“She deserves happiness,” he said. “A strong match. A man who will stand beside her. And I saw enough to ken Thomas isnae that man. But whether he is or isnae, it still isnae my decision to make. Whatever I feel changes naught. She belongs to someone else.”
Meggie studied him in silence, her eyes luminous with compassion. “I’ll ask without judgment and you know that anything you say will stay with me, as always. Jacob, did anything happen in the last three days that would make her wedding Thomas Hamilton...dishonorable?”
Jacob shook his head, and couldn’t quite quell the rising of knowledge, that he wished to hell it had.
In his periphery, he caught his mother’s faint smirk. “Do you wish it had?” she asked, proving little escaped her notice.
“Mam,” he growled, uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
“Fine,” she said, receding, even as she decided, “I suppose that is answer enough. Very well, but do you believe that feelings—planted years ago—grown through hardship and care and shared danger can simply be set aside because it is convenient to do so?”
Jacob’s throat tightened. “They must be.”
She nodded slowly, acknowledging his resolve even as a flicker of sorrow crossed her face. “You are your father’s son,”she said. “Steady. Loyal. You think duty is something separate from the heart, but it rarely is. Still...” She stepped back, having finished stitching the wound, and met his gaze. “Does Elena even know how you feel?” Before he might have answered, she tilted her head, and wondered, “Or is she still pretending, as she’s been for half a decade, that she is over her infatuation with you?”
Jacob nearly rolled his eyes, a rare grin forming. “Jesu, Mam—is there anything ye dinna ken?”
Her smile softened but retained its knowing curve. “You think I see less than I do, or that I notice only what’s placed directly before me. But that’s never been my way. It is my job as your mother, not only to know my sons—truly know them—but to guard what I can of their hearts and minds while they’re still young enough to be guided. To see the places where they might be bruised long before the bruise ever shows. Your father disagrees with me,” she added with another faint curve of her mouth. “He says a man learns best from scrapes and falls and hurt feelings. Says pain teaches what comfort never can.”
Jacob lifted his shoulders and tipped his head. “He’s nae wrong.”
“No,” Meggie agreed. “He isn’t. But I’ve always believed a mother’s place is to soften what she can before the fall comes. To keep her sons from breaking when a lesson must be learned, and to bind them up again when they do.” Absently, she ran the pads of her fingers gently over her fresh stitches. “I cannot spare you every hurt, Jacob. Nor would I try. But I will never pretend not to see what weighs on you or leave you to carry it alone when it needn’t be so.”
Though he’d never thought such a thing explicitly, he knew this about his mother.
He sighed and met his mother’s gaze. “She’ll be married soon,” he said quietly. “It’s better if I put distance between us.”
Meggie considered this. “If distance is truly the best course, I will support you,” she said. “But remember, Jacob, love does not always choose the sensible path.”
Before he could answer, the door opened.
His father came in without ceremony, easing the door shut behind him as though mindful of the quiet as he rarely was at home. Gabriel crossed the room and paused near Meggie, resting a hand briefly at her back in a gesture so familiar it barely registered. His gaze returned to Jacob’s arm, lingering only a moment before lifting again.
“Still in one piece, I see,” Gabriel said mildly.
“Mam just put me back together,” said Jacob.
“Nae the first time, nae the last, I’m sure,” his father predicted.
Jacob nodded. “So she says.”
Examining his son’s face solemnly, Gabriel said, “Liam would like to meet with ye, get some particulars on these raiders ere we head out again to seek their trail—”
“I’m going with ye.”
“Nae, ye willna,” Gabriel said. “Ye’ve done yer part—more than any would ask of most. We’ll take it on now.”
Though his father’s tone offered little hope of being swayed, Jacob argued anyway. “Da, I saw them. I ken them—they chased us as recently as yesterday. I can’t take ye directly.”
“Ye can tell us where and spend one evening here,” Gabriel instructed, “recovering yer strength. If we need to head out in the morning again, ye can join us then.”
Jacob’s jaw clenched, but he stood his ground, refusing to look away, as if he might will his father to yield.
“Ye canna go out hungry yet and driven only by vengeance.”
Disagreeable as the very idea was, Jacob knew how far he could push his father. He nodded his acceptance of what he considered a punishment.
“When ye’re ready,” Gabriel said then, “we’ll be in the hall.”
