Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  “What is your name, lad?” he asked as Gregor moved to stand guard at the door.

  “Laddie.”

  “Are ye sure? Tis an odd name. Is there another that people call ye?”

  “Bastard.” He glanced at the old couple. “They call me laddie. I like that better than bastard.”

  Such anger welled up inside of Ewan that he had to take several deep breaths to push it aside. He could hear Gregor muttering curses behind him. The way the boy looked at him nervously told Ewan that the anger he felt was still too clear to see and he fought harder to banish it. Later he would set it free and aim it where it belonged.

  “We shall have to find ye another name. Do ye ken if ye were christened?”

  “Nay, I wasnae. I heard people speak of it, ye ken. I am unblessed and will go to hell and cannae be buried in holy ground and the devil will steal my soul if he hasnae already and—”

  “Please, lad. Nay more. Tis enough. More than enough,” Ewan added in a whisper, before looking into the boy’s eyes. “I am Ewan MacFingal, laird of Scarglas. Does the name mean aught to ye?”

  The boy nodded. “Ye are the mon my mother hates.” He frowned. “I think a lot of people hate ye. Hugh does.”

  “That doesnae grieve me. Lad, I am your father.” He sat patiently as the boy studied him closely, those all-too-familiar eyes slowly widening.

  “Ye do look like me.”

  “Aye, I do, though ye are bonnier. The mon by the door is your uncle, Gregor.”

  “My mother said there were a lot of ye cursed MacFingals.”

  “There are. Did your mother say why she has sent ye to me?” He saw the tears flood the boy’s eyes and almost went to him, but Kate, Old Robbie’s wife, got there first, and Ewan decided that was probably for the best. He was a complete stranger to the boy.

  “My mother said she was fair sick of me,” the boy whispered. “I said I could go stay with Mary, who liked me, but my mother said she didnae want to see me about anymore and was going to send me where she would ne’er have to see me again.”

  “I found him on my threshold at dawn yesterday,” said Old Robbie. “Just him, a thin blanket, and that piece of writing. Kate and I cannae read, can we, so we didnae ken what to do with the lad. Then he read a wee bit of it ere we put him abed that night and we kenned who he was to go to. Got the lad o’er the hill to take ye that writing.”

  “So, ye can read a wee bit, can ye?” Ewan asked the boy.

  “A wee bit. Mary was teaching me.”

  “Who is this Mary?”

  “Hugh’s youngest sister. He doesnae like her, either. She limps, ye ken, because he tossed her down the stairs once and she ruined her leg. I told her I was sad for her, but she said I shouldnae be as she only broke her leg. She could have broken her neck, ye ken.”

  Hell, he thought. His child had spent seven years in hell. The Grays were far worse than he had ever thought. He wondered if some of them would be thankful if he rid them of their laird, as he fully intended to do. If naught else, he would be giving this kind woman Mary a gift.

  “Do I go with ye now?” the boy asked.

  Ewan grimaced. “Nay today. Ye are a surprise to me, lad. Your mother ne’er told me about ye. I wasnae sure ye were really here or really my son. Now I am and I must return to Scarglas and prepare for ye to come there.”

  “And think of a name for me?”

  “Aye, ye will have a name and we will see that ye are christened.”

  The boy’s eyes widened, the hint of a dawning hope within them. “May I sleep inside?”

  “Aye,” Ewan said, not surprised to hear the huskiness in his voice for he was very close to unmanning himself with tears. “Soon, lad. I promise ye, ’twill be soon.”

  After assuring the old couple that he would send them some supplies, Ewan briefly touched his child’s head then fled the cottage. He could hear Gregor keeping pace with him as he nearly ran toward the wood. Once inside the shadowy shelter of the trees, he halted. He placed his hands on his hips and stared up at the glimpses of sun visible through the leaves as he fought for control of the emotions tearing through him, of the urge to hunt down Helena and Hugh immediately and kill them.

  “Ye cannae kill them yet,” said Gregor as he leaned against the trunk of a tree and studied Ewan.

  A little startled at how closely Gregor had read his thoughts, Ewan looked at his brother. “She didnae e’en name him. How can a woman bear a child and nay e’en name him?”

  “Weel, we all ken Helena is a bitch, cold of heart and treacherous. Ye cannae tear yourself to pieces o’er what was done, Ewan. All ye can do is make it better now. And of course, find a way to kill Hugh and Helena.” Gregor grimaced. “I wince as I speak of killing a woman, but sweet Jesu, she needs killing.”

  “Who would be laird if Hugh died?”

  “I think the next son is a lad named Wallace. Why?”

  “I need to find out what I can about him. Hugh is dead. Tis but a matter of time. I but wonder if that will actually end our trouble with the Grays, if after that bastard is dead, we might be able to make peace with the new laird. Hugh has no sons?”

  “Nay, none that I have heard of. Ye ken he wed Helena?” Ewan nodded and Gregor continued, “I wonder if that is why your son was so poorly treated. She hasnae given him a child from what I have heard. Nary a one, let alone the son he craves.”

  Ewan started to make his way back to where they had left their horses. “Tis time to find out all we can about our enemy. Since his sister Mary sounds a good woman, one has to wonder if the rot runs as deeply as we thought or if all these years ’tis mostly Hugh we have been fighting. I ken that his father was angered by the loss of Scarglas, but I dinnae recall that there was verra much fighting between us and the Grays in those early years.”

  “Ye may be right. Best ye talk to our father. All I ken is that the trouble with the Grays has been deadly and almost unrelenting since Hugh began to lead them. I was still a beardless youth when that happened. I hear a few rumors here and there, but nay much else. Thinking on it now, though, that slaughter which took place years ago, the one that killed so many of their women and all, happened after Hugh became the laird. The mon stirs up deeper hatreds and anger than our father e’er could, I think.”

  “He has certainly stirred such inside of me,” Ewan said. “We have fought him mostly in defense of our lives and lands. Now, I want to destroy him. The first step is to try and find out all we can about the Grays.”

  “Agreed. And what do ye do about your son? Ye have promised him he will be brought to Scarglas.”

  “And I will keep that promise, but I need time. This isnae an easy thing to tell a wife. I have to do it right, if only for the boy’s sake. When I bring him to Scarglas, I want him welcomed, I want Fiona to want him there, to become his mother. I feel that she would accept him, yet once the tale is told..” He shrugged, his thoughts too confused to put into words.

  “I think ye worry o’er naught, but aye, ’tis still a thing that must be gently and carefully done. Old Robbie and Kate will treat him weel and kindly. And I think ye must always approach that cottage carefully. A trap may yet await ye.”

  Ewan nodded as they reached their horses, and quickly mounted. “This must remain a secret for now. Just ye and I, aye?”

  “Aye,” agreed Gregor as he mounted and they started to ride back to Scarglas. “It certainly wouldnae help your cause if Fiona heard about the lad ere ye could tell her. Dinnae wait too long, Ewan. That cottage isnae that close to the keep, but word could easily slip out from there and reach our gates.”

  That possibility was still troubling Ewan by the time he joined Fiona in their bedchamber that night. Since his return from the cottage, he had avoided her, struggling to sort out his thoughts and feelings as well as come up with a plan. He suspected she had sensed his odd mood, his distraction, for she watched him closely.

  And she was not the only one, he thought, and inwardly grimaced. His cousin Sigimor had begu
n to watch him closely as well. The man was uncomfortably keen of wit and sharp of eye. It also proved that he was not very good at hiding secrets, especially ones as troubling as this, Ewan mused. He would have to come up with a plan soon.

  When Fiona unbraided her hair, he moved to take over the chore of brushing it out. She had become so important to him, so great a part of his life and all of his future. There was a part of him that wanted simply to ask her what she felt for him, but he was a coward. If she did not say the words he wanted to hear, it would strike him to the heart and he shied away from the promise of such pain. Yet not knowing made the problem now confronting him an even knottier one. He simply could not be sure how she would take the news of his son, or if she felt deeply enough for him that it would not be sufficient cause to push her away.

  “Is there some trouble brewing, Ewan?” Fiona asked as he set her brush aside and began to lead her toward their bed. “Ye seem deeply lost in your thoughts.”

  “There have been so many changes around here, lass, that I find myself lost in my thoughts a great deal.”

  “Good changes,” she said as she climbed into bed, quickly slipping into his embrace when he got in beside her. “A lot has been gained.”

  “A lot and all of it welcome. My father also seems to be changing for the better. I realized there is now a chance for some of my brothers to do better for themselves than stay here as little more than men-at-arms.” He began to kiss her throat, enjoying her soft murmur of pleasure. “Tis simply that it is a lot to accept. We have gone from being all alone, to having allies. That was something I have wished for for so long that I hesitate to believe I have finally gained my wish.”

  He tilted her face up to his and kissed her. The way she so readily accepted his kiss, his touch, quickly fired his own passion. This was what he feared to lose, he realized. Here was where he feared the chill of anger or hurt could seep in. The mere thought of such a thing happening made him feel desperate and his lovemaking grew fierce.

  Ewan pulled off her night shift and pushed her onto her back. He ignored her blushes as he looked her over thoroughly. The beauty of her made his breath catch in his throat, and the fearful part of him wondered how much longer he would be blessed to enjoy it. The threat of losing her freely given passion made him want to leave some mark on her, a fierce memory of heat and hunger, one that might make it impossible for her to cool to his touch.

  As he kissed her, he gently captured her wrists in his hands and pinned them to the bed. Before the night was through, Ewan intended to smother her in his passion, to leave her so sated she could not even twitch a toe. The passion they shared was the only thing he was sure of, and he intended to use it to its fullest.

  Fiona gasped as he moved his kisses to her breasts, stroking her nipples with his tongue and encircling them with light kisses until she was squirming beneath him. There was something slightly different in his lovemaking tonight, a touch of determination, even desperation. When he finally gave her what she ached for and drew her aching nipple deep into his mouth to suckle her with a tantalizing rhythm, she decided she would worry about his mood later. Whatever was tumbling about in his head and heart, the pleasure he was giving her was too delicious to interrupt with questions and concerns about why.

  “Ah, lass, ye taste like the sweetest of honeys,” he murmured as he kissed his way down to her silken stomach. “A mon could get drunk upon ye.”

  “Let me touch ye, Ewan,” she pleaded.

  “Nay, not this time. Ye touch me and what little control I have vanishes beneath those wee, soft hands.”

  Her eyes widened when he kissed the curls between her thighs. She tried to clamp her legs together, but his broad shoulders stopped her retreat. Shock held her very still for a moment, but with each stroke of his tongue, it faded. Passion forced it aside as he made love to her with his mouth and tongue. With a soft cry of acceptance and desire, she opened herself up to this new intimacy.

  “Ewan,” she cried out as she felt her release tightening her insides.

  “Nay, hush, lass, give me this.”

  With a harsh cry, she did. She was still gasping from the wonder of it when he began to kiss his way back up her body. The first touch of his lips against her breasts renewed her desire, much to her astonishment. She wrapped her limbs around him as he eased their bodies together. For a little while, he moved within her almost tenderly, but then their need for each other grew too strong for such gentleness. Her last clear thought as he took them both to the heights they sought was that, for someone who claimed he had little experience, Ewan was proving to be a lover who could easily kill her with passion.

  Weakly, Fiona stroked Ewan’s back as he lay sprawled in her arms. She decided it might take days to recover from his lovemaking, then smiled to herself. After a little rest, she knew she would be more than ready for him to try and drive her mad with desire if he felt inclined.

  She was glad he was not looking at her, though. It was going to take her a little while to quell the embarrassment she felt at the memory of what he had done, the deep intimacy of that kiss. Fiona knew it was a little foolish to suffer such an attack of modesty. She felt none when she loved him with her mouth and he certainly did not blush or hide his face afterward. There was no question that she had found pleasure in it, and if he did as well, then she would learn not to suffer even that fleeting resistance that had afflicted her, nor would she trouble him with the need to soothe her delicate sensibilities after the loving ended.

  A little smile touched her lips as she realized he had gone to sleep. She found herself wondering yet again about the strange mood he had been in since returning from his ride with Gregor. Something was troubling him; she was certain of it. Fiona wished he would share it with her, let her help him solve whatever problem he was fretting over, but he would not do so. It hurt, but she told herself not to take it to heart. Ewan had dealt with problems and responsibilities all on his own for too long to suddenly begin openly sharing them with his still very new wife. She would just watch and wait, keeping her eyes open for some chance to help him. Touching a kiss to the top of his head, she swore she would be patient. She decided it might not hurt to pray that whatever the problem was, it could be solved without bloodshed.

  Chapter 18

  Ewan laced up his doublet as he stood at the end of his bed and watched Fiona sleep. She looked exhausted, and he felt both guilty and pleased about that. For the last three nights, he had done his best to love her into a stupor. He was still a little surprised by how he had finally learned some control over his passion for her and by his ingenuity. If Fiona’s cries of pleasure were any indication, he was becoming an accomplished lover, at least in her eyes, and that was all that mattered. Ewan just wished that part of his reason for such efforts and success was not because he had a secret he wanted to hide until he could feel more certain of her.

  It was wrong, he decided as he left the room. In a way, he was trying to enslave her and using her own desires to do so. That not only was wrong, but could well be impossible. From what he had seen over the years, women were not the ones easily enslaved by passion. Men were. Women were ruled by their hearts. Making love to Fiona until she could not walk was not the way into her heart. At least not all on its own. The problem was, he had no idea of how to make a woman love him.

  He paused at the head of the stairs and considered returning to his bedchamber, waking Fiona up, and simply asking her how she felt about him. It was an idea he had considered a few times before. Then, just as before, he turned craven. He knew she had to care for him in some way in order to feel such passion, but he did not want to hear her mouth only gentle words of affection. They could cut him as deeply as if she said she had no true caring for him at all.

  Shaking his head over his own cowardice and confusion, Ewan hurried down to the great hall. He would eat and then go get his son. If nothing else, he could not keep slipping over to the cottage to see the boy. It had been only three days and people were alread
y looking at him with suspicion. Such secretiveness was so unlike him, it was hardly surprising that it had been noticed and had roused the curiosity of too many.

  An hour later, having been unable to find Gregor, Ewan started on the trip to the cottage on his own. There had been no sign of the Grays in all the time he had traveled back and forth to the cottage. It appeared that Helena had done exactly what she said she had—left him his child. Nevertheless, he followed the ritual he and Gregor had established, leaving his horse at the same place as before and walking the rest of the way to the cottage.

  With every step he took, he tried to think of a way to present his child to Fiona. It would have been best to prepare her for the boy, but each time he had opened his mouth to say something, no words would come out. Now he had simply run out of time. He would have to be simple and direct and hope for the best.

  Old Robbie answered his rap at the door and Ewan stepped into the cottage. His heart performed a strange, painful lurch in his chest when the boy looked up from his bowl of porridge and smiled at him. That faint glint of hope shone in the boy’s eyes again and Ewan knew that, even if he had not already decided to do so, he would be taking the boy back to Scarglas today. He could not dim that hope again.

  “Have ye thought of a name for me?” asked the boy as Ewan sat down opposite him.

  Ewan shook his head when Kate silently offered him some porridge, but he gratefully accepted the tankard of cool cider she placed in front of him. “I have thought of several, but decided it would be best to wait until we get to Scarglas. Fiona should have a say in it, I think.”

  “Are ye sure she will like me?”

  “Aye, she willnae have any trouble taking ye in. The lass has a good heart.” She just seems reluctant to give it into the care of her husband, he mused.

  “Did ye tell her all about me?”