Duncan shot to his feet and flung out his wiry arms. “O’ course she lives, you shitmonger! Christ, Conall!” He grabbed up his pack. “You know—fuck you! I come all this way, when I swore I wouldna, for you—for Eve—and you treat me—” He broke off and stomped toward the door.
But Conall dove from his stool and tackled Duncan at the knees, bringing the smaller man down with a yelp. He grabbed Duncan by the front of his rough léine and jerked him upright.
“You’ll nae go anywhere until you tell me straight,” he growled. “What of my wife and child? Are they both well? Tell me!” He shook Duncan like a branch of dried leaves.
“Your son,” Duncan spat, “is small. Weak. The first three nights, we didna know if he would live. ’Tis the same with Eve. She caught a fever and still she canna leave her childbed for weakness. It takes all her strength to nurse.”
“When?” Conall demanded, his stomach lurching. “When was he born?”
“He was five days old when I left. Now, turn me loose.”
Conall’s eyes narrowed. “Will you stay? Tell me what I need to know if I do?”
“Why do you think I came in the first place?”
Conall let his fingers uncurl from Duncan’s léine and helped him to stand. He brushed at the bits of dirt clinging to Duncan’s clothes until the smaller man slapped his hands away.
It was difficult for Conall to meet his cousin’s eyes. He was so shamed. “’Tis good to see you again, Dunc.”
But Duncan let the attempt at peace lay untouched, grabbing up the forgotten jug and returning to his spot near the fire. Conall righted his own stool and sat.
“I thought you left the Buchanan town,” he began again, desperate to restart a dialogue with the man.
“I did.” Duncan drank from the jug. “I took to the wood for a pair of days. But I returned.”
“Why?”
“Something told me to go back, that I was needed. Eve needed someone.” Duncan paused. “And because I promised you I would look after her if you couldna.”
Conall felt his chest tighten, hot wetness well in his eyes. This man sitting across from him—Conall owed him all. He struggled to compose himself enough to speak.
“Did she send for me?” he asked hopefully, praying to himself that Duncan’s presence was a sign of forgiveness.
“Nae.” The short word crushed Conall, even before he saw the regret in Duncan’s eyes. “She loves you—she told me as much—but she doesna want to see you.”
“Because of what I did to her. One lie.” ’Twas not a question.
“Aye. Because of what you did.”
A flicker of anger sprang to life in his mind. “She lied to me as well!”
Duncan nodded. “She did. But she did it to save her own life. You lied to serve your pride, your selfishness.”
Conall let the truth batter him and he surrendered to his defeat without further struggle. His head drooped, too heavy for him to hold upright.
“Then why did you come here?” he asked tiredly. “To punish me?”
“Nae, you dumb toad,” Duncan scoffed. “I’ve come to help you get her back.”
Conall slowly raised his eyes to stare at his cousin. “You think I can?”
“Nae if yer sittin’ here like tits on a boar, that’s for certain.”
Despite his misery, Conall felt his lip curl. “How? I’ll do anything, I swear.”
“You must go to her. Court her. Wear down her resolve. Angus Buchanan has claimed her and her bairn—”
“My son,” Conall clarified.
