Page 14 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“All right, Da. Don’t upset yourself,” he said, smoothing out the blankets he’d been twisting.

Some things never changed. Si and his father had been arguing his whole life—through letters when they had to—first because Si didn’t want to be sent away to school, and then because he didn’t want to return. After more than half his lifetime spent away, could he even call this place home? Indeed, everything changed, and yet somehow nothing ever really changed at all.

“How’s the patient?” a hushed voice asked, and Si looked up to see a familiar freckled face peeking into the chamber, her thick auburn braid hanging over one shoulder.

“Auntie Alys?” he asked, rising to kiss the cheek of the most maternal figure he’d ever known, his mother’s first cousin Alys, née Campbell Hamilton, now Leask.

“Alys,” his father greeted her warmly, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Where’s that worthless husband of yours?” he asked, and Si’s Uncle Leask peered around the door as well.

“Right here, right here,” the man said.

“Then come and tell me all the news,” his father said, patting the spot beside him which Si had just vacated.

Alys rolled her eyes at the pair of them. “Couple of gossipy old hounds, those two.”

The old pattern of quips and jibes was grounding, and Si smiled at her.

“How is he really?” she asked.

“Who can tell?” He shrugged. “Says a wedding is the only medicine he needs. What are you doing here?”

“You’d have me miss it? And you as dear to me as one of my own?”

“Of course not, Auntie. It’s good to see you looking so fine. But what have you brought? Not a christening gown?” he added with a dark look at the linen draped over her arm. He’d known there’d be pressure from all corners on that front, and he was not prepared for it.

Alys shook her head. “Small mishap down at the inn. I wanted to see if Morag could sort it.”

Silas frowned. “I’m sure there’s nothing that woman can’t do, but what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing. A few spots of blood on the wedding gown.”

“Blood?” he demanded, making for the door, as though he could do anything to help. “Did that brat sister stab her so hard with a pin?”

A man and woman he didn’t know blocked the doorway, and Si took a step back.

“Just a bloody nose,” the woman said. “Nothing to trouble yourself over.”

Si wouldn’t put it past Maggie, but he supposed he’d be hard pressed to blame her for that. Though if anyone could conjure such a thing, it would be she.

“Jory Mackintosh Shaw, the bride’s cousin,” Alys introduced her. “And my, well…”

The man raised his eyebrows in a teasing challenge.

“He’s almost an impudent son to me. A bit like you. Finlay Shaw.”

“Finn,” Shaw corrected, shaking Si’s hand.

Si nodded at the newcomers, but then turned back to Alys. “Can we not have a new frock ready in time?”

Alys laughed kindly and patted his cheek. “All that education,” she tsked, and he had the sense she was being condescending. “Now, tell me everything,” Alys said, leading him outside his father’s chamber, her adopted son and his wife trailing behind, though Jory kept glancing back with a furrowed brow. “Have you given her your mother’s Luckenbooth?”

“Is your father unwell?” Jory interrupted before he could answer.

Si expected irritation from his aunt, but her lips quirked up and she turned to him with interest.

“Repeated spells of lung fever,” he explained. “He supposes he’s dying.”

Jory pursed her lips. “I’ll leave behind some herbs,” was all she said.