Highland Captive Page 9

  “He’s well,” Isobel said. “He broke his fast with Gavin and Kerr, and now they’re outside in the bailey, kicking around a ball. That was a favorite sport of Gavin’s when he was younger.”

  Isobel moved to a side table and poured some mead from a pitcher into a cup. “Gavin had all kinds of toys made for Ewan when he first disappeared, thinking he’d find him right away. But then winter came upon us, making travel more difficult, and all our leads turned out to be false. ’Twas a desperate, worrying time.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Deirdre said faintly. Isobel placed the filled cup on a tray beside a steaming bowl of oats and an apple and carried it toward her. Deirdre pulled the quilt up higher, trying to hide behind it. Isobel would surely take one look at her dirty face, smell the horse on her, then pinch her nose, make a face, and leave.

  “Gavin lost himself in whisky for a while, but fortunately, with the help of Gregor and his foster brothers, he stopped drinking so much. Kerr especially stayed close, keeping an eye on him, which was both a blessing and a curse.” She sat down on the side of the bed beside Deirdre. “I know he’s your cousin, but he’s a most annoying man.”

  Deirdre scooted a little farther away and tried to smooth her tangled hair with her fingers. “He is annoying—he took my hairbrush. And I only just met him, cousin or not.”

  “He took it?” Isobel asked indignantly.

  “Aye, he pulled it from my bag and tossed it on the steps of my keep. He said I could have it only if I told him what was running through my mind.”

  “Well, I hope you told him in great, colorful detail!” A frown marred Isobel’s beautiful face.

  “Nay! I didn’t want to aggravate him.”

  “Och! That one likes to be aggravated. The louder he gets the happier he is. ’Tis when he’s quiet that you have to worry.”

  “He wasn’t quiet last night, and he and Gavin almost came to blows. And you right in the middle of them! I was worried they would strike you.”

  “Strike me? Nay. Although they’d yell at me, no doubt. And they’ve both threatened to lock me in my bedchamber from time to time, but the consequences for that would be to the heavens and back.”

  “Consequences? You mean…from you?” Deirdre asked.

  “Aye. Who did you think I meant?”

  “I don’t know. But…”

  “But?”

  “Well, surely they’re bigger than you. And stronger.”

  “Aye, but I’m meaner.” Isobel grinned wickedly. “I’d strike when they’d least expect it, and I’m verra creative. No one wants to be on my bad side.”

  Deirdre gazed at her, unable to comprehend exactly what Isobel was saying. “So you would take your revenge—deliberately hurt them or bother them in some way—and they would…allow it?”

  Confusion replaced Isobel’s grin, a feeling Deirdre could understand. “Well, yes, except…what do you mean ‘allow it’?”

  Heat prickled Deirdre’s chest and rose up her cheeks. She had to force the words out. “I canna imagine that they wouldnae beat you for…disobeying them.”

  Isobel’s eyes grew wide. She clasped Deirdre’s hand—the only part of her body that had been thoroughly washed since she’d left her keep days ago. “Is that what happened to you? Did your husband beat you to keep you in line?”

  Deirdre’s brows shot up. “Nay! Lewis would ne’er hurt a fly. He’s a kind, gentle soul. And I thank the saints every day that I was sent to him.”

  “His father, then? I’ve heard he’s a cruel man.”

  Deirdre squirmed, wishing she’d never started this inane conversation, especially as she hardly knew Isobel. “I met his father when we were married, but not since then.” She tugged her hand free of Isobel’s grasp, grabbed her food tray, and began spooning the oatmeal into her mouth—without tasting it, without thought—something she hadn’t done for years.

  Her mother’s voice sounded sharply in her head. Shove the food in a little faster, Deirdre. It’ll go to your chest and your hips that much quicker.

  She closed her eyes and forced the spoon down. When she opened them, she saw realization had dawned on Isobel’s face. “’Twas your family, then. I’m so sor—”

  “Doona be sorry for me. I haven’t seen my family in seven years. Other than my brother, when he came to visit, but Lewis said something or did something, and Boyd left the next day. I was glad to see the back of him. He’s a degenerate.” Deirdre slowly put the bowl back on the tray and took a deep breath.

  Isobel stared at her, her mouth opening and closing several times, obviously wanting to talk about it. Finally, she said, “It’s a lovely day, maybe we could take Ewan to the loch for a picnic later on. He used to love going there when he was younger. I used to toddle in the water with him, and Gavin would put him on his shoulders and cross right to the island that lies a little way out.”

  “Aye, that sounds lovely.” Deirdre sounded stilted, even to her own ears. “Ewan loves getting wet—and getting me wet along with him.”

  “How long have you had him, then?” Isobel asked, looking her right in the eye.

  Deirdre wanted to look away, to claim that she was Ewan’s birth mother, but Isobel didn’t even blink, and the weight of her expectations held Deirdre in place. Tears gathered and slowly ran down her face. Aye, there was to be a reckoning. She couldn’t protect anyone anymore, let alone herself or her son.

  “Two years last fall,” she whispered.

  “Did Lewis bring him home to you?”

  “Aye.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Her throat had tightened, and the muscles in her face jerked in response to her grief, knowing that with this one conversation she was relinquishing her son. The corners of her mouth pulled downward, and her chin quivered. “That Ewan was his bastard, and I was to raise him as my own.”

  “And he told you the bairn’s name was Ewan? You didn’t give him that name yourself?”

  “Nay, he came to me as Ewan.”

  “Do you remember exactly when that was?”

  She nodded jerkily. “The fifteenth day of September. I didn’t know his exact age or day of birth, and neither did Lewis, so I decided his birthday would be the day he was given to me. He’s four now, isn’t he?”

  “Aye. And his birthday is November first—All Saints’ Day. You didn’t find it odd that your husband knew not the day of his son’s birth?”

  “He said he wasn’t there when Ewan was born and that Ewan’s mother had recently died. I was to be his mother now, so it was my decision.” She covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the sobs that erupted from deep within her. But she’d been holding in so much for so long, and the pain of it curled her over. “And I was just so happy to have a bairn. To love and be loved. He curled right into my arms, and he’s been there e’er since.”

  Isobel wrapped her arm around Deirdre’s back and pulled her close. “Och, love. Doona cry. Something will be arranged. I doona know what exactly, but none of us will take Ewan away from you.”

  Deirdre sat up, both hands now pressed tight against her mouth. She tried to slow her breathing, to swallow her sobs. Finally, she lowered her hands. Isobel’s cheeks were wet too, and it somehow made it easier to know someone else felt her pain. That had never happened to her before.

  “You’re a kind woman, Isobel, and I thank you for your help. And for Kerr’s as well, no matter how annoying he might be. But ’tis Gavin’s decision, and he’ll do what he thinks best for Ewan, as is his right.”

  “Aye. But doona despair, Deirdre. You’ve only just arrived. And soon, Gregor and the rest of Gavin’s foster brothers will be here, and none of them will want to see you separated from Ewan either.”

  She nodded and forced a smile, but her hope waned with every passing moment.

  Isobel brushed a strand of hair back from Deirdre’s cheek and
tucked it behind her ear. “That’s the smile. None of my brother’s foster family will be able to resist that, whether they’re married or not. So tragic and beautiful.”

  Deirdre’s eyes jumped to Isobel’s, expecting to see mockery and scorn, but Isobel’s face held none of that. If anything, she looked a little…envious? Nay, that couldn’t be right. She had nothing to be envious of.

  Deirdre didn’t even have her son.

  She heard a laugh outside and recognized it immediately. Ewan. And then she heard someone else laugh—a man. She didn’t know who it was, but when she turned to Isobel, a beaming smile had lit up her face.

  “That’s Gavin,” Isobel said. “I haven’t heard him laugh like that since Ewan was taken.”

  She hugged Deirdre tightly, and Deirdre could do nothing to shield herself; she had nowhere to hide her soft, rounded body.

  “Thank God for you, Deirdre MacIntyre. You’ve brought my nephew and my brother back to me.” Isobel jumped up with a grin and strode to the door. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting a bath—and a hairbrush. I’ll send some of the lasses up with a tub and some steaming hot water. You deserve it after all you’ve been through. And I’ll see what I can do about getting some new shifts and dresses for you. I’d give you some of mine, but unfortunately, I doona have your curves. God must have thought it a grand jest to bless me with the body of a fourteen-year-old lad. A jest on my future husband too.”

  She stopped at the door and looked back at Deirdre, who felt like her eyes might pop out of their sockets. How could Isobel say that? Deirdre would kill to be as long and lean as she was—and as Deirdre’s mother and sisters were.

  “’Tis a shame you’re already married,” Isobel continued. “I canna imagine my brother would be able to resist you for long otherwise. ’Tis a heady combination.”

  Deirdre scrunched up her brow, confused. “Surely, you’re a daft lass, Isobel MacKinnon. I doona understand a word you just said. What combination are you talking about?”

  Isobel laughed and shook her head. “You havenae any idea, do you?”

  “About what?” Now she was just annoyed. She threw back the covers and rose from the bed, frowning at the blond beauty.

  “About you, sweetling. Look at you—the face of an angel, the body of a siren, and the heart of a saint—with a wee bit of the devil thrown in too, I think. And you love my brother’s son to the ends of the earth and back. How could any man resist that? Gavin may kill your thieving husband for taking Ewan, but in a corner of his heart, he may also kill him for you.”

  Seven

  “Did you sleep last night?” Kerr asked.

  Gavin glanced up from where he leaned, his forearms on the top rail of the corral that penned in the five baby goats—and one baby Ewan. The mother had sickened when the kids were too young to care for themselves, and they’d been brought into the stable to keep warm and safe. Now they were thriving—just like his son. Aye, the similarities weren’t lost on Gavin.

  “Not much. I returned Ewan to the nursery four times.”

  Kerr’s brows raised. “He escaped that often?”

  “Nay, I didn’t try to stop him from leaving after the first time. He’d wake, sometimes we’d talk for a while, even play for a bit, but then he’d always run for Deirdre.”

  “And what did she do?”

  He shrugged. “She was waiting for him when he came down, and she held him by the fire until he fell asleep. I suppose she couldnae sleep either.”

  “She didn’t break her fast this morning, so she must have slept eventually.”

  Gavin rolled his neck on his shoulders. He didn’t want to talk about this with Kerr. “The last time Ewan came down, she fell asleep holding him.”

  “In the chair? That couldnae have been comfortable.”

  “I…transferred her to the bed after I put Ewan down. ’Twas naught. She weighs no more than a lass.”

  Kerr slowly turned his head to look at him. Gavin refused to look back. After a moment, Kerr returned his attention to Ewan playing with the baby goats, but his fingers tapped on the wooden post. Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before Kerr brought it up again.

  And he didn’t want to share that time spent with Deirdre—in front of the fire as she held his son—with anyone. The castle had been quiet, everyone but the guards asleep, and the time with her had been intimate. Peaceful.

  And that had bothered him.

  Deirdre’s life was anything but peaceful right now. He’d come into her keep during the dark of night and shredded her existence to pieces—and it would only get worse once he’d sent her away and gone to war with her clans. She’d have no one. No husband, no child, no means of support if the MacIntyres cut her off or the MacColls refused to take her back.

  He’d do his best to take care of her physical needs, and Kerr too, by the sounds of it, but she would lose all the wealth and status she’d had as the next lady of Clan MacIntyre.

  And he knew how important that was to a woman like her, a woman bred to be a laird’s wife, with few other skills.

  Isobel would deny it, but it was no different with her. Gavin hadn’t even thought about it until meeting his foster brothers’ wives. Until he’d seen how Amber and Maggie in particular had bucked tradition and could take care of themselves. Caitlin too, with her knowledge of animals and farming.

  He sighed. “Do you think we should teach Isobel how to fight?”

  Kerr’s mouth flattened. “Nay.”

  “I’m not talking about daggers or a bow like Maggie wields, but if she had some skill in self-defense, like Amber, she would be safer.”

  “Why are we talking about Isobel when you’re thinking about Deirdre?”

  Now it was Gavin’s turn to flatten his mouth. “I am not thinking of Deirdre.”

  “Aye, you are. And how could you not? She’s a lovely lass, and you have the power to break her or save her. That’s about as basic as it gets for a man.”

  Gavin huffed in exasperation. “You’ve been in the sun for too long. Your brain has been cooked like a steaming pile of oats—mushy and stuck together like glue.”

  “Nay, I just doona romanticize things the way you do.”

  “My feelings for her are not romantic.”

  “In that we agree. They’re mostly angry, but deep down you feel the pull toward her—whether she’s married or not.”

  “The only pull I feel is the need to get her out of Ewan’s life. You weren’t there at the gathering, Kerr. You didn’t see the fear and panic in her eyes. She knew what I’d lost and still couldn’t get away fast enough to go back and hide Ewan from me.”

  “Aye, Gavin. Fear and panic. Listen to your own words. You said that you were rude to her, and you behaved aggressively.”

  “I did not!”

  “You used crude, cruel words, by your own admission, and I can only assume that your tone was the same. She had the right to protect her son.”

  “Not from me she didn’t. And he’s my son.”

  “And how was she to know that?”

  “She only had to look at my face, in my eyes, and she would know.”

  “Nay, I meant how was she to know that she didn’t need to protect Ewan from you? You were harsh and unkind. What kind of mother would she be if she let that kind of man anywhere near her son?”

  “Are you saying I’m unfit to be Ewan’s father?”

  “I’m saying that you have a well of rage within you—and you have e’er since you married Cristel—that you haven’t let go. Unless you can accept what happened and move on, your son will either be corrupted by it, as you have been, or he will grow to hate you for it, as I did my father. Let it go, Gavin, and find a way to keep Deirdre in his life instead of punishing her. Punishing them both.”

  “I am nothing like your father!”

  “Nay, you’re not. But you’re also no
t like your old self either. Or your father. Or Gregor.”

  The blood pounded in Gavin’s veins. That tight, hot feeling invaded his chest, throbbed in his temples, and burned his ears. He’d spent all last night and this morning taking care of his son, playing with him. And then Kerr gives him a lecture about being a better man?

  “She took my son. She ran from me.”

  “Someone else took your son. She loved and protected him—from others as well as from you.”

  Gavin’s lips pulled back from his teeth in an angry grimace as he turned on Kerr…just as Ewan called out, “Mama!” and ran toward him. His son reached his arms up for him, wanting to get out of the pen. Schooling his expression, Gavin lifted Ewan from the enclosure. The lad immediately squirmed to get down, but Gavin held him tight as he turned around to see Deirdre and Isobel descending the stairs from the keep.

  Kerr let out a low whistle, then moved forward. Isobel saw him coming and glowered. He held his hands out to the sides and continued walking. “Keep frowning, dearling. It just makes it that much sweeter when I finally make you smile.”

  Deirdre’s lips tipped up proportionately to how much Isobel’s brow furrowed. They were opposite in every way—small and curved versus tall and slender; dark and fair-skinned versus blond and tanned; soft, gray eyes that drew you in versus sea-green eyes that startled you with their vividness.

  Gavin understood why his sister was a renowned beauty, but it was Deirdre’s long, dark locks and fair skin that he couldn’t stop wanting to touch—and the rest of her, despite his seething anger at her actions. Aye, his fingers itched to caress the lush curves of her body. His hands wanted to palm that rounded arse as he—

  “I want Mama!” Ewan screamed in his ear, shattering not only Gavin’s fantasy, but quite possibly his eardrum as well, and he realized how tightly he’d been squeezing his son.

  “Aye, lad, so do I,” he said gruffly.

  He put him on the ground, and his son ran across the bailey to Deirdre, but it wasn’t the happy, excited yells of a lad who’d had a fun morning with his da and uncle. No—Ewan was sobbing and crying out for her.