Four Years Later

By nine o’clock on the morning of Thomas’ eleventh birthday, Ravenscraig had abandoned any pretense of being an orderly household.

Servants moved through the corridors carrying trays, flowers, and enough food to feed considerably more people than Genevieve remembered inviting. Somewhere downstairs, Mrs. MacRae was issuing instructions with sufficient authority to be heard from the entrance hall, while two footmen crossed in opposite directions carrying chairs.

Genevieve stepped aside to let them pass with a smile. There had been a time when Ravenscraig had seemed too quiet to her, when she had noticed every footstep in its corridors and every closed door. She could not remember the last time she had been troubled by silence here.

Thomas appeared at the end of the corridor.

“Mama.”

“No. I am not going to tell you what your father has bought you.”

He stopped, looking affronted. “I have not asked anything yet.”

“You were going to. You have already asked me four times since breakfast.”

“Three times,” Thomas corrected. “The first time was before.”

Genevieve supposed this distinction made perfect sense when one was eleven.

Before Thomas could construct another argument, Alistair emerged from his study.

“Thomas, if you are attempting to persuade your mother to reveal your present, I suggest you surrender.”

Thomas sighed. “I was only asking a question.”

“I heard enough from my study to suspect otherwise,” Alistair said as he approached them. “In any case, there is somewhere we need to go before your guests arrive.”

Thomas’ suspicion vanished beneath immediate interest. “Where are we going?”

“You will discover that when we arrive.”

Thomas grinned. “It is my present, then.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“You did not have to.”

Genevieve fell into step beside them as they headed downstairs, listening while Thomas attempted to extract further information from his father with no more success than he had with her.

By the time they crossed the courtyard, however, Thomas had correctly guessed their destination.

“The stables?”

Alistair opened the door for him. “You are becoming alarmingly difficult to surprise.”

Thomas went inside, but whatever response he might have made disappeared when he caught sight of the horse standing beside Munro near the far end of the stable.

The Arabian was a rich bay, finely built and alert, with a dark mane and intelligent eyes. He was larger than Patch but not so large that Genevieve immediately reconsidered every decision that had brought them there. Thomas seemed to have forgotten both his questions and his impatience as he stared at the animal.

Genevieve could not remember the last time anything had rendered him silent for quite so long.

“Is he mine?”

Alistair’s pleasure was evident as he regarded him. “He is. Happy birthday, Thomas.”

Thomas crossed the stable so quickly that Munro laughed. He slowed only when he reached the horse, holding out his hand and allowing the animal to investigate him before touching his neck.

“He is beautiful. Where did you find him?”

Alistair told him about the breeder, which immediately produced another half-dozen questions. Thomas wanted to know the horse’s age, how long he had been at Ravenscraig, and whether Alistair had ridden him.

Genevieve remained a few steps away and watched while Alistair attempted to answer them in order.

Thomas walked around the horse, studying him with far more knowledge than the little boy who had once approached Patch with equal parts fascination and uncertainty. When he reached Alistair again, however, some of that younger boy returned.

“He is really mine? Entirely mine?”

“Entirely yours.”

Thomas threw his arms around him.

The embrace seemed to surprise Alistair only because Thomas was becoming less inclined toward such displays as he grew older. He recovered immediately and hugged him back, and Genevieve felt the familiar warmth settle somewhere beneath her ribs.

Thomas released him after a moment, his attention already returning to the horse. “When can I ride him?”

“Now, if you like.”

Genevieve stared at her husband. “You intend to take him riding now?”

Both of them turned toward her with expressions so similar that she nearly laughed.

“There is an entire celebration being prepared for him,” she pointed out. “At some point, I imagine the guest of honor will be required to attend his own birthday.”

“Not for several hours,” Alistair said. “And taking him riding will keep both of us out of the way while everyone finishes preparing.”

Thomas nodded eagerly in support of this reasoning.

Genevieve looked from one to the other. It was remarkable how often Alistair’s sensible arguments happened to end with him doing precisely what he wanted.

“You planned this remarkably well.”

“I planned to give Thomas his horse.”

“And merely happened to arrange enough time to ride him before the celebration.”

Alistair’s expression remained admirably composed. “That was fortunate.”

Thomas was attempting to look innocent now too, although with considerably less success.

Genevieve gave up. “Very well. Go, before the two of you discover another reason why this is somehow helpful to me.”

Thomas grinned.

Alistair kissed her cheek as he passed. “Thank you.”

“You are not nearly as subtle as you believe.”

“I have never claimed to be.”

Genevieve remained long enough to watch them mount. Thomas sat on his new horse with the confidence years of riding had given him, although his delight was impossible to conceal.

“Do not disappear for the entire day,” she called.

“We will be back well before the celebration,” Alistair promised as he mounted Bracken.

Genevieve had been married to him long enough to know how little precision that promise contained.

Thomas waved, and the pair rode from the stables together.

Her two favorite boys.

Genevieve watched until they disappeared from sight before returning to the castle, where she discovered that Clara and Nathaniel had arrived during her absence.

Clara was removing her gloves in the entrance hall while Nathaniel attempted to prevent their two-year-old son from investigating the contents of an unattended basket.

“Genevieve!” Clara greeted her with an embrace.

Behind her, Nathaniel intercepted one small hand moments before it reached the basket. “No, you have already been told you cannot have whatever is in there.”

His son regarded him solemnly, then immediately reached for the basket again.

Genevieve laughed. “I see he has inherited the family’s respect for authority.”

“Unfortunately, he seems to have inherited the family’s persistence as well,” Nathaniel said, catching the wandering hand a second time.

Clara ignored him. “Where is Thomas?”

“Your uncle has taken him riding.”

“Of course he has.”

Nathaniel straightened with his son tucked securely against one side. “I assume that means Thomas has finally received the new horse.”

Genevieve regarded him. “Did everyone know about this except Thomas?”

“I believe so.”

Clara gave her husband an accusing look.

“What? She asked me directly.”

Genevieve left them to settle in and continued toward the garden, where Beatrice had established herself beneath the shade with Margaret and Moira.

Or, more accurately, where Margaret and Moira had established Beatrice.

“I have been forbidden to walk back to the house,” Beatrice informed Genevieve as she approached. “Apparently pregnancy has rendered me incapable of deciding whether I am able to cross a garden.”

“You said you were tired,” Margaret replied.

“I said I was slightly tired. There is a considerable difference.”

“You are carrying a child,” Moira said. “You may sit for five minutes without considering it a personal defeat.”

Beatrice turned to Genevieve for support. “You see what I endure whenever I come here?”

Genevieve sat beside her. “I do. I also see that someone has brought you lemonade and cake, so I am finding it difficult to summon the necessary outrage.”

Before Beatrice could defend herself, Lord Gideon appeared from the house carrying another cushion.

“Absolutely not,” she told him. “If you put one more cushion behind me, I shall disappear entirely.”

Lord Gideon wisely handed it to Margaret instead.

By the time Genevieve returned indoors, preparations had somehow increased rather than diminished. Mrs. MacRae stood near the drawing room doors directing two maids while Fergus spoke quietly to a footman carrying a tray toward the dining room. Between them, they appeared to have divided Ravenscraig into territories and assumed command.

Genevieve had learned years ago that the safest contribution she could make on such occasions was usually to stay out of their way. Everything would be ready precisely when it needed to be. Mrs. MacRae would accept no other possibility, and Fergus would quietly ensure she never had to.

A shriek of laughter from upstairs announced the location of Genevieve’s daughters before she saw them.

Eleanor appeared at the top of the stairs holding the hand of one twin while the other hurried ahead with a ribbon trailing from her hair.

“Slowly, please,” Eleanor called. “Your mother will not thank me if you arrive at your brother’s celebration with a broken neck.”

The child obediently slowed for approximately three steps before resuming her descent. Genevieve caught her at the bottom.

“Mama!”

“Yes, darling. I am pleased to see you too, but what happened to your ribbon?”

Her daughter reached up, apparently surprised to discover it missing from its proper position. Behind her, Eleanor gave Genevieve a look that required no explanation.

Eleanor had long ago become part of the workings of Ravenscraig in a way that went beyond her duties as Genevieve’s maid. Mrs. MacRae had begun teaching her more of the household management each year, and Eleanor had taken to the responsibility with her usual quiet competence. The twins, unfortunately, remained less impressed by her increasing authority than everyone else.

Genevieve fixed the ribbon while Eleanor brought the second child downstairs.

“There. You both look beautiful.”

“We know,” one of them announced.

Eleanor covered a cough, and Genevieve decided not to ask where that particular confidence had originated.

Frederick and Emily arrived shortly afterward. Genevieve met them near the drawing room, accepting Emily’s embrace before Frederick kissed her cheek.

“You have invited half of Scotland,” he said.

“Only the half Thomas likes.”

Frederick placed a hand over his heart. “That explains why I was included.”

“Emily insisted upon bringing you.”

His new wife laughed, while Frederick regarded Genevieve with wounded dignity. “Marriage has changed you. You were considerably kinder to me before.”

“It has improved me considerably,” Genevieve replied.

Emily had been part of the family for less than a year and had already learned that sympathy only encouraged Frederick.

Thomas and Alistair returned before anyone was forced to send after them. Thomas came through the doors looking as though he had personally discovered horseback riding that morning.

“Mama, he is brilliant. He responds almost before I ask him to do anything. Father says that is because he has been trained properly, but I think he likes me.”

“I said both could be true,” Alistair corrected as he entered behind him.

“And we went past the loch, and Father let me take him faster on the way back. He did not pull at all.”

Thomas continued without requiring encouragement, giving Genevieve a thorough account of the ride. She listened while occasionally regarding Alistair, who looked far too pleased with himself for a man contributing almost nothing to the conversation.

When Thomas finally paused for breath, Alistair added, “He rode very well. I suspect the two of them will suit each other.”

The quiet pride in his voice pleased Genevieve nearly as much as Thomas’ excitement.

Eleanor appeared in the doorway and surveyed Thomas’ clothes. “Before you tell us anything else about the horse, you need to go upstairs and change.”

Thomas looked down at himself. “Why? I am having a birthday, not meeting the king.”

“You have spent the morning riding, and there are already guests downstairs. You are still changing.”

Thomas appealed to Genevieve. “Mama?”

She refused to be drawn into a battle Eleanor intended to win. “Do not involve me.”

At eleven, Thomas had acquired enough wisdom to recognize a lost cause.

“Very well, but I want to see him again after the party.”

“I am sure the horse will still be there when you have changed your coat,” Eleanor assured him as she escorted him upstairs.

The celebration began not long afterward.

Mrs. MacRae and Fergus had, as expected, produced order from the morning’s chaos. Food covered the long tables, flowers from the gardens filled the room, and the doors had been opened onto the terrace to accommodate the number of guests.

Thomas accepted his birthday wishes with increasing embarrassment but obvious pleasure. The twins followed him whenever they were permitted, apparently convinced that being Thomas’ sisters entitled them to participate in everything associated with his birthday. Clara’s son followed the twins with considerably less understanding of where any of them were going.

At one point, Genevieve found Thomas crouched beside his sisters while they demanded to know when they would receive horses of their own.

“You may have horses when you are older,” Thomas told them with the confidence of someone who had no authority whatsoever to make such a promise.

“How old?” one of the girls demanded.

Thomas considered the question with the gravity it deserved. “Seven should be old enough.”

Genevieve nearly intervened before realizing that this was now Alistair’s problem as much as hers.

One of the girls held up three fingers. “Soon.”

“Not very soon,” Thomas explained. “You still have four years to wait.”

She appeared unconvinced. Thomas finally looked toward Genevieve for assistance.

“You established the age,” she reminded him. “I am afraid you will have to defend it yourself.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Yes, I believe it was.”

He turned back to his sisters and began explaining why four years was actually quite a long time.

Genevieve left him to it.

Later, while Thomas was drawn into a conversation with Frederick and Nathaniel, Alistair appeared beside her and held out his hand.

“Come with me for a moment.”

Genevieve accepted it. “Where are you taking me?”

“Not far. I promise not to make you leave your own son’s celebration.”

He led her toward the quieter edge of the room, far enough from the center of the gathering that no one immediately demanded their attention but near enough that they could still see everything.

Once they stopped, Genevieve understood why he had brought her there.

Thomas stood between Frederick and Nathaniel, talking animatedly about his horse again. One of the twins had climbed onto Margaret’s lap while the other was attempting to persuade Moira to surrender something from her plate. Clara was laughing at whatever her son had done beside her, and Nathaniel was trying to participate in two conversations at once.

Across the room, Beatrice sat with Lord Gideon beside her, one of his hands resting along the back of her chair. Emily had joined in conversation with Margaret, while Fergus passed quietly through the room, ensuring glasses remained filled.

Genevieve remembered arriving at Ravenscraig for the first time and thinking the castle beautiful but strangely solemn. Too many of its rooms had seemed to hold memories instead of people. Now the castle was so full of voices and laughter that she doubted any room could remain quiet for more than ten minutes.

Alistair slipped an arm around her waist. “I believe most of this is your fault.”

Genevieve regarded him in amusement. “Mine? I seem to recall that you possessed a family before I arrived.”

“They were considerably quieter before you and Thomas began encouraging them.”

“Then I improved them.”

“You did,” Alistair said, and the absence of teasing in his voice made her turn toward him.

His attention remained on the room. “I did not know Ravenscraig could feel like this.”

“Do you mean impossibly loud?”

“That too. I meant alive.” His arm settled more securely around her waist. “You and Thomas changed this place more than I realized at the time.”

Genevieve rested her hand against his chest. “You changed quite a lot for us as well. Thomas and I came here expecting an arrangement that would make our lives easier. Instead, you gave us a home before either of us understood how much we wanted one.”

“I married you. I cannot claim all the credit for what happened afterward.”

Genevieve laughed. “Whatever our methods, I think we did rather well with it.”

“We did.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “You are becoming sentimental.”

“I am allowed a certain amount of sentiment on my son’s birthday. I shall return to my usual disposition tomorrow.”

“That is reassuring. I would hate your reputation to suffer.”

A burst of laughter rose from across the room before Alistair could answer. One of the twins had apparently succeeded in acquiring whatever she had wanted from Moira’s plate and was now running toward Thomas with it held triumphantly in both hands.

Alistair watched her go. “Our home has become very loud.”

“You bought Thomas a horse this morning. You have surrendered any right to complain about the consequences of your own decisions.”

“I was referring to the other three children. I accept responsibility for the horse.”

Genevieve laughed.

Thomas caught his sister before she collided with him, steadied her, and listened patiently while she showed him her prize. At eleven, he was taller, more confident, and beginning to lose some of childhood’s roundness. Yet there were moments when Genevieve could still see the little boy who had arrived at Ravenscraig holding tightly to her hand.

He turned from his sister and called across the room. “Father! Uncle Frederick says you knew about the horse for weeks.”

Alistair immediately frowned at Frederick, who looked entirely unrepentant.

Thomas beckoned to her. “Mama, come here. Uncle Frederick is telling me what Father did when the horse arrived.”

Genevieve looked up at Alistair. “So much for our private moment.”

“We managed several minutes without interruption. Under the circumstances, I consider that quite an achievement.”

“At this rate, we may have another one in fifteen years.”

“An optimistic estimate, but I am willing to hope.”

Alistair kissed her temple before releasing her, and they crossed the room together.

One of the twins immediately attached herself to Genevieve’s skirts. Thomas began his story again before they had fully reached him, while Alistair interrupted twice to dispute Frederick’s increasingly embellished version of events.

Genevieve listened to them all at once.

Years ago, she might have expected happiness to be quieter than this, and certainly more orderly. She doubted she would have pictured Thomas laughing while Alistair argued with Frederick, two little girls underfoot, and more family and friends filling Ravenscraig than there ever seemed to be enough chairs for.

Genevieve reached for Alistair’s hand.

She would not have traded the noise for all the peace in Scotland.

THE END