Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) by Suzan Tisdale Read Free Book Online

took his time getting to her cottage.
    As he walked down the path, Elspeth McDunnah — one of his many cousins — came out of her cottage with a bairn in one arm and a basket in the other. “Good day, Caelen!”
    Happy for the delay, Caelen walked up to her and gave her a warm embrace. “How be ye this fine day, Elspeth? And what do we have here?” he asked, referring to the babe in her arm.
    “This be me son, Connor,” she smiled proudly at her babe.
    The sense of longing and wishing for that which he knew he would never have tapped at his heart as he looked down at the bundle in her arms. A beautiful babe, not more than three months old Caelen reckoned, was fast asleep in Elspeth’s arm.
    “Would ye like to hold him?” Elspeth asked, her blue eyes glistening in the morning sun.
    Caelen shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I be on me way to see Burunild and I fear if I hold him, I’ll no’ want to be puttin’ him down. Burunild will have me head fer certain if I keep her waitin’ much longer.” ’Twas a full out lie but he did not want to explain to Elspeth the truth.
    He had never had the chance to hold his own son. Guilt would not allow him to hold someone else’s.
    “I shall no’ keep ye, then,” Elspeth said. “I would no’ want Burunild angry with me fer keepin’ ye from her.” She handed Caelen the small basket. “I saw ye headin’ down the path and thought I’d give ye some jam that I made. Is blackberry still yer favorite?”
    “Aye, ’tis!”
    “Good,” she replied. “There be blackberry jam, bread, and a meat pie. I hope Burunild allows ye to live long enough to enjoy it.”
    Caelen laughed in agreement. Burunild might be as auld as Scotia herself and unable to walk far without help, but she could still wield her walking stick with deadly accuracy when she wanted.
    “Thank ye, kindly, Elspeth.

    A fter knocking on his grandminny’s door, he heard the faint sound of her voice bidding him entry. Taking a deep breath to steel himself for the chastisement he was certain was coming, he opened the door and stepped inside.
    The furs were pulled away from the windows allowing the bright morning sun to illuminate the interior of the small cottage that Burunild called home. To his left was a loom of questionable age and sturdiness, along with a small stool that sat under a window. How many blankets and plaids over the countless decades had his grandminny created in that very spot?
    To his right was an old table and two chairs that sat between the hearth and her bed. Burunild was sitting at the table now, her gnarled hands cutting vegetables and placing them in a large wooden bowl. Looking up from her work, her lips curved into a warm smile. “Do I ken ye?”
    His heart clenched at her question and he rushed to kneel before her, setting the basket on the table. Had she suffered some form of apoplexy and now could not remember her own grandson? “Grandminny,” he said, his voice filled with worry and concern. “’Tis me, yer grandson, Caelen.”
    Burunild tilted her head ever so slightly and studied him. “Aye, I remember havin’ a grandson named Caelen. He used to be such a good lad and always had the time fer an auld woman. But I fear much time has passed since last I’ve seen him that I wouldna recognize him if he kicked me in the leg.”
    The auld woman was tormenting him on purpose! “Grandminny!” he said with more anger than he should have. “Ye ken well who I am.”
    “Of course I ken who ye are, ye eejit. The question is, do ye ken who ye are?”
    “What do ye mean by that?” he asked, his frustration growing and he’d only been here a short time. The auld woman had a way of exasperating him in just a few heartbeats.
    “It means, do ye ferget that ye be me favorite grandson? Do ye ferget all the times I cared fer ye when ye were ill or wounded? Do ye ferget that as chief of yer clan, ’tis yer duty to care for all of yer people, includin’ yer auld grandminny, who