“This ill-tempered child had exhausted ye with his fretting half the night away.”
She grimaced and nodded knowing that it would take far more than a sudden rude intrusion into their chambers to wake her when she was exhausted. “What did he want that couldnae wait ’til a more reasonable hour?” She tensed as she realized the only thing it could have been since Dubhglenn had neither been raided nor attacked. “T’was Rory.”
He took her hand in his. “Aye, sweeting, but ye have naught to fear. He cannae hurt ye any longer. Nay, never again.”
“Ye have slain him?”
“I fear it wásnae I who had that pleasure. Artair had heard of twa men that sounded much akin to Rory and Geordie at a village but twa hours ride from here. He tracked them down only to find that they had perished in a fire. He sought me out thinking I could better vouch that t’was truly Rory Fergueson and his faithful hound, Geordie.”
“And it was them?”
“Aye, though t’was Leith who determined it. I could do no more than agree that the shapes matched those of the ones I sought. Leith was certain t’was Geordie and he recognized Rory by a few of his belongings that werenae destroyed in the fire. He has gone to tell your father, and I ken that the man will be sore grieved that he wasnae the one to end Rory’s murdering life.”
“He will but I cannae help but think that ’tis the best way. Father isnae a cruel man yet, if he reached Rory, I think he would have acted verra cruelly. There was so much anger in him, so much hate. When it left him, he would have suffered. I fear he would have seen himself as little better than Rory and, aye, if he had gained hold of the man, I think my father would have gone a little mad.”
“T’would be easy to understand.”
“For we who didnae do it but mayhaps not so easy for the one who did. He would have to face the beast within himself and that cannae be easy. Nay, ’tis best this way though my father may be some time in seeing that.”
“Aye, it took me a wee while to see it. I felt as if something had been stolen from me, as if he had escaped me.”
“I am just as glad that no one had to face him. He was a snake.” She smiled faintly at Lyolf who was finally done and held him at her shoulder, rubbing his back to release any air he may have swallowed. “I feared he would play some loathe-some trick that would cost one of ye your life. Fair fighting wasnae Rory Fergueson’s way. A man cannae always watch his back or all the shadows.”
“Mayhaps not. We will never ken now. The man is dead.”
“Are ye verra sure of that, Parlan?”
“As sure as any can be. Do ye have some doubt of it, dearling?” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “I had a few myself but they have faded away.”
“As mine will, no doubt. ’Tis that the end came so abruptly, so unexpectedly. I had never thought it would be this way.”
“Nay, nor did I. It was a surprise and I did fear the way of it would leave ye still afraid, still uncertain.”
“A wee bit but I shall get over it.”
The baby was falling asleep so she reclined more on the bed, settling Lyolf more comfortably against her chest. She suspected that being a mother made her less able to shrug off her fears, to accept an end to the danger. There was so much more at risk if it proved to be a false safety. The child might not become a victim, but she dreaded the thought of being parted from him. She wanted to see him grow into a man.
Lying there quietly, the baby sleeping on her chest and Parlan stroking her hair, she felt drowsy and content. At times like this, it was nearly impossible to recall all her fears and worries. It seemed that nothing would intrude to shatter her peace but she knew that was foolish. Rory had done so before. What she had to do now was believe that he could not do it again.
“Are ye sure he is dead, Parlan?” She hated herself for the fear that prompted her repeating of the question, for needing the reassurance.
“Aye, loving.” He kissed her forehead, smiling faintly when her eyes closed. “We will celebrate on the morrow. T’will be a fine day.”
She smiled but did not open her eyes. “Angus says so, does he?”
“Aye. He promises sun to bask in.”
“It seems wrong somehow to celebrate a man’s death.”
“If it troubles you, we can find something else to celebrate. Weel, if Old Meg says what I wish her to, that is. Tomorrow makes near to twa months since this wee rogue was born.”
Knowing what he referred to, she forced herself not to blush and not to look at him. “My, my, he is growing apace, isnae he?”
“Aye, and ye will be running apace if Old Meg says ye are healed from the birth.”
“Mean to chase me, do ye?”
“Until we fall. Preferably with ye on your back but I am nae too particular after near to three months.”
