“Weel, there hasnae been much blood spilt between our clans.” Parlan walked toward his mount and the others fell into step with him. “That eases the way. Being so near to the border of the Highlands, I think ones such as the Mengues are more akin to us than the true Lowlanders. There is much that they do that follows our way. Ye can see that in the way that Leith goes too and fro so easily.”
“Aye, but I begin to think that Leith Mengue is a man who can fit any boot he slips on.”
“I think ye might be right in that, Artair, and ’tis a gift that could serve him verra weel one day.” Parlan mounted and sat staring back at the burned-out cottage as the others did the same.
“Second thoughts or a few doubts mayhaps?”
“Nay, just wondering over the ease of it, Lagan. Weel, best we hie on back to Dubhglenn. Aimil has surely roused by now and shall wonder where I slipped away to with nary a word to anyone.”
By the time Parlan rode into Dubhglenn the relief, even the joy, over the ending of Rory’s threat to him and his family had conquered all his regrets and doubts. He jovially greeted each person he met as he took his mount to the stables. On his way to the keep, he met Old Meg who greeted his happiness with a severe frown.
“And what have ye been up to, me fine rogue? Creeping off before dawn like some thief? Eh?”
He kissed her cheek. “I had to go view a body, a corpse I have long hoped to see.”
“The hellhound is dead?”
“Aye, verra dead. How is Aimil?”
“Gnashing her teeth. Best ye hie on up to your chambers. She is suckling that greedy son of yours, but I doubt that has stopped her from watching for ye. If ye dinnae get up there quick, she will be down here to greet ye with the bairn still dangling from her breast.”
Aimil heard the increased activity in Dubhglenn and tensed. Idly patting her nursing child’s back, she listened more closely, trying to hear something that would tell her it was Parlan’s return that had stirred things up. She had just decided to go and see for herself, detaching her son who immediately began to wail with fury, when Parlan strode into the room.
“Where did ye slip away to?”
Staring at his screaming son in mild astonishment, Parlan replied, “Eh? I cannae hear ye over the din. What ails him?”
“He wasnae done but I stopped him for I meant to come see if ye had returned.” She frowned at her son whom she held at a distance.
Sitting on the bed, Parlan gently pushed the baby back toward Aimil. “I beg of ye, let him have his fill before he deafens us all.”
She put the child back to her breast, and after a few convulsive sobs, he quieted down. As she was about to question Parlan again, something about the way Lyolf nursed distracted her. Curious, she looked down at her son and saw that he was not nestled against her breast in the usual way. His small hands clung tightly to her bodice, and his eyes, the color matching hers to a shade, were open. His gaze was fixed upon her face, and his brows, so like Parlan’s, met in a vee over his tiny nose. Diverted, she tried to loosen the grip of one of his small hands only to have him grunt, frown even more, and cling more tightly. It was clear that he did not intend to be moved again until he was finished.
“Your son looks verra much like ye at this moment, Parlan.”
Leaning over to look at Lyolf, Parlan drawled, “I have never looked so discontented when savoring that sweetness.” He bent forward to kiss the curve of her breast only to jerk back with an oath when a small fist struck his nose.
Aimil tried not to laugh. She looked at Parlan who scowled and rubbed his nose. Then she looked at Lyolf who scowled in exactly the same way as he clung tenatiously to her bodice. Despite her best efforts not to, she began to giggle. When that only deepened the scowls on her husband’s and son’s dark faces, she laughed harder.
“Wheesht, ye are equally bad-tempered.”
Lying on his side next to her, he glanced at his son. The child’s gaze followed him, and the fierce expression remained on the tiny face. Slowly, Parlan started to grin. Along with amusement, he felt pride. Even though so young, the boy already showed spirit. He laughed softly.
“’Tis a good thing he is still a wee bairn or I might be in a lot of trouble.”
“Aye, ye might at that.” Aimil’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Ye might be anyway. Why did ye creep away without a word?”
“Ah, back to that, are we?”
“Aye, back to that. ’Tis that ye left no word, not with anyone. Ye were simply gone.”
“Och, lass, I didnae mean to worry ye. Artair burst in shortly before dawn. He will enter more carefully now.”
“Nearly skewered him, did ye?” She was well aware of his increased watchfulness, of how his sword was ever at hand as they slept.
“If he hadnae stopped inside the door, aye, I might have. ’Tis not something I care to think on.”
“Nay, of course not. I didnae even hear him.”
