“Did I say something wrong?”
She bit her lip as if debating something. After a minute, she reached a decision. Her gaze held a hint of challenge when she said, “I don’t think Eachann is very interested in warfare.”
Her words took him aback. “I thought every little boy was interested in warfare.” He hadn’t thought of anything else.
Her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “Not Eachann.”
He sensed a slight defensiveness and guessed that like the boy’s size, the subject was a sensitive one. It wasn’t difficult to figure out why. Dugald MacDowell only raised warriors. But frankly, given that was all Eoin thought about—at least until he’d met Margaret—he’d assumed he would as well.
He thought for a moment. “What is he interested in?”
“Books. He reads everything he can get his hands on. He likes to build things.” She gestured toward the compass. “He’d probably be interested in that. He likes to know how things work.”
The beginnings of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Perhaps his son was like him in other ways. “The lad is clever?”
Her mouth twitched. “You could say that. He’s already beating me at chess.”
“Well, that’s not exactly saying much.”
“Eoin!” she shoved his shoulder. “That isn’t very nice.”
He laughed. “Maybe not, but it’s true. Patience has never been your forte, but you do have other... uh, talents.”
The meaningful look he gave her sent a blush roaring up her cheeks, but she drew up primly. “Aye, well you’ve never been very patient either when it comes to certain things.”
He laughed again. She was right. He still wasn’t patient when it came to her. They had six years of catching up to do, and he couldn’t wait to get her back to Kerrera to start.
Their laughter had caught the attention of their son. As soon as Eoin’s gaze met his, the little boy turned away. Eoin sighed, realizing he was going to needquitea bit of patience when it came to his son.
Margaret was sad to have to say goodbye to the strapping seafarer. It wasn’t just that she liked Erik MacSorley—which she did (she hadn’t laughed like that in years)—it also meant that they’d arrived at their destination.
As the flat, green hillsides and dark, rocky seashores of the Isle of Kerrera came into view, she had to admit she’d felt more than one pang of apprehension and doubt. But any worries that she was doing the right thing had faded when she remembered seeing those two dark-blond heads bent together for the first time. Her throat still grew tight just thinking about it.
As they’d left the small island off the shore of Ireland where they’d spent the night, Eoin had taken her advice and asked Eachann if he wanted to learn how to navigate the ship. Though hesitant, their too curious son had been unable to resist the temptation of the flat piece of wood with curved marks drawn from the sun’s shadow on a vertical pointer. He’d asked dozens of questions, which Margaret quickly lost interest in, but which Eoin didn’t seem to mind. She had to admit it was nice to have someone else to answer Eachann’s never-ending questions, with increasing focus on the minutest details, that sometimes taxed Margaret’s motherly patience.
She could almost see the boy’s mind working as he tried to figure out a way to improve the accuracy of the crude instrument. Eachann liked to build things. Not forts and castles out of mud and sticks like the other boys, but useful things. Things that made tasks easier for people. She’d never forget when he read about the great horologe at Canterbury Cathedral that sounded the time with bells. It used weights rather than water, and before her failed wedding the boy had been experimenting with building his owncloc, the Gaelic word for bell. He’d been so excited, he’d talked nonstop about it for days.
He was that way now. The difference this time was that he had an equally intrigued audience. Her mouth twisted with a smile. Maybe not an audience but an enthusiastic cohort.
Eoin had been surprised to hear that his son didn’t seem to have much interest in being a warrior, but he’d recovered faster than she expected. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem disappointed. Actually, as the conversation intensified, Eoin’s pride in the boy became readily apparent.
She was doing the right thing. Her son needed this. A father who was proud of him—who understood him—no matter what he chose to do was worth any risk to her heart.
Buoyed by the first signs of softening in her son’s attitude toward his father, Margaret bid farewell to the handsome seafarer with the devilish grin, who was eager to return to his wife and children, and held Eachann’s hand tightly as they followed Eoin up the sea-gate stairs to the square stone keep of Gylen Castle, which sat perched on the cliff overlooking the sea. She needed all of that encouragement as she gazed up and saw the couple waiting to greet them. Her heartbeat quickened, and a familiar dread draped over her like a soggy plaid, the uncomfortable weight of it dragging her down.
Margaret knew Eoin had sent a missive to his parents, apprising them of Eachann’s existence, but there hadn’t been time to inform them of their arrival. She harbored no illusions on her own account—Eoin’s parents were hardly likely to welcome her with open arms—but for Eachann’s sake, she hoped they would hide their disdain.
The thought that her son might think less of her was something she couldn’t bear.
Eoin was a few steps ahead of them, presumably to give his parents a quick warning, but it proved unnecessary. Lady Rignach’s gaze seemed to find hers instantly. Beneath the surprise, Margaret would have sworn she saw what looked like relief before the other woman’s eyes shifted down to the side. Her face lost every trace of color, and she might have slid to the ground had her husband not caught her by the arm.
The proud chief looked almost as shaken when he realized why his wife had almost swooned.
Eachann was not a timid boy, but when the two imposing figures stared at him as if he were a strange creature from a menagerie, he drew in tight against her.
Lady Rignach’s fingers went to her lips. The dark eyes that turned back to Eoin were shimmering with tears. “My God, he looks just like you. I’d feared...”
Her voice dropped off.
