Highland Supplanter (Book 2)

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Hamish was suspicious. He had not seen or heard of Janetta in over a week. And after the pursuit she had made before he had shown his cards, it was going against the character he knew of her. Not that he was going to go hunting her down, for that could be what she was after. He would, however, like to know what trouble she was causing now, and how it was going to affect him and, more importantly, how it would affect Fyfa and the bairn.

He was trying not to let his worry over her lack of appearance effect his ability to show a front of normalcy. But he knew that Fyfa was starting to become aware that something was amiss. He had started trying to spend more time occupied with any physical task that he could with spending all of his time apart from Fyfa. He could not stand being from her for too long. He needed to check on her often to prove to himself that she was still perfectly healthy and safe.

He turned back to the log he was currently chopping into tiny shards of wood. Definitely not what he had intended. With a sigh he placed the axe head against the floor and leant on the handle. His weight causing the metal and wood to sink slowly into the soggy, churned up ground. His mind was really not on the task at hand. Since he had decimated the fire wood he was supposed to be creating, he needed to find a calm presence of mind in order to try and discover the even plane he was used to traversing.

Wiping his hand down his face, he looked up at the tumultuous, dark clouds above. He had managed to find a few minutes free of the seemingly never ending rain, to stock up on the fire wood. Instead he had spent most of that time inside his own mind. He was just coming back to the present once more, as the first splatters of water hit his upturned face. Causing him to blink rapidly, as the drops which had started small only seconds before, became an unbroken sheet before him, the sound thundering in his ears, cutting off the world around him.

Dropping the handle of the axe, he darted, already soaked into the open doorway of the small stable. Finding Ross staring forlornly out at the rain as he put the horses feed in their stalls. With a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. For the first time Hamish truly saw the man that Ross would become. When the exuberance of youth finally became the steadfastness of adulthood, he would be a fine male. A male to be proud of. But at that moment he could not resist the small smile that overtook him at the utter despondence at the fact his plans had been ruined with the downpour, because his mother had made him complete his chores before adventuring with the village boys.

“Ah, Ross, do not look so down. Just think what delights your mother will be cooking up to keep us men warm after our time in the storm.” He raised an eyebrow as Ross gave a slow sly grin at the gleam in Hamish’s eye. Hamish knew that Ross had learnt to wrap his mother around his finger from a young age. Not that it always worked, his aunt could be a dog with a bone when needed, but Ross could certainly give a good act when he needed to.

Dropping the bucket he held, Ross hurried towards him, looking up with a conspiratorial glance. And checking around behind Hamish, as if checking for his aunt, Fyfa or Rose. Convinced they were alone, Ross frantically waved his hands, and Hamish complied by slowly lowering his frame to a more even level with his cousin. As he leant forward, Ross whispered frantically in his ear. “Hamish, this is what we have to do…especially if we want mother to make the best things…”

Fyfa was feeling the full effects of having spent the morning on her feet, helping out Ida had been a pleasure, but as she collapsed wearily into one of the chairs by the hearth. Ida was hovering over her immediately. The look of a mother who knew she was right, plainly written for all to see across her face. Hands on hips, she was the figure of authority within the cottage she had opened to her and Hamish. Resignedly she looked up, knowing that she had over done it, and knowing that every time Ida had told her to sit, and rest a moment, should have been listened too. Ida did not have to say a word. Fyfa could feel herself wilting under the glare she was receiving.