“Granda?”
“Aye. His name is Gregor MacLeod. He’s the most powerful laird in all the Highlands and you are his first grandson.”
“Oh. I can hardly wait to tell Old Mungo. He said he has twenty grandbairn, and if I wanted, I could call him granda too. I willna have to, if I have my own. But…”
“But what, Ewan?”
“If he’s my granda, then who are you?”
Emotion welled in Gavin’s chest again, and he had to swallow several times to loosen his throat before answering. Still, his voice rasped. “My name is Gavin Owen Ailbeart MacKinnon. I haven’t seen you since you were almost two, lad, but I’ve thought about you every single day since then. You used to laugh when I tossed you in the air and pretended to drop you. And you’d always sit beside me when we supped.”
He took a deep breath, gently grasped his son’s hand, and looked him in his eyes. “Ewan, you may not remember me, but I’m your da.”
Three
“Where are your shoes?”
Deirdre shifted her gaze to Gavin’s as she hurried along the passageway to where he waited for her at the top of the stairs. She held a full leather satchel in one arm and Ewan in the other.
She’d packed and dressed them both in record time, remembering to grab Ewan’s favorite toy horse from where he’d left it on her bed, but not much else. Everything was a blur. Her hair hung loose, as she hadn’t had time to braid it, and she hadn’t remembered to take a ribbon to tie it back, let alone a hairbrush.
Or, apparently, her shoes.
She glanced down at her bare toes poking out from beneath her arisaid. “Not on my feet.”
He didn’t smile, and she wanted to kick herself for speaking so inanely.
“I suggest you get them before we leave.” His words were clipped, the tone neutral, as if he was trying to manage his ire. For Ewan’s sake, no doubt. Certainly not hers.
He reached out suddenly, and she flinched. An automatic response. His eyes widened at her reaction, but instead of his hand landing across her cheek, he lifted her son effortlessly into his arms, tight but not too tight, and stroked a hand up and down his back.
Ewan looked startled, but he also settled into Gavin like he’d never forgotten him. As if his body and heart remembered how it felt to be in his da’s arms, even if his mind didn’t.
When Gavin pressed a kiss to his head, a lump formed in Deirdre’s throat. She didn’t know what had happened or how Lewis had gotten Ewan, but she could see that Gavin had missed him.
She could also see how angry he was—at her. She may yet find herself at the end of his sword. Or thrown down a gulley during their ride to his castle.
“Deirdre.”
“Aye?”
“Get. Your. Shoes. We’ll wait for you.”
She hesitated, afraid to let Ewan out of her sight for even one second. What if Gavin was lying, and he ran with her son once Deirdre was gone? He doesn’t need to lie to me to do that. Go!
She sprinted back toward her room. Ewan cried out, and she heard Gavin calming him.
A torch burned in the sconce on the wall in her bedchamber, but she still squinted as she searched for her shoes. She finally found them on opposite sides of the bed where Ewan had been walking around in them. She grabbed one in each hand and was running out when she spotted her hairbrush and quickly snagged it too.
Gavin saw her coming and turned to go down to the great hall before she got there, but Ewan let out another shriek, reaching for her. The MacKinnon laird stopped and waited until she was beside him, then wrapped his other hand firmly around her upper arm. Ewan stretched his hand across Gavin’s shoulders and held tightly to a lock of Deirdre’s hair. The strands tugged, and she winced, but she didn’t pull away. She was glad her son wanted her close. Maybe Gavin MacKinnon would show her mercy for Ewan’s sake.
They hurried down the stairs and across the open area toward the outside door. She felt immense relief to be going with them to Clan MacKinnon. If Ewan had been taken from her tonight, she didn’t know how she would have survived. And he would have been devastated. She would stay by his side as long as possible—despite the fear for her own safety.
Maybe she could petition Gregor MacLeod to intervene in some way. Everyone said he was a good, just man. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. All she’d done was love a boy she’d been told was her husband’s son.
Gavin shouldered open the door, and the brisk morning air washed over her face, making her realize her cheeks were wet. She scrubbed the tears away with the back of her hand, not wanting to upset Ewan further.
The sun was just cresting the horizon, and not one cloud marked the brightening sky, promising a beautiful spring day. Once she was in the wagon, she would have time to think, to plan how she could win over Gregor MacLeod.
And maybe Gavin MacKinnon too.
If they kept her alive, she could stay at Clan MacKinnon for as long as Ewan needed her. Her husband wouldn’t care. Truth be told, if no one told him, it might take him months to notice she was gone. When he was at home, Lewis MacIntyre was kind and respectful, and she enjoyed their games of chess, but their marriage wasn’t a real marriage. Still, living with him was better than where she had grown up. For that, she was grateful.
And for Ewan too.
Gavin tugged her down the stairs to the bailey, where four men—including the big, dark-haired one named Kerr MacAlister—stood with the horses. In the distance, two men rode toward the raised portcullis and lowered drawbridge. How had they breached her home? She’d thought herself safe behind her walls, but obviously these warriors knew how to invade a castle—moat or not.
Not that her small, crumbling keep could be called a castle.
Kerr looked up at Gavin. “I’ve sent Sorley and Greer to Clan MacLean with the news that we’ve found Ewan—and who had him. Callum will send riders out, and the lads and Gregor will arrive with their forces in no time.”
“Forces?” Deirdre squeaked. “We’re a small household. We’ve barely any guards. The men and women here are farmers and crafters.” Were her people going to suffer for her supposed sins as well?
“Nay, not here,” Kerr said. “At Clan MacKinnon.” Then he took her bag and shoes and proceeded to transfer her belongings into his saddlebags, which were already full. When he came across Ewan’s toy, Kerr pranced it over to him, huffing and neighing like a horse.
Her son laughed, and Deirdre couldn’t help smiling too—albeit a watery smile—her first since she’d hugged Ewan yesterday upon her arrival. But then Kerr pulled out her hairbrush from the bag. He tried several ways to fit it into his saddlebags. When it didn’t work, he gave up and tossed the brush onto the steps. Her smile dropped.
“No room,” he said. “You can use one of Isobel’s combs when you get there.”
She stared at her brush, wanting to reach for it. A strong woman would pick it up and find a way to shove it in his saddlebags—or elsewhere. But she didn’t move.
“What did you say?” Gavin asked.
She glanced up at him, startled. “I said naught.” Surely, she hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Aye, you did. I heard something.”
“Of course she did,” Kerr said with a grin. “She’s a MacAlister. We ne’er keep our emotions to ourselves.”
Deirdre stared at the huge man. He had slanting eyebrows and the fierce eyes of a hawk, although the color was dark like a merlin. Surely, he was daft.
“Did you not know that your great-grandmother was a MacAlister?” he asked. “We’re cousins, Deirdre. Several times removed, but still cousins.”
“I’ve ne’er heard this. But I haven’t seen my family in seven years, other than one visit from my brother. We did not talk about our ancestry. But if…” She trailed off, as she was prone to do. She’d learned as a girl it was safer to keep her impertinent thoughts to herself.
“If what?” Kerr asked, one eyebrow raising.
She shook her head and felt the heat sweep up her cheeks. She’d been about to say, but if we had spoken about our relatives, we wouldnae have discussed the scoundrels and black sheep among them.
How could she have been so addlepated? Men like Gavin MacKinnon and Kerr MacAlister did not want to hear her opinions.
Kerr rested his hand on the back of his horse, and Gavin turned to face her.
“Oh, come now,” Kerr said. “You canna start like that and then just stop. There are rules.”
“Rules?” she asked, her brow raising.
“Aye, rules of engagement, and I doona speak of war. What were you going to say? I’ll let you pack your hairbrush if you tell me.”
She looked at the brush, a keen yearning for it almost breaking her silence. But nothing was worth being left behind if by chance she offended him.
She dropped her eyes. “’Twas naught. I only meant to say that if we had spoken about our relationship to Clan MacAlister, it would have been with great respect and pleasure.”
Gavin rolled his eyes as Kerr snorted.
“A bad liar too,” Gavin said. “Also a trait of the MacAlisters.”
It was a jest, but Deirdre could hear the edge to his words. Aye, Gavin was only half teasing, and he wasn’t speaking of his foster brother.
Kerr laughed as he checked the straps of the saddlebags on his huge black stallion. She looked around for the wagon she and Ewan would ride in but didn’t see one. Alarm grew in her as Gavin put an excited Ewan on his stallion. He showed the lad how to pat the horse’s neck and rub between his ears. “His name is Thor, after the Norse god of war. We’re descended from the Vikings who invaded these lands hundreds of years ago.”
“Where’s the wagon?” she asked.
Gavin looked over his shoulder at her. “You’ll ride with Kerr. Ewan stays with me.”
His words echoed in her ears. He’s only a wee boy! Concern made her heart pound and warred with her need to placate the warrior. “But…my son’s ne’er ridden. He doesn’t know how. He could get hurt.”
“My son!” Gavin didn’t raise the pitch or volume of his voice, but he spoke forcefully, and everyone, including Ewan, stopped what they were doing and looked at him. “Ewan will know how to ride soon enough, and he willna fall, because I’ll have ahold of him.”
“Well, what about when he’s tired?” Deirdre asked, unable to let it go despite Gavin’s glower. “And sore? Surely you canna mean to make a young boy ride for hours on end his first time?”
“When he’s tired, we’ll stop, or I’ll hold him. The lad has more resilience than you think.”
“Mama, I can do it. Thor is a bonnie horse.”
The great, gray beast looked at her—a stallion trained for war—and she shivered.
Kerr mounted his black stallion and reached for her. “Come, Cousin. A wagon isna an option. ’Tis too slow. We need the speed and agility of horses.”
“I’m to go behind you?” she asked.
“Aye. You’ll hold on.”
“But how—”
“’Tis now or never, Deirdre,” Gavin said. She could hear his patience wearing thin.
She placed her hand tentatively in Kerr’s, expecting him to lift her gently, but he yanked her up toward the horse. She yelped in shock, her arms and legs flying, and the stallion shifted its weight from side to side in alarm. Terror gripped her as old fears from her childhood surfaced.
She was on her belly across the beast’s arse, and Kerr kept pulling on the arm she was trying to wrap around the stallion so she wouldn’t fall off.
“Christ almighty! Hold on to me, not the bloody horse.” Kerr pulled her upward again, and this time, she grabbed on to his waist as she began to fall over the other side. “Sit up, Deirdre. Swing your leg o’er his hindquarters.”
“His tail is in the way. He’ll kick,” she wailed.
“Aye, if you knee him in the bloody arsehole, he will.”
Finally, she got her leg over and wrapped her arms around Kerr’s waist in a stranglehold. “Thank the bloody saints,” he said as he urged the horse toward the portcullis, catching up with the others—Gavin and Ewan on Thor and three other men. Ewan watched them anxiously over Gavin’s shoulder.
“You havenae any imagination,” she said, speaking through gritted teeth as her bottom slid toward the back end of the horse with every step.
“What does that mean?”
“Everything you say is bloody this and bloody that! Canna you think of anything other than gore and carnage?”
“Nay. I like gore and carnage.”
“Another trait of the bloody MacAlisters, no doubt.”
“Aye, Cousin,” Kerr laughed as they rode under the portcullis and over the rickety drawbridge. The horse picked up speed, racing for the field. “It’s in our blood!”
* * *
A high-pitched yelp—followed by Kerr’s cursing—reached Gavin’s ears as they galloped across the open field from Deirdre’s keep. He looked over his shoulder in time to see his foster brother rein in his stallion and try to catch Deirdre before she tumbled off the back of his horse. He failed miserably, and Deirdre hit the grass hard at an awkward angle, her ankle rolling beneath her.
Gavin covered Ewan’s ears, then whistled to his men. The two in front, Clyde and Lorne, took up defensive positions. His third man, Sheamais, positioned himself in the rear. Gavin didn’t think they were in any danger from Deirdre’s household—not one of the men knew how to fight—but they were still within range of an archer.
“Mama!” Ewan yelled, and he squirmed so fast that Gavin lost hold of him. The lad tumbled over the side of the big horse. Gavin tried to grab him, but missed, and Ewan almost got stepped on. Before he could blink, the boy was up and running toward Deirdre.
When Gavin saw that Ewan was safely in her arms, he breathed a sigh of relief and then couldn’t help grinning. “He’s fearless,” he said to Kerr.
Kerr grinned back. “Like a wee monkey.”
Deirdre glared at them, obviously neither proud nor amused. She was as mad as a badger dug out from its den in the middle of the day. But he preferred her this way than when she dropped her eyes to the ground.
He wanted to fight with her.
Gavin dismounted, and after commanding his mount to wait, he strode toward Ewan and Deirdre.
“You said you’d hold him. You said he wouldnae fall,” she yelled, eyes flashing. “He was almost stomped by your great beast of a horse!”
Gavin rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. On second thought, maybe a little meekness wouldn’t be amiss. “He’s fast. And slippery.”
“He’s a boy, not a fish.” She pushed herself to her bare feet, holding tight onto Ewan and favoring one foot.
Gavin scowled. “I know that.” He crouched on the ground and picked up the foot she’d twisted.
She tried to pull it away, but he slid his hand to her calf and held tight, trying to ignore how soft her skin was. And cold. Why the hell wasn’t she wearing her shoes?
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.
“Making sure it’s not broken.” He rotated her foot and then squeezed down to her toes. She moaned softly, and he looked up to see she’d pressed her lips together as if to hold in any further sound. “It’ll heal,” he pronounced, then yelled, “Kerr!”
“I’m right here,” his foster brother said from behind him, sounding surprised. And no wonder. The first thing Gregor had taught them was always to be aware of their surroundings, including the positions of all the people.
He repressed an irritated sigh. “Can you bring her shoes?”
“Aye.” Kerr’s footsteps receded as he retreated to his horse.
“I can put them on myself,” she said, trying t
o tug her foot away again.
“Apparently not, or you would have done so already.”
“And when would that have been? When you were dragging me down the stairs? Or when—”
She stopped talking suddenly, and he jerked his chin up to see her lips were squeezed tight like before, but not from pain this time. Nay, she was desperately trying to swallow her words. And strangely enough, that irritated him too.
“You could have put them on in your bedchamber before you came out. I gave you my word we wouldnae leave without you, and I meant it. I will ne’er lie to you, Deirdre. You willna always like what I have to say, but ’twill always be truthful.”
One of her shoes landed beside him on the grass, then the other, Kerr tossing them from his horse. He saw Deirdre’s eyes flash as a clod of dirt flew up from the impact and hit Ewan’s cheek. Ewan ignored it, which pleased Gavin. The lad would be taught to lead, and he couldn’t do that without learning to fight—and getting hurt and dirty in the process. Gavin and his foster brothers were some of the best fighters in the Highlands. They hadn’t achieved that level of skill by shying away from a little mud or pain.
He pushed her sore foot into the boot and tied it tightly in place to help reduce the swelling. She never made a sound, even though it must have hurt. “Keep that on for the next few days unless you’re bathing. Cold water will be good for it.”
When he rose, he lifted Ewan into his arms—the same position he’d always carried him in before. He loved how his son relaxed against his shoulder—unless Deirdre was out of sight or in distress. Then Ewan tensed and struggled to get down. Which could be a problem. Once his son was comfortable in his true home, Gavin intended to return Deirdre to her family. She wasn’t in danger while she was with the MacKinnons, but she also wasn’t an honored guest.
Highland Captive Page 4