“These matters are so urgent that you—”
Commander MacPherson leaned in and said something low in his wife’s ear. She remained still for a moment and then, just like that, sighed and threw up her hands. “Never mind any of it. I just want to see my son. Cainnech, take me to him, please. Edith,” she called out to another maid, “take Miss Hetherington to one of the empty rooms above stairs so she can rest after her journey. Sir Torin.” She paused for just a moment, as if something caught in her throat when she looked at him. “Father Timothy will find you a room in the keep. If…you are staying, something more can be arranged. Or you may want to come to—”
“Come, my love,” he said to his now docile wife. “I think I hear Tristan cryin’.”
He ushered her away and another woman stood in Aleysia’s place. “I am Edith. Come with me.”
“I will come for you shortly,” Torin told her. “We will check on Adams after that, aye.”
“Where are you going now?” She let him go and frowned at him.
“I have a few more things to see to with the earl.” He moved in closer and dipped his mouth to her ear. “He lost his wife this morn.”
She looked toward the earl and her heart broke again for him. He had a babe now. Did he know how to be a father? “My deepest sympathy, my lord,” she offered gently. “’Tis good to spend time with a friend.”
He and Torin had known each other. Rothbury probably enjoyed seeing his old friend again. She wondered what it was exactly that Torin had done in his service. She would remember to ask Torin later. For now, she hated leaving him.
When he reached for her hand, she let him take it and watched, smiling like a dreamy fool, as he kissed her knuckles.
“I will return to you,” he promised, straightening. “You and Adams are safe here.”
She nodded. Even after she stabbed Amish? Well, time would tell. She would be ready for any kind of attack.
She watched Torin leave with the earl and the priest, then followed Edith out of the great hall through a different entrance by which she’d entered the first time. She descended three stone steps to a web of corridors and two other stone stairways. They took one that led to some smaller rooms, which were castles compared to her small corner of the hall at home. Her bed was built for a queen, with four heavy wood posters and colorful coverings atop a feather mattress as plush as clouds. She fell into it with a sigh of sheer delight. Her straw mattress wasn’t bad and it was always fresh, but this—this was heavenly.
Oh, she could sleep here for days. In fact, she could sleep here now. Edith said a few things about…she didn’t remember. She wanted to refresh herself before seeing Torin, but she couldn’t bring herself to rise from the bed—and she didn’t ask Edith for help. She hadn’t slept since she was kidnapped, and after sleeping, or trying to sleep, on the cold hard ground of the forest last night, she fell into a deep slumber, the kind a body needed to relax. She dreamed of an army of Scots thundering across the fields, breaching a castle that was neither Lismoor nor Carlisle. One turned on his horse, his curls blowing across his face, his plaid snapping behind him in the wind like a pennant. He held an axe high over his head and brought it down when he saw her. It was Torin.
Torin let anurse hand him a wee babe swaddled in white wool with black stripes. He held his nephew, Elias MacPherson, gently while tears filled his eyes that such a tiny being didn’t have his mother. This was his family. What he’d hoped and prayed for his whole life.
“He is so small,” he remarked and smiled at his brother. “He looks like you.”
“Aye. Mattie was…was…” His voice broke on a sob and Torin waited while his brother gathered himself again. “She was very blonde. Very beautiful.”
Elias’ nurse returned and took him from Torin’s arms. Nicholas did not hold him. Torin wanted to ask him what he would do now, but it was too soon for Nicholas to know and he shouldn’t be rushed.
“So, Torin,” the priest finally spoke to him. He’d been staring, but hadn’t said much until now. “Ye had no idea all these years that Cainnech served in the same army ye did.”
Torin shook his head. He liked Father Timothy. He had kind, expressive eyes and a generous smile. “No. I did not remember their names or even our surname. I thought my brothers were dead.”
“I always believed ye were wily enough to make it out there,” Cain said, coming into the nursery and hearing them. He was bent over and held his son by the hand as they walked together. “He doesna like to be carried. He has his own mind like his mother.”
“And his father,” Father Timothy pointed out.
“What d’ye mean, old man,” Cain argued. “I am calm and even-tempered.”
The priest laughed and Nicholas followed. “You are about as even tempered as a wolf with mange.”
Cain gave their youngest brother a hurt look then forgot them and leaned downed to his son. “Meet yer uncle, Torin.”
“God is good,” Father Timothy declared, smiling at them.
“God is good,” Cain repeated and looked up at Nicholas, who said nothing.
“Greetings, Tristan,” Torin said and could no longer remember why he’d been so angry all his life.
The brothers sat with Father Timothy and wee Tristan and talked about their lives away from each other. Cain told them about having Father Timothy with him during the very worst times of his life.
Nicholas had had Julianna Feathers.
