Lachlan waved away his words. “I wish it so. Cameron, it has been a time since I last saw you.”
Cameron’s auburn hair was windswept. Women said he was a bonny man. Right now, the man wore a glower.
“I wish more time had passed. I could be home with my wife and my children instead of arse-sore from riding.”
“Being laird has made you weak.”
He made a motion with his head as if he were not in agreement. “Nay, but I must complain about something and that seemed the best one.”
“Then you must have the softest cushion we possess.”
“And something to wet my mouth,” Cameron said.
Lachlan sent a servant for wine and food, and then saw Cameron to the chairs at the table. “I doubt you came to complain.”
“I came for another reason.”
“Me, no doubt,” Rowen said.
The servant returned with wine and a platter of bread and cheese. Lachlan poured a liberal amount into three cups and slid one across to Cameron.
“Murray came to me. He wishes the return of Rowen and his grandson.” Cameron regarded Rowen. Her lips pursed and her lashes fell. She made a moue in the back of her throat. Only a MacKenzie could pull off that. A queen could never look so regal.
Cameron spotted the love bite marring the smooth column of her neck. Against her pale skin, the red mark gleamed like a flame in pitch darkness. Cameron averted his attention back to Lachlan.
“Since I will not do that, what does he plan to do?”
“Attack naturally. However, I offer another choice.”
“This choice is…” Rowen said.
Cameron ripped a chunk of bread and plopped a chunk of cheese on it. “Rowen and her son return to Cameron lands with me and I will see that they are sent onto her brother. MacKenzie will send a naibheagan to sail you straight to the castle’s sea gate.”
“Why hasn’t my brother sent men to aid me or at the very least word?”
“I do not know what his thoughts are; however, I know that he is about the king’s business with the islemen. The messenger informed me that he trusts Laird Gordon with your life.”
“Fitting since he trusted me with his,” Lachlan said. “Because of that trust I will not let them step from this place.”
“Laird, perhaps—” Semias leaned forward.
“Nay, Semias. Go see about his men.”
Semias stiffened and sent a sharp look at Rowen before he departed. No one spoke until the hollowed thud of the closing door reached their ears.
“What are you not telling me?”
Cameron pressed his lips together. “Sad state you are in. I have never seen such hatred from a man especially to a woman. My father hadn’t even showed such emotion. Bran means to see you dead, preferably at his hand.”
“He had expressed that to me numerous times. He came close once.”
“What?” Lachlan spun to her so swiftly the heavy oak chair twisted on its feet.
“He had pushed me down the stairs. One of the tacksmen was coming up then, and he caught me. Bran has minimal skill at lying, but he acted concerned for me, even offering to escort me to my chamber. I declined. After that, I was very cautious when outside my barred chamber.”
“Oh aye, so simple, and no reason to fret. Woman, you are not speaking of a misplaced bauble you lost.” He twisted in his seat to face her.
“It did frighten me at the time, but now I’m angry.”
“Well, then.” Lachlan rolled his eyes.
“That is not all he spoke of.”
“Oh good, I would hate to think he hadn’t spewed more venom,” Lachlan muttered, earning a guffaw of laughter from Cameron.
Cameron tapped his forefinger against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. Faster and faster.
“Share with us, Cameron.”
“It’s a delicate topic to speak before a woman.”
“I was raised with three brothers and they were not delicate with their words around me.”
Cameron rubbed the bridge of his nose then dropped his hand on his lap. “Bran sought me out alone. He had told me that the marriage had never been consummated.”
“How would he know such a thing?”
Cameron and Rowen shared a speaking look. Lachlan leaned his head back on the seat. “Oh.”
“Eacharn had vowed to him and he would never lie to him, as Bran says. There was no one else who shared the relationship they did.”
Mistress Cullen hovered by the archway.
“Cameron, your chamber is ready if you wish to clean up, we’ll speak of this later.”
“Aye.” Cameron pushed back the chair and followed Mistress Cullen.
“In my chamber now,” Lachlan ordered over his shoulder. He heard the scrape of the chair and knew she was behind him. He paced a tight circle before the bed. He scrubbed at his neck, leaving it glaring red. He knew what the truth about Rowen’s marriage meant to him.
Rowen stayed near the door, lost in her own shock. She hadn’t known Eacharn had shared such secrets with Bran. She understood why. A time existed when she had laid bare all her secrets, having been free of the pressure of concealing and the relief for having spoken them. It had tightened a bond she should have never encouraged. Eacharn had been caught in the same spell and put Kenny in danger.
“Is what he says is true?” Lachlan halted, his back toward her. His back muscles pinched beneath his leine.
She picked at her thumbnail. “It holds no importance.”
He spun toward her. “To you, perhaps, but to me, it means everything.”
She shook her head, fighting against the plea in his voice. “I do not know what to say to let it stay buried. It must.”
“It is between us.” He rushed to her and grasped her by her arms. She stiffened, waiting for the biting of his fingers in her flesh or from him to shake her the way men do as if they could force the words out. She hadn’t expected the dimming of the tawny eyes and the glint within their depths.
She almost nodded. Lachlan needed to hear it instead. “Aye. Bran hated me since the moment he learned of the marriage contract. The brawl he started with you…he did not like the disrespect.”
He dropped his hold. “He was jealous of you.”
“He always had been.”
“Eacharn never came to you,” Lachlan said.
“Nay, he tried on our wedding night, but blamed the drink. Then time passed when we arrived on Murray lands. There was so much to do. He tried again.”
“My son.” His voice was husky.
“That is when he saw my roundness. He had been relieved. That night was when everything between us changed. We each had our secrets that could destroy us, yet oddly, they bonded us together. He vowed to never speak it to a soul, not even to God, for he already knew the truth. I promised the same and have dishonored him by breaking it.” She sniffled, and then felt the wetness on her face.
“He was a good man. He treated me well and there was fondness between us, even love.” She swiped away the teardrop hanging on her jaw. It rolled beneath her knuckles along the back of her hand. That tear was the only sensation she felt. “He loved Kenny. He is his son, and I must hold to my vow.”
He hugged her close. His arms were strong around her and banished the troubles. She hung onto him, losing herself in his comfort. He curled his broad shoulders around her to cocoon her in his embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder. These years later, she could still feel as if all would be right in the end.
“Shh, don’t cry.” He rested his chin atop her head, holding her with all of him. His warmth seeped into her, banishing the stiffness from her. He lifted her face toward his own. His calloused finger wiped away her tear tracks.
“Could he have broken it?”
“Never. Bran had spoiled Kenny. It was only within the twelve months that he turned against Kenny, but never before Eacharn. He does not have the look of a Murray or a MacKenzie. But with Eacharn’s death, Bran became most cruel.”
�
��That bastard wants to kill my son.” He slammed his palm against his chest.
“He tried once.”
“What?”
She licked her trembling lips. “I caught him in the chamber when Kenny was napping…he was hunched over him with a blanket. He had the edges twisted about his hands. He isn’t the only one. Murray does as well.”
“He knows?”
She nodded. “After Eacharn’s death, Bran must have somehow shared the secret. After all, he cannot have Kenny leading the Murrays. Yet, I cannot proclaim Kenny’s true parentage.”
“He will still be a Murray.”
“A man without a clan. He will not lead. Tanistry will work against him. All Murray has to do is speak against him to a few people. I do believe that he shall.”
“My son is a bastard and one I cannot claim.” Lachlan crumbled against the wall. He slid down to the floor.
She dropped to the ground. “Forgive me.”
“You committed no wrong. There is nothing to forgive.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder. He ran a finger over the love mark he had branded her with. “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you.”
“You did, a little, but I did not mind.” She gave him a watery smile.
“I mind. I shall never treat you in such a way again. I will keep Eacharn’s secret and see that Cameron does, too. That shall protect Kenny.”
She hoped so.
* * * *
Lachlan left the tacksmen waiting for him. He had better things than to discuss crops and land. Lachlan found his son, digging up the garden. His blunt sword tip was buried in the dirt. The same dirt coated his hands and smeared across his face and clothing. His bare feet were black and muddy.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m lookin’ for fairies.”
“Why?”
He said something that Lachlan failed to comprehend. “She said there was a fairy here an’ fairies live underground.”
“You do not want to knock down their house.”
“Why?”
“Because they will come into our house.”
“Oh.” He sat back on his arse.
Lachlan laid his hand atop Kenny’s head. His skull was small. He felt fragile to him, yet he sensed the life in the lad. His lad…his blood coursed through his tiny veins. Kenny would be a tall one, thanks to both Lachlan and MacKenzie blood.
How could he have missed their similar traits? The slope of the nose and the fine tip and the same brown hair that shined red when light struck upon it. The eyes, from the hooded shape that Rowen had told him gave him a sinful air to their color—a blend of gold, amber, hints of green, and an oak hue.
He took his eyes off his son. Damn, his senses were sharper from his smell to his sight. He even felt the air blew through his leine and rustle through his chest hair.
What the hell did he do with a lad Kenny’s age? He had trained boys, making them warriors. He would do the same with Kenny. For right now, what did he do?
“Want to go to the stables and see the horses?”
Kenny leaped to his feet.
“Give me your hand.” Lachlan reached out to him. Kenny took it and yanked for him to hurry. “You forgot your sword.” Kenny sprinted back and snatched it up. He took Lachlan’s hand again. He couldn’t fathom the trust Kenny put in him, believing all was right in the world.
“Hurry,” Kenny bellowed in a near screech. His legs pumped faster, but he never covered much distance.
Lachlan swung him in his arms. He ducked the swinging wooden sword. It might be blunt, but wood to the nose still stung. They reached the stables quicker. Once inside, the smells of horseflesh, manure, leather, and oil hung thickly. As it was late winter, there was no hay strewn about. The horse feasted on whatever scraps remained except for Wulver and his commanders’ horses. They needed to be kept healthy and strong.
“You have to let the horses know who you are. So put out your hand.” Kenny threw it out. The lad was brave. He had seen children hide in their mother’s skirt or bury their face in their necks. The horse sniffed at his little hand.
“He spit on me.” His head fell back and he let out the sweetest laughter that shook his little body.
Lachlan felt his own rise and rumbled through him. He swelled with love. This little lad was his son.
“That is how they greet each other. Now, pet him, nicely.”
Kenny stroked his hand down the white blaze on its long face.
“That’s Geur.”
Kenny repeated her name. Geur’s ears twitched at her name.
“Have you ever sat on horse by yourself?”
“Nay.”
“It’s time you do.” With one hand, he unhooked the looped rope and stepped into the stall. He swung Kenny on the sloped back. He held him about his waist. “How’s that feel?”
Kenny clutched Geur’s black mane. He kicked his heels against Geur. Lachlan whispered soft words to her to stop her from moving.
“I have to teach you to ride.”
“My da sat me on his an’ we rode all day long.”
Lachlan was hurt. Kenny should have been calling him da. “Well, we can do that now.”
“Aye.” Kenny hopped up and down.
“Laird.” Semias waited at the end of the stall.
“Come along, Kenny. It’s time to return to the hall.”
“Nay. Nay.” His face reddened. He squeezed a few tears from his eyes.
“I will bring you later.” That did nothing to appease him.
Lachlan was bigger and stronger and had him off the horse, in the hall and planted in his mother’s lap without much of a struggle. One fact he learned about his son. He was strong.
Lachlan sent one last glance at his son before seeing to clan business.
“He will never be a Gordon.” Only the pensive tone of Semias’s tone stopped Lachlan from throwing him against the wall.
“He is my son, and that is enough. He will receive the same means as the son who bears my name.”
“I shall see to it, Laird.”
The conviction in Semias’ voice irked Lachlan. He saw himself as the power of the clan. Would he use that against Lachlan and his son? Had the truth put his son in more danger?
“It can be a troubling to want to be a father when others do not see it as such.”
“I do want to tell all. I understand that is something I cannot do. One day, he will learn the truth and I can only hope that he forgives me and understands that I did all I could. For now, I do not care about anything else.”
* * * *
Again, Rowen dug into Kenny’s ear. He squirmed and bellowed. “How did you get mud in your ear? There, I got it.” She threw the balled up mud into the fire.
“I dinna wanna go to sleep.” Kenny squirmed to escape the washcloth she ran over his ear. His eyes drooped from sleep and he yawned.
“Then we shall clean you up and lay down. If you do not fall sleep, oh well.” She told him the same thing every night and every night, he would close his eyes and not move until morn.
“I wanna play wit’ the horse.” He stared at the toy horse. It was the same design used to train men to fight on horseback, except it was child size. Lachlan had Mistress Cullen unearth it from the bowels of the castle.
She had to pry him from the horse. He pleaded with her to bring it to the chamber. Rowen denied him and thankfully, his rumbling belly beat out the need for his horse.
“Tomorrow, the horse is sleeping.”
She finished cleaning Kenny. She grabbed the leine she put him to sleep in. Eacharn had told her she was babying him by putting him to sleep in a leine, but Rowen, with a mother’s instinct and fear, had always forced him to wear one to bed, at least during the coldest months.
“Up,” she said and slipped the garment over his head when he raised his hands. “Do you want your warrior?” His warrior was a stuffed doll made of old rags now stained from food, saliva, and the adventures he attended at Kenny’s side.
He took
it from her and tucked it under his arm. “Ma, when is da coming back?”
When Eacharn first died, Kenny asked the question every night and there were days when he would wait for him to ride in or search for him, knowing he was home because his horse was in the stable. She always had to explain to him why he wouldn’t return. Kenny accepted it, but Rowen was always near to weeping for the son who looked for his father.
Though, tonight, she wanted to tell him that his father had returned. The father that was of his blood, the one who he inherited his looks from and the charming smile that always spread first at one corner before his mouth spread completely.
“Da is not coming back. He has died and that means we cannot be with him anymore.”
“Aye.” He rubbed his warrior beneath his nose. He would be asleep once the linens covered him.
“Into bed with you,” she said as Lachlan came into the chamber.
Kenny hid his warrior behind his back.
“Look, how bright your face is. Nice and clean. Did your mother do it right?”
Kenny nodded. “She knows how. Tell me a story.” He ran to the bed and climbed in.
Lachlan tucked him in and sat on the bed’s edge. He tapped his forefinger against his mouth, deciding on which tale to share this night. “Aye,” he started.
Rowen listened to his low voice as it rumbled through the chamber and with the warmth from the fire, she began to slip into slumber. This was what she had yearned for and the road here had twisted and vanished altogether.
She sensed a movement. She opened her eyes. Lachlan knelt on one knee before her. His hair had grown, brushing his shoulders. Unlike other men, Lachlan hated long hair. He kept it long enough to keep his ears warm, as he said. She lifted a hand and pinched the ends.
“Shall I cut your hair?”
“Aye,” he said on low breath so it sounded more like a growl than acceptance.
“Let me get the scissors.” Why did she speak? She couldn’t say…to fill the silence, perhaps. “This must have been the Lairdess’s chamber since her sewing kit is here. It’s a very fine one, too.”
She lifted the top. Velvet lined the oak box. The needles, pins, and thimbles were made of silver, though there were iron ones as well. She picked up the silver scissors. She ran her thumb along the sharp edge.
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