Once Forbidden

by TERRI BRISBIN

"Yer a good lass, Anice. Dinna worry, all things have a way of working themselves out."

  "You are doing that voice again, Moira." She laughed at the frown on Moira's face. "Remember you have promised to teach me that before the bairn comes."

  "I will, Anice. Ye have plenty of time left afore that happens."

  "Do you need anything for Dougal before I go?"

  "Nay, I have what I need here. Remember to rest, Anice."

  "I will, Moira. I promise." Anice left and headed for the second floor and the unused chambers.

  "Liar." Moira's voice followed her up the stairs.

  * ~ * ~ *

  When Struan entered the sickroom, he found her kneeling before the hearth, staring into the flames. As in the past, he knew not to interrupt. The room seemed smoky to him, as if the fancy chimney didn't work. More smoke poured into the room than left it through the small opening. Yet, the ailing man on the bed did not seem to be bothered by it. When Struan could fight it no longer, he coughed.

  A few minutes later, the smoke began to clear and the flames died down. He shook his head in wonderment—he had watched the seer receive her "wisdom," as she called it, before, but it never ceased to amaze him. She sat back on her heels and opened her eyes, but she still gazed at the hearth.

  "Yer habit of sending yer sons away will haunt ye, Struan. Ye must deal with the problems of yer past afore they take over yer life and yer soul and destroy the verra thing ye seek to protect."

  "What do ye mean, Moira?"

  "Ye must decide which of yer sons is to lead the clan after ye and ye must stand by him and teach him. Sending them away just prolongs the trouble to come."

  "My sons? I have but one son and ye ken he is no' fit to lead the clan."

  Moira looked at him—looked through him—and smiled. "He haes his maither's eyes, but they are the color of yours. Ye can play out the charade, or acknowledge him afore the clan and gain their acceptance. The decision is yers. Think ye well upon it."

  A momentary flash of silver-gray cat's eyes intruded from his memory. He shook his head, trying in vain to stop the rest of the image from forming in his mind. The black flowing hair, the creamy white skin, the voluptuous figure that first caught his eye.

  Glynnis!

  He could see her again as she looked the day she arrived for her marriage to Dougal. A marriage arranged by the old laird to his cousin, she was his one true betrayal of Edana. Oh, he had his mistresses, as was his right, but he'd loved Glynnis. She died bearing her... their son all those years ago.

  He thought that no one had known the truth of it. Dougal had mourned her death and raised the child as his own—until eight years ago. But Edana had known somehow, had always known, she said as she revealed the boy's true parentage in a terrible argument. All in the solar heard it—Struan, Dougal, Sandy, and the boy.

  Dougal never suspected, but he'd reacted as any man faced with a son not of his own get—he'd turned from the boy in anger. The steward owed a duty to the laird and could not turn from that, so the boy bore the worst of it. He could still see Robert's face, his expression at the news that he was the natural son of the laird. Struan would regret to his dying day that he did not acknowledge the boy then and there. Robert waited for it, so did the others, but the words caught in his throat. But why?

  He sent the boy to the MacKillop for training as a steward. Sandy eventually went to England with King David. Edana was dead four years now. She forgave him his sin against her, she'd told him on her deathbed. But Dougal never did. The man's hatred simmered below the surface, ready to boil over at any moment. They never mentioned Robert or Glynnis. Dougal carried out his duties and Struan accepted the situation.

  Now, the boy returned.

  Dougal would have been furious at the thought of Robert taking over the duties he'd held, but he would not know now. He would most likely die before Robert arrived, without ever knowing the boy was even here.

  What would he be like? In spite of the fact that Duncan had sent reports and invited him to visit, Struan had not laid eyes on the boy since he left. He was a gangly thing, all legs and arms, back then. Thin, his manly growth yet to happen. What would he look like now? Would more of his mother's or father's features show through? The clan may know him without a word being spoken in his behalf.

  He was almost a year older than Sandy. Well, at least training him for a stewardship would keep him from expecting more than his due. As a natural son, he could inherit if Struan and the clan elders chose him, but that was unlikely since a legitimate heir lived and breathed.

  He glanced at the bed where Dougal lay dying. Struan now deeply regretted that he had never forced the issue between them into the open and had never explained his actions of the past to his steward, and his former friend.

  "Sometimes just saying the words out loud will help yer conscience."

  Moira, it sometimes seemed to him, could also read thoughts—or guilty minds.

  "It will do no good, Moira, he canna hear me."

  "Ye'd be surprised what he could hear, mayhap with his heart and no' his ears. If ye speak from yer heart."

  Struan ran his hands through his hair. So many years gone, so many kith and kin gone without time to speak from the heart.

  "Make yer peace with him as ye did with Edana. 'Tis time, Struan." Moira gathered her things together in a basket and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Struan walked to the bed and sat on the chair next to it. He leaned over and placed his hand on the other man's arm.

  "Dougal, old friend, I have some things to be telling ye."

  And the laird spoke from his heart for the first time in a long time.

  Chapter 4

  Breaking through the last barrier of trees that blocked his view, Robert reined in and dismounted his black stallion. Dunnedin lay before him, the village spread out to the other forest, the castle and keep in front of him.

  Eight years.

  Not a day passed in those years when he did not think about returning. He never knew why he wanted to return— there was nothing here waiting for him.

  Dougal made it clear the night of the argument that Robert was no longer his son. His actions in the next weeks were the proof—Dougal shunned him and threw his few meager belongings out of the room they shared in the keep. The insults were the worst. His chest tightened with the memories of the words flung at him in anger.

  Bastard son of a lying whore.

  At first, he thought it couldn't be true, the accusations about his mother, dead all those years. But the look on the laird's face and his lack of denial about his affair with Dougal's wife told the truth well enough.

  Robert remembered waiting, waiting for Struan to say more after admitting by default to his fathering Glynnis's child. He had held his breath, fisted his hands, and waited. The laird looked at his wife and legitimate son, and then at him.

  Please, please, please.

  He'd offered a silent prayer to the Almighty, one that He chose to ignore at the time. 'Twas not meant to be, then or now. Nothing in Struan's message even acknowledged their true relationship.

  And, of course, Robert couldn't forget that his half-brother had married the MacNab heiress and the marriage was about to bear fruit. There was no need in the clan for recognition of an additional son—an heir and another on the way protected the future of the MacKendimens.

  Robert pulled on the reins of his horse and began walking towards the castle gate. A rock sitting in the pit of his stomach told him that this was probably not a good idea, no matter how much time had passed. Well, if he was lucky, Dougal was beyond expressing his hatred.

  What about Struan? This had to grate on him—asking his true son to return to take over the duties of the man everyone in the clan thought was his father. Would anyone know the truth? How would he be treated now? Did they even know of the rank and power he held in the clan MacKillop? He may have started out as a steward, overseeing supplies for the castle, but his fighting and strategic abilitie
s soon led him to the higher role of castellan.

  Coming back to take over Dougal's duties was a step down for him and he knew that Duncan thought he did it only because of the family ties involved. He was not certain if Duncan had been told the truth about him or not. The only one at Dunbarton Keep who was privy to his side of the sad story was Ada. And she told no tales.

  "Come, Dubh, 'tis the dragging it out that makes it worse." He rubbed his stallion's nose and mounted in one jump. The horse snorted steam into the frigid winter air and pawed at the dirt. "They'll no' see Robert Mathieson, castellan of Dunbarton, walking into Dunnedin like a common beggar."

  He wrapped his heavy cloak and his pride around him and sat up straight. Taking a deep breath, Robert squeezed the horse's sides, urging him into action. He steeled himself to expect nothing from Struan or the clan. When his time of duty was over, he would return to the MacKillops and be welcomed.

  He did not need the MacKendimens.

  * ~ * ~ *

  Some of the faces looked familiar to him as he walked up the steps to the main floor. A few of the warriors, a few of the women. By now, Struan knew of his arrival. What would he say? What would he do? Once he arrived at the doorway to the great hall, Robert stopped and looked around the room. It looked the same. Oh, a few newer tapestries hung on the walls and freshly built tables and benches were set out near the raised dais. A woman's touch was apparent throughout the hall—surely the daughter-by-marriage had had a hand in this. Robert knew of Edana's death now four years past.

  His presence caused some whispering through the hall. Robert dropped his sack in the back of the hall and walked forward. He smiled at the curious as he passed them and strode confidently to the dais. The laird awaited him at the steps.

  His father.

  Struan looked no different from the last time he'd set eyes on him—tall, strong, with thick graying hair, weathered face. Eight years without change. Robert locked gazes with him and could not look away. Struan extended his hand in greeting and Robert grasped it with all his might.

  "Robert," Struan's voice seemed to quiver, "welcome back to Dunnedin."

  Not "Welcome home." So this was the way of it? Tension twisted his stomach. Robert should have known not to expect more.

  "Laird," he said, as he tilted his head in as much of a bow as he was ready to offer. "Ye look well."

  "Aye, lad, I am. But all those around me are failing."

  "So it would seem."

  "Come, Anice, meet Dougal's son." Struan said it seamlessly, no stutter, no hesitation. The pain tightened like a tourniquet around his heart. Dougal's son.

  He turned to watch the girl approach. Well, she was really a woman but her face looked so young. Vibrant red hair fell loosely around her shoulders, framing her pale face. Huge, fearful green eyes peered at him when she finally raised her face. She looked too young for the swollen belly she carried. Too young for the sadness that emanated from her. Too young for the fear she wore in her eyes. A wave of sympathy passed through him—mayhap the pregnancy was wearing on her?

  She reached him and Struan and stopped, just out of their reach. When he took a step closer to take her hand, she backed up a step. Another step, and she matched it in a bizarre backward dance. Finally, he nodded and smiled at the poor thing and waited for Struan to complete the introduction.

  "Anice, this is Robert Mathieson, Dougal's son." Struan looked at Robert and nodded to Anice. "This is my daughter-by-marriage, only daughter of the MacNab, the Lady Anice."

  The pain increased in his heart with every mention of Dougal and son but there was no end in sight.

  "Anice haes been here for five years and haes served the clan well."

  Struan smiled at the girl, who had lost even more color with the introduction and who did not look pleased at this turn of events.

  "Breeding haes been hard on her and, for her safety and the babe's, she canna carry on as she haes since yer faither was struck down."

  Ah, so 'twas the breeding that caused her problems. He smiled sympathetically at her; he had seen many women carrying bairns at Dunbarton and the problems that came with it. Anice turned away but not before he saw the tears forming, filling her eyes. For herself? The babe? This was stranger than he expected.

  "She haes prepared a room for ye and will assist ye in yer duties until ye have a feel for them yerself."

  Robert wanted to laugh. A "feel for them"? He knew a steward's duties like the back of his hand. He had trained and served for three years at Dunbarton, until the laird had recognized his greater abilities.

  "Anice, will ye show Robert the room ye chose and then take him to see Dougal?"

  The girl nodded at the laird and looked at him. Robert smiled at her, trying to lessen the strain, but it was for naught. "This way." Her voice was barely a whisper, as though she did not have the strength to get out more. He nodded and followed her lead.

  "Robert," the laird called out, "join me at table for the evening meal. And ye, too, Anice. Be at table." When he would have protested, Struan continued, "I want no argument from either of ye. Be here." Then Struan strode across the room and was gone.

  Robert turned back to Anice and gestured for her to go. Following her to the back of the hall, he picked up his bag and then continued behind her to the curving staircase leading up one of the towers. He hurried to her side and offered his arm for the climb, but she waved him off and gathered her skirts. She didn't want him there and refused his help, that much was plain to see. But why? They reached the third floor and she was puffing and blowing. He again held out his hand to her, but she backed away as fast as she could.

  "My lady, let me help ye." He offered his arm again.

  "Dinna call me that. I am no' yer lady. I am Anice." She backed up to the wall and looked near to fainting. He was tempted to pick her up and carry her, when her body relaxed a bit. After taking a few deep breaths, she spoke. "I beg your pardon, Robert. I would prefer to be called by my Christian name if you don't mind." Her voice was soft, with but a touch of Scottish lilt to it.

  "But ye are entitled to be called 'lady.'" He could not think of any woman who wouldn't want to be afforded all the privilege her rank of birth and marriage could give her.

  "Just Anice is fine. The clan knows my wishes and follows them. I would appreciate it if you could as well while you are with us."

  "As ye wish, my... Anice." She stepped away from the wall and went in the direction of the passageway. "If it is too difficult for ye to show me to my room, just tell me which chamber ye readied for me."

  "Nay, I am fine now." She rested her hand on her belly and moved it in a circular path over the mound. "When the babe moves, it is sometimes difficult to breathe. Here"—she pointed to a nearby door—"this is your room." She pushed open the door and let him enter.

  The chamber was spacious and, other than the huge bed, devoid of furnishings. A small hearth, an extravagance for Struan, was built into one corner and vented outside by a metal hood built into the wall over it. There were freshly woven rushes on the floor and he could smell herbs in the air. He threw his bag in an empty corner and took his heavy winter cloak off and hung it by the door.

  "I will have a chest and table brought in for you. I was not certain...." She paused.

  "Certain what?" He probed for an answer.

  "Where you would work. There is a small chamber on the main floor near the kitchen. That is where I keep the records and do most of my work. I was not certain if you would rather work here or there."

  "It would seem more efficient to work nearer to the supply rooms and kitchen. I will follow your example." She sounded as if she knew what she was doing. Usually the lady of the castle supervised in an advisory way, but Lady...Anice seemed to be a practiced steward.

  "Is this chamber to your satisfaction?" She wouldn't meet his glance—her eyes darted around the room from her position by the open door. He then noticed she had not even entered the room.

  "Aye, Anice, 'tis a fine room. Do y
e think ye could find me some clothes to put in that chest? I brought only what's in that bag, I'm afraid, and what's on my back."

  "We always have extra clothing available; I will find some for you." She paused and her gaze roamed over his body.

  Robert put his hands on his hips and turned once in a circle. When he faced Anice again, he saw the deep red hue spreading up her face. She was blushing! Well, 'twas a far better thing than looking so pale all the time.

  "Well, can ye tell my size now?" he teased her, smiling at her bashful expression.

  "Ye are almost the same size as Alex. There are still some things I made for him that should fit you."

  "Alex?"

  "He is... was... a distant relative who... ah... stayed here the summer before last. I'll look in the linen room to see what's there." She rubbed her hands on her tartan skirt and cleared her throat.

  "Whatever ye have will be fine with me. Beggars canna be choosy."

  "Do ye wish to see yer faither now?" She took a step back into the hallway.

  "Aye. But, ye dinna have to take me, just tell me the way."

  "He is in the sickroom on the floor below us. Turn into the right-hand corridor and it is the third door on your left."

  "Thank ye, my... Anice, for all of this." Robert gestured at the warm, clean room.

  "It was no problem, Robert. I hope your stay is a good one for you."

  "Ah, Anice?" He didn't want her to go. She had changed before his eyes from a scared child to a capable woman. Who else could she be? "Would it be possible to get some food and drink afore the evening meal? I have been on the road most of the day wi'out breaking my fast."

  "Oh, Robert," she gasped. "I completely forgot to offer you some refreshments. Please, pardon me while I see to them."

  She started to leave so he grabbed her arm to keep her. The tensing of her whole body in reaction to his grasp surprised him into releasing her. She shook off his touch like a dog shaking off water after a swim in the loch. As she stepped away, she pulled her heavy shawl around her shoulders in a protective motion.