Some of thefaces looked familiar to him as he walked up the steps to the main floor. A few of the warriors, a few of thewomen. By now, Struan knew of his arrival. What would he say? What would he do? Once he arrived at the doorway to the great hall, Robert stopped and looked around the room. It looked the same. Oh, a few newer tapestries hung on the walls and freshly built tables and benches were set out near the raised dais. A woman’s touch was apparent throughout the hall—surely the daughter-by-marriage had had a hand in this. Robert knew of Edana’s death now four years past.
His presence caused some whispering through the hall. Robert dropped his sack in the back of the hall and walked forward. He smiled at the curious as he passed them and strode confidently to the dais. The laird awaited him at the steps.
His father.
Struan looked no different from the last time he’d set eyes on him—tall, strong, with thick graying hair, weathered face. Eight years without change. Robert locked gazes with him and could not look away. Struan extended his hand in greeting and Robert grasped it with all his might.
“Robert,” Struan’s voice seemed to quiver, “welcome back to Dunnedin.”
Not “Welcome home.” So this was the way of it? Tension twisted his stomach. Robert should have known not to expect more.
“Laird,” he said, as he tilted his head in as much of a bow as he was ready to offer. “Ye look well.”
“Aye, lad, I am. But all those around me are failing.”
“So it would seem.”
“Come, Anice, meet Dougal’s son.” Struan said it seamlessly, no stutter, no hesitation. The pain tightened like a tourniquet around his heart. Dougal’s son.
He turned to watch the girl approach. Well, she was really a woman but her face looked so young. Vibrant red hair fell loosely around her shoulders, framing her pale face. Huge, fearful green eyes peered at him when she finally raised her face. She looked too young for the swollen belly she carried. Too young for the sadness that emanated from her. Too young for the fear she wore in her eyes. A wave of sympathy passed through him—mayhap the pregnancy was wearing on her?
She reached him and Struan and stopped, just out of theirreach. When he took a step closer to take her hand, she backed up a step. Another step, and she matched it in a bizarre backward dance. Finally, he nodded and smiled at the poor thing and waited for Struan to complete the introduction.
“Anice, this is Robert Mathieson, Dougal’s son.” Struan looked at Robert and nodded to Anice. “This is my daughter-by-marriage, only daughter of the MacNab, the Lady Anice.”
The pain increased in his heart with every mention of Dougal and son but there was no end in sight.
“Anice haes been here for five years and haes served the clan well.”
Struan smiled at the girl, who had lost even more color with the introduction and who did not look pleased at this turn of events.
“Breeding haes been hard on her and, for her safety and the babe’s, she canna carry on as she haes since yer faither was struck down.”
Ah, so ’twas the breeding that caused her problems. He smiled sympathetically at her; he had seen many women carrying bairns at Dunbarton and the problems that came with it. Anice turned away but not before he saw the tears forming, filling her eyes. For herself? The babe? This was stranger than he expected.
“She haes prepared a room for ye and will assist ye in yer duties until ye have a feel for them yerself.”
Robert wanted to laugh. A “feel for them”? He knew a steward’s duties like the back of his hand. He had trained and served for three years at Dunbarton, until the laird had recognized his greater abilities.
“Anice, will ye show Robert the room ye chose and then take him to see Dougal?”
The girl nodded at the laird and looked at him. Robert smiled at her, trying to lessen the strain, but it was for naught. “This way.” Her voice was barely a whisper, as though she did not have the strength to get out more. He nodded and followed her lead.
“Robert,” the laird called out, “join me at table for the evening meal. And ye, too, Anice. Be at table.” When he would have protested, Struan continued, “I want no argument fromeither of ye. Be here.” Then Struan strode across the room and was gone.
Robert turned back to Anice and gestured for her to go. Following her to the back of the hall, he picked up his bag and then continued behind her to the curving staircase leading up one of the towers. He hurried to her side and offered his arm for the climb, but she waved him off and gathered her skirts. She didn’t want him there and refused his help, that much was plain to see. But why? They reached the third floor and she was puffing and blowing. He again held out his hand to her, but she backed away as fast as she could.
“My lady, let me help ye.” He offered his arm again.
“Dinna call me that. I am no’ yer lady. I am Anice.” She backed up to the wall and looked near to fainting. He was tempted to pick her up and carry her, when her body relaxed a bit. After taking a few deep breaths, she spoke. “I beg your pardon, Robert. I would prefer to be called by my Christian name if you don’t mind.” Her voice was soft, with but a touch of Scottish lilt to it.
“But ye are entitled to be called ‘lady.’” He could not think of any woman who wouldn’t want to be afforded all the privilege her rank of birth and marriage could give her.
“Just Anice is fine. The clan knows my wishes and follows them. I would appreciate it if you could as well while you are with us.”
“As ye wish, my... Anice.” She stepped away from the wall and went in the direction of the passageway. “If it is too difficult for ye to show me to my room, just tell me which chamber ye readied for me.”
“Nay, I am fine now.” She rested her hand on her belly and moved it in a circular path over the mound. “When the babe moves, it is sometimes difficult to breathe. Here”—she pointed to a nearby door—”this is your room.” She pushed open the door and let him enter.
