Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  Ewan listened carefully to all Sigimor told him about his wife’s family. Although he could foresee a few tense moments ahead with Fiona’s brothers, everything Sigimor said pointed to yet another strong, worthy alliance. When he went to parlay with his enemies now, he would do so from a position of greatly enhanced strength. He tensed when his father joined them, but Fingal sat quietly gathering information about the MacEnroys just as he was doing. Ewan was too well acquainted with his father’s rapidly changing moods to let his hopes rise too high, but he could not help but think a change for the better had come over his father.

  “Ye dinnae think the lass’s brothers will be wanting to toss my lad about for a wee while, do ye?” asked Sir Fingal.

  “They may want to,” replied Sigimor, “but they willnae. Unless, of course, Fiona gives them leave.” Sigimor winked at Ewan. “So, when ye see them coming, it might be wise to soothe any anger she may be feeling toward ye that day.”

  “Where is the lass, eh?” Fingal looked around and gaped when he saw Fiona and Liam talking. “Ye have left her with that bonnie lad?” Fingal stared at Ewan in shock. “Go get her.”

  “Nay,” Ewan said. “She isnae doing anything wrong. She is just talking to the lad. What harm can there be in that?” Ewan had to bite back a grin when his father looked at him as if he needed some sense knocked back into his head.

  “What harm? Have I taught ye naught o’er the years?” Sir Fingal stood up. “Ye are too trusting, lad, but I havenae the time now to explain the error in your thinking. I have to go pull the lass out of harm’s way. I cannae believe any son of mine could be so witless as to leave his woman unguarded whilst that lad is about,” he muttered as he strode off toward Fiona.

  “That was weel done,” murmured Sigimor as he watched Sir Fingal push his way in between Liam and Fiona.

  Seeing no reason to deny his guilt in sending his father off after Fiona, Ewan replied, “Thank ye.”

  “The lass could have stood here listening to that whole conversation and ne’er been able to prove that ye sent your father o’er there apurpose.” Sigimor raised his tankard in a brief, silent salute. “Liam is a good lad, ye ken.”

  “Nay doubt. Twould just be better if he was a good, ugly lad.” Ewan smiled when Sigimor laughed.

  Fiona scowled at Sir Fingal after a chuckling Liam walked away. “I was talking to him.”

  “Ye are a married lass,” Sir Fingal said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye shouldnae be talking to such a bonnie, unwed laddie. Why are ye nay sitting with your mon, talking to him?”

  “Because he doesnae ken anything about my brother Diarmot’s children and Liam does. He was staying at Clachthrom for a wee while ere he traveled to Deilcladach with Sigimor. Liam gained a lot of knowledge whilst in the monastery and he was teaching Diarmot’s children.”

  “If he was so welcome and helpful at Clachthrom, why did they let him leave, eh? Ha!” He nodded when Fiona blushed. “Your brother got tired of looking at that bonnie face. Wanted it far away from his woman.”

  “That is such foolishness. Ilsa and Gillyanne would ne’er betray their husbands, nor would I. Ewan, at least, has the sense to ken that. He wasnae troubled by my talking to Liam.” Fiona inwardly admitted that she was a little disheartened by Ewan’s lack of jealousy, a jealousy both her brothers had suffered despite knowing their wives adored them. “But enough of Liam. Have ye talked to Sigimor?” She almost smiled at the way Sir Fingal grumbled over the change of subject.

  “A wee bit,” he muttered. “A good lad, if a wee bit odd.”

  Sir Fingal complaining that someone was odd was a little like a fish complaining that water was wet, but Fiona just nodded. “He does take some getting accustomed to. He will be a good ally, though.”

  “Aye. Ewan is right to say we need them. Now he can face our enemies with two clans standing behind him. They will listen to him now. Mayhap next time one of my lads has to ride off somewhere, he willnae have to creep from shrub to shrub or take half a dozen weel-armed men with him.”

  And that, Fiona realized, had so troubled Sir Fingal that he had obviously become fully aware of his clan’s precarious position at long last. The man must have kept a close watch on all of the careful preparations and intricate precautions, and seen what his actions and hasty words had brought them to. Some men grew more hardened in their ways as they aged and some grew wiser. For Ewan’s sake, she prayed Sir Fingal was going to be one of the latter.

  It was only an hour later when Fiona realized she was too tired to linger in the great hall any longer. She quietly informed Ewan that she was retiring and kissed him on the cheek. Laughing softly over Sigimor’s protests that he was being neglected, she kissed his cheek as well. The way Ewan watched her so closely as she left the great hall warned Fiona that she might not be able to keep their child a secret for much longer. His frown had not all been caused by her kissing Sigimor. Her unusual weariness had caught his attention.

  She softly cursed as she prepared for bed. There was just another reason she was reluctant to tell Ewan he would soon be a father. Considering how he had behaved after she had been rescued from Menzies, she dreaded how he would behave when he discovered she was carrying his child. His protectiveness would know no bounds and she would know no peace.

  “Ye had best cease kissing my wife,” Ewan told Sigimor as he poured them each some more ale.

  Sigimor chuckled. “Twas more a giggle against my cheek than a kiss. And the lass needs a touch of flattery now and then, a wee bit of attention from a mon and all.”

  “I dinnae think Fiona has e’er suffered a lack of such things.”

  “Och, aye, she did. Nay before she got the scars, but after. Gillyanne told me. Many a mon who had wooed Fiona before she was scarred hied themselves off to find some other beauty to praise, a perfect beauty of course. Some fools acted as if she bore a mark akin to the one ye bear. The lass isnae vain or foolish enough to believe all the pretty words she might hear, but Gillyanne believes the way far too many reacted to Fiona’s scars left the lass feeling as if those marks were far worse than they are.”

  “Fools, the lot of them,” Ewan muttered, and Sigimor nodded.

  Ewan knew the pain of watching people looking away after seeing his scarred face. How much worse must it have been for a beautiful young woman? In truth, he suspected the fact that Fiona was not vain had made it all the more difficult in some ways. She had been forced to see that very few people had ever really looked beyond the beauty she had been gifted with. She may not have fully believed all the pretty words said to her, but it had to have hurt to realize just how empty they had been. He was curious as to how much of that hurt still lingered, and he wondered sadly if he could ever find the skill to soothe it.

  He was more than a little drunk by the time he sought his bed. It was probably for the best that Fiona was deeply asleep, he mused as he crawled into bed beside her, for he could easily embarrass himself if he tried to make love to her. He pulled her soft, warm body into his arms and sighed with contentment when she murmured his name in her sleep.

  Everything was going so well, he felt distinctly uneasy. His father appeared to be growing up at last, or perhaps telling the full tale of what had happened in the past had bled away some of the anger and pain he had nursed for so long. Ewan was certain that hearing the child had lived had removed a heavy load of guilt off his father’s heart, a guilt Ewan had never known the man had been carrying. A change in the man had begun after Fiona had entered their lives, and Ewan felt that change for the better had been strengthened by all that had been said today. He thought his father may have finally set the past aside.

  Reuniting with the Camerons was a blessing, even though Sigimor would take some getting used to. Ewan was not sure he liked the idea of having so many big, strong, handsome men coming and going from Scarglas, but it was good to have allies. From what Sigimor told him, he would face that same two-edged sword when the MacEnroys came, they and all of their various connect
ions. If Sigimor was right, the moment this Gillyanne accepted him as part of her family, so would all of the Murrays, which included a vast array of other names and alliances. It would not be the same sort of alliance as he would have with the MacEnroys and the Camerons of Dubheidland, but there was a great comfort in knowing how far and wide he could reach out for aid if it was ever needed.

  This change also opened up new paths for his brothers to walk. Life at Scarglas was good and would be better once he could make peace a greater part of their lives. However, now there were other places his brothers could go, opportunities they could grasp. Perhaps even some advantageous marriages to make, ones that could bring lands or money into the family or strengthen tenuous alliances.

  It was too much good fortune for him to accept easily. Never had things looked so promising. Ewan rested his cheek against Fiona’s soft hair and told himself not to look for trouble. He had a beautiful, passionate wife, his father was changing for the better, the two halves of the Cameron family were together again, and he had the allies he had always hungered for. Life was good and he should simply sit back and enjoy it for a while. He closed his eyes, held Fiona close, and used his need for sleep to push away that faint tickle of forboding in the back of his mind.

  Chapter 17

  He should have heeded that pessimistic side of himself better, Ewan thought, as he stared at the poorly written message in his hand. Was it only last night that he had thought everything was so hopeful, that life was good? Now a ghost of the past had come creeping in to cast a shadow over it all.

  Helena had given him a child, or so it was claimed in the message. That child was now residing with an old couple in one of the small crofter homes scattered over his lands. It did not surprise him that Helena would abandon their child. The question was, why had it taken her so long to do so?

  Ewan left his ledger room to seek out Gregor. This sudden appearance of a child he had never been told about roused all of his suspicions. Helena was a Gray and had betrayed him once before. It was possible this was a trap, just another lie meant to draw him into danger.

  He found Gregor in his bedchamber preparing to have a tryst with one of the maids. After sending the girl away, Ewan looked at Gregor and shook his head. It might be time to try and put a stop to the use of the women who worked in the keep. If they were put out of reach, Gregor and the others would not be distracted from their work as often as they were.

  “Ye grow pious, Ewan,” said Gregor, smiling faintly at the look of disapproval upon Ewan’s face. “She was more than willing.”

  “I ken it,” replied Ewan. “Maisie is verra free with her favors. Tis why she has three bairns. Do ye mean to breed another bastard?” He realized his anger and worry had sharpened his voice when Gregor looked at him in surprise. “I have just received a message that causes me to be a little uneasy concerning the breeding of bastards.” He thrust the note at Gregor.

  A curse escaped Gregor as he read the message. “Do ye believe this?”

  “Nay and aye. There is a wee chance that she could have borne me a bairn. Spilling one’s seed upon the sheets doesnae always prevent a bairn.”

  “Then why did she ne’er tell ye? Why didnae she have it brought here? I cannae believe the Grays wanted your child about the place.”

  “Nay. If ’tis true, and if the child has spent the last—what?—seven years living amongst my enemies, one can only imagine how hard life was for him. In truth, one wonders why he wasnae killed at birth. The Grays see all MacFingals as vermin. I doubt his youth or the fact that he carried Helena’s blood, too, would stay their hand.”

  “So, ’tis a lie, a trap.”

  Ewan strode to the window in Gregor’s room and stared blindly out of it. “I fear so, yet I must be sure, aye? What if my child is at that cottage? I cannae just leave it alone now that the thought has been put into my head.”

  “Then send some men to go and collect the boy and bring him here,” Gregor suggested.

  “And present him to Fiona?”

  Gregor cursed again. “I cannae think she would be harsh to the lad or cause too much trouble o’er something that was done eight years ago.”

  “Yet?” Ewan asked, turning to look at Gregor again. “Therein lies the problem. Those many yets. She has heard about Helena so there isnae any need to hide an old affair. But a child? Women can behave oddly o’er the fact that their mon has given another woman a bairn. To us, ’tis but an error, e’en if we care for the child. But women can see it as so much more, as proof of some bond between the mon and that woman. Mayhap ye cannae recall all the arguments between Da and his wives, but I can. A bastard bred on another woman always seemed to them to be some grand insult, more of a one than the unfaithfulness that bred the child.”

  Gregor grimaced at the painful memories Ewan’s words aroused, then sighed. “Ye mean to go to this cottage yourself, dinnae ye.”

  “Aye. If ’tis a trap, I cannae knowingly send other men into it. If ’tis the truth, and Helena has left my son there, I must see him. I cannae really decide anything until I see the child and see if he is mine.”

  “Ah, but will ye be able to tell?”

  “MacFingals tend to breed true. E’en wee Ned, Mab’s lad, looks like a MacFingal despite his fair hair. Father kens it despite all of his muttering. I but need to decide how to do it, how to go yet nay fall into any trap that might be waiting for me.”

  “I will go with ye,” said Gregor even as he donned his boots. “If ’tis just the two of us, we can slip up to the cottage unseen and have a good look about to judge the danger. I ken the place, and there is cover aplenty for us to use as we approach. The trick will be in deciding just how far away we leave our mounts ere we begin our creeping.”

  Ewan nodded. “Aye, ’tis a plan and that was what I needed. I seemed unable to come up with one the moment the idea of a child got stuck in my mind.”

  Gregor clapped him on the back as they started out of his room. “We will sort this out. Of course, if there is a child of yours there, explaining it to Fiona is in your hands.”

  And that, Ewan decided, was what troubled him more than anything else. Instinct and knowledge told him Fiona would accept his child, care for it, and not give him too much trouble over the results of such an old affair. They were not strong enough to completely banish his fears, however. He worried that this could cause some breach between them, stir up a chill that would rob his marriage of all warmth.

  Shaking aside all of those concerns, he concentrated on getting out of Scarglas without a half-dozen armed men trailing him and Gregor. If there was a trap waiting for him, the Grays would be watching for just such a group of men as no MacFingal traveled without such an escort. After feinting a ride to the village to add veracity to the lie he had told the others, he and Gregor turned their mounts the moment they felt they could do so unseen. Once they had reached the woods, he relaxed, knowing that even the men in the watchtowers would not be able to see them if they stayed within the shadows.

  They were a goodly distance away from the cottage when they decided to dismount and continue on foot. He and Gregor crept through the wood and slipped across clearings with a skill Ewan knew would have had his father smiling with gleeful pride. They finally halted, using a crumbling stone wall as a shield to closely watch the cottage.

  “I see nothing,” said Gregor. “Saw nothing all the way here, either.”

  “Nor did I, and the Grays have ne’er been that good at hiding,” said Ewan.

  “Nay, and if they were hiding weel enough for us to miss them, we would be dead or captured by now.”

  Ewan tensed as a stooped, white-haired man came out of the cottage. He left the door wide open behind him, and Ewan could see no men within. It was such a small cottage that they would have been easily spotted for there were no rooms for them to lurk in, only one large room and a sleeping nook. This particular cottage had no loft for them to hide in, either.

  “Old Robbie doesnae act as if there is anyt
hing wrong, and I dinnae see anyone but the old woman inside. I think there is a child seated by the table, but ’tis too dark to be certain,” said Gregor. “Do we wait awhile longer or go?”

  “Go. There is no one here but Old Robbie and his wife.” Ewan stood up, but hesitated.

  “Changed your mind?”

  “Nay, I have to go, dinnae I? I was but preparing myself. The problem is, I would rather there wasnae a child, yet now that the idea has been set in my head, I think I might be disappointed if there isnae.”

  “I think I understand.” Gregor stepped over the wall and started toward the cottage. “There is only one way to settle the matter.” He hailed Old Robbie as he approached the man.

  Ewan took a deep breath to steady himself and followed Gregor. The moment he greeted the old man, Ewan felt his stomach clench with nervous anticipation. Old Robbie looked at him once and nodded as if a question had just been answered. Ewan knew that question had concerned the parentage of the child within the cottage. Stiffening his spine, he followed the old man into the cottage.

  “There he be,” said Old Robbie, pointing a gnarled, dirty finger toward a small boy sitting at a table eating an oatcake.

  One look was all it took and Ewan inwardly cursed. He moved to the table and sat down on the bench opposite the boy. His eyes stared back at him out of a face that held Helena’s beauty yet enough of his own features to keep the boy from looking too pretty. Thick black hair hung past the child’s thin shoulders, further marking him as a MacFingal.

  A wealth of emotions stormed through Ewan, and he gladly accepted the tankard of ale Old Robbie set in front of him, quickly taking a deep drink to try and calm himself. There was rage, strong and hot, and born of Helena’s lies. She should have told him about the child, should have sent the boy to him years ago. Now this child was over seven years old and stared at him with a wariness that made Ewan’s heart hurt. There was also a softness welling up as he looked at this child born of his seed, as much a part of him as his arm or leg. Underneath it all was worry. How could he tell Fiona? How could he bring this child home?