“My name is Gemma McLaren. I’m here to see Mr. McLean.”
He stood coming to the door. “I’m Angus McLean. Please come in.” His eyes swept the children. “You must know our new laird.”
She gave a nod. “Mr. Sinclair has employed me as nanny while I am in the area.” She pointed to a chair, looking at the little girl. “Fiona stay here and watch Ewan. I’ll be right out.”
Once the children were situated, she stepped into Mr. McLaren’s office as he returned to his desk.
“I have to confess, Mrs. McLaren, I didn’t think you’d come.” He opened a drawer and began shuffling through papers. Then he pulled out a small stack along with two envelopes.
Gemma’s heart hammered in her chest. She still held the basket with the wrapped-up roast in her hand and she found herself clutching it tightly. Forcing her fingers to relax, she set the basket on the floor next to her then she folded her hands in her lap, her fingers tightly gripping together.
Opening the first envelope, Mr. McLean dumped the contents out on the table. Scattered before her was a pocket watch, a belt buckle, and a handful of coins. “These were on his person. By law, they should be returned to you.”
She stared at the items on the table and her blood turned to sludge, moved slowly, then slower still through her body. Was he jesting? Was this all her husband had to his name? “I’m sorry?”
Mr. McLaren didn’t look up as he shuffled through the papers. “The coroner would have just given them to Mary but he also found this.” Then he handed her the second envelope. On it, in Sean’s scratchy writing it said, To my wife, Gemma McLaren. Below it was their cottage address.
She swallowed, attempting not to vomit. “Why didn’t you just send these to me?” Gemma choked out. It had cost her far more than these items were worth just to get here. She’d given up her cottage and her livelihood to make the journey. She’d stolen Will’s horse, sure that she would get answers and some measure of security. Not a pocket watch.
He pulled out another sheet of paper. “Mary wanted the items if you didn’t claim them. And Sean had leased a croft. As you are his legal wife, you’ve first right to finish out his lease if you’re inclined.”
“Who is Mary? Were they married?” Tears pricked hot behind her eyes.
Mr. McLaren grimaced. “To my knowledge, yes. Sean lived here for over two years. Did you hear from him at all in that time?”
Gemma took a shaky breath. “I hadn’t received a letter from him in three. The first I heard of him was when yours arrived.”
The magistrate folded his hands in front of him. “Sean Junior is just over two.” He lowered his chin to give her a long stare, his mouth pinched closed.
“Any other children?” Her voice barely made it out of her chest.
“Fergus is ten months.” He cleared his throat. “He was born three days after Sean died.”
So many questions crowded her mind. How did he meet Mary? Were they married? Did he love Mary the way he’d never loved Gemma? “How did he die?”
“Farming accident,” Mr. McLaren said matter-of-factly. Then he cleared his throat again. The man’s fingers splayed out in his desk. “I can’t imagine what yer thinking but I know that Mary’s been through hell. If ye take the croft, ye’ll be putting her out along with her two young children.”
Gemma suddenly understood. Standing, she stared down at him. “You made me come all this way for Mary’s benefit. You were hoping I wouldn’t come at all and it would all go to her.”
He drew in a long breath. “What he did to both of you is wrong.” His mouth twisted. “But they are just babies. They’ll end up in a place like the orphanage that Fiona and Ewan came from if—”
Gemma’s insides twisted as anger bubbled inside of her. “Don’t lay that on my door,” she said, banging her hand on the desk, then she spun about. She needed to think. To clear her head.
She’d thought, foolishly, that she was finally going to get something out of her marriage. She should have known that the only thing Sean McLaren ever gave her was a broken heart.
Chapter Seven
Will swabbed his forehead with a rag. Despite the cold air, he was working up a sweat.
He’d spent the morning helping two other farmers plow the widow’s field. Tomorrow, they’d seed it. As long as it didn’t rain too hard in the next week, the field should grow. With enough profit, he could move Mary and her two boys to the large house to work and then rent the croft to someone more capable. But he refused to just toss them out.
Much like the little crew he’d assembled at home.
Touching his lips, he thought of the kiss that Gemma had given him this morning. He wanted to see her again. The more he thought on it, the more he needed to sit and talk with her. Ask her why she’d taken his things and what had led her here.
He supposed that part of him worried she wouldn’t tell the truth. Was she deceitful by nature? But another part wondered if she had just been desperate. If she deserved a chance to prove she was trustworthy.
It was time to find out.