The boys watched her father so carefully she feared for them. They were making themselves a threat. He did not appear to notice it yet, but he would. He had already taken note of their size. It would soon matter a lot. He would notice and then there would be trouble, the kind that could get one of them killed. She would have to talk to them soon, let them know she was aware of the truth as well.
She quickly sat down next to Margaret. As she helped her sister eat, she studied the new boy her father had obtained. He was small, perhaps four or five years of age, maybe younger. Big brown eyes, wild, curly reddish hair, and clean, he did not look like a street child. Innocent though he appeared, his presence made Bethoc nervous. This was not some filthy street child he had dragged home. She braced herself to ask who the boy was, knowing that her father did not appreciate questions.
“Who is the lad?” she asked, feeling her stomach knot with fear and hating herself for that.
“An orphan lad,” her father replied and she knew he lied.
“His name?” she asked tentatively, hoping that by keeping her voice soft and respectful she would not raise his ire.
“Why do ye want to ken it? What does it matter?”
“Nothing. I but thought it would be convenient.”
“It be Cathan. Just Cathan. That be all ye need to ken. He will stay with us now.”
Bethoc recognized the little speech. It was the same one he had given with each brother. She could recall it now. Why had she never questioned it? It was plausible except that her father was not a man who did good deeds like taking in orphaned children. They were always boys, too. Boys who were immediately put to work in the fields. Only Bean and Colin had been babies when they had appeared in her life and he had said each one was her brother. Ignorant of such things as childbearing, she had never questioned it.
Suddenly she could barely swallow the stew she was trying to eat to keep herself from asking more questions. She had so many and each one would be a spark to set off her father’s temper. A part of her was deeply ashamed that she had never been curious about where the boys came from, her child’s mind consumed with the need to avoid her father’s fists. Yet, as she had grown older, she should have pressed for answers, should have found the courage to do so. She was one and twenty now yet, instead of demanding answers, she filled her mouth with food she did not want just to avoid asking any questions that might anger the man. Her own cowardice appalled her.
Hiding the fact that she had not finished her meal, Bethoc collected everyone’s empty bowl. She listened to the talk of what had been done in the fields today as she cleaned up. Nothing had gone wrong so her father’s mood was good as the boys climbed the stairs to the loft where they slept. To her relief, her father then took himself off to the tavern even though it meant there was a good chance he could return drunk. His drinking had also grown worse lately and she suspected it was one of the things that made his temper so uncertain.
As soon as she put Margaret to bed, she moved to the large wooden chest in the corner of the room. The scent of lavender wafted up to her as she began to go through all the clothes stored there to find a small nightshirt. Little Cathan had nothing and she was sure the boys had not thought to give him anything. She finally found one that she suspected would fit, closed the chest, and headed up to the loft.
Bethoc sighed when she found young Cathan huddled under a blanket on a pallet near the wall. She would have to see to a rope-strung cot for him. He stared at her wide-eyed when she sat down near his bed and held out the nightshirt.
“Has Callum come for me?” he asked.
For a moment she could not speak, she was so stunned. How did this child know Sir Callum? “Sir Callum MacMillan?” she asked as she helped him sit up.
Cathan nodded as she took off his shoes, a little surprised that he had kept them on. “Aye. Sir Callum, a great knight and a laird. He saved me from the bad men.”
She tugged off his shirt and winced at the bruises on his little body. “Bad men who did this?”
He frowned and touched a bruise over his ribs. “I wouldnae be quiet. I kept yelling for Callum but they were beating him and then threw him in the river.” He looked at her with eyes awash in tears. “He is dead, aye?”
“Och, nay. Nay.” She slipped on his nightshirt and gently hugged him. “I found him but it must stay a secret. Do ye understand?”
Cathan nodded. “So when will he come to get me?”
“I dinnae ken.” She urged him to lie back down and tucked him in. “He needs to heal. He was badly injured.”
“But the bad men might take me again.”
“Who are these bad men, child?”
“The ones who want me. My papa had some things they wanted but they are mine now.”
“What things?”
“Land and coin.” He puffed up his skinny chest. “I am a laird, ye ken, and they want all that.” Then he looked close to tears. “Mymamantook me to Callum and asked him to help us.”
“And your papa?”
“He died but I dinnae want to ’member how, but it was when the bad men came and all the trouble started.Mamanand I had to hide but we could see. We could see,” he added in a whisper, and shivered.
She brushed his red curls off his forehead. “I am sorry, lad.”
“Will Callum come for me?” he asked as his eyes started to close. “He has to come for me.Mamansays he is our champion.”
