seemed to sense his confusion. “Aye,” he said, his gaze still on the sea. “I’m no’ verra accomplished with saying the things that matter, or so your mother tells me. But I’m bloody well proud of you and I’ve always been.” He shifted his gaze to Aulay. “Always. You were my thinker, aye? My adventurer. Forgive me if I didna say it—”

Aulay’s heart lurched. “No forgiveness is necessary,” he said, and put his arm around his father’s shoulders. “Tapadh leat,” he said simply. Thank you. Two simple words that could not convey the true depth of his feeling, but said with all sincerity from the bottom of his heart.

Aulay looked again at his wife and son. An hour ago, he would have sworn it was impossible to be any happier than he was. He was beginning to think that happiness was a bottomless well, and if he weren’t careful, he’d drink so much from it that he would burst.

*