“About what?”
Instead of answering him, she asked, “Do you know anyone by the name of Ian MacFearson?”
His eyes flared wide in surprise. “Faith, where’d you hearthatname?”
“Do you know him then?”
“Nay—well, aye.”
“Which is it?”
“I dinna know him, Kimber, but I’ve heardofhim. I dinna think there is anyone in the Highlands who hasna heard of Ian MacFearson. Some even wonder if he’s real, the tales of him are so unusual.”
“What tales?”
“He’s reputed tae be one o’ the meanest, blackhearted rogues our side o’ the border, that would as soon draw a dirk on you as look at you. Some say he hasna left his home since he returned tae it more’n twenty years ago, that he’s no more’n an old recluse who’s turned his back on the living. Others say he never married, but he’s got so many bastards you need more’n two hands tae count them on, and they’re every one of them as vicious and blackhearted as he is. They even say they entertain themselves by trying tae kill each other, and he sits back and encourages them.”
“You’re joking, right?” Kimberly asked, her expression incredulous.
“Nay, but these are only tales, mind you. I dinna think anyone really kens how much is truth tae them or how much embellishment. But mothers will use his name tae admonish their bairns, telling them that Ian MacFearson will be coming for them if they’re no’ good, tae feed them tae his bloodthirsty sons. And I remember when I was fifteen, my cousins and I set out tae find where he lives, tae see for ourselves if he was real or just legend.”
“Did you?”
“We didna see him, nay. We found a house we thought might be his, an old brooding place set out on a promontory in the far north country, wi’ barren trees about it, and black clouds hovering low o’er it, and we didna go any closer. A place like that, that actually looked evil, merely supported the tales, we were thinking.”
“Or started the tales to begin with?” she suggested hopefully.
“Aye, mayhap, but I dinna care tae be finding out. Now where did you hear that name?”
“From my fa—from Cecil. Apparently, Ian MacFearson can add one more bastard to the count,” she told him, then with a wry smile. “Myself.”
He started to laugh, but she was suddenly looking too serious by half and he ended in a groan. “You’re no’ joking, are you?”
“No, and you’re not happy about it, are you?” she replied tightly. “It bothers you that I’m a bastard?”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Now why would that bother me? But Ian MacFearson’s daughter—that is going tae take getting used tae.”
That placated her enough that she admitted, “I’m not used to it myself yet.”
“You mean he only just told you today? The day ’afore you get married? That lousy—”
“He was quite foxed. I don’t think he had any intention of telling me, ever. But it slipped out, and—I was glad actually. He’d never behaved like a father to me, and this at least explained why. I thought you might even appreciate it, that I was half Scottish.”
“What blood runs in your veins, darlin’, isna important tae me—though Scots blood is nice,” he added with a grin. “And ’tis glad I am myself that the earl is no’ your da. I dinna mind admitting now that I had some powerful fears you’d turn out like him one day.”
She grinned. “You did not.”
“I did. However, are yousureyou’re the MacFearson’s only daughter?”
“Only? You said he had bastards aplenty.”
“Aye, so the tale goes, but every one of them sons, and few o’ them wi’ the same mothers.”
She blushed at that bit of information. “Well, to answer your question, yes, I’m reasonably sure, and that’s because I know Cecil didn’t mean to tell me. He also said I take after the Scotsman, that even my smile is like his.”
“A blackhearted rogue wi’ the smile of an angel?” he said skeptically.
“I don’t believe he was always a rogue. But I guess only Ian MacFearson could verify it for certain, whether I’m his daughter or not. If he didn’t know my mother or Cecil—they were apparently best of friends long ago—then it would all be a lie, wouldn’t it?”
