“Aye, Moira, Dougal’s son is coming home to serve in his faither’s place. Until I recover from the birth of the babe.”
Moira walked around her and sat by the bedside again, tending to Dougal. Anice could see she was deep in thought about the return of the son. Mayhap she knew this Robert Mathieson and could tell her about him.
“Struan said that Robert left before I came here to live. Did you know him, Moira?” Anice pulled her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders and sat on a stool next to the window.
“Aye, he grew up here and left for the MacKillops at the same time I was marrying my first husband Gordon.”
Anice shivered at the thought of marriage. If God was merciful, she had seen as much of married life as she would ever see.
“Duncan, the MacKillop, offered to train Robert as a steward.”
“But, ’tis so strange. Why did Dougal not train the boy himself?” A father usually trained his own son, unless he was noble born—then he was sent as a foster son to another clan. Even daughters were fostered before their marriage, just as she had been sent to the home of her betrothed. Another shiver rocked her being. That had been another Anice, at another time.
“The two of them fought at every step, as faither and son sometimes do. Struan thought it best to make arrangements with Duncan. The plan was always to have him back with us but it haes never come to pass.”
“Until now. He returns within the week, Moira.” She stood and walked to the door. “Which reminds me—I must pick out a suitable chamber for him and have it readied.”
“Yer a good lass, Anice. Dinna worry, all things have a way of working themselves out.”
“You are doing that voice again, Moira.” She laughed at the frown on Moira’s face. “Remember you have promised to teach me that before the bairn comes.”
“I will, Anice. Ye have plenty of time left afore that happens.”
“Do you need anything for Dougal before I go?”
“Nay, I have what I need here. Remember to rest, Anice.”
“I will, Moira. I promise.” Anice left and headed for the second floor and the unused chambers.
“Liar.” Moira’s voice followed her up the stairs.
When Struan entered the sickroom,he found her kneeling before the hearth, staring into the flames. As in the past, he knew not to interrupt. The room seemed smoky to him, as if the fancy chimney didn’t work. More smoke poured into the room than left it through the small opening. Yet, the ailing man on the bed did not seem to be bothered by it. When Struan could fight it no longer, he coughed.
A few minutes later, the smoke began to clear and theflames died down. He shook his head in wonderment—he had watched the seer receive her “wisdom,” as she called it, before, but it never ceased to amaze him. She sat back on her heels and opened her eyes, but she still gazed at the hearth.
“Yer habit of sending yer sons away will haunt ye, Struan. Ye must deal with the problems of yer past afore they take over yer life and yer soul and destroy the verra thing ye seek to protect.”
“What do ye mean, Moira?”
“Ye must decide which of yer sons is to lead the clan after ye and ye must stand by him and teach him. Sending them away just prolongs the trouble to come.”
“My sons? I have but one son and ye ken he is no’ fit to lead the clan.”
Moira looked at him—looked through him—and smiled. “He haes his maither’s eyes, but they are the color of yours. Ye can play out the charade, or acknowledge him afore the clan and gain their acceptance. The decision is yers. Think ye well upon it.”
A momentary flash of silver-gray cat’s eyes intruded from his memory. He shook his head, trying in vain to stop the rest of the image from forming in his mind. The black flowing hair, the creamy white skin, the voluptuous figure that first caught his eye.
Glynnis!
He could see her again as she looked the day she arrived for her marriage to Dougal. A marriage arranged by the old laird to his cousin, she was his one true betrayal of Edana. Oh, he had his mistresses, as was his right, but he’d loved Glynnis. She died bearing her... their son all those years ago.
He thought that no one had known the truth of it. Dougal had mourned her death and raised the child as his own—until eight years ago. But Edana had known somehow, had always known, she said as she revealed the boy’s true parentage in a terrible argument. All in the solar heard it—Struan, Dougal, Sandy, and the boy.
Dougal never suspected, but he’d reacted as any man faced with a son not of his own get—he’d turned from the boy in anger. The steward owed a duty to the laird and could notturn from that, so the boy bore the worst of it. He could still see Robert’s face, his expression at the news that he was the natural son of the laird. Struan would regret to his dying day that he did not acknowledge the boy then and there. Robert waited for it, so did the others, but the words caught in his throat. But why?
He sent the boy to the MacKillop for training as a steward. Sandy eventually went to England with King David. Edana was dead four years now. She forgave him his sin against her, she’d told him on her deathbed. But Dougal never did. The man’s hatred simmered below the surface, ready to boil over at any moment. They never mentioned Robert or Glynnis. Dougal carried out his duties and Struan accepted the situation.
Now, the boy returned.
