Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots Book 8) Read online

  Curse her heart! Why did it have to clench like that, hearing the pain in his voice? Despite her vow to remain strong, Davina peeked at him from under her lashes. Had his family ever heard that bitterness? Or did he only show it to her?

  “Yer brothers accept ye as one of them.”

  ‘Twas not a question, but Graham nodded, a small sound which might’ve been a chuckle escaping his lips. “Aye, they do, and I’m blessed to ken them. I’m blessed to—well, I never expected to learn my father’s name, much less meet him.”

  She shifted again, even as she promised herself she wouldn’t, so she could see more of him. He was never the most expressive of men, but now she could see the pain in his eyes as he stared down at the wine in his goblet.

  “Has he spoken of yer mother?” she asked softly.

  Obviously startled, his gaze jerked up to hers. “Aye, often.” When he sighed, some of the tension left his shoulders. “I never kenned her, but he loved her, that I’ve nae doubt.” His gaze traveled over her shoulder to where his father sat, and when he met her eyes once more, one corner of his lips curled into a tiny smile. “I’m lucky he’s been willing to share so much of her with me.”

  Aye, he was, and the way he smiled at her…? Well, Graham had learned as a lad not to show too much emotion, and as a man, he rarely allowed others to know his thoughts. But Davina was the exception. She’d been able to read him from the moment they’d met. ‘Twas why she’d always thought they would be good together.

  And tonight—sitting beside him like this, hearing his words, but understanding his true feelings—she still felt that way.

  Why did ye break yer vow, Graham?

  Why had he allowed her to go all winter without word?

  And why now did he blink, his gaze softening as those dark blue eyes caressed her face, longing evident within his gaze?

  “I’ve missed ye, lass.”

  The faintest trace of a wince crossed his face after the words escaped his lips, as if he hadn’t intended to speak them, and he lifted his goblet to sip while she stared.

  He missed her? He was the one who’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort of—

  Nay, dinnae judge him. Ye dinnae ken his reasons.

  So she straightened her spine, turned back to her food, and cleared her throat. She’d tell him not to speak to her again. She’d explain she was no longer interested in his sweet words or the hidden emotions in those blue depths.

  She’d tell him to save his pretty wishes for—

  “I’ve missed ye too.”

  Shite.

  Shite, shite!

  She hadn’t planned on saying those words, and from the small hum he made, he hadn’t expected her to say them either.

  Well, she damn well wasn’t going to look at him to see how surprised he was!

  “I’m glad to see yer feelings for the lad have no’ waned, lassie.”

  The comment, from Davina’s other side, startled her into facing the laird. The older man was beaming, and although his expression was as far from Graham’s as possible, they shared the same expressive eyes.

  “I’m sorry, milord,” she said stiffly, “but ye’ve been misinformed. Graham and I…? Apparently, our feelings for one another were brief.”

  “Apparently?” the laird repeated with a snort, as his new wife leaned around him.

  “Davina,” she said in a low voice, smiling softly, “he’s no’ been home much in the last months, but when he has been, he’s spoken of little else besides ye.”

  “Aye, Davina MacKinnon this, Davina MacKinnon that,” her husband chuckled. “When he’s no’ being pestered by some medical ailment or another.”

  As if on cue, Alistair leaned across the table. “Graham! I still want ye to look at that spot on my stomach! Lara says ‘tis a mole.”

  “I didnae!” his wife called cheerfully. “I said ‘tis no’ a mole! But ‘tis strange looking!”

  Davina—and most of the others at the table—glanced at Graham to see him set down his goblet and drawl, “Strange-looking how? Moles dinnae change colors.”

  “I ken!” Alistair agreed, “But if invisible demon seeds can cause Rocque’s snot to drip, can they no’ cause a mole to form on my nether regions—”

  “We’re trying to eat, ye lummox!” Evelinde called out, tossing a piece of bread at Alistair’s head.

  “And I’m trying to have a medical discussion, woman!” Alistair roared in return, his eyes sparkling. “Mal, keep yer woman out of this!”

  Everyone could hear the teasing in his tone, so Malcolm shrugged and handed his wife another piece of bread. Laughing, she threw it at Alistair again, but he snatched it out of the air and took a defiant bite of it.

  “Uncle Alistair,” little Liam said primly, “ye cannae eat food from a food fight. Mama says so.”

  “Yer mother is wasteful, laddie,” Alistair mumbled around a bit of brown bread. Lara, who was laughing too hard to speak, swatted at his arm, as Liam hefted his own piece of brown bread thoughtfully.

  “Liam! Dinnae even think it!”

  “Why no’, Mama? If ye can start a food fight, I can—”

  “Lad, listen to yer mother,” Malcolm called, laughter in his voice. “Just accept the fact she is right and do as she says.”

  “Ye mean I should follow her instructions, no’ her example? Is it because she cannae follow her own commands?”

  Alistair was laughing now, and Lara’s hand was pressed against her mouth to try to maintain control.

  “Look, son, ye must ken by now that yer mother is always right,” Malcolm continued, in a reasonable tone. “I’ve gotten used to being wrong all the time, so ye might as well accept—”

  Evelinde shrieked and threw a piece of bread at him, and he burst into laughter as well.

  “Looks as if at least one of yer sons has learned the trick to a happy marriage, William,” Moira called, in an over-loud voice, smiling. “Let the wife get her way!”

  As Alistair nodded in agreement, Laird Oliphant reached for his former housekeeper. “If they’re as lucky as I am, love, they willnae mind being led around by their noses for the rest of their lives!”

  When he pulled her in for a kiss, Davina wasn’t the only person at the table to smile.

  Malcolm was already apologizing to his wife, but from the way Evie’s eyes sparkled, she knew he’d been teasing her. Liam was explaining something to baby Tomas, and from the movements, it looked to be relevant to the velocity of bread. Finn and Fiona were whispering to one another, her expression pinched, even as she watched the fun, and Alistair had his arm around Lara, both looking relaxed.

  Instinctively, Davina turned to Graham to see how he was reacting to the wit. She’d thought mayhap to just exchange a little glance with him, a tolerant smile at most.

  But when he caught her gaze and held it, her breath caught in her throat.

  There was a sort of longing deep in those dark blue depths. He’d heard his brothers’ joking, and yearned for the same for himself? Or was it simply a reaction to the way Alistair and Malcolm, and even his father, teased their wives, the easy camaraderie of a family?

  And despite her pain of the last months, there was a part of her, even now, which ached for him. A part of her which wanted to reach for him, to comfort him, to tell him he was worthy of a family as wonderful as this, despite what he’d been raised to believe. A part of her which still wanted to love him.

  A big part, damn her eyes.

  His lips parted, and his breath escaped on a sound which might have been the first syllable of her name.

  Unfortunately, she’d never know, because at that moment, from across the table, Fiona let out a loud, shuddering, “Oh!”

  Graham was the one who looked away first, the yearning in his eyes changing to concern in a blink as he turned to Fiona. “What is it?” he asked a little too harshly.

  Fiona didn’t seem to notice. She was clutching Finn’s hand, her breaths coming in great gasps. Her eyes were wide when they met her husband’s. “I think… I think I’m having the bairn.”

  Around them, the table erupted in noise and each person reacted. Lara reached for Fiona, as if patting her shoulder was going to help, while Malcolm leaned further away, appearing worried. Everyone was speaking, but it was Graham who took charge.

  Pushing away from the table, he stood up and was moving before he started speaking. “Finn, help her upstairs to yer room. Malcolm, ye’re in charge of getting Merewyn up here to the castle.” He leaned over and snatched a piece of bread off the table. “Moira, please have some trays of easy food sent up; I suspect we’ll all be needing it.”

  He met and held Finn’s gaze as the man wrapped his arm as far around his wife’s middle as he could. “It will be aright,” he assured his brother, though he raised his voice as if addressing all the expectant parents at the table. “Merewyn is experienced, and I’ll be here if ye need aught. Ye’re about to meet yer son or daughter.”

  When Graham grinned, Davina wondered if she was the only one who noticed how unnatural it looked. He wasn’t one to smile often, but when he did, it looked naught like this. This smile must be one he mastered for reassurance, and it seemed to work, judging by the way Finn’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned in to whisper in Fiona’s ear. She huffed out a little sigh, but her lips curled upward gamely, and the family knew she was ready.

  But Davina couldn’t tear her gaze away from Graham, impressed beyond words at how he’d taken control and calmed them all. Malcolm was already at the door on his way to fetch Merewyn from the village, and Davina knew Fiona would be safe.

  She just hated feeling so helpless, especially when the man she loved was so—

  The man ye love?

  She blinked.

  Dinnae be ridicu
lous. Graham made his feelings clear, remember?

  But at that moment, he turned and met her eyes, and Davina sucked in a startled breath at the intensity in his dark blue gaze. She was seeing him in his element, doing something he was blessed to do, and she couldn’t deny it was compelling. He was compelling.

  He offered her a brief nod, and she found herself smiling in return. It was a little smile, but he must’ve appreciated it, because his own lips twitched, just slightly.

  It was enough.

  And then he was hurrying up the stairs after Finn and Fiona, leaving the family in chaos in his wake, and Davina wishing she could do more.

  Chapter 3

  Aright, if Graham was being honest—with himself, at least—he wasnae exactly experienced when it came to birthing human bairns. He’d been present at three births with a midwife, and even one where he was in charge, although that mother had already birthed five bairns and pretty much did everything herself.

  But he understood the mechanics, understood what to do if things went wrong, and had delivered enough lambs and calves to know what needed to happen.

  Although mayhap ye shouldnae mention yer animal husbandry experience to Finn.

  Like any birth, Fiona’s didn’t happen right away. The first hour was spent getting the room ready, making certain Merewyn had all she needed, and settling the parents. Lara brought some food, which Finn and Graham both ate while Fiona paced, holding her stomach and sweating.

  Graham’s brother was a mess, and he did his best to distract the man with conversation. Merewyn sent a grateful look his way, so he had to assume ‘twas appreciated.

  ‘Twas full night by the time Lara took the empty tray away after kissing Fiona’s cheek and telling her how excited everyone was for her. Fiona’s contractions were coming closer together now, and she had to stop her pacing when they hit. It was helpful for her to lean on something, so Finn often held her upright during the pains. Graham leant an arm once or twice as well and kept up a steady stream of murmured encouragement.

  Finally, Merewyn had her lie on the bed in order to examine her, and Graham pulled Finn nearer the door to ask a mundane question for distraction. When Merewyn stood, her hands on the small of her back, Graham eyed her with worry. Her bairn was due any day now as well, and he hated she was doing so much physical work.

  “We’re close to the big moment now.” The midwife sent Fiona a fond look before switching her gaze back to Finn. “Ye need no’ be here. ‘Twill be much easier, for all of us, if ye’re below with yer brothers.”

  Finn lunged for the bed. “Fee?” he asked, grabbing her hand.

  The pregnant woman was trying to push herself upright, and her husband helped shove pillows behind her. “I’ll be—” She gasped, squeezing his hand. When the pain passed, she offered him a smile as she panted, “I’ll be fine. I’m in the best hands, and I’d rather ye no’ see me like this anyhow. Go sit with Duncan and the others and tell yer da he’ll have grandbairns soon!”

  The man’s smile was a little shaky, but he kissed her brow and murmured something in his wife’s ear, and Graham had to look away to ease the longing in his chest. It was so sweet, so pure…and he was jealous of that love, damn him!

  Finn walked backward toward the door. “Ye’re certain I cannae stay?”

  “I’m certain ye dinnae want to stay,” Graham explained, walking with him, turning his brother’s attention to the door. “If ye’re here, ye’ll no’ only see the woman ye love in agony, but ‘twill distract Fiona and Merewyn.”

  “But—”

  Graham held the door and clasped his brother’s shoulder. “I swear, I’ll send for ye if aught changes.”

  “If there’s a problem…?”

  “Ye’ll ken it. And ye’ll ken it as soon as the bairn arrives too.”

  Finn nodded once, shakily, before glancing at his wife over Graham’s shoulder and ducking out the door.

  “I dinnae ken what ye think when ye say ye’ll send for him,” Merewyn said dryly once the door was shut. “I’m the midwife around here.”

  Nodding, Graham crossed the room to wash his hands again, to keep the invisible demon seeds—as Rocque called them—at bay. “But ye’re pregnant. No’ just pregnant, but absurdly pregnant.”

  “I can do my job,” she bit out.

  “Ye cannae see yer feet, so dinnae pretend ye can lift a patient or support Fiona. Ye’re here for the midwifery and lady bits. I’m here for the physical things.”

  Mayhap his matter-of-fact tone helped, because when he turned back, the pretty little midwife’s lips were quirked up on one side. With her hands on her hips, she sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “Fine, but I’m in charge.”

  Graham might’ve smiled, had he been the smiling type. Instead, he nodded. “I never doubted.”

  Skye—Fiona’s twin and Duncan’s wife—arrived then, pushing her way into the room without pause and hurrying to her twin sister’s side. Graham admitted the two of them were identical, and were it not for the whole “one was about to have a baby” thing, he’d likely confuse them.

  “Are ye certain ye want to be here?” Merewyn snapped at the newcomer, who looked affronted.

  “I’ve held more men at swordpoint than ye’ve had meals, Merewyn Oliphant. I’ll no’ whimper and faint at the mere sight of some blood.”

  The midwife snorted and rolled her eyes. “ ’Tis no’ your bravery I’m concerned about, but yer intestinal fortitude.”

  Skye’s scowl softened as she squeezed her sister’s hand. “Och, well, I cannae stand the thought of Fee in pain, but I’d rather have my eyes scratched out by a harpy than abandon her now.”

  “Allison isnae so bad anymore,” joked Fiona weakly.

  Graham didn’t know who Allison was, but Skye chuckled. “Aye, she’s changed her tune a bit since Stewart took a firm hand with her, eh?” She rested beside her sister, clearly trying to distract her from the upcoming birth with banter and stories. “Remember when we went back to visit for Yule, and she was fussing over wee John? The lad will grow up big and strong, and she’s made a fine mother, for all her bitching and moaning.”

  “Aye,” Fiona agreed with a grimace. “ ’Tis just a pity about those eyebrows.”

  “She’s a good mother, and so will ye be,” whispered Skye with certainty.

  Whether or not her sister agreed, she nodded her thanks and smiled at Skye, and then Merewyn was ready for business.

  ‘Twas obvious the midwife was concerned about Fiona’s privacy, so when she helped the laboring woman strip down to her chemise, Graham made a point of turning away. He wanted to be there for Merewyn’s sake—whom he also considered a patient—and wasn’t about to irritate her enough to send him away.

  As Fiona’s labor reached the screaming stage, Moira arrived with hot and cold water and more towels, which soon became very useful. Fiona crouched on the birthing stool the midwife had moved into the castle and was clutching her twin’s hand. Skye—looking ill at her sister’s pain—talked almost non-stop about their childhood, mutual friends, and plans for the bairn. It seemed to help distract Fiona, so neither Merewyn nor Graham shushed her.

  Moira was busy with the linens, and Merewyn was feeling Fiona’s belly, when the knock came at the door. Graham was closest, so he opened it to see Davina standing there, holding a tray with some bread and cheese and last year’s apples.

  Surprise at seeing him skidded across her features, but she quickly schooled them. “I—I thought ye might need more nourishment.” She lifted the tray a bit. “Cook wanted to send this up, and as I’m the only non-pregnant lady without a duty at the moment, I thought I could be useful.”

  ‘Twas her joke, as much as her presence, which relaxed him. He held the door open, silently inviting her in. She offered a hesitant smile, then slipped by him, her flower-in-winter scent teasing his nostrils as she passed by.

  By St. Luke’s left clavicle, but she was beautiful!

  Her beauty had been what had struck him first when he’d seen her last year on Mull, the reason he’d made an excuse to speak to her. But when he had, he’d found her to be as intelligent and humble as she was beautiful and had vowed to win her.