“Near to three months of what?”
“Of naught, and therein lies the trouble. I thought ye paid the highest price for bearing our son but I begin to wonder.”
She lazily opened one eye to peek at him. “Regrets?”
Gently touching the thick raven curls decorating his son’s small head, Parlan said quietly, “Nary a one but I do have an itch that screams to be scratched.”
“And ye mean to do some scratching on the morrow?”
“Aye, a lot of it so”—he kissed her cheek—“ye best get some rest, lass. Ye will be sore pressed to keep pace with me.”
She doubted that for she was as hungry for some lovemaking as he was but she was not inclined to tell him. He would discover it quickly enough on his own. Once Old Meg deemed her healed from the birth, Aimil knew she would probably be running after him. The image that invoked made her smile and lingered in her mind as she finally gave in to sleep.
As soon as he was certain that she was asleep, Parlan gently took the baby from her lax hold, causing a murmur of protest from both of them. Smiling faintly, he put the child back into his cradle. For a moment he crouched there, watching his tiny son sleep, and feeling unabashedly proud. It was going to be easy to love the boy, as easy as it was to love his mother.
Startled, Parlan rose and went to stand by the bed to look down upon a sleeping Aimil. He did love her. It was the only explanation there was for so many of the things he had done and felt. He wondered when it had happened then decided that it did not really matter.
Reaching out to take a lock of her hair between his fingers, he then wondered when and if he should tell her. She still spoke no words of love to him yet some instinct told him that she cared, could quite possibly love him. There was the possibility that she did not speak because he had not. Aimil had more than her share of pride. So too did he, he admitted with a crooked smile, and it was making him reluctant to be the first to bare his soul, to take the chance of revealing how he felt when it might not be returned.
Shaking his head over the uncertainty she could stir in him, he left the room and met Lagan in the hall. “I thought ye would be resting after such a long night.”
“Aye, I am weary but I need to fill my belly first.”
“That is where I head to.” Parlan started on his way.
Falling into step beside Parlan, Lagan asked, “How did Aimil take the news?”
“With a touch of doubt as we all did but she means to be rid of it. It cannae be easy to dismiss the fear that Devil bred in her heart.”
“And yours,” Lagan murmured.
“I didnae fear him.” Parlan bristled, hearing the insult of cowardice in Lagan’s words. “I was ready to fight that hellhound.”
“Ye mishear me. I didnae speak of the fear that makes a man run from a fight but of your fear for Aimil and your child. T’was that fear that has driven ye so hard these last weeks and that fear was stirred and heightened by something I begin to think ye will never see.”
“Is that so? Mayhaps I am not as blind as ye think, old friend. Tell me, do ye still think Aimil would like to hear a few sweet words?” He smiled over his friend’s obvious surprise. “Even more important, do ye think she will give a few back?”
“If ye cannae tell that for yourself, mayhaps ye are blind. Aye, she must be thinking the sweet words will never come. I should be sure to speak them in the right place at the right time or the shock might kill her.”
Parlan ignored Lagan’s sarcasm. “I have an idea for both. Aye, and mayhaps t’will serve to ease her fears. The last time we were there Rory set upon us. This time we can have our time alone in peace, and I mean to make the most of it.”
“Are ye sure ye ought to act so free so soon? Mayhaps ye ought to wait to, weel, be sure.”
“If I followed that advice, I would never feel safe nor free. Nay, Rory is dead and I mean to act accordingly.”
Wildflowers drifted down to scatter over the fresh mounds of dirt. Their soft colors gentled the stark, barren look of the burial rises. The wind gently tugged at the full cloak of the figure who stood before the graves. A sigh broke the quiet.
“Weel, old friend, how is hell? At least I ken that ye will-nae be lonely. We ken many who have settled there. I will join ye there eventually.
“Ah, old friend, I hope ye understand. I had to do it. They were too close, yapping at my heels until I couldnae do aught but hide and I need to do more. I must have the freedom to move or I will never get the revenge my soul craves.
“Ye do understand, dinnae ye, Geordie, my friend. Your sacrifice willnae be wasted. If I cannae survive to kill Aimil and the man she plays the whore for, I will drag them down into hell with me. Ye willnae be alone for long, Geordie.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Dig him up.”
Leith stared at his father in shock. Such a request was the last thing he had expected when he had brought his father to view Rory’s and Geordie’s graves. Neither could he understand why his father requested such a gruesome thing. There seemed no reason for it.
