by Bree Wolf
“If you don’t think you can…” Sophie sighed, leaning back against the pillow, exhaustion washing over her face. “I understand. I only thought…perhaps it was Fate that you were the ones to find us up there.”
Shock froze Deidre’s limbs as she stared at the young woman, her mind drawn back to a day long ago. A day a letter had arrived. A letter telling her that on the day marked by a blue flower, she would find a great love up by the old ruins!
The breath lodged in Deidre’s throat, and her jaw began to quiver. “’Tis him,” she gasped, hands clasped over her mouth, fear and hope mingling in her heart as Moira’s words echoed in her mind. “’Twas him I was meant to find.”
A slight frown came to Sophie’s face as she watched her. “Does that mean you want him?”
Trembling, Deidre nodded. “Aye, I do.”
“Then he’s yours.”
13
A Daughter’s Gift
Seated in the armchair by the hearth in their chamber, Alastair rocked the little boy in his arms. His eyes shone in a bright blue, wonder and awe resting in them as he stared up at Alastair’s face, his little hands opening and closing.
Gently, Alastair ran a finger over the boy’s palm and instantly his hand clamped shut, trapping Alastair’s finger with his own. “Well done, little lad,” he chuckled, remembering how he’d often played this game with his daughter.
Tears came to his eyes and he let them fall. “Her name was Rory,” he told the little boy, his wide blue eyes fixed on Alastair’s face as though he was listening intently. “She was a bonny, little lass with hair as red as yers.” His gaze trailed over the child’s auburn curls. “Ye would’ve liked her. She always slept like a rock, but she could also scream like a banshee.” Another chuckle rose in his throat, and Alastair wondered why it was that he could suddenly remember his daughter with fondness and not only with sorrow.
The boy cooed softly, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Are ye tired, little lad?”
As though in answer, a wide yawn stretched over the little boy’s face and his eyes fluttered closed.
Settling him deeper into the crook of his arm, Alastair rose to his feet, gently rocking the child as he hummed Deidre’s lullaby under his breath. Warmth filled his heart, and Alastair remembered well the many peaceful moments he’d spent with his wife and child. If only life had taken a different turn.
If only.
Looking down at the sleeping little boy, Alastair could not help but wish that he would never have to let him go. He was not Rory. He was his own person, a little child, who called to Alastair, tugging on his heart and reawakening old longings.
“Is he asleep?”
Turning around, Alastair found his wife quietly closing the door. He hadn’t even heard her approach, so lost had he been in his musings. “Aye, he just now drifted off.” His gaze rose and he met her eyes, red-rimmed and still brimming with unshed tears. “Are ye all right? What did Miss Harmon say? Does she want to see him?”
Deidre’s jaw trembled as she inhaled a shuddering breath, her gaze flitting about the chamber before it settled on his. Alastair could not deny the gooseflesh that prickled his skin at the look in his wife’s eyes. Something had happened. Something deeply unsettling…and yet there was the hint of a smile teasing her lips.
As Deidre walked over to them, her gaze dropped to the little boy in his arms and she brushed a gentle hand over his auburn curls. Then she sighed, and her gaze hardened, grew sorrowful, before she looked up at him. “She canna bear to look at him,” his wife whispered, “because the man who fathered him forced himself on her.”
Alastair’s teeth gritted together in outrage as he willed himself to remain still so as not to disturb the lad’s slumber.
Deidre nodded, her other hand coming to rest on his arm. “He had red hair.”
A long breath rushed from Alastair’s lungs, and his gaze was drawn to the innocent, little boy sleeping peacefully in his arms. “What now?” he whispered, the thought of a child all alone was a painful reminder that the world was not a perfect place.
Reaching up, Deidre brushed a tear from his cheek, a soft smile on her face. “I spoke to Adelaide and explained what had happened. She was shocked. Matthew was furious. They promised to look after her and speak to John about…that man. Apparently, he was an old acquaintance of his.”
Alastair nodded, anger clenching his jaw. “I can only hope he’ll thrash him within an inch of his life. He’d deserve far worse.” A low growl rumbled in his throat at the thought of the strong preying on the weak. That was not the world he wanted to live in, the world he had wanted his daughter to live in. “What about the lad? Will Adelaide and Matthew take him in?”
Looking up, Alastair found the breath lodge in his throat at the wide smile that rested on his wife’s lovely face. Her eyes shone with utter joy as she moved closer, her hands settling gently upon his arms, brushing down his sleeves until one settled on the boy’s head. “Do ye want him?”
Alastair felt as though someone had punched him in the gut, and for a moment, he feared he would drop the child. He only barely managed to stay on his feet, his eyes wide and staring.
Deidre swallowed. “She canna be his mother. She knows she canna love him the way he deserves, but she wants him to be happy.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “And loved.” Her hand squeezed his arm as her eyes burnt into his. “Do ye think ye could love him? He’s not Rory, and I dunna want him to be. He’ll be her little brother, and we’ll tell him all about his big sister.” A sob tore from her lips. “She’ll not be forgotten. Never.”
“Take him,” was all Alastair managed to say before his muscles went slack.
Deidre’s sure hands swooped in to take the boy, who made a little fussing noise in his sleep at being jostled from one to the other. Then, however, he sighed deeply, one little hand curling into Deidre’s dress as she rocked him gently, the old lullaby once more on her lips.
Alastair stumbled back to the armchair he’d only vacated moments earlier and sank into it, his legs no longer able to keep him upright. Overwhelmed, he listened to the blood rushing in his ears and felt his heart pounding in his chest as though wishing to break free.
“I know,” Deidre whispered beside him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, a gentle weight to soothe the turmoil raging within him. “I felt the same.” She sighed, and he could hear a new lightness in her voice. “But then I remembered Moira’s letter, and I knew that he was meant for us.”
Alastair’s eyes closed, and he gripped the armrests of the chair tightly as his thoughts returned to the one sentence that had been haunting him since the day their guests had arrived.
On the day marked by a blue flower, she will find a great love up by the ruins.
Could that be what Moira had seen? Or felt?
The boy?
Pushing to his feet, Alastair looked down at the sleeping child, remembering the letter he’d only received the day they’d all but stumbled upon Miss Harmon and her new-born son. Moira had written to him about a new dream. A dream in which she’d seen him happy, knowing that there could be no happiness for him without Deidre by his side.
Was this little boy the way by which her vision would come to pass?
His hand reached out and brushed gently over the lad’s auburn curls. “Like Rory,” he whispered, and his heart ached at the thought of his daughter. Longing and fear tugged at him, and he knew not what he wanted.
What he feared.
What he needed.
What he ought to do.
Deidre sighed, leaning into him, and his arm rose to settle upon her shoulders. “’Tis not a betrayal,” she whispered, “to love another child for it doesna mean ye love her any less.” Tears thickened her voice. “He’s all alone, longing for someone to love him. In that, we are the same.” Her finger caressed the boy’s soft cheek before she caught the tip of a red curl between her fingers. “I feel as though Rory sent him to us, gave him her red hair s
o we’d know he was to be ours.”
Tears streamed down Alastair’s face as he wrapped his wife and child in a tight embrace, whispering a silent thank-you to his bonny, little lass for watching over them.
Forever would she be missed.
And remembered.
The Yuletide log burnt in the large hearth in the great hall, sending waves of warmth through the tall-ceilinged chamber. The scent of pine hung in the air, mingling with the delicious smells of pastries, hearty as well as sweet, which Cook had prepared for the holidays. Children dashed around the hall, their little voices cheerful and filled with awe as they gazed at the evergreen boughs as well as the stars and ribbons with which they’d decorated them.
Deidre stood off to the side, her eyes no doubt possessing an equally revering glow as she watched her family’s joy at this Christmas season. Her own heart beat steady and strong; but every once in a while she could feel it perform a little somersault as though it could not contain its joy.
Sighing, Deidre turned her gaze to the sweet, little boy in her arms, his big blue eyes looking up at her. One of his hands had managed to snag a curl of her dark brown hair, keeping it clutched in his little fist. Every once in a while, he would yank on it as though to get her attention, a mischievous grin on his face. “Ye’re exactly like yer big sister, little Rowan,” Deidre cooed at him, tickling him under the chin. “She was a wicked one herself.”
Rowan gurgled happily and gave her hair another tug.
“He is beautiful.”
Looking up, Deidre met John’s gaze as he came to stand beside her, his eyes drifting down to Rowan, who once more yanked on her hair. “Aye, he is. He’s all that and more.”
A warm smile came to John’s face. “I know now what you meant,” he said quietly before gazing across the hall to where Tillie sat with Adelaide, her nimble fingers working on yet another straw figurine. Every day for as long as Sophie had been abed, not yet strong enough to rise, little Tillie had made her a different little ornament to decorate her chamber and help her feel better. “She’s not mine,” he whispered, “not truly, and yet…”
“She is,” Deidre finished for him.
Their eyes met, and he smiled at her. “Yes, she is.” His gaze drifted down to Rowan. “I suppose not everyone becomes a parent in the same way.” A smile tickled his lips as his gaze moved up to meet hers. “Sometimes parent and child find each other in rather unexpected ways.”
“Aye, ‘tis true,” Deidre exclaimed whole-heartedly. “Will ye stay in her life then? For good?”
John nodded. “I’ve never been there for her−not truly−because I always thought it was not my place. But I can no longer deny that I want to. Whether I’m her father or her uncle does not matter. She matters, and I will get to know her better. The way I should’ve from the beginning.” A deep smile claimed his features. “It’s my New Year’s resolution.”
Deidre laughed. “’Tis a bit early for that, but I dunna believe I’ve ever heard a better one.”
As John crossed the hall and sat down beside Tillie, offering her his assistance with her latest creation, Deidre caught her husband’s gaze. He stood with Connor in the far corner by the hearth, and the moment their eyes met, Deidre felt a tug that stole her breath.
Not on her hair.
But on her heart.
Her body hummed with the need to be near him, reawakening to an old longing that had gotten lost over the past two years. Their gazes held, locked on one another, and she watched him mumble something absentmindedly to Connor before his feet began to move, carrying him toward her. She could feel him draw closer with each step, her heart jumping and bouncing with excitement and anticipation like a young lass’s, in love for the first time.
Always had she felt like this in Alastair’s presence, and never again would she allow herself to forget.
Or him.
“Ye look happy,” he murmured, his eyes equally radiant as they moved from her to their son, still happily pulling on her hair. “Ye’re aglow with warmth and love.”
Deidre smiled, moving closer until he reached out, pulling her against him. “I do love ye,” she whispered against his lips, a teasing smile coming to her face when his breath caught. “I love ye both.” Her gaze drifted down to the contented baby in her arms, his eyelids once more growing heavy, her hair still clutched possessively in his fist.
“I love ye as well,” Alastair murmured, and his arm held her tighter, one hand brushing over Rowan’s little head. “I never thought I would ever feel like this again.”
Deidre sighed. “If it hadna been for Moira…”
Her husband drew in a deep breath, and she could feel a slight tremor run down his arm. “Aye, she fought for us.”
Deidre nodded, knowing how hard it was for Alastair to see shades of grey in the world instead of only black and white. She knew he missed his sister dearly, and yet, in all these years, he had not been able to move past her betrayal. Doubt had lingered, and he’d been afraid to place his trust in her again, to be hurt again. But perhaps now…
“Aye, perhaps ‘tis time,” he finally whispered, his blue gaze seeking hers. “Her son is almost a year old already, and I have never even met him.” He glanced at Rowan. “They’re cousins, family, and they should be close.”
Tears misted Deidre’s eyes, and still she could not help but smile. “Aye, we’re family. Sometimes we get lost, but we always find each other again.”
“Always,” Alastair agreed, his strong arms wrapping them in a warm embrace. It was Deidre’s favourite place in the world. One she had lost once, but found again.
Always.
Epilogue
Seann Dachaigh Tower
Home of Clan MacDrummond
Spring 1812
Seann Dachaigh Tower stood like a fortress against the grey sky, its tall walls protecting those within. Years earlier, Alastair had ridden over this small hill, his eyes falling on the imposing structure, to deliver his sister to their mother’s clan.
Banishment had been her punishment for betraying her own kin.
Exile.
And yet, Moira had found a home here. She’d found love with the clan’s laird, Cormag MacDrummond, and step by step conquered the hearts of his people.
Alastair remembered well the way his own heart had felt that day as though it was being pulled apart. Of course, he’d been furious, disappointed, broken at learning of her betrayal, and yet, his heart had never ceased loving her. It had made his anger harder to bear, and he’d hoped to ease his suffering by banishing her not only from within their clan’s midst but also from his thoughts, if not from his heart.
Still, it had been a daily struggle, and a part of him felt utter relief at finding himself back here.
“She’ll be waiting,” Deidre whispered gently, seated atop her white mare, their son strapped to her back, his little head resting against her shoulder, eyes closed in peaceful slumber.
Alastair nodded. “Aye.”
Slowly, they made their way down the slope, Alastair’s gaze fixed on the front gate where people moved in and out between the keep and the village surrounding it. Spring had brought rain and fog as temperatures had risen, warming the ground and making it useful once more. Fields needed tending, and the livestock now grazed contentedly upon the green hills.
Crossing through the stone archway into the courtyard, Alastair found his hands trembling with anticipation. For so long, he’d refused all Moira’s attempts at reconciliation. Would she welcome him now? He wondered how the letter Deidre had sent ahead of them, announcing their arrival, had been received.
“Dunna worry,” his wife counselled, a compassionate smile upon her face as she gently slid out of the saddle. “Moira loves ye. She’s been wishing for a reunion for years. She willna bite yer head off.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she moved toward him. “Will ye help me with Rowan?”
After handing their horse’s reins to a stable boy, Alastair turned to his wife, unfastening the chequ
ered cloth they’d used to secure Rowan upon his mother’s back. The boy loved to be close, and the rhythmic swaying of the horse always had him sleeping in no time. Connor often joked that the lad would learn to ride before learning to walk.
With Rowan securely atop her arm, Deidre held out a hand to him. “Come. It willna do ye any good standing out here wondering.”
Alastair nodded, then gathered his wife and son close and together they headed up the stairs leading into the great hall. The dimmer light inside momentarily had him blinking his eyes before he took note of the tall, dark-haired man sliding out of the shadows and coming toward them.
Cormag MacDrummond.
Moira’s husband.
“Welcome to Seann Dachaigh Tower,” he greeted them with a bit of a formal bow, his voice ringing with calm authority. Alastair could feel the man’s gaze sweeping over him in appraisal, and he noted the protectiveness in his stance as though he felt the need to assure that this visit would not upset the woman he’d married.
The woman he loved, Alastair concluded, finding himself reminded of none other than himself when it came to Deidre.
Her happiness.
Her safety.
For a long moment, the two men looked at one another before Cormag drew in a slow breath as though he’d reached a decision. “Moira hasna slept a wink all night,” he finally said, the hint of a smile coming to his otherwise stoic features, “and she’s been pacing all morning. I wouldna be surprised if she’s already worn a hole into the carpet.”
Beside him, Deidre laughed, the sound of her warm voice easing Alastair’s tension. “Aye, like sister, like brother.”
Cormag nodded to her. “Follow me,” he said, then strode off, crossing the hall and disappearing through an arched doorway.
With his wife’s arm clutched at his side, Alastair followed, his gaze drifting down to Deidre’s again and again.