Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  A single Macdonald had been spotted yesterday trespassing MacLeod land. But where there was one Macdonald you did see, there were a hundred right behind him that ye didna. They were like so many other forms of vermin that plagued the Highlands, plentiful and hard to kill.

  He sighed, wishing he could lay aside, if only for a short while longer, the tedious responsibility of having to take the lives of others in order to keep his own safe and the equally ominous summons he’d received this morning from the MacLeod chieftain, John Iain, himself.

  “Ye will attend me presently,” was all the scrap of parchment had read.

  He glanced again Beth’s way right before she and the small boy following close upon her heels disappeared through the keep’s doorway and out of sight. Should he take her with him? Did he dare?

  A trip from the Isle of Raasay to Dunvegan Castle upon the Isle of Skye really wasn’t that long or arduous a journey, but it could be uncomfortable for a woman in Beth’s delicate condition if the winds weren’t favorable. Though his Beth had yet to inform him of his pending fatherhood, he’d lived in a keep filled with females all his life and had seen the same symptoms she was exhibiting enough times to recognize when a woman was increasing.

  A part of him overflowed with joy while an even bigger part trembled in fear. He didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t survive it. Not this time. Already the little vixen had begun to wrap herself securely about his heart. A feat since the time of Mairi that Quint believed an impossible task for any woman to accomplish ever again.

  Was the opportunity to become a father, to produce an heir, really worth the risk to Beth’s life? And what good could come from worrying about the situation after the fact anyway? It’s not as if he had the power to change the future or the past. It certainly wasn’t within his power to prevent even the woman he’d come to care for, the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his days with, from being taken from him, if it was the Lord’s will.

  In truth, men were a powerless lot when it came to the women in their lives, and he well knew it. After all, his father hadn’t been able to save his very own wife or the small second son who’d never taken a breath. And try as he might, Quint hadn’t been able to save Mairi.

  Thinking of the only woman ever to break his heart made Quint remember the little boy who’d been dogging Beth’s footsteps a few moments ago. He sighed again. Duncan. What should he do?

  It had been so much easier to forget the child existed when he’d simply been the soot-covered peat boy who slept on a pallet before the warm kitchen fire each night. But now that Beth had cleaned the child up and Duncan had become her almost constant companion, he was increasingly hard to ignore. Dougal’s same serious solemn, brown eyes stared back at Quint every time Duncan glanced his direction. And Mairi’s playful little smile graced Duncan’s face at times when he wasn’t even aware he was being watched.

  Especially, when the child looked at Beth.

  Plain and simple, the six-year-old lad obviously loved Beth, and Quint couldn’t blame him. Annie the cook, and her two granddaughters had done all they could for the child, but it was clear Duncan was starved for a mother’s love that should’ve rightly been his to claim. Like the love of a father, of a family. Though not on purpose, a love Quint had stolen and withheld from him.

  He might not have physically pushed Dougal MacLeod over the parapet and to his death with his own two hands, but he might as well have when he’d declared Dougal would never, ever have Mairi as wife. Quint knew it wasn’t technically his fault that Mairi died giving Duncan life. He also understood that even before the night her son was born, Mairi had succumbed to a broken heart. Probably the very same moment the father of her child died.

  Quint felt powerless. What could he do about any of it now?

  He couldn’t bring Dougal and Mairi back from the grave and give Duncan the parents he deserved. Even if he could somehow accomplish that miracle, he certainly wouldn’t turn back the hands of time and not lie with his wife so she’d not be carrying his child and endangering her life. And try as he might, he could keep the next invasion of Macdonalds at bay for only so long, and though he dreaded it with every fiber of his being, when the sun rose in the morning, like it or not, he’d have no choice but answer the summons from his chieftain.

  Perhaps there was one small thing he could do. Perhaps he’d take Duncan to the Isle of Skye with him instead of Beth. After all, the boy had never stepped a foot off MacLeod land let alone onto a ship or across a sea. It would be an adventure. Something Quint could offer since he couldn’t give back to the child what he’d taken.

  Yes, he’d take Duncan to Dunvegan. That was, if he could manage to pry the child from Beth’s skirt tail long enough to make the journey. After all, wasn’t it well past time John Iain, the sixteenth chieftain of clan Macleod, met his grandson face to face?

  ****

  “Lady Elspeth?” Duncan whispered.

  From the comfort of the day bed in her private solar, Beth forced her breathing to stay slow and steady, and her eyes to remain closed. She wouldn’t acknowledge him, and he’d go away, eventually. He always did.

  “Lady Elspeth?” He tugged ever so slightly on her sleeve.

  But Beth didn’t even twitch. God, what had she done to deserve such unwanted devotion? She couldn’t help it. She gulped.

  It hadn’t taken much to garner little Duncan MacLeod’s affections. All she’d done was toss a discarded scrap of fur onto his small, flat pallet, but only because she hadn’t wanted to see the piece go to waste. Though the tattered bit had been more holey than not, Beth hoped it would allot the child a little more comfort, a little more warmth.

  And yes, it was true. She’d been known to slip the boy an extra portion or two at meals. An apple tart here, a chunk of warm crusty bread there. But it wasn’t her fault he was so very small, so skinny, so all alone.

  With those two kindnesses, she’d created a problem.

  Why couldn’t the child simply go away and leave her be?

  “I picked these for ye, my lady.” His voice trembled. “I thought they were pretty. They’re the same color as ye eyes.”

  Beth held her breath and prayed. Go away, go away, go away.

  She would not open Elspeth Frasier MacLeod’s blue-blue eyes even if it killed her not to. She would not look at Duncan’s gift, and she would not thank the always too solemn, too serious, too sad little boy. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to start something she had no intention of sticking around long enough to see finished. She would not love this child, and she’d not allow him to love her either. It would be too hard, hurt too much to care and then simply abandon him like she’d—

  She wouldn’t do it, even if it broke both their hearts.

  She heard his sigh, and then the awkward shuffling sound as he turned and hobbled back toward the door. Years from now, Duncan’s condition would be an easily fixable inconvenience at the most, but in the year 1643, a club foot made one a cripple and an outcast.

  She squeezed her eyes tighter. He wasn’t a stray puppy. He was a human being. She would not love him. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to love him and then leave.

  Beth wasn’t going to be in this time period or Duncan’s life long enough to make a difference. He was going to have to grow into manhood all on his own because as soon as Elspeth’s body was delivered of Quinton Macleod’s son, Bethany Ann Anderson would be long gone.

  The door quietly clicked closed, and she took six deep breaths and silently counted to one hundred before peeking. Tears filled her eyes to overflowing, and her heart pounded hard in her chest. There, upon her lap, set a bunch of wild blue pansies. Their stems mostly broken, and their delicate petals mostly crushed from small hands gripping them too tightly. They were without a doubt, the prettiest flowers she’d ever received.

  A thought began to form, an idea really. Not much more than a seed.

  Perhaps she no longer had the capacity or the time left
to love little Duncan MacLeod as he deserved. That depth of emotion and choice had been stripped from her along with her children. But was there something else she could give the child without destroying either one of them in the process? Something she still knew how to give? Something she was even considered good at? Something she’d done for so many others?

  Could she possibly teach Duncan MacLeod to stand proudly upon his own two feet, no matter what obstacles lay in his path? Could she show the child who had no one to guide him, how full his world could become through the simple basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic?

  Perhaps?

  For the first time since waking and finding herself in the year 1643, Beth’s heart filled with true hope.

  ****

  “What do you mean you’re taking him with you to Dunvegan tomorrow?” Beth cried. “You can’t do it. You simply can’t.”

  Quint stared at his wife, not understanding her outburst. “Of course I can, I’m laird.”

  Beth paced their bed chamber like a caged animal before once more turning on him. “No, I won’t allow it. He’s too little to be on a great big ship out in the middle of the sea all by himself. And…and Dunvegan is much too far from home for him to be traveling. He could get hurt. He could fall overboard. For God’s sake, Quint, he could drown.”

  Quinton MacLeod shook his head. “Ye’ll nae allow it? As if the choice is yours ta make?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. “He’s not going.”

  Well, what did one make of that?

  Though Quint had little choice but show his wife that his word was law and would be obeyed, the fact that his lady would fight like the most ferocious mother wolf for one of the lowliest cubs in the clan filled his heart with warmth. Elspeth Frasier MacLeod was truly becoming the lady of Brochel Castle, and she was doing it right before his eyes.

  He gentled his voice. “My Beth, ye don’t understand. Though a cripple, young Duncan is a Highlander, a Scotsman of the north. The sea’s in his blood, in his soul, part of his legacy. I’ll nae keep him from it any more than I’ll try and hold back the winds. It’s past time the boy had his first real voyage. And it’s past time he bent a knee ta his grandfather.”

  “But—but—but he can’t go,” she cried.

  Quint wrapped his arms about her. “Do ye nae trust me, wife? When I was his age, I spent almost as much time upon water as I did upon land. My father demanded it, expected it. I’d nae send the lad away without a care and allow harm to come to young Duncan. If ye believe nothing else of me, ye must believe that.”

  She nuzzled into his embrace and sighed. “I do believe you. It’s just that, well, I’ve been making plans.”

  “Plans?”

  Beth nodded and glanced up into his eyes, a tinge of heat warming her cheeks. “Brochel is immaculately tidy now, my lord, and leaves little to keep me busy. While at the abbey, the nuns were forever telling us that idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and I took their council to heart. I’ve been thinking of trying something with Duncan first, and if it works out, perhaps even with some of the village children.” She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I’d like to teach him how to read, write, and figure numbers. In my spare, time of course.”

  Quint laughed. “Duncan MacLeod read? The child can barely walk without falling over his own two feet let alone read. And what need do village children have for such folly? It would only make them dream of heights beyond their reach. Better they stay content with what they have and ignorant of what they cannae obtain.”

  Beth shook her head and pushed herself from Quint’s arms. “You’re wrong, especially about Duncan. He’s a very intelligent child. And someday, someone is going to have to replace the castle’s steward, why not Duncan?” She took a deep breath. “James, though very efficient at his tasks, is an old man. Who better than Duncan to fill the role he’ll vacate when the time comes?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Since his crippled foot limits him, it’s not likely he’ll ever become much of a warrior or fight by your side. Allow him this one small dignity, husband. Give Duncan the chance to serve you and his people in a capacity greater than that of a…a peat boy, please.”

  Quint ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. “And the other children? Why waste ye time on them?”

  She stood silent for a moment, then gazed up with tears brimming her eyes. “Perhaps for no other reason than to see the joy on their faces when they first read the words of a story they’ve never heard told before. Perhaps so that when they are grown and take the fruits of their labors to market, they’ll not be cheated. And perhaps for no other reason than teaching children what they do not even know they hunger for will bring me joy. Isn’t that enough?”

  She was right, and what could it hurt? After all, the more his people knew, the better. And his Beth really hadn’t asked for much. Being laird, there was so many times he had no choice but to say no to so many people, and so many times he had to put the good of the clan before his own happiness or hers. But this one small thing he could give her, and would if possible.

  Quint nodded. “Aye, tis. But make no mistake, my lady. I’ll still be taking young Duncan ta Dunvegan with me on the morrow. If the lad returns, then ye can teach him and any of the other weans whatever ye wish.”

  “If?” she croaked.

  Quint stroked the soft, warm skin of Beth’s cheek. “John Iain Macleod is the boy’s grandfather, lass, ye ken? It’s only right he has a say so in what’s to become of the lad.” He leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her abdomen, then winked up at her. “Just as it will be my right and responsibility when my son is born.”

  “You know?” Beth gasped.

  He straightened and kissed her forehead. “Aye, lass, I’ve suspected for a while now, and we’ll be discussing why ye didn’t see fit to inform me yeself before I had ta figure it out on my own.”

  Beth nodded. “I wanted to tell you. Really, I did. There never seemed to be the right time.”

  Gently, he cupped her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “Did ye think I would nae be pleased, my Beth?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just that you’ve had so very much on your mind lately, and this marriage is still so new. You don’t really know me yet, and I don’t really know you.”

  She tried to glance away, but he held her chin steady. “What are ye afraid of, lass?”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “What if I’m a failure as a mother? Some women aren’t meant to be, you know? And some children are better off without them.”

  Quint gathered her into his arms and held her tight against his heart. What had happened at that English abbey to make his sweet, kind wife think she wouldn’t be a good mither? He was of a mind to shake himself a few nuns until he found out the truth of the matter. Beth was right about one thing. There really was much they still didn’t know about each other. One thing he did know, though, his wife was good, and she was kind. What better qualities could any man ask for in the woman who would raise his children?

  “Do nae fash so, my Beth. Ye are the only woman I want to be the mither of my children, and I believe in ye. Ye’ll do a fine job. Ye’ll see.”

  Chapter Nine

  Quint stood in the middle of Dunvegan’s great hall and waited while his uncle and chieftain, John Iain MacLeod, stuffed yet another chunk of mutton into his mouth and downed it with a single gulp of ale while pretending his nephew and grandson weren’t even in the room.

  Typical. Though he’d always respected his father’s brother, not only as the leader of their clan but also as blood kin, there were times, like now, when he wished he could shake him and tell him to stop being an ass. It was one thing to ignore a full grown man, even if that full grown man was a laird in his own right and one’s blood, but it was entirely another to knowingly hurt a little boy who’d already been hurt so much in his short life.

  Without looking up, the old man suddenly motioned t
oward Duncan. “When I summoned ye ta come before me, Quinton MacLeod, I dinna tell ye ta bring Dougal’s bastard with ye.”

  Carefully controlling his expression and making sure his visage remained completely passive, Quint bent a knee before his father’s oldest brother and the leader of clan Macleod. He kept his backbone straight. It wouldn’t bode well to display any form of weakness while in the presence of John Iain. The man considered sentiment an unforgivable flaw.

  Quint nodded. “Nae, ye dinna. But it’s past time the child knew from whence he came and where he belongs.”

  The MacLeod chieftain motioned to Duncan again and grimaced as the little boy hobbled close to Quint’s side and clumsily attempted to bend a knee, too.

  “Stand straight, child,” John Iain commanded. “There’ll be time later ta show ye respect. Come closer so I can get a good look at ye.”

  Duncan shuffled until he stood with his face peering over the table top, across from where his grandfather sat.

  The old man suddenly smiled at the little boy and relief flooded Quint. “Ye have the look about ye of your father and even some of ye grandmother, too, God rest their souls. Do ye know who I am, lad? Do ye ken you’re my bastard grandson?”

  “I—I—I know ye are my grandfather, sir,” Duncan stuttered. “Be—be—because Laird Quinton told me so, and I—I k—k—ken I’m the crippled bastard son of ye bastard son Dougal MacLeod, sir.”

  John Iain nodded. “So, ye be not just a bastard, but a crippled bastard, ye say?”

  The little boy gulped. “I have a crooked foot that does nae work as it should. Aunt Marta says it’s my rightful due for killing me mither.”

  Quint grimaced. Though he’d thought in time Marta would’ve gotten over her unreasonable attitude concerning Duncan, it seemed she hadn’t. And like it or not, when he got home, he’d have no choice but to deal with the situation.