Pip flushed. Seeing the boy’s discomfort, Cate thrust her chin up and met Gregor’s gaze. “He’s your son.”
Three
In retrospect, perhaps it had been a bad idea to laugh, but, damn it, Cate looked so adorable and fierce with the mud streaked all over her face and clothes—an unusually pretty dress for her, actually. Seeing her look so refreshinggirlishhad been something of a relief, after the uncomfortable and far from guardian-like thoughts Gregor had been having about her since his last time home.
But he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and would have apologized had he not been struck by what could only be described as sickly panic when he heard what she’d done (she could have been hurt, damn it!), and then momentarily struck dumb by her announcement.
“My w-what?” he sputtered.
“Your son,” she replied calmly.
The words didn’t lose any impact on repeating. If Gregor had been more shocked in his life, he couldn’t recall. She might as well have proclaimed herself the Queen of bloody England. She had about as much chance of claiming that position as he had of having sired this whelp.
Aside from the fact that the boy looked nothing—nothing—like him, he was at least fifteen or sixteen years old. Gregor was thirty-one, and the only woman he’d had relations with before he was twenty hadn’t given birth to this boy. He should know, since she married his older brother a few months after their relationship had served her purpose.
He gritted his teeth, casting a sharp glance at the bloodied, mud-splattered youth. “I don’t know what hard-luck story he’s told you, but that boy is most assuredlynotmy son.”
The whelp shot him a black scowl, looking as if he’d like nothing more than to stick a blade between Gregor’s ribs. Cate, however, acted like the wee blackguard had just been grievously injured and hastened to protect him by wrapping her arm around his shoulder.
“Of course he is. Just like Eddie and Maddy.”
“Who in the hell are they?” Gregor exploded. He’d given up trying not to swear and blaspheme around her years ago. Not even God would have enough patience and restraint for Cate.
“Did John not tell you? Congratulations—you have two sons and a daughter!”
This was the “emergency”? The lass wasn’t only trouble, she was mad—especially if she thought he’d ever have a son named after the English king.
He told her so, and what skin on her face wasn’t covered with mud turned red. She turned to the boy. “Pip, you go on ahead.Your fatherand I have something to discuss.”
This Pip could give Viper a contest in venomous glares. The lad looked like he wanted to argue, but when Caitrina added, “Please,” he nodded and left—though not without a few more black scowls cast in Gregor’s direction.
Christ, did the lad think he would hurt her? Gregor hadn’t strangled her in the five years he’d known her; he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. With any luck, in a few weeks she’d be out of his hair for good. Although in light of today’s events, his plan to marry her off was going to be even more of a challenge than he’d thought. He shook his head. Brawling in the dirt like a…he didn’t know what, but it certainly wasn’t befitting a marriageable young lass.
She turned on him, hands on her hips, as soon as the boy moved out of earshot. “How could you say that in front of him? You hurt his feelings!”
Gregor jumped off his horse, preparing to square off for the battle he knew was coming. If he didn’t know better, from the way the blood was racing through his veins, he might think he was actually looking forward to it.
“Hurthisfeelings? My good name is the one beingdragged through the mud.” Her eyes flared at that. “The little charlatan has lied to you and taken advantage of your kindness. How old is he?”
“Fifteen.”
Gregor smiled; it was as he suspected. “It’s impossible for him to be my son.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know how to subtract.”
Clearly, she didn’t understand, and he was in no mind to explain. His age when he’d first been intimate with a woman was not a proper topic for a young lady’s ears. But that wasn’t the only reason. She’d closed the gap between them to a few feet—which, as it turned out, was too damned close.
He was feeling it again. The heat. That strange tingling of his skin. The blasted awareness. The blastedinappropriateawareness.
The top of her head only came to his mid-chest, but he could still remember how it had felt tucked under his chin. How warm and silky her hair had been. How she’d smelled like wildflowers. How firm but undeniably feminine she’d felt in his arms.
What the hell was the matter with him? This wasCaitrina. The lass he was responsible for, no matter how unwittingly—the lass he was supposed to protect from men like him. Bloody hell, he needed to find a little self-control.
Drawing his hand through his hair, he made a sound of frustration. Returning to the subject at hand, he said, “How did he come to be here?”
“His mother left him at the gate. She told him he was to find you and inform you that he was your son, and that it was time for you to take care of the lad, as she could no longer do so on her own.”
