Beyond the Highland Mist

Page 38

A shaft of sunlight drew Adrienne’s attention to a closed door halfway down the corridor. Etched into the pale wood was an exquisitely detailed prancing horse, rearing elegantly, mane tossing in the wind. A single horn spiraled daintily from its equine brow. A unicorn?
Her hand on the door, she paused, suddenly suffering an odd premonition that this room might be better left alone. Curiosity killed the cat….
When the door swung silently inward, she froze, a hand fluttering on the jamb.
Unbelievable. Simply incomprehensible. Her astonished gaze swept the room from floor to rafter, end to end and back again.
Who had done this?
The room appealed to every ounce of woman in her body. Face it, Adrienne, she told herself grimly, this entire castle appeals to every ounce of woman in your body. Not to mention the sexy, masculine laird of the keep himself.
This room was made for babies. Crafted with such loving hands that it was almost overwhelming. A cacophony of discordant emotions skittered through her before she shoved them away.
There were cradles of honey oak, curved and sanded smooth so not one splinter could work free and harm baby-soft skin. The east wall displayed high windows, too high for a toddler to risk harm, yet open to the golden glow of the morning sun. Wood floors were smothered with thick rugs to keep baby feet warm.
Brightly painted wooden soldiers dotted the shelves, and lovingly crafted dolls reclined on tiny beds. A miniature castle, replete with turrets, dry moat, and drawbridge was filled with tiny carved people; an honest-to-goodness medieval dollhouse!
Fluffy blankets dotted the cradles and beds. It was a huge room, this nursery. A room in which a child (or a dozen) could grow from baby to young teen before seeking a more adult room elsewhere. It was a room that would fill a child’s world with love and security and pleasure for hours on end.
As if someone had created this room thinking like the child he or she used to be, and designed it with all the treasures that had given him or her such pleasure as a wee lad or lass.
But the thing about the room that struck her so hard was that it seemed to be waiting.
Open and warm and inviting, saying, fill me with laughing babies and love.
All was in readiness, the nursery was merely biding time—until the right woman would come along and breathe into it the sparkling life of children’s songs and dreams and hopes.
A pang of such longing flashed through her that Adrienne wasn’t even sure what it was. But it had everything to do with the orphan she’d been, and the cold place she’d grown up in—a place nothing at all like this lovely room; part of a lovely home, in a lovely land, with people who would lavish love upon their children.
Oh, to raise babies in a place like this.
Babies who would know who their mother and father were, unlike Adrienne. Babies who would never have to wonder why they hadn’t been worth keeping.
Adrienne rubbed her eyes furiously and turned away. It was too much for her to deal with.
And she turned right into Lydia. “Lydia!” she gasped. But of course. Why should it surprise her to run smack into the wonderful mother of the wonderful man who’d probably built the wonderful nursery?
Lydia steadied her by the elbows. “I came to see if you were feeling all right, Adrienne. I thought it might be too soon for you to be up and about—”
“Who built this room?” Adrienne whispered.
Lydia ducked her head, and for a brief moment Adrienne had the absurd impression that Lydia was trying not to laugh. “The Hawk designed and crafted it himself,” Lydia said, intently smoothing tiny crinkles from her gown.
Adrienne rolled her eyes, trying to convince her emotional barometer to stop registering vulnerability and rise to something safe, like anger.
“Why, dear Adrienne, don’t you like it?” Lydia asked sweetly.
Adrienne turned back and swept the room with an irritated gaze. The nursery was bright and cheery and alive with the creator’s own outpouring of emotion into his creation. She glanced back at Lydia. “When? Before or after the king’s service?” It was terribly important that she know if he had built it at seventeen or eighteen, to please his mother perhaps, or recently, in hopes of his own children someday filling it.
“During. The king gave him a brief leave when he was twenty-nine. There was some trouble with the Highlanders in these parts, and the Hawk was permitted to return to fortify Dalkeith. When the feuding was resolved, he spent a measure of time working up here. He worked like a man possessed, and in truth, I had little idea what he was doing. The Hawk has always worked with wood, building and designing things. He wouldn’t let any of us see it, and didn’t talk much about it. After he returned to James, I came up to see what he’d been doing.” Lydia’s eyes misted briefly. “I’ll tell you the truth, Adrienne, it made me cry. Because it told me that my son was thinking of children and how precious they were. It filled me with wonder, too, when I saw it completed. I think it would most any woman. Men don’t usually see children like this. But the Hawk, he’s a rare man. Like his father.”