“Should I wait for ye?”
They had spoken of this before. The miller’s son wanted her as his wife, in spite of her sharing the castellan’s bed. The young man’s presence now in the keep stirred the pot.
“I canna offer ye marriage, lass, ye ken that. Mayhap my leaving will be for the best for ye and...”
“Bain.”
“Ah, yes, Bain. He willna hold this”—he squeezed her tighter in his embrace—”against ye?”
“Nay, he willna. As long as I am faithful to him once we marry, he haes sworn to forget my past.”
“Can ye do that? Be faithful to him?”
“Aye, Robert, I can. I will.”
“And will ye forget it as well?” He thought of the many nights they had spent in his bed—talking, fighting, loving. He would regret losing her, but she deserved the happiness that a life with Bain could offer.
“I dinna think I will forget it or ye, but I will make him a good wife.”
He made note in his mind to provide her with a small dowry. He earned his own money and owed her at least that for their time together.
“Are ye too tired to love tonight, Robert?”
He was never too tired for a good bout of love play, but he found the urge to be inside her heat had disappeared. He would not feel right about lying with another man’s wife, or almost wife.
“I would rather just hold ye this night, Lena, if ye do no’ mind?”
“I do no’ mind, Robert.”
She turned on her side and he fit behind her, draping his arm and leg over her body. Her breathing soon deepened and began a steady rhythm. Sleep tried to claim him, but his thoughts were still too strong. It was a long time before he gave in and surrendered to the quiet of the night.
3
“Idid it for ye, lass.”
“Oh, Struan, I canna believe ye are replacing me in my duties.” Anice’s voice rose in pitch and her accent was back. Struan knew she was mightily upset with him and his decision. But she had left him no choice.
“Ye canna continue to drive yerself into the ground, Anice. Ye are a woman breeding and ye must consider the babe.”
Her face drained of all color; she wore the look of a wounded animal. He felt ill at ease hurting her feelings this way but, as laird, he had to step in and stop her. The next generation of the family lay in her belly and he would protect it as he should have protected her.
“I am no’ replacing ye, Anice. The new steward will need yer guidance until he finds his way here. Ye will still have yer work.”
He watched as she approached him. Her eyes darted back and forth, her breathing was irregular, and her skin took on a gray pallor. Fear was overtaking her—he had seen this before. She reached out to take his hand and then stopped cold as she realized what she almost did. She must be desperate— she never tried to touch anyone. Not since...
“Please, Struan, dinna do this to me. I have been faithful to the clan, to ye. I have done my duty well. Please, I need my work. I need my duties. It keeps me... going.” He knew the word she stumbled on: sane.
“Lass, yer belly is getting bigger by the day and ye canna keep up the pace ye’ve set yerself to for much longer. The new steward will help ye now that Dougal canna, and he will carryon yer duties when ye are in yer childbed.”
She must have realized that he would not back down from this, because her eyes lost their wildness. He could see her regain control over herself bit by bit until the Anice known to the clan was back facing him.
“Who have you chosen for the position, Laird?”
Struan saw that the terrified child was gone and Anice was back in control. He prayed to God nightly that she would rid herself of the paralyzing fear that still ruled her life. That she would begin to enjoy life within the clan again, especially before the babe came. But, so far, the Almighty was ignoring his pleas.
“Robert Mathieson, Dougal’s... son.” It did not matter that eight years had passed since the terrible argument that had revealed the truth. Struan could not allow himself to think of Robert in any other way.
“Dougal haes a son? I did not know.”
