A Maxwell Mourned by Gwen Kirkwood

learn to love Conan once you are all together,’ Meg reassured her. ‘Peter has talked to the minister and the marriage ceremony can be arranged for the evening Ross arrives.’
    Rachel felt she was being swept into marriage on a tide of propriety and convenience.
    ‘It’s only two months before your baby is due, Meg,’ she said desperately. ‘I don’t think I ought to go away at all.’
    ‘I shall be fine,’ Meg promised. ‘Mrs Jenkins will be here to help with the children. Peter has made enquiries about a live-in nursemaid when you go to live at Lochandee.’
    So Rachel and Ross were married at the beginning of April shortly after Rachel’s eighteenth birthday. It was a quiet, simple ceremony which could not have been a greater contrast to the society wedding of the Duke of York and the Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon which had been arranged to take place later in the month. However Polly and the twins had new dresses and their excitement was infectious. Even Sam Dewar donned his best suit and top hat and came to the church to act as witness. Afterwards he kissed Rachel’s cheek shyly.
    ‘Now remember, Rachel, if ever you need a friend, I am here. There will always be a roof for you and your bairn.’
    Ross overheard and frowned. At the first opportunity he asked Meg about Sam Dewar.
    ‘Och, he’s a nice old man. He’s very shy, but he has taken to Rachel.’
    ‘Oh, has he …?’
    ‘We have all become friends,’ Meg amended quickly, ‘since Rachel started milking the cows in his byre. If you had not returned he was going to ask Rachel to move into his house as his housekeeper. Of course she doesn’t know that because you came back before he got around to suggesting it. He talked it over with Peter last autumn.’
    ‘I see …’ Ross frowned and his eyes strayed to the toddler who was pulling himself to his feet on the edge of a chair. Meg followed his glance and her eyes softened.
    ‘He’s a lovely bairn. We shall all be sorry when he and Rachel go away. I suppose there’s no chance of you coming back up here to farm, Ross?’ she pleaded.
    ‘No, definitely not. You would love The Glens of Lochandee, Meg.’
    ‘Well, I hope Rachel loves it as much as you seem to do,’ she retorted more sharply than she had intended.
    Rachel felt shy and embarrassed when Ross accompanied her to the bedroom she shared with Conan. Where else would a husband sleep but with his wife. She had not really considered the implications of being married. Everything had been such a rush.
    She need not have worried. As soon as they were alone together Ross drew her into his arms. All the old magic was rekindled. Her fears melted away, indeed her very bones seemed to melt beneath Ross’s gentle caresses. There was nothing gentle about the fire which flared between them in an all enveloping, ever increasing desire, joining them in an ecstasy of perfect union.
    They were wakened by Conan’s early morning chortling.
    ‘Whatever was that?’ Ross demanded, suddenly wide awake at the unfamiliar sounds.
    ‘It’s only Conan,’ Rachel laughed softly. ‘He’s letting us know he’s ready for a morning cuddle before I go to milk the cows. Come then, my wee love.’ She leaned over and lifted the toddler into bed, setting him between them. This did not please either Ross or his son. Ross had forgotten about the baby’s presence in the same room and he had been anticipating a repeat of the previous night’s delights. Conan, on the other hand, stared unnervingly at the strange man in his mother’s bed, then he opened his mouth and howled with unbelievable volume. Rachel was forced to lift him away from Ross and give him all her attention before he would be quiet.
    Ross and Rachel had their first argument later that same morning. It was over Conan too. It had not occurred to Ross that Rachel would expect to take the child to Lochandee.
    ‘And where else would he go but with his mother?’ she demanded, her eyes flashing more green