Page 60 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
Another sigh escaped him as he stood from his chair, crossing toward the shelves for a bottle of whisky. Before he could uncork it, a knock sounded at his door … followed soon after by the door itself gently swinging open. He half-expected Rory to be standing on the other side; the man had come far more often than usual, looking as depressed as Gerald felt. There were days his man-at-arms didn’t have any news to report; he simply sat in a nearby chair, drinking an offered cup while lamenting the loss of his own lady. “I daenae think I can hear anymore about Miss Sarah,” Gerald groaned.
“I havenae heard any negative reports about the lass, so I daresay ye’ll hear nothing of the sort from me.”
Gerald turned quickly, startled to see Ms. Blair standing outside his door. She patiently stood, waiting for an invitation, the hardlines on her face as constant as ever. “Ah. Ye may come in, Ms. Blair.”
She nodded curtly, stepping beneath the doorway as she eyed the latch. “Ye havenae fixed it, yet.”
“Havenae had the time,” Gerald replied.
Her expression made her thoughts obvious.‘Such a terrible liar ye are, me Laird’. But Ms. Blair kept her thoughts to herself, much to Gerald’s relief. Instead, she crossed the room with another stack of letters in her hands. “More invitations for her ladyship, when she returns.”
Gerald poured himself a serving of whisky, suddenly uninterested in the conversation.
“And one from the lady herself,” Ms. Blair added.
Whisky spilled over the side of the bottle as Gearld nearly lost his grip. He quickly snatched the letter out of his housekeeper’s hand, clutching it tightly before remembering his manners. “Thank ye, Ms. Blair.” He glanced the letter over, noting the pre-broken seal. “Ms. Blair?”
“It’s me job as housekeeper to ensure all letters are worth yer time, me Laird,” Ms. Blair replied smoothly.
Gerald made a slight grimace. It felt good, he realized, to express something after a week’s worth of apathy. “What did she write, Ms. Blair?”
Ms. Blair cleared her throat, clearly pleased to make such a report. “She reports good progress at MacGunn’s, with the people integrating well beneath their new banner. She has noted their respectful attitudes and their willingness to obey her instructions.”
“As they should,” Gerald growled. It was about time those cowards gave her the attention she deserved.
“While she’s been kept busy with work, she noted that Sarah has put a great emphasis on Mollie’s schooling,” Ms. Blair went on. “Her reading comprehension has increased greatly, and at the bottom of the letter, ye’ll find a few words handwritten by Mollie herself.”
Gerald quickly glanced down the page, catching sight of the inclusion of chicken scratch beneath Aileen’s impeccable penmanship. Decoding it would take time, but it still filled his chest with pride.
“Mollie continues to train Bannock, though she has lamented that she cannae throw the stick as far as the Laird can. And …”
It was unusual to hear Ms. Blair hesitate. “And?” Gerald asked.
“And … the Lady writes of how wonderful a young lady Mollie is becoming. How she continues to show generosity and love to all, even amidst those of MacGunn, who still reject her.”
Ouch. “Ye daenae have to make it so obvious,” Gerald chuckled bitterly.
“Would ye request me to do otherwise, me Laird?”
No. If Ms. Blair was anything, she was brutally honest. A trait that had kept her employed for decades. Gerald honestly couldn’t see a future without her in charge. “May I make something obvious, Ms. Blair?”
She nodded curtly. “Though, I suspect I ken what ye wish to make obvious, me Laird.”
“Do ye, now?” More laughter erupted from Gerald, though it felt more genuine this time. “Suppose ye ken from the start how much I fancied the lass, then?”
Another curt nod, though a hint of warmth entered the old woman’s voice. “Ye have been carryin’ a great burden for many years, me Laird. Though I cannae claim to ken what the late Laird would say, I couldnae imagine such a great man would wish to inflict such pain upon his own kin.”
The statement hit him harder than expected. Never once had Gerald considered any other option, but … Ms. Blair was right. Ewan was a phenomenal man, a brother he was proud to lookup to and model himself after. If the roles had been reversed—if Gerald had been born the eldest, had died in battle—he couldn’t imagine being at peace, knowing Ewan was sabotaging his future on mere assumptions. “Is … love supposed to hurt so much, Ms. Blair?”
A rare, gentle smile crossed Ms. Blair’s lips. She grasped at a necklace tucked beneath her gown—a locket, Gerald realized. One he’d never noticed before. “There is nae a day I daenae miss me own husband, me Laird. I lie awake in a bed far too big for meself alone, soothin’ the ache in me heart. But …”
She blinked, producing a small linen from her pocket as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I wouldnae change a thing. The pain reminds me how much he meant to me, and I’m grateful for all the time we had together.”
Time. Gods, he had wasted so much time. Gerald immediately stood from his chair, his whisky glass left untouched and abandoned. “Ms. Blair, inform Rory that he will be in charge for a few weeks. I have to ride for MacGunn, depart as soon as possible.”
A knowing grin crossed Ms. Blair’s face. “Yer horse has been prepared and supplies packed, me Laird. Ye may leave immediately, should ye desire.”
He did desire it. As Gerald rounded his desk, he paused before his housekeeper, hesitated, then brought her in for a tight hug. “I couldnae ask for a better housekeeper. Thank ye, Ms. Blair, for always caring for me.”
