The Prodigal Son

by Belfrage, Anna

  Alex wanted to weep. Only thanks to Matthew’s instincts had Wyndham’s trap backfired, and even so it had been touch and go. All the long ride home they hadn’t said a word, but Alex had clung to his arm with such force that when she released her grip she saw to her shame that she had left bruises on his skin.

  “That was a very dangerous thing to do,” Alex admonished the two young heroes. “What is it with you Graham men?” Mark’s ears turned a delicate pink. Alex ruffled his hair and ordered them both to bed, promising them that tomorrow she would bake them a huge cake in recognition of their valour.

  When she came up some minutes later Mark was already fast asleep in the bed he shared with Jacob and Daniel. Ian stirred on his pallet when she knelt down to kiss his brow.

  “Soon we’ll have to move you into a separate bedroom. Young men don’t sleep with children.” She was still laughing at his evident pleasure when she returned to the kitchen, where she found Matthew staring at the wall, his hand clenching and unclenching reflexively.

  “Are you okay?” She came over to give him a backward hug. He hitched a shoulder, gave a rueful little shake of his head.

  “It’s somewhat daunting, the lengths to which my brother is willing to go to destroy me. Two people dead, no less.”

  “But you survived this one as well,” Alex said, rubbing her cheek against him.

  “Why can’t he just leave me in peace? Why is it that he can’t let go of this sick hatred?”

  “I don’t know, honey.” In her private opinion Luke Graham was an obsessive jerk that would have benefited from lobotomisation, or why not a complete brain transplant with a cow.

  “He has so much more than me. Sir Luke Graham no less, he’s favoured by the king, is rich enough to have two homes, has a wife and a baby son and now another on its way…”

  “And Ian, don’t forget that he has Ian.”

  “Whom he stole from me!” It came out as anguished whisper. “My son, and he stole him!” He sighed and turned in her arms. “I don’t want to let him go. I love the lad so that my heart breaks, and I fear that I’ll tear him in two if I let him know how much I love him, but God help me, I want him here, with us. He belongs with me.”

  “I think Ian already knows you love him. He’s known that for quite some time.”

  “Aye, like a nephew, not as a son,” Matthew said bitterly. “It isn’t enough, not anymore; I want him to know me as his father.”

  One small part of her was angry that this, his firstborn, should occupy such a huge place in his heart, but she recognised that he loved all his children with equal passion. It was just that welcoming Ian as a son would have such an impact on Mark, and she didn’t know how to explain the whole mess to a boy that was only seven. She kissed his nose.

  “I already told you; if that’s what you want, then I’m with you all the way.”

  Ian didn’t dare to move. He’d come down for a drink of water and now he had to piss instead. Pressing a shaking arm to his mouth to stop himself from making any noise, he escaped up the stairs, avoiding the treads that squeaked. He stopped outside the nursery door and sat down on the floor, filled with so many whirling emotions that he couldn’t clear his head.

  They loved him! Both of them, he could hear it in their voices, and his heart swelled with happiness. His father – his uncle? His father! – wanted him to stay, to tell the world he was his son. And Ian wanted it too. This was where he belonged, following a man he loved as he strode from stable to field, pointing, teaching, laughing at Aragorn’s antics, smiling with pride when Ian did something right. He bit back a sob; and Mam? He’d never see her again, or at least only rarely.

  Ian was exhausted; not only had he not slept last night, but now his brain was a buzzing inferno of questions. After having peeked over the banisters to ensure the coast was clear he crept back down, breaking into a frantic run the moment he was out of the house. He had no idea why he was running or where, but he ran until the loud noises in his head abated and then threw himself down by the river to think.

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Alex was faintly disappointed; she’d looked forward to a solitary swim in the July night, and the hunched shape by the water was a rather unwelcome intrusion on her plans.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Ian mumbled and shifted sideways to allow her to join him on the log.

  “Me neither, it’s hot, isn’t it?” Plus every time she closed her eyes she saw Matthew being led away in chains by a triumphant Wyndham, or poor Mrs Brown covered in blood. They sat quietly, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Ian hunched together even further with his chin sunk into his clasped knees and sighed.

  “I heard you before, when you were talking in the kitchen.”

  “Oh.” Alex kicked at a small stone, sending it to land with a splash in the middle of the pool.

  “I love them both,” Ian said. “I know my father isn’t always a good man, but I love him.”

  “Of course you do. It would be strange if you didn’t. Luke has taken care of you since you were a baby.”

  Ian hitched a bony shoulder, hiding his face against his knees. Alex sighed; since Margaret’s visit back in April they’d not had one letter, no sign of life, while Ian had written several times. She supposed Margaret was confined to her bed again, heavy with child, but still, was it too much to ask that she wrote her son now and then?

  “You said Mam is breeding.” It was somewhere between a question and a statement.

  “She didn’t tell you?” Maybe not that strange, given that it had been in the very early stages when she was here. Ian shook his head in a no.

  “Do you reckon they knew?” he asked, digging his bare toes into the sand.

  “Who? Knew what?”

  “Them. Mam and… Luke.”

  Alex looked at him thoughtfully. This was the first time she’d ever heard him using her brother-in-law’s name.

  “That I wasn’t his, that they stole me from Uncle Matthew.”

  “Your mother definitely, Luke perhaps. But she did it because she couldn’t bear to be parted from you.”

  “Aye,” Ian shrugged. “Mayhap. And he took me as his for her sake, not for mine.”

  “To begin with, but over time very much for the boy you are.”

  “He doesn’t want me anymore,” Ian said bleakly. “Not now that he has a son of his own. But…” He broke off, eyes following the silent silhouette of an owl as it sped across the clearing. “He won’t give me to Uncle Matthew, not if he knows you want him to.”

  Alex put an arm around him and scooted closer to him. “No, probably not. But you know what? I think we’ll sort it out, okay? If you want to stay here, with us, we’ll fix it – it’s up to you.” Not that she had any idea how, but this boy belonged with her now. She stood and pulled him to his feet.

  “Now, I’m going for a swim. Coming?” At his hesitation she grinned, drew the shift over her head and splashed into the water. Ian copied her, loud whoops as he made for the deep end. He lay floating while Alex swam back and forth several times before coming to stand beside him, her body modestly covered by the water.

  “He said he loves me,” Ian said.

  “He does, very much.”

  Ian set down his foot on the bottom and stood with his back to her.

  “I love him too.” He shot out of the water, grabbed at his discarded shirt and disappeared.

  Alex laid back to float. Around her the summer night stood dark and beautiful, and way, way up high she saw the weak twinkling of stars. Somehow she suspected she had just acquired a stepson and to her surprise it made her very happy.

  “But if he calls me step-mama I’ll whack him,” she muttered to the dark.

  Chapter 33

  “Look at you,” Matthew whispered in her ear. “Round like a melon.” His hand spread itself fanlike over her stomach, pushing her warm, round arse against his crotch.

  “Mmm,” Alex creased her brow. She kept her eyes shut when he kissed
his way down her cheek and neck.

  “Alex… you know, no?”

  “Know what? That you’re an inconsiderate oaf of a man that won’t let your exhausted pregnant wife sleep?” She protested when he rolled her over onto her knees, lifting her shift high enough to bare her buttocks to the cool morning air.

  “Aye, an oaf,” he chuckled. “But it’s your fault, to lie like this, a temptress in my own bed.”

  “Temptress, hey?”

  He was already inside her, holding her to him. “Aye. Tempting like a giant pear.”

  She laughed, a low gurgling sound. “You have serious problems – grave hang up issues on pregnant women. And fruit.”

  “Only on the one; my woman, with my bairn inside of her.”

  He rocked them back and forth. Her breath came in short gasps, he waited, holding back until she shivered beneath him and drove himself quickly to finish.

  “I must do something about the bed,” he muttered, “it sags.” He hung his head over the edge and looked at the bottom. The rope frame had to be tightened, and he poked an experimental finger at the woven rush mats before flopping back down beside his wife.

  From below came a babble of young voices, and they rolled away from each other to get on with the business of the day.

  “You must talk to Ian,” Alex said.

  “Must I?” Matthew threw his stockings into a corner. Too hot. He looked at Alex, who was apparently fully dressed in only chemise, stays and skirts and frowned. “You can’t go about like that.”

  She scowled at him. “You’re only in your shirt and breeches.”

  “Aye,” he grinned, “but I don’t have these, do I?” he nudged her breasts through the thin cloth. She muttered but went to find something, making him grin even more. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Alex pinned the flowered shawl into place.

  “Why must I talk to Ian?”

  “Because he heard us, last night.” She gave him a very blue look. “I’m going to sweat like a pig in this.”

  “Pigs don’t sweat,” he said and escaped through the door to avoid the flying hairbrush.

  For most of that morning Matthew was buoyed by the overwhelming sense of relief that he had escaped unscathed from yet another of his brother’s nefarious schemes. He saw to his beasts, strode over to inspect the growing crops, and was ridiculously happy to be alive. Then it all struck him; Tom Brown and his wife cut down in their kitchen, the Brown lad now surely to hang – yet another family destroyed in the swelling conflict between the faith of his people and that of their overlord.

  In less than a minute all energy drained out of him and he retreated to sit behind the smoking shed, staring out across the water meadows. What was life going to be like for his bairns here in the coming years? He rested his shoulders against the sun-warmed wood behind him and stretched out his legs. Around him the air hummed with the sound of bees and hundreds of small white butterflies rose, soared, and settled again on the high heads of yarrow. He exhaled; this was where he’d been born and the few times he’d thought about it he’d assumed this was where he would be buried as well, to lie close to Da and Mam up by the rowan tree. But not if he were hanged or deported…

  His reverie was interrupted by one very large dog, followed by Ian, who came to a standstill at the sight of him. Matthew’s throat constricted and to his sarcastic amusement he had to wipe his sweaty hands down his breeches. Nervous as a stripling… At his gesture Ian came closer, dropping down to sit beside him with legs pulled up against his chest.

  “You heard, I gathered.”

  Ian hugged his legs closer and inclined his head.

  Matthew had no idea what to say. He sneaked a look at the lad, cleared his throat, opened his mouth, cleared his throat again. His son! He felt weightless, the fine hairs along his arms were standing straight up with tension, but at least he kept himself from trembling.

  “Alex rightly said it’s your choice; I love you as much no matter what you decide, it’s not a huge difference between an uncle and a father.” He wanted to laugh out loud at that blatant lie, but he didn’t, meeting eyes so similar to his and so very close.

  “Da,” Ian croaked after what seemed an eternity. “I want to call you Da.” Matthew expelled his held breath. He laughed somewhat shakily and enveloped Ian in a bear hug.

  “My son!” Matthew kissed the messy thatch of hair leaning against his shoulder. “My bonny, bonny, lad.” He laughed and squeezed Ian even harder, relaxing his hold only when Ian uttered a muted “Ow.”

  “For now, we don’t speak of it,” Matthew said as they got to their feet.

  Ian nodded, looking crestfallen.

  “You know why. If it were me, I’d walk up to the hilltop and yell it out loud, but you’re legally not my son, and we must tread carefully round this.”

  Round Luke, rather. If his goddamn brother were to ride in tomorrow and demand that Ian be returned to him, there would be nothing Matthew could do but acquiesce – or bring the full weight of the law down upon himself.

  “And I must have time to speak to Mark,” Matthew added, gnawing at his lip.

  “Mark?” Ian gave him a worried look. “Will he mind if I’m no longer his cousin but his brother?”

  “Not as such, but you’re my firstborn.”

  It took some time for Ian to grasp what it was he was saying, but once he did he backed away.

  “I don’t want to take anything from Mark,” he said in a wobbly voice. “I love Mark.”

  “Shush, lad, that’s not your concern, it’s mine.”

  “But Aunt Alex…” Ian shook his head. “She won’t like it if Mark…”

  Matthew silenced him with a hug. “She already knows. And yet it is she that has said that I must welcome you back as my son.”

  Ian gaped. The lad closed his mouth, opened it to say something, closed it yet again, looking very much like a landed fish.

  “She did?” It came out very hoarse.

  “She did.”

  Two brilliant eyes met his, a huge smile broke out over Ian’s face. “Oh,” was all he said.

  “Will you mind?” Matthew asked him. “You know, with all your half-siblings?”

  Ian looked at him as if he were insane. “Mind? Why would I mind?”

  “Well, you don’t like weans much, do you?”

  Ian laughed out loud. “I don’t like Charlie, but I love my wee cousins – brothers – very much.” He gave Matthew a shy look. “But a lass would be good this time.”

  “Aye, a lass would be very nice.” Matthew turned in the direction of the little graveyard. “More biddable than her sister, I hope.” He tilted his head to look up at the sky. In his head he saw Rachel come rushing towards him, eyes gleaming and hair flying untidily around her head, and she was holding her arms wide for him to sweep her up in his embrace. He inhaled, and the scent that tickled his nose was that of Rachel – small and warm and smelling of honey and milk.

  “So you spoke to him,” Alex smiled, coming to meet him at the kitchen door. She was moving with a languid slowness that he recognised with a flutter of expectation. It must be the heat, in combination with the pregnancy, that made her undulate in his direction.

  “Aye, I did.” He joined the rest of the household at the table and served himself of the food.

  “Don’t forget the vegetables,” Alex reminded him, setting down a dish of salted butter to go with the new beets and carrots. Matthew sighed and winked at his sons, receiving stifled giggles in return.

  “Are you supposed to eat this?” Mark said, shoving his small helping of spinach leaves this way and that.

  “It depends,” Alex replied. “If you want dessert, then yes, you must. If you want second helpings of the chicken, yes, you must. If you want an extra slice of bread, yes, you must. But otherwise, no, of course not.” Mark stuffed them manfully into his mouth and chewed, swallowing them down with a grimace.

  “Your father loves spinach,” Alex said, placing a substantial amount on Matt
hew’s plate. “Don’t you, honey?” She turned her back on him and moved over to the pantry to retrieve the dessert pie. “Same rules apply to everyone,” she added, giving him a sweet smile over her shoulder.

  Matthew remained behind at the table once the lads and the men left, leaning back to allow Sarah to clear the dishes.

  “There’s a letter for you, from Luke.” Alex inclined her head in the direction of the oak chest.

  “Letter? I heard no messenger riding in.” Matthew held the stiff paper with as much care as if he were handling a venomous snake.

  “Probably on account of you shirking work behind the smoking shed,” Alex said, making him smile. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Matthew broke the seal and unfolded the paper, spending an excessive amount of time flattening out the creases before he began to read it.

  “It’s not a book,” Alex said at his long perusal of the letter. “By now you’ve read it five times. What does it say?”

  Matthew folded the letter together. “He wishes his son returned to him, and if the lad isn’t home by the first of August he’ll come for him.”

  “And that scares you why?”

  “It doesn’t frighten me. Not for myself – but it may be difficult for the lad.” He frankly had no idea how to convince Luke to relinquish Ian into his care.

  “Time for the light cavalry, I think,” Alex said. “Write to Simon. I suppose Joan and Lucy could do with some time away from Edinburgh.”

  Matthew regarded her carefully. Joan and Alex had not parted on the best of terms back around Hogmanay, and the stilted if sincere letter of condolence that Joan had sent them at the time of Rachel’s death hadn’t helped. Alex hadn’t even bothered to reply, and now it was Matthew writing Simon and vice versa, rather than the women writing each other.

  “She’s been very ill, all spring, Simon says.”

  “I know,” Alex said, “and I just said. Ask them if they want to come.” He stood up and looked down at her.

  “I’ll do it immediately.”

  “What will happen to Wyndham, do you think?” Alex asked, interrupting the comfortable quiet in his little office.