“We’re no’ known for our patience, MacGregor,” one of the younger boys said as they all gathered there at the entrance. “Will you be fetching her?”
Another boy elbowed that one in the ribs and jerked his head toward Kimberly, giving her an impish smile as he did. There were a few chuckles. And then they wereallsmiling at her, and talking near all at once.
“Faith, she’s older’n you, Ian One. You’ll no’ be lordingthato’er us anymore, I’m thinking.”
“Ye’ll still be licking my boots, Johnny, if I’ve a mind tae have them cleaned,” Ian One replied, giving the younger Johnny a look that promised his boots would soon require some cleaning.
Johnny glared back at him, but before he could retaliate, another brother was saying, “You dinna think she’s tae small tae be a MacFearson?”
“She’s a lass, you twerp,” still another brother replied. “She’s supposed tae be a wee size.”
“I always wanted a sister,” a red-haired brother said bashfully.
“Donald has a sister,” one of the younger boys pointed out with some confusion.
“But Donald’s sister isna a MacFearson, Charles, and no’ yer sister or mine. This one’s a MacFearson and belonging tae all o’ us, ye ken.”
“She looks like Ian Six. D’you see it?”
Ian Six was apparently the youngest lad, because he blushed and mumbled, “Does not.”
Kimberly smiled at Ian Six. The numbers added to the names was amusing, making her recall that these brothers of hers all had different mothers, or most did. She imagined those mothers had proudly wanted to name their sons after the father and had done so, despite the confusion it would cause. The numbers were to lessen the confusion, she supposed.
She wondered how she would ever remember all their names, once she learned them. Would they be here long enough for her to make the effort to figure out who was who? Right now she wanted to hug this youngest lad among them. Actually, she wanted to hug them all. But they were a fearsome lot, with their shaggy manes and dirks strapped to their legs, their great size for all that they were each younger than her, and their sheer numbers. There were just somanyof them, and brothers or not, they were still strangers to her.
“Och, she’s all o’er hisself wi’ that smile,” a black-haired lad said in surprise. “He’ll no’ be doubting she’s his now.”
“Aye, and mayhap we’ll be seeing the end o’ his black mood now.”
“After he has Ian One’s head for keeping him waiting,” Johnny smirked.
Ian One flushed with color to have forgotten his orders, and abruptly turned to nod at one of the men still mounted. Kimberly felt a frisson of trepidation, having forgotten that there were other MacFearsons there, cousins, second cousins, even third she was to learn later. But quickly scanning the line of men who were still mounted, she didn’t see a one that was old enough to be her father.
She started to relax, until one of those men turned his horse about and rode back through the portcullis. If Ian MacFearson was out there beyond the walls…but what did she really have to fear? That he wouldn’t like her? That she wouldn’t like him? According to Cecil, this man had seduced her mother—for revenge. Howcouldshe like him, knowing that? And yet, her mother had loved him. Cecil had admitted that, too. There must have been something decent about him for the gentle Melissa to love him.
And then the man who had left returned, and behind him came a very large man, made even bigger by the bulky sheepskin coat he wore. It gave him a wild look, added to by his dark gold hair worn very long, and lightly streaked with grey. His features were craggy, harshly chiseled, yet there was a handsomeness underneath that might at one time have turned a young woman’s heart.
His eyes had gone directly to Kimberly as soon as he came through the portcullis, and they remained on her as he slowly approached, sharply piercing, disturbing, as dark green as her own, but with a coldness to them, a deadness, as if the man had no joy of living.
A path was quickly cleared for him when he was close enough to dismount. Kimberly had unconsciously moved closer to Lachlan, whose arm came around her shoulders protectively. She wasn’t ready for this, she really wasn’t.
And then he was standing there in front of her, Ian MacFearson, the legend, the nightmare of little children—her father—and she released her suspended breath when she finally noticed the guarded wariness in his own expression. He was as nervous as she was, as uncertain, and that knowledge won her over.
She smiled. “Hello, Father.”
51
Kimberly handed Ian a glass of warmed, spiced wine before she joined him on the sofa in her sitting room. She was probably going to have bruises along her sides from the bearlike hug he’d given her outside, before she’d managed to get them all in out of the cold.
Ian had cried. She was still amazed about that, wouldn’t even have known it, smothered in his arms as she had been, if one of her brothers hadn’t remarked on it.
Lachlan had taken on the duty of seeing to the sleeping arrangements for so many guests, so that she could have some time alone with her father. She wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, this soon, when they weren’t comfortable with each other yet. But she had so many questions for him, her curiosity wasn’t going to let her wait.
“How did you know I was here?” she began carefully.
“I had a letter from Cecil Richards this week. I thought it was a bad joke at first. He told me his wife had died.” His eyes closed, still stricken with that thought, but he continued, “He said he saw no reason to claim Melissa’s bastard as his own any longer.”
“That isn’t exactly true, at least, it was not a decision that he actually made voluntarily, I don’t think. My mother died more’n a year ago, but he only told me a few weeks ago that you were my father, not him. And he didn’t mean to tell me, it slipped out. But since it did, I suppose he thought I might try to find you, and he wanted to be the one to tell you first.”
