She scowled as the wagon made its way around the curve of the entrance and rolled to a stop in front of the house. “What is—” A goat popped its head over the side of the wagon. “Freya?” She rushed forward, curled her fingers over the edge of the vehicle and peered in. Housed in separate compartments were two pigs and she just made out a cat’s face peering out of a wicker basket. Slowly, she turned to Cillian. “My animals...but how...why...” Freya gave her a nudge and started chewing on her sleeve.
She fussed the goat and tugged her sleeve away before it got ruined.
Cillian glanced at his boots. “You miss your animals.”
“They’re staying here? For good?”
“I wrote to your father and requested they be delivered here. I think the stables are a good enough home for them now.”
Ivy opened her mouth then closed it, feeling tears burn at the corners of her eyes.
“Shit,” Cillian muttered. “Shit,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to upset you. They can go back—”
“No, no.” She shook her head vigorously. “I’m very happy to have them here.” She put a hand to Cillian’s arm. “Very happy indeed.”
His shoulders dropped and Ivy couldn’t help but smile. Here was a man who had gone to battle and survived who knew what. Yet here he was daunted by a woman’s tears.
Cillian cleared his throat and moved over to the driver, instructing them to take the animals around to the stables.
“I’ll come and fuss you soon,” she promised Freya and the rest of the animals.
Her family lingered on the steps up into the house, so she and Cillian joined them and showed them in as they made all the appropriate noises about how lovely the house was.
“What should I do with the cat?” Cillian leaned in and asked. “Can he be put down?”
“Oh yes, so long as the doors are shut. Uncle Simon rarely leaves Aunt Sarah’s side anyway.”
“Uncle Simon?”
Ivy grimaced. Explaining her family’s peculiarities was not always easy. “He looks like my late uncle,” she whispered. “With the black.” She motioned to her top lip. “He had a big, black moustache.”
“So he’s named after your uncle. That’s nice,” he said as though he didn’t really know if it was or not as he set the cat down.
“Well, actually...” Ivy twirled a curl around her finger. He was going to think she was mad. Or that her family was mad.
Perhaps they were.
“My aunt thinks he is her husband re-incarnated.” she said in a rush.
“Reincarnated?” he repeated. “As in...he is your uncle in a cat’s body?”
“Yes.”
Cillian blinked a few times. “Your family is...interesting.”
Ivy laughed and watched her family pause by a painting of one of Cillian’s distant ancestors and declare how handsome the rather ugly man was. “I couldn’t agree more.”
***
It took every ounce of Cillian’s willpower not to duck out of the parlor room after dinner and make a hasty retreat to bed. Or to the stables. Or on a nighttime ride.
Anywhere.
It wasn’t that Ivy’s family were horrible people. In fact, it was quite the opposite. No matter what the newspapers said about their misdeeds, they were warm, easy to converse with, and clearly full of love for one another. It was such a strange thing to witness.
He lingered by the open drinks’ cabinet under the pretense of pouring drinks for everyone. It wasn’t that his mother never loved him or anything like that, of course, but with it just being the two of them, their love for one another was an altogether quieter, more restrained matter. Cillian would wager few families of the Musgraves’ rank were so open with their familial embraces and quick laughter.
It would be refreshing if he knew quite how to deal with it.