Page 6 of Forever My Lass

“Taren!”

The color drained from Ainslie’s cheeks at his angry roar. Fear held her frozen stiffly in his grasp, and regret whipped through him. Ainslie’s dread was visible only for a moment before it disappeared and was replaced with a calm stoicism. But he saw the fear, hurt, and defiance in blue eyes so like his own. They were emotions he understood better than she knew, because as a child, he’d experienced the same ones on a daily basis with his father.

When he’d become a father, he’d taken a solemn oath with himself that he would never give his children cause to fear him. Although he was stern with his daughters, he was always patient and would explain his reasons for being upset with them. But of late, Ainslie’s recklessness had sorely tested his patience, and he had found himself sliding closer and closer toward a line he’d vowed he would never cross.

Now he’d done the unthinkable. He’d frightened his daughter. Not once had he ever shouted at either of his daughters, let alone do anything physical to emphasize his anger at their transgressions. With a jerk, he released Ainslie as guilt slammed through him. A second later, a sharp bolt of fire crashed against his temple, and he flinched. Iain closed his eyes and fought to quiet the anger and fear threatening to ignite his headache again.

As he suppressed his outrage, his headache retreated slowly, and he looked at his daughter again. Other than her rigid posture and the pain in her gaze, her trepidation was undetectable. Clearing his throat, Iain kept his voice quiet, yet fiercely stern.

“Ye raced my horse across ground that has enough holes to bring a horse to its knees.”

“But he didn’t, Faither—”

“Did last summer nae teach ye what can happen when thrown from a horse, child? Taren is difficult to manage on a good day. Ye could have been killed,” he bit out as a terrifying image filled his head of Ainslie and when she’d broken her arm. “What if Taren had stumbled and broken his leg? I would have had tae put him down. I can barely put food on the table now, let alone replace Taren.”

Horror swept over Ainslie’s face before her expression crumpled into a look of deep remorse. Blue eyes darkened with regret before they shimmered with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, Faither. I didn’t think—”

“Ye never do,” he snapped before he could stop himself. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Go tae your room, Ainslie. Ye are nae to come out until I send for ye. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Faither,” Ainslie whispered as she walked around him, then stopped. “I truly am sorry, Faither.”

Ainslie tentatively touched his arm. Iain looked down at her hand on his sleeve and covered it with his. He acknowledged her apology with a slight nod.

“I’ve nae doubt of that, lass. But I dinnae want something terrible to happen to you.” Wide-eyed, she stared up at him for a moment and he bent to brush his lips across her forehead. “Ye and your sister mean a great deal tae me, Ainslie. I dinnae ken what I would do if I lost either of ye.”

His somber words made her eyes grow round as saucers. Clearly, his fear had struck a chord in her as she nodded with understanding.

“I promise to try harder, Faither,” she said in a quiet voice. She didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she hurried across the stone floor and up the main staircase.

As Iain watched her disappear, he muttered an oath, then retrieved his Macintosh and threw it over his arm before walking out the manor’s front door. The child was growing more reckless each day. He exhaled a breath of disgust. Not all of it was her fault. He was to blame, too. She needed a woman’s touch. But the idea of losing a second wife to childbirth simply to produce an heir was something he couldn’t stomach. He’d married Flora out of duty and to honor his father’s demand for an heir to the Glenburnie title.

In the beginning, he’d found his bride a pleasant companion, and over the course of their first year of marriage, he’d become quite fond of her. It would have been difficult not to. Flora had been kind, gentle, and sweet. But she’d always been fragile. Childbirth had been an ordeal for her, and she’d not had any strength left after giving birth to their twin daughters.

Iain wondered how his wife would have managed Ainslie’s wild ways. He was certain she would have been less quick to anger, but he knew Flora would have been horrified to have learned Ainslie had ridden Taren. The child could have been killed, and as much as his daughter tried his patience, he loved her dearly. The thought of something happening to either of his daughters was enough to send an icy chill barreling through him.

The scent of salt in his nostrils pulled him out of the past. The smell of the sea was stronger than usual as he breathed in the faint mist that had blown inland. The North Sea would be treacherous waters to sail tonight. Iain made his way around the house and along the path leading to the cliffs overlooking the sea. The color of the sky where it met the waterline had changed little from when he’d viewed it from the study window. If anything, it appeared darker.

Jagged streaks of lightning danced through the sky as if the gods were doing battle inside the dark clouds, and Iain counted slowly until a low, distant rumble echoed out into the air. The storm was closer than he thought. When he reached the cliffs, he shrugged his coat on, then stared out at the churning sea, wondering what to do with Ainslie. If his pockets weren’t so badly to let, he would send her away to school.

Even hiring a governess was an expense he could ill afford at the moment. His coat stirred against his legs, then flew outward with a snap. Startled out of his thoughts, he realized the wind driving the storm inland had reached the shoreline. The suddenness of its arrival surprised him.

The wind’s strength whipped around him and the power of it made his black, seal-skin coat flap wildly about his legs. It emphasized how dangerous it must be out on the water. Below him, the sea pounded the inlet with a loud roar, that on a calm day, was just a soft murmur. The ferocity of the waves sent its spray upward where the wind carried it even higher to where he stood on the cliffs, where it became a soft mist brushing across his face.

Iain looked over his shoulder toward the manor as a light rain began to fall. If he didn’t return to the house, he’d be thoroughly soaked from a deluge of rain. Out of the corner of his eye, something moved at the edge of the cliffs, and he jerked his head in its direction. Braced against the wind that continued to increase in strength was a tall figure. The distance between the two of them was about the length of Aberdeen University’s football field. Startled that someone else was willing to weather the wind and rain to watch the approaching storm, he frowned.

At first he thought he was looking at a man until the force of the wind pressed a white shirt and dark trousers against a body soft with womanly curves. What in God’s name was a woman doing out on the cliffs in this kind of weather? She stood stiff and frozen as she stared out at the turbulent water. Despite the distance between them, he could sense her desperation and panic. In the next instant, her hands covered her mouth as if she’d stifled a scream. Iain followed the direction of his gaze, and his eyes widened. Christ Jesus. An old steamer.

The three mast, single-funnel ship was battling her way toward Muchalls Inlet below. There was no smoke coming from the stack, which meant the propeller wasn’t in operation. Whether the captain had deliberately turned off the coal furnaces or not, the ship had her main sails reefed, and she was battling the sea with her smaller sails. The ship disappeared in a churning wave of water before surging back into view.

The captain was clearly heading for the inlet. Vicious waves tossed the ship about, and Iain was amazed the sea hadn’t already claimed the vessel as a prize. Only a master sailor could keep a ship afloat in waters such as these. A captain like Dougal McLeod.

It was impossible to tell from this distance whether it was Destiny’s Dream, but McLeod’s ship was as old as this one. If it was the old sailor at the helm, then Iain’s future hung in the balance because the ship was taking a battering that could easily tear her apart.

His gut twisting at the thought, Iain watched the vessel as it battled its way toward the inlet before turning his attention back to the woman. The rain was falling harder and blurred his vision slightly, but she was still there. It was as if she was waiting for someone or something.

Was her man on the ship? No sooner had the question pierced his thoughts than he saw the woman’s figure shimmer. In the blink of an eye, she’d become a faint, transparent image. Iain blinked water out of his eyes as he shook his head hard in an effort to improve his vision. In the next instant, she disappeared.